#and we can celebrate all of that per his own words

[purpurussy]

everything Dan said about labels in BIG was so extremely real and personal to me and people really gloss over a lot of it sometimes I need to talk about it more about it when I'm not exhausted

[heechwe]

anything for you | 𝐣𝐰𝐰

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ MY FIC FOR JUPITER'S SECRET CUPID COLLAB

୨୧ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 3k ୨୧ genre: slight comedy, fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: best friends to lovers au, drunk confession, dirty talk, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating ୨୧ synopsis: Wonwoo has been your best friend forever. And maybe something more could be in the cards with a mature, sophisticated confession. Or a lot of alcohol.

⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inspired by LANY's song "anything 4 u"! Big thanks to my betas for this fic Tiya (@gyubakeries), Honey (@heesuncore), and Mitchie (@seokgyuu)! I love you all so much. And this fic is for my Secret Cupid Ally (@lovetaroandtaemin)!! I love you loads and you're an incredible friend. I'm so glad I got you so I could share a small token of appreciation for our friendship. I hope you love this story as much as I did writing it! ♥︎

Valentine��s Day weekend. The one weekend you have to suffer through everything being doused in red, pink, and white decorations. It’s everywhere: across your work office, all around the city you live in, and even plastered around the hole-in-the-wall bar that all of your friends are drinking in now. 

It’s not one of your least favorite holidays, per se. But the intensity of it can be incredibly draining. The constant declarations of affection, the emotionally gooey visual representations of one’s desire for another person, it’s too much even for some of your own friends who are coupled up. 

The reality of your loneliness pushes your mood down just enough that staring down your third bottle of beer makes you yearn for another, despite your alcohol tolerance being less than stellar. And to make matters worse, it sucks to be surrounded by others’ happiness when you’re so alone in love and in love with someone too enmeshed in your life as a friend, rather than a person of romantic interest.

Wonwoo sits with Vernon and Soonyoung at the high-top bar, nursing tequila shots and Coronas without bothering to look back at the rest of your table of friends. Yes, you were all celebrating Soonyoung’s new promotion and Vernon finally nabbing a girlfriend in time for Valentine’s this year, and they only stalked off a few minutes ago to share a few drinks on their own, but you wish Wonwoo was sitting next to you again. 

You always mocked him for telling you to slow down. To drink water to avoid dehydration or to eat something to offset your alcohol intake. With all of his parroted wisdom that drives some of his closest friends crazy, you love him for it. You love him for a lot of reasons, really.

“Maybe you should just tell him, you know?” Seokmin says across from you, looking over at you from the rim of his Whiskey Sunrise. It’s a sickly shade of red, grenadine mixed in with the other ingredients to commemorate the holiday season. You wonder if it tastes like cough syrup, because it sure looks like it.

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” You ask with a slur, licking the remaining beer on your lips. “It’s not that easy to destroy seven years of friendship.”

“Come on. You act like nobody else has noticed when it’s plain as day, babe,” Seungkwan pipes up next to you, elbowing you softly in the ribs with an accompanying waggle of his eyebrows.

“And what is your best course of action, Dum and Dee?” You split your stare between both of your friends, your irritation peaking. “I just go over to that bar and confess everything to him. Then he’ll say he’s felt the same this entire time and we ride off into the sunset together?”

“One, you don’t need to be rude,” Seokmin responds. “Two, you don’t have to make it so dramatic. Get him alone tomorrow, maybe. Talk it out, see where it goes.”

“Exactly,” Seungkwan says. “It doesn’t need to be this big movie scene thing.”

“What movie?” Soonyoung asks, sitting back down next to Seungkwan and in front of his empty bowl of ramen. The other boys follow suit, Vernon alongside Seokmin and Wonwoo next to you once again.

It feels like torture and sanctuary in the same moment, so close but so far from what you wish the two of you could be.

“Nothing, just this documentary we all saw the other night,” you respond. You press your lips to your bottle again, pouting when the last droplets hit your tongue. “I’m gonna get another,” you say to nobody in particular. Wonwoo perks up once he notices you stumbling to get out of your chair.

“Not so fast,” Wonwoo says as you fall back into his arms. “I think I should get you home.”

“No, the night’s still young!” You whine into his jacket, your hair ruffling the skin on his neck. His chest rumbles with laughter, but nothing at the moment is funny to you. You don’t want to leave just yet, and he doesn’t need to treat you like a baby. “We still haven't even gone to karaoke.”

“Another night. Go sleep it off!” Vernon calls from behind you.

“You kids have fun!” Seokmin says with a conspiratory wink. You and Wonwoo walk towards the entrance of the bar, and you want to throw something at Seokmin to make your idiot best friend’s dumb smirk and even more ridiculous idea of confessing your feelings to your mutual friend blip out of existence.

Wonwoo has seen you at your lowest. He consoled you after you ran your car into a parked motorcycle when you were sixteen, your humiliation palpable the whole three hours you both waited for the police to show up. He’s held you in his arms after every failed romantic relationship, telling you it was always them and never you when it ended poorly. There’s nothing the two of you haven’t been there for each other for, no experience too vulnerable to share and overcome together.

But Wonwoo holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you throw up may just be the all-time low of your embarrassing moments. He whispers in your ear that you’re okay and rubs your back with a soft hand, and you feel all the worse for it. How could he ever love someone this prone to disaster, this cringeworthy?

“You should go home,” you cry into the toilet bowl. “I’m disgusting.”

Wonwoo says your name in a mocking tone, pretending to be serious but in no way critical of you or the situation. He takes off his plaid button up and throws it in some random corner of your bathroom, free to hold you as close as possible as you continue dry-heaving. “You’re not disgusting.”

“Of course you’d say that, you’re you.”

He laughs again, tucking what hair he can from your face so you can lift your head off of the toilet. “And what’s that?”

You look at him with puffy, half-open eyes. “Perfect.”

He helps you up from the tile floor and moves you to your bedroom on your weak legs. He sheds off your overshirt as you kick off your denim jeans. Your mind rumbles with a whirlpool of thoughts as his brain ruminates on the word you used when comparing himself to you.

“I’m in no way perfect, kid,” he whispers. The nickname he’s used on you forever feels like a backhand, a copious amount of salt in a wound you know will never heal. He’ll always see you at a distance from him, his feelings leagues away from yours.

“Don’t call me that,” you cry into your pillow, resting your cheek deep into the material to muffle the quiet sobs in your throat. He can’t be serious, talking to you so tenderly when you’re falling apart.

“Hey, can you look at me?” You shake your head and settle deeper into the pile of comforters and throw pillows. Wonwoo suddenly feels his gut turn into a dozen knots. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, how to fix it, or what to say to make things better, and it kills him. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Because you’re too perfect to love someone like me. But I love you so much, and it fucking sucks,” you hiccup, the darkness of your bed making you believe he’s not there, this isn’t real, and it’s okay to release all the words in your heart into the dark. “And every time I see those damn red and pink hearts all over the place, I think of you and I want to die.”

The force of your confession almost knocks Wonwoo on his ass. At the very least, he settles onto the desk chair near your bed and hears your whimpers give way to light snores.

He runs his hands through your hair again and tucks the covers up to your chin. He holds himself back from pressing a kiss to your forehead, the one thing he’s always done when you’ve passed out countless times before in his presence, but never recalled the next morning. This time, though, he prays you’ll remember your drunken admission.

“I hope you meant everything you said,” he whispers before retreating to your couch to fall asleep to the sounds of the cityscape below.

You wake up to low jazz playing from your living room TV and the smell of sizzling eggs. Each limb aches from the heavy sleep you fell under last night. You quietly pad out of your room to find Wonwoo cooking what looks to be the perfect mix of breakfast and hangover food. A makeshift Bloody Mary sits on the counter next to him, waiting for you.

Wonwoo turns when he senses you behind him, and he grins. “Hey, you’re awake. I was worried you’d be passed out until the afternoon. I wouldn’t blame you, though.”

You blush a shade deeper, still sporting your tank top and clad in a pair of boy shorts. You forgot you had taken your pants off before slipping into bed the night prior, but it isn’t the first time Wonwoo’s seen you half-clothed. You drink half of the concoction and set it down, your headache throbbing a little less. “How bad was I last night?”

He smirks. “Bad enough to throw up another three times.”

You groan into the back of your hand and hitch yourself up on the counter across from Wonwoo, his focus still on the over-medium eggs in the pan. “I’m sorry you had to take care of me again.”

“I wanted to,” he says without looking up at you. “I always want to be here when you need me.”

“I know, I know, it’s your job to say that,” you joke.

He drops the metal spatula next to him on the stove, and you jump up at the sound. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t say a word for a moment, and you’re unsure if he’s even breathing when you ask him if he’s okay. “So, you don’t remember then?” His question comes out almost like a statement, but the wavered edge of it proves he is concerned with whatever has slipped your mind.

“Woo, you’re freaking me out.”

He turns the stove to a low, simmering heat before facing you. His eyes look sad but expectant, waiting for the inevitable to come to you. “You really have no idea what I’m talking about?”

You tuck your hair behind your ear, and in that instant, you recall that last hour before you fell asleep. Wonwoo helping you into bed. Crying in your bed. And all the words that followed.

The memories bring tears to your eyes and your hands to your face. “Oh my god—”

Wonwoo takes your palms away and holds them to his mouth. “Stop running from me.”

“Don’t make me say it again, Woo, please.” Your bottom lip trembles. You fight every instinct to run from the kitchen and out of the apartment altogether, wanting to accept the continuous pain of hiding your feelings than the truth that this could be the end of the both of you as you know it, for better or worse.

“Fine, you don’t have to.” Wonwoo’s lips curl into that grin you’ve adored for almost a decade. “I’ll say what I need to first, then.”

He takes a deep breath and sets his jaw. “I’ve been in love with you since the minute you threw your ice-cream at that biker who almost clipped me in the foot on the way to school. Remember? I may have loved you long before that, but that’s the moment I realized.

“And I don’t want to lose you. I want to be more than just the guy you call your best friend. I want to be the only friend that matters, the friend that kisses you goodnight and tells you how beautiful you are because there’s no other way to describe you. I love you, too, kid, whether you realized it or not.”

A breathy yelp leaves your mouth before you kiss Wonwoo on the mouth. It’s a hard one, a clash of teeth and a bit of tongue, but you didn’t expect less from such an unexpected and perfect confession. Maybe this was the way you rode off into the sunset together. Sure, there was the smell of burning eggs instead of the sounds of a white stallion gallivanting off to the unforeseeable future, but it’s perfect. It’s yours.

Wonwoo shuts the burner off entirely before he takes you by the hand into your bedroom. When your bed is in full view, he kisses you long and slow. It’s nothing like the first kisses you shared a second ago, but it’s earth-shattering all the same.

You moan into his mouth when he presses a free hand to your breast, teasing the skin above your shirt until your nipple pebbles.

“Is this too fast?” He asks in a gruff voice. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable, I just—”

You press a finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up. “If you do not take my clothes off right now and fuck me, I will never speak to you again.”

Wonwoo smirks and kisses you once more, only stopping to pull your tank top over your head and rip your underwear off of your legs. His fingers delve between your folds, and you shudder in his hold but refuse to let him take his hand away.

“You like this,” he whispers, the statement thick with his lust.

“Yes, it feels so good,” you whimper. You gasp when two of his fingers curl inside of you, his thumb still nestled on top of your clit to swirl around with the pad. The amount of pleasure he’s already given you is indescribable, and he hasn’t even truly done much yet.

You whine when he takes his hand away, but it’s to discard his own clothes and sit at the edge of your bed. He beckons for you to sit on top of him, and he doesn’t think twice about swirling himself between your essence and lining the head of his dick with your entrance. His tip is so swollen and covered in pre-cum, there’s no problem sinking it inside of your heat.

You share a mutual curse of pleasure when he bottoms out, his pelvic bone meeting your skin. You stay like that for a moment. You’re so full and unable to move from the size of him filling every empty space inside of you, you think this has to be a dream. Last night has not given way to day yet, and now is just a conjuring of your cruel mind. 

You get lost in your thoughts for so long Wonwoo brings his hand to your face and traces his fingers over your cheek, staring at you lovingly. “Where’d you go?”

You smile shyly and kiss his nose. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

“I guess I’ll just have to remind you it’s real.”

He takes your ass between his hands and spreads you out before thrusting up inside of you, making you gasp hard. He moves long and slow underneath you, almost taking his cock out of your pussy completely before delving back into you.

“I want to give you everything,” he pants. “All that I have—will have—is for you. You know that, right?”

“Yes, fuck,” you whisper, meeting his hips with yours as you try to set your own pace, sinking down onto him with every thrust where your skin meets with loud smacks.

“I love you so much,” he says into your neck before biting down on your soft skin. You moan loudly and press yourself deeper and harder against him. His cock hits you at the perfect angle as you straddle him, and you feel the start of your climax deep in your stomach.

Seven years of missed opportunities. More than too many chances for days and nights like this spent together so intimately gone to the wind. It’s easy to be regretful for all the time that you’ve wasted without each other, but you realize it’s not wasted at all.

Every step, every thread of fate that tied you two together, brought you here. Whatever comes of today is just an extension of what has already existed in your hearts. So what more is there to ask for?

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he growls in your ear. His balls smack against your skin as he continues to slam into you. Tears spring in your eyes as he moves even harder, trying to take you both to your peaks together. “Where can I come, baby?”

“Inside of me. I want all of it, all of you. Please,” you beg. You bounce harder on top of him, circling your clit with your fingers to fall off the precipice with Wonwoo by your side.

“You want to feel all of me, yeah? So full of my cum it’s all you’ll think about?” He smirks and replaces the fingers on your clit with his own. “Maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you with how much cum I give you. Would you like that?”

You see stars behind your eyelids as you listen to the beautiful, dirty words on his lips. You nod vigorously, wanting nothing more than for him to claim you in this way. It’s all you’ve thought about for years, truthfully.

“God, I’m coming,” you say into his neck, thighs quivering as the rest of your body goes slack from the pleasure. Wonwoo grunts into the shell of your ear as he orgasms himself, his seed spilling into you so deep you think there’s no way any remnant of him will slip out.

When he takes himself out of you, he swirls the mixture of both of your releases on his fingers before you take those fingers into your mouth, sucking them dry.

Wonwoo chuckles and kisses you deeply, the taste of the two of you on both of your tongues. “That’s one way to end Valentine’s weekend, don’t you think?”

You giggle and kiss him on both cheeks, too eager to see the rest of your future together. “You could say that.”

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @okiedokrie-main @brownbunnyb

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @/sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

[eelliotss]

— Borrowed time, part 1

‼️Caleb x reader. Reader not MC. University AU. Modern AU. Angst angst angst!

Everyone knows Caleb is in love with MC. Everyone. Including you. But that does not stop him from flirting with you, teasing you, keeping you close. And it definitely doesn’t stop you from falling for him—even when you know you’re just a stand-in, a place holder.

“Can’t we just enjoy the moment without making things complicated?”

word count = 5.3k

i poured my soul into this pls be kind 😭

part 2

The fresh scent of flowers lingered in the air as a cool breeze rushed past you. You tucked your hair behind your ear, gripped your bag tighter, and glanced at the university entrance.

A nervous breath escaped your lips. “Here we go.”

Laughter and chatter filled the air, students scattered across the school grounds. Some waved goodbye to their parents, celebrating their child’s first day at the country’s top university. Others rushed toward their friends, voices overlapping in a symphony of excitement.

“Do you even know the way to your class?” a concerned voice rang out.

“Pfft. Pa-lease! I can find my way around on my own,” the other answered confidently. “You, on the other hand, should not be late to your class, up-per-class-man.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, punctuating each syllable.

His laugh overtook all the others in the area. “Right, right. Text me when you get to your class, pipsqueak.” He smiled and ruffled her hair.

“Ugh! You’re messing up my hair!” she groaned, swatting his hand away.

She pushed him—harder than she realized.

A sudden force knocked into you, sending you off balance. Your stomach lurched—before you could hit the ground, strong arms caught you, steadying you in place. A shriek escaped your lips.

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted out, pulling back just as quickly.

You pushed him off, steadying yourself, ignoring the faint trace of his cologne still lingering in the air.

“Oh my god, I didn’t see you!” A girl rushed forward, grabbing your hands like she’d known you forever. Her enthusiasm pierced through your ears, but her wide-eyed concern softened the frustration building in your chest.

“Are you okay? That was my fault!”

Your eyes met hers—bright, warm, and completely sincere.

“…Yeah, I’m fine.” The irritation dissolved as you took in her worried expression. “It’s okay.”

She beamed, relief washing over her. “I’m Michaela. What’s your name?”

It was history from then on.

•

You found out she was in the same year and major as you, and you became best friends almost instantly. Naturally, that meant getting close to him too—Caleb, as he introduced himself.

You also learned that you shared the same minor with him, so despite everything, you’d be seeing him in class.

It is another mundane day. You get to class and put your bag down on a seat, plopping your body down on the chair. A sigh leaves your lips as you look at your phone to check the time.

8:45. Having a class this early should be illegal.

You put your earphones on, hushing the quiet of the room with a faint song. You close your eyes as you wait for the others to reach.

“You’re early, kiddo,” his hand on your head pull you out of your daze. Your eyes shoot open and is met by a large yawn.

“I cant afford to be late again. I’m one mark away from failing the morning classes,” you groan as you tug off your earphones.

A sheepish smile tugs at his lips as his hand lingers a little too long in your hair, ruffling it just enough to mess it up before pulling back—slowly, like he enjoys the way it falls back into place.

He settles into the seat next to you, elbow propped against the desk, body angled toward yours.

“You need someone to wake you up in the morning?” he teases, his voice dipping just enough to make it sound like an offer.

“Are you offering?” you tilt your head, raising a brow.

Caleb grins, lazy and amused. “I wouldn’t want my shortcake failing a class I’m in,” he muses, tapping a knuckle lightly under your chin. The touch is fleeting, barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch. “Who else would I have to mess with?”

You’re used to the nickname he has given you now. It used to annoy the shit out of you, how he used to tease about you being below his shoulders or how you have to tiptoe to reach for something— shortcake, that’s where the name came from. You scoff, swatting his hand away. “Wow, I feel so valued.”

He chuckles, low and effortless, settling into his seat. “You should. I don’t just give my attention to anyone, y’know.”

“Oh? So I’m special?” You flash him a smug look, crossing your arms.

Caleb tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “Mmm… yeah, let’s call it that.”

He leans in just slightly, just enough to invade your space but not quite touch. His lips quirk up as he lowers his voice just for you to hear.

“…Or maybe I just like how cute you look when you get all flustered.”

You blink, heat creeping up your neck, but you refuse to let him win.

“So you admit it,” you say, keeping your tone light and teasing. “You think I’m cute.”

Caleb laughs, leaning back like he’s completely unbothered. “Shortcake, I’ve been saying that since day one. Keep up.”

His confidence is so insufferable you can’t help but roll your eyes. “God, I feel bad for all the freshmen falling for your charm.”

“Falling for it?” He raises a brow, smirking. “You say that like you’re not included, sweetheart.”

The nickname makes your stomach do a stupid little flip, but you mask it with a scoff. “Please, I’m completely immune to your antics.”

“Uh-huh.” Caleb leans in again, resting an elbow on the desk while watching you like he’s amused by a private joke. “Is that why your ears are turning red?”

Your hand immediately flies to your ear, and Caleb bursts out laughing.

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Upperclassmen really are the worst.”

“Aww, but I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” He tilts his head, smiling like he already knows the answer.

You roll your eyes at him. “Your confidence is getting to your head.”

Caleb’s hearty laugh fills the room, his presence naturally drawing attention. More students trickle in, filling the seats, and as expected, the weight of lingering gazes settles around you.

The girls steal quick glances at the man beside you, their whispers barely concealed. The boys, on the other hand, greet Caleb with easy familiarity, taking their places around him like it’s second nature.

It’s nothing new. You’re used to it.

“Hey, Yn,” a voice cuts through the chatter.

You glance over as Matt slides into the seat beside you, grinning.

“Hey, Matt,” you reply, offering a small smile.

“You coming to the party tomorrow?” he asks, leaning in just enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne.

Before you can answer, Caleb hums beside you, loud enough to interrupt.

“What party?” he asks, resting an arm on the back of your chair like he’s settling in for the conversation.

Matt glances at him, unfazed. “The one at James’ place. Pretty much everyone’s going.”

Caleb nods slowly, then shifts his gaze to you, eyes twinkling with amusement. “And here I thought shortcake wasn’t the party type.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I can be fun.”

“Oh, yeah?” Caleb smirks, tapping a lazy rhythm against the desk. “Guess I’ll have to see it for myself, then.”

You raise a brow. “Wait—are you going?”

Caleb shrugs, his smirk never faltering. “Wouldn’t want my shortcake getting lost in the crowd, would I?”

Matt laughs, shaking his head. “Man, you’re acting like she needs a babysitter.”

Caleb tilts his head, looking at you like he’s thinking about something. Then, with obnoxious ease, he says, “Nah, just wouldn’t want her getting scooped up by some guy with bad intentions.”

Matt raises a brow. “And what, you’ve got good intentions?”

Caleb grins. “Not at all. But at least she knows mine.”

The room erupts in laughter, but your heart stumbles over itself for half a second.

Because there’s something about the way he says it—like it’s a joke, but not entirely.

You roll your eyes, forcing a smirk. “Right. So you’re just going for me, huh?”

Caleb doesn’t even blink. “Why do you look surprised?”

And maybe it’s just your imagination, but for a moment, his gaze lingers, just a second too long.

Matt scoffs, turning his attention to the professor entering the room. “Text me once you’ve made your mind, Yn.”

“Sure,” you answer, unaware of the furrow crawling its way up Caleb’s face. However, you don’t miss the way Caleb’s fingers stop their lazy tapping against the desk.

The class went by agonizingly slowly. You twirl your pen in your hands, scribbling stuff down to keep yourself from knocking out. The next thing you know, you feel a poke on your cheeks.

“You better get up before people see your drool,” Caleb smirks.

You quickly covered your face and wipe off the drool as Caleb laughs. You furrow your brows, feeling the embarrassment crawling up your face.

“I didn’t drool!”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say, shortcake,” he chuckles.

You both left for your next classes and the day quickly came to an end.

•

“You going to the party tomorrow?” You ask MC as you walk out of the campus.

She ponders for a second before answering, “Nah. I’m not big on parties and have so much work piling up,” she whines. “You should go, though! Have fun for both of us.”

Her sheepish smile never fails to bring one to your face as well. “I’m still deciding too.”

MC suddenly stops in her tracks, an excited gleam sparkles in her eyes.

“Are you free today, though?”

“Yeah… Why?” You suspiciously eye her.

Before you know it, you are at the mall, arms linked with hers as she weaves through the racks of clothes. “I just need one dress,” she says. “Fifteen minutes, tops.”

You should’ve known better.

It’s been forty five minutes and counting.

You dont mind, really. Shopping with her is familiar, easy. She’s the type to hold up dresses in front of you and make you spin for her, laughing as she debates which colour would fit her best.

And then her phone buzzes.

As soon as she unlocks it, her smile grows wider.

You dont even have to ask who it is.

She taps on her phone, giggles, and shoves her phone in your face.

Caleb [5:36 PM]: wya?

MC [5:37 PM]: Shopping. Why?

Caleb [5:37 PM]: Need me to carry your stuff? ;)

MC [5:37 PM]: You know me too well

“Caleb’s coming,” she beams.

You nod. It isn’t really anything out of the ordinary.

Unsurprisingly, a few minutes later, he’s here.

He slides into the store like he belongs there, like he already knew exactly where MC would be.

“Alright,” he sighs, grabbing the bags from her hands with ease. “What am I hauling this time?”

MC beams at him, poking his side. “A gentleman and a mind-reader. No wonder all the girls want you.”

The Caleb smirks, like it’s a well-worn joke between them. The joke mirrors the one you had with him this morning. But somehow, the interaction feels much… different.

Deeper. Warmer.

Like it belongs to them.

You watch as MC doesn’t hesitate to press a dress against Caleb’s chest, measuring the colour against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t joke, doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

Like it’s always been this way.

Just like the way he doesn’t just carry her bags— he takes them before she even asks. The way he doesn’t just respond— he already knows what she’ll say. The way she doesn’t have to tease to get a reaction— he’s already looking at her like she’s the only thing in the room.

And you— watching. Like you always do.

Eventually, MC disappears into the dressing room, leaving you and Caleb alone.

“Having fun?” Caleb drawls, lazily shifting the shopping bags in his hands. His gaze falling onto you for the first time this evening.

You huff, crossing your arms. “Oh, the best time. Watching you two be so disgustingly in sync is exactly how I wanted to spend my evening,” you joke. But somehow, it stings a little.

Caleb laughs, light and amused. “What, jealous I didn’t offer to carry your stuff too?”

You raise a brow, feigning thoughtfulness. “Maybe I just wanna see if I get the same VIP treatment.”

His smirk wides, “You want me to spoil you, shortcake? Should’ve just said so.”

It’s easy, the way he flirts with you. But it’s just that— easy.

MC steps out of the dressing room, and immediately— probably unconsciously too— he straightens.

“Thoughts?” she twirls.

“Get it.” His response is instant.

MC laughs. “What do you think, Yn?”

You smile, pushing the uneasiness down. “You’re pretty in everything you wear, MC.”

“You got a good eye, Yn,” Caleb adds, his eyes never leaving her. “It looks good on you.”

The warmth in his voice is undeniable.

It’s the way he doesn’t say it playfully, doesn’t throw in a teasing nickname, doesn’t smirk.

It’s the way you fall into the background.

The ride home was unbearably normal. MC chats away about weekend plans, upcoming assignments, something funny she saw on TikTok.

Caleb hums along, adding in a sarcastic comment here and there. His eyes are glued on the road sparing a few glances her way.

You sit at the back seat, nodding at the right moments, but your mind is already made up.

You need a break. From this. From them.

From him.

So when you see Matt’s notification—

Matt [7:03 PM]: You coming tmr?

You don’t even hesitate.

You [7:24 PM]: Yeah

•

The bass thumps against your chest the moment you step inside. The air is thick with laughter, sweat, and the sharp bite of alcohol.

You exhale, rolling your shoulders back.

You’re here to forget.

Forget the way he looks at MC like she’s his entire world. Forget the way your own heart stupidly flips when he looks at you.

“Yn! You finally show up!” Matt calls out to you as you maneuver through the thick crowd, pulling you into the group he is in.

“Guys, this is Yn,” he introduced you to the group. “Hi!” you shout through the music, a nervous smile crawls up your face.

You’re not used to this setting— the alcohol, the mingles, the thumping of music, the proximity, the lights and colours. Every thing is making you drunk, even before you’ve touched any alcohol.

One of the guys whistles. “Oh! You’re that third wheel between Caleb and Michaela!”

Hah.

The third wheel.

“Forget it, we’re here to have fun tonight!” someone else chirped in as he handed you a drink. You’re not sure what it is— it’s not like you care anyways.

“Yeah,” I force a smile as you drown the drink. The alcohol stings your breath, its heat slowly goes down your chest. You slowly exhale, welcoming the warmth that spreads through you.

The alcohol burns, but it’s a different kind of ache—one that numbs instead of sharpens. It’s exactly what you need.

You roll your shoulders back, forcing yourself to relax.

Forget it. Forget him.

The music pounds through your veins as Matt laughs beside you, clinking his drink against yours. “That’s the spirit.” He’s a bit too close. You can feel his body pressed against yours.

But maybe thats what you want right now.

You let yourself sink into the noise, the bodies moving around you, the way everything blurs at the edges. Someone pulls you into a conversation, another offers you another drink, and soon enough, you’re laughing at something you barely even hear. Bodies push and pull, you sway with the beats, lost in the moment, the lights, the colours, the intoxication.

For the first time in a while, you almost feel—

“You didn’t tell me you were coming, shortcake.”

Your stomach drops.

That voice—smooth, amused, effortlessly familiar.

Your entire body tenses before you even turn around.

And when you do, there he is.

Caleb.

Standing way too close, a drink in one hand, the other shoved lazily into his pocket. His hair is slightly tousled, his sleeveless shirt making it impossible not to notice the way his toned arms shift as he leans in.

But none of that matters.

Because Caleb doesn’t go to these parties.

Everyone knows that.

And yet—he’s here.

Your jaw tightens as you glance at him, forcing a smirk. “Didn’t think you liked these things.

He grins. “I don’t.”

Your brows knit together. “Then what are you doing here?”

He hums, taking a slow sip of his drink before tilting his head at you. “What do you think?”

Your grip tightens around your cup.

He’s messing with you. Like always.

And you should ignore it, should walk away before you let him ruin this night for you—

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Instead, you match his energy, your own lips curling into a smirk.

“Well, hope you’re not expecting me to entertain you,” you quip, voice light, teasing. “I’m actually busy.”

“Busy, huh?” He raises a brow, clearly amused. His gaze flickers past you, scanning the group you came with.

Your pulse quickens.

He’s not jealous. You know that.

But the way his eyes narrow just slightly, the way he lingers—like he’s assessing something, calculating something—

It almost feels like he is.

And for some stupid, reckless reason, you want to test it.

So you shrug, taking another sip of your drink. “Yeah. Matt has been real good company today.”

Caleb’s laugh is slow, deep, and entirely too amused.

“Interesting,” he repeats, nodding slightly. “Guess that means I should try harder, huh?”

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the music.

“Caleb!”

A girl stumbles forward, eyes wide. “Oh my god, I didn’t think you’d actually come!”

Heads start turning. More people flock toward him, pulling him into their circle.

And just like that—you’re being pushed back.

You watch as Caleb greets them with that easy, sheepish grin—the one that makes everything look so effortless. The crowd bombards him with the same teasing remarks as always.

“Damn, what happened? Where’s your girl tonight?”

They don’t need to say her name. Everyone knows.

MC.

She’s not here. And somehow, Caleb being here without her is more surprising than him being here at all.

But he doesn’t seem bothered. He just chuckles, shaking his head.

“She doesn’t need me today.”

The words shouldn’t mean anything. But they do.

But before you can even process it, his gaze shifts and

Lands on you.

And his next words knock the breath from your lungs.

“Besides,” Caleb muses, voice light, playful, teasing— “Someone else probably needs me more right now.”

The crowd erupts.

“Ooooh, damn! Who’s the unlucky girl getting swept off her feet while your girl isn’t here to keep you in check?”

Caleb’s smile grows. Slowly, lazily.

He tilts his head, feigning innocence.

“What do you mean, unlucky?”

They laugh. They cheer.

You stand there, watching, feeling every single emotion crash into you at once.

Because they’re joking. Because he’s joking.

But somehow, you cannot muster a smile up your face.

He probably saw your face, or the look in your eyes, or probably the way your lips seem to tense a bit more.

He quickly finishes the drink in his hand, and someone quickly hands him another.

“Thanks,” he flashes a warm smile to the girl who hands him the drink as he reaches for it, brushing his hands softly against hers.

She’d probably replay the scene over and over for the next week.

His eyes finds yours once more before swiftly slipping out of the group of people.

You quickly turn away, desperate to vanish somewhere.

Anywhere.

Today was supposed to be a day without him.

However, your body betrays you. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, perhaps it’s the lingering sting of his gaze, perhaps it’s just him. The world tilts, and before you can catch yourself—

A strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into his chest and stabling you on your feet.

“How many drinks have you had?” His voice low, edged with amusement, but there’s something else in it, something almost concerned.

You barely process his words because his chest is against yours, his breath warm against your temple.

You exhale, hands instinctively gripping his shirt as you try to steady yourself— not just from the dizziness, but from everything else.

Too close. He’s too close.

And he knows it.

His grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens, his fingers pressing just slightly against the curve of your waist.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice dropping just a little lower.

You swallow, ignoring the way your heart pounds against your ribs.

“I’m fine,” you manage, but your voice betrays you— it’s softer, breathier than you meant it to be.

Caleb smirks.

“That so?”

He doesn’t let go.

Instead, he leans in just a fraction closer, eyes flickering down—to your lips, to the way your breath hitches.

It’s a game. You both know it’s a game.

“I heard people say you were looking for a distraction,” his voice dips, low and deliberate. His fingers trail lightly along your spine, just enough to make you shiver.

“Was Matt a good distraction?”

A pause.

His thumb brushes against your hip.

“Or do you want something more… intoxicating?”

Your breath catches.

All you can feel is the thumping of your heart against your ears, his low voice teasing your pulse, his warmth consuming you.

“I see the way you react to me,” he murmurs.

His fingers tighten, pulling you closer, his lips barely grazing your ear now.

“The distraction you want… it’s a distraction from me, isn’t it?”

His hand trails up, brushing the exposed skin of your arm.

“You don’t have to say it,” he muses, eyes glinting.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, unsteady, breathless.

“You like this, don’t you?” Caleb murmurs, his voice impossibly smooth, seductive.

Your throat tightens, but you don’t pull away.

You don’t deny it.

You can’t.

And he smirks, because he knows.

“Good.” His lips ghost over the curve of your jaw, not quite kissing, just enough to tease.

“Because I like yours too.”

His voice dips lower, slower— almost like a confession.

The world spins, but this time, it’s not from the alcohol.

Your grip on his shirt becomes tighter, if it’s even possible. He leans even closer, his breath warm against your lips, hovering— teasing, testing, waiting.

For you to pull away.

For you to stop him.

But you don’t.

You close your eyes, letting him consume you. He closes the distance his lips pressing into yours with slow, unhurried intent. There’s no rush, no urgency— just a deliberate pull, like he wants you to feel every second of it.

His hand on your waist tightens, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath catch. His other hand finds the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up, deepening the kiss like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips.

He moves— presses deeper, pulls you closer—

And deliberately, it turns hungrier. Slow, but consuming.

Like he’s claiming you— if only for this moment.

His teeth graze your bottom lip, a light tug, a silent dare.

Your fingers snake to the crevice of his neck, pulling him in like you don’t want this to end.

You somehow find a way to a secluded corner, and he pushes your back against the wall. He rests his arm on the side of your head, balancing his weight on the wall as his other hand rests protectively at your waist. His lips leave yours, trailing kisses down your neck. His teeth grazes your skin, earning gasps and small involuntary noises from you.

His lips drag along your pulse, slow and teasing, a deliberate contrast to the heat pooling between you.

You don’t even realize your fingers are tugging his hair, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you steady.

Caleb chuckles against your skin, the sound low, smug— satisfied.

“You sound so sweet,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the spot just below your jaws.

“Caleb…” you breathe. “What does this mean?” The air suddenly turn thick as the words slip out before you can stop them.

Maybe it’s because you don’t want to believe that the one towering you right now is simply using you as a distraction from the girl he longs for. Maybe it’s because you want to hear an answer that would put the pit in your stomach at bay. Maybe you want to hear a lie that’ll at least make this moment feel more real. Or maybe you’re just too drunk on everything.

You swallow. “What are we?”

You feel his smirk against your skin before he nips at it, just enough to make your breath hitch.

His hand on your waist tightens, grounding you, holding you in place as he trails even lower. Then he exhales a quiet laugh— low, breathy, like you’ve asked something ridiculous.

His lips brush your ear.

“Why do we have to be anything?”

He leans back just enough to look at you, and there’s something in his eyes— something unreadable, something you wish you could hold onto.

“Isn’t this enough?”

His fingers trail up your arm, slow, lazy, desperate. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

Your breath catches.

His thumb strokes along your jaw, coaxing you, soothing you. “I know you like this,” he murmurs, his voice a slow, dangerous drawl.

And then—he smiles.

That same playful, easy, charming smile.

Like this is just another game.

Like it isn’t breaking you apart.

“Just enjoy it, shortcake.”

He kisses you again before you can respond.

“Don’t over complicate things.”

You should say something, you should fire back—

But then he sucks at the sensitive skin near your collarbone, and all that escapes you is a sharp gasp.

He chuckles again, pleased. “That’s what I thought.”

His hand slides up your side, slow, lingering—like he enjoys the way your body reacts to him.

Like he enjoys this.

And somehow, that’s what makes your stomach tighten the most—

Not just his touch, or his lips, or the way he’s holding you like he doesn’t want to let go—

But the way he seems to want this as much as you do.

Like for once, he’s here with you.

Not her.

You let that thought sink in, drown in it, just for tonight.

Because tomorrow, this moment won’t exist.

But then, the dream came to an abrupt pause.

PING

The sound cuts through the haze, through the heat, through everything. Caleb stops whatever he was doing. His hands leave your body, his warmth fades, leaving you a breathless mess against the wall.

He exhales, sweeping his hair back as he pulls out his phone.

Your eyes fall to his lips, the way it’s a bit swollen with smudges of your lipstick faintly staining him.

Then— a smile.

Not the teasing, cocky smirk he likes to throw your way. It’s a warm, heart-wrenching smile that reaches his eyes.

You don’t need to see the screen to know.

MC.

“I gotta go,” he murmurs, eyes still glued to the phone, fingers moving quickly as he types.

You don’t say anything.

You cant.

“Don’t get home too late, shortcake,” he states, eyes still on the phone.

Without sparing you a glance, he turns away and disappears into the crowd.

And you—stupid, foolish you—

Just stand there.

Waiting for something that was never yours to begin with.

•

You force your eyes open only to be met with light piercing into your eyes. You are not sure how the night ended, or how you managed to pull yourself home. You shot up, quickly checking the time.

8:45. Fuck.

You push yourself from the bed, ignoring the pang in your head.

Running into class, you quickly open the door, heaving as you scan the room for seats.

“Yn!” a voice calls out.

You turn to the source, and sure enough, it’s him.

He pats the empty seat beside him. “Here.”

You hesitate.

For a second, just a second, you think maybe he’ll say something. Maybe he’ll acknowledge what happened last night.

Maybe he’ll give you something.

But Caleb just leans back in his seat, grinning like always. Like nothing happened.

Like his hands weren’t all over you.

Like his lips weren’t on yours.

Like he didn’t leave you standing there, breathless and alone.

“C’mon, shortcake,” he drawls, patting the empty seat beside him. “I saved you a seat.”

You swallow, legs moving before your mind can catch up, and you take the seat.

And he smirks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes like he wasn’t out ruining you the night before.

He’s joking.

Laughing.

Acting like last night was nothing.

Like you’re nothing.

And you force yourself to laugh along.

•

The day goes by like any other day. You find yourself sitting with MC and Caleb, grabbing dinner at a nearby restaurant you frequent as soon as the day ends.

“So… how was last night?” she asks.

You pause, unsure of what to say. “It was okay,” you finally say. “I was a total mess.”

“Caleb told me he dropped by. Did you guys meet there?”

“No,” he answers. “There were too many people, I wouldn’t have been able to find shortcake there even if I was sober!” he jokes.

A pit builds in your stomach. You’re not sure of what to feel, how to react.

So you smile.

“True.”

MC drabble on, talking about how she suddenly had an urge for a late night meal and Caleb was kind enough to bring one to her in the middle of last night.

“I didn’t ruin your fun, right?” she turns to Caleb.

“You know I have the most fun with you, pipsqueak,” he chuckles, pinching her nose.

Oh. So that’s why he left.

They probably talked more about useless stuff. You can’t really comprehend what the conversations are about anymore. You excuse yourself, blaming it on the hangover and saying that you drank a little too much last night and need a sleep.

The moment you step out, the weight in your chest collapses. Your fingers tremble as you clutch your bag tighter, as you force your legs to move, one step after another, out the door, down the road, through the crowd.

Everything feels too bright, too loud, too much.

MC’s words echo in your head.

“I suddenly had an urge for a late-night meal, and Caleb was kind enough to bring me one.”

Your stomach twists.

That’s who he belongs to.

Not you. Never you.

You don’t even remember the walk home.

It’s a blur—like the rest of the night, like every moment you spent trying to convince yourself you were anything more than temporary.

By the time you come to, you’re curled up in the corner of your room, knees pulled tight to your chest, the darkness swallowing you whole.

You feel empty.

Not just sad, not just hurt—hollow.

Like last night never even happened.

Like you never even happened.

Your fingers tighten against your arms, nails digging into your skin as if pain could anchor you to something real.

But nothing about this is real.

You were a moment.

A passing indulgence.

A warm body for him to hold when the one he truly wanted wasn’t there.

And the worst part?

You let him.

Because even if it wasn’t real, even if it was just for a second—

At least for that moment, he was yours.

PING

Your phone lights up.

Caleb [7:04 PM]: I’m free tonight

Caleb [7:04 PM]: You didn’t eat a lot earlier

Caleb [7:05 PM]: You want porridge?

Caleb [7:07 PM]: I’m coming over

You stare at the screen until the phone dims once more.

PING

MC [7:10 PM]: UGH I have to stay late at the library tonight

MC [7:10 PM]: Some last minute thing came up with my group project

MC [7:11 PM]: Gotta be stuck here forever T_T

Oh.

[lukolastrong]

Luke and A

Let’s talk about it 🤷🏼‍♀️

Since I’ve been receiving a lot of asks that are pro Luke and A, let’s break down why we are concluding that they’re a PR relationship. Let’s start with what is it and why are they needed at times.

Per our friend Mr. Google:

(paraphrased) A PR relationship is a contractual relationship or agreement. They are often at times needed to improve public image or boost interest in the said celebrity(ties).

When we look at everything we’ve seen, there should be no question about it. We know from interviews with Nic and other casts that Luke is a kind, caring, and sensitive individual, that he’s most like his character. We’ve also seen it with our own eyes when he’s interviewed, he’s so genuine. Ask yourself, why would a guy like that act the way he does with A? Why would he not hold her tightly and look proud to beside her? He wouldn’t. You know who he does do that with though? Nicola. Take the two pictures below as an example:

I chose these because they are fair between the two. They’re both posed pictures for a professional photo. What do you see that’s different? With A, he’s serious and stiff. He has his hand in his pocket * which has a meaning of feeling uncomfortable and wanting to leave the situation/social setting. It’s written all over his face, his jaw is clenched. With Nic, he’s relaxed and inviting (his body is facing hers (his chest and torso are against her)) I mean he’s practically laying on her. His jaw is unclenched.

* I talked about body language and Luke’s use of it here:

Why would a PR relationship be necessary for him and A? I firmly believe they started out as a fling but when Luke realized he had feelings for Nic and she reciprocated, he broke it off. Now, it’s anyone’s guess as to what lead to this partnership. She’s clearly getting exposure being tied to him which could lead to future opportunities for her but the big question is, when is it set to end? My guess is sometime this year. Things are moving quickly bts as they’re filming season 4 as happily married and based on Luke’s actions at the SAGs, I don’t think this man can hold off much longer. I don’t believe in the blackmail theory. I believe that she probably asked or asked his friend Rory to ask him to help her network with his connections and in return they’ll act as a couple at public events to keep the public eye out of him and Nic’s business. This obviously isn’t working as hoped since they are like magnets to each other and can’t hide it🙂‍↕️

Don’t always believe what you see or what you hear. There has never been a confirmation from Luke that they are together. The Boss event wasn’t their hard launch. He tagged everything but her in his post (which tbf doesn’t mean a lot) BUT his actions do mean a lot and he was telling us without directly saying anything.

[thecapricunt1616]

Promptober Day 10👻

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 (𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭): “I said I don’t fucking care- just pick something! God” Carmy huffs, going back to scribbling down ideas for the weeks upcoming menu. It was already Sunday evening, and he was overwhelmed and stressed about having to come up with the weekly menu all on his own since Syd was out sick with the flu. 

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hellooooo! Welcome to day 10/31 of Promptober! We are 1/3 of the way through, can you believe it! Thank you so much for all of the love you've all been giving me in regards to both prompt&kinktober! As always,  you can view my schedule & masterlist for this celebration right 🦇here🦇! You can also view the same for my 2024 Kinktober celebration right 🎃here🎃! & If you'd like to be added to the taglist for either celebration, comment on the according masterlist & I will add you! 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k+ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Smut, Face-sitting, No use of y/n, Pet names, sassy Carmy, kinda breath play?, Handcuffs 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬: @/𝘀𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗸𝗮-𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗰𝘀 & @/𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗰𝘀

“I said I don’t fucking care- just pick something! God” Carmy huffs, going back to scribbling down ideas for the weeks upcoming menu. It was already Sunday evening, and he was overwhelmed and stressed about having to come up with the weekly menu all on his own since Syd was out sick with the flu. 

It was rare that he got snappy with you, and knew that when he did it was because he was at his wits end. 

You had been going back and forth over what he should make the two of you for dinner, and you were being indecisive per usual. During times like these, he would usually have you pick from a list of 3 things he could come up with knowing the ingredients you two had in the house, but he didn’t want to have to think- he just wanted you to pick something. 

“Alright, well the first thing I want is my head back” you said in a challenging tone, watching him carefully at the way he reacted. Instead of spitting something back, he just dramatically rolled his big blue eyes without even looking up or acknowledging what you said. You scoffed a bit, putting a hand on your hip “excuse me? Hello?” You said in a firm tone and he finally lifts his head to meet your gaze. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about” he said monotone before looking back at his list and you tilt your head a bit at his bold neglect to take acknowledgment over his bratty behavior.  

“No- no. This is done, you’re done right now. Go lay down I’ll be in there in a second” you said and he shook his head, getting up and going to the bedroom, muttering something to himself about not being fair which just made you smirk. 

You went to your second bedroom which really just doubled as a closet for you, putting on a sheer pink babydoll lingerie dress, and grabbing the pink fuzzy handcuffs from your handcuff drawer. You sauntered back in, turning the fairy lights on for a dimmer ambiance and he sat up on his elbows when he saw you, interest perked when he saw your bare peaked breasts through the fabric. 

His reaction caused you to smirk, spinning the fluffy cuffs around your finger for good measure. “Strip down to your boxers. You need an attitude adjustment” you ordered, and before you could finish he was on his feet, kicking off his jeans and pulling off his fitted white T shirt before laying down for you on his back. 

You took his wrist, cuffing it to the bar of your metal frame, being sure it wasn’t so tight it was uncomfortable. “I’m gonna put that mouth to better use then sassing. You’re not allowed to touch yourself” you knelt above him and he eagerly nods looking up at you with a wanton gaze, cheeks pink all the way to the tips of his ears.”Use your words” you ordered 

“Yes Ma’am” he muttered and you fluffed your nightgown out as you got settled over his face, using his strong large nose to get yourself off at first and sighing in pleasure. He flattened his tongue over your hole, humming softly as he sucks on your folds, using his free hand to grip the fat of your ass.

“I think you’ve been working too much, Bear. You need to clear your head. You remember what to do if it gets too much, right?” You confirmed and he hummed, tapping on your flesh 2 times in succession and you hum. “Good bear” you grind your hips into his face and moan in tandem as he burried his nose and mouth into your flesh. Your eyes fluttered shut in bliss as you use his nose bridge to massage your clit and he rubs and squeezes at your hip as he ate you like a man starved. 

“Fuck- you’re so fucking good at that, babe” you brushed his curls off his forehead,looking down at him through the mesh of your nightgown to see his eyes were closed in bliss, brows knit together in focus as he lapped and slurped at your juices. “So pretty” you purr, grinding your face down further nearly cutting off his air, but he had talked to you about it before, it was his favorite form of breath play. 

“It’s so fucking hot you get so turned on when I suffocate you with my pussy like this- shit” you moaned out, head draping back and your long tendrils brushing his navel which caused him to shiver a bit. You giggled at the action, lifting your hips a bit to let him breathe and he panted softly, his face red and hot from both excitement and lack of breathing 

“You can go longer, I’ll tap you cmon” he said desperately, taking a big breath and you giggled as you sat down, grinding your hips in circles over his mouth and nose, a giggle quickly turning into a breathy moan as your jaw falls slack at the pleasure it brought. You bring a hand up to your breast, playing with your peaked nipple through the thin, mesh fabric of your nightgown, looking down at him with a minx like smirk.

“You’re a fucking freak- I love it” you put your hand on the headboard for support, finding his hand and holding it as you ride his face faster, moaning hotly as his nose brushes over your clit and he thrusts his tongue in and out of your pussy, pushing it up against your front wall and slurping down all that he could.

“Holy fucking shit- Yes- Carm oh my god- I’m gonna fucking cum” you whine, grinding down on him harder and he moaned into you, the vibrations pushing you closer to the edge. “Fuck - fuck carmy- D’you need me to get up?” you shifted your hips and he quickly grabs your hip with his free hand, pulling you back into place and moving his tongue faster. 

“Oh- oh- cumming” you squeak, feeling that hot pleasure filled wave flood your core, your abdomen clenching and core muscles spasming around his tongue. He sucked and slurped down what you gushed around him, nuzzling his nose back and forth over your clit in a way that had your eyes rolling back and lids fluttering shut involuntarily. He continued to eat you out like he never had before, Holding you there until you had fully ridden out your high and moaning into you like he was the one getting head. You could barely scream, or moan- you could just pant and gasp and shiver.

When he finally tapped you you were essentially brainless, looking down at him after you pulled off. His face was nearly purple but he had a lovesick smile on his face, nearly giggling. 

“Can we go again after I catch my breath?” 

Fin

Tag List: @carmenberzattosgf - @daysofyellowroses - @mouseymilkovich - @gallaghersgal - @carmybrainworms - @l4long-winded - @babyspiderling - @southsideserendipity - @djlnkaled

[sendpseuds]

Oh my god... Mall goth anakin x on-the-verge-of-a-midlife-crisis obiwan... Your Mind

[part one][part two]

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Obi-Wan knows he's already spent far more money than he'd planned. Store after store he's found himself nodding absently in response to every request Korkie makes. The huge wireless headphones he doesn't need. The limited edition sneakers that look identical to the ones already in his closet. The sunglasses all the cool kids are wearing.

Today, Obi-Wan can't seem to say No.

It would be easy to say he's doing it to make his son smile — it's not as if he's above buying a bit of the boy's affection from time to time — but the truth is, it would be far easier to stick to a budget were Obi-Wan's mind not so completely occupied by other things.

Things like leather harnesses and eyebrow scars.

Charcoal rimmed eyes and a teasing smile.

The unavoidable temptation of a shiny silver ring through a perfectly pouting lower lip.

Obi-Wan's cheek still burns where the young man kissed him, close enough to the line of his beard that he's certain the rough hairs must have tickled the soft corner of that painfully pretty mouth.

Had that actually happened?

Had it actually been want he’d seen in that sharp sapphire stare?

Had he actually said those things?

Meant those murmured words?

The questions are a near-constant loop in his head.

Being propositioned for sex is not an entirely foreign concept to Obi-Wan — it was certainly more common in his young and reckless years but he’s been single for a while now and it happens more often than people might think. Nowadays it’s usually, "Wanna get out of here?" from a tipsy patron in a dark dirty bar, or "Which one is yours?" from a single mother rooting for the rival team in the late innings of a high school baseball game.

The last time he was approached like this— with such brazen aggression, such wild open want — the last time a pretty young thing in leather and low-rise jeans cornered Obi-Wan in a dark neon-soaked room he had a fake ID and no clue he was about to become a dad.

"I think I'd rather call you Daddy."

Fucking hell.

"Hey, Dad?"

Obi-Wan needs to physically shake the thoughts from his head before he can look at his son.

His son who, as per usual, is buried in his phone.

"Yes?" Obi-Wan hums expectantly, as if he hasn't been walking around in a daze all day, cocking his head to one side when Korkie clicks off his phone but doesn't move to place it in his pocket.

"You've been really cool today," Korkie replies with a sincerity that hits Obi-Wan right in the chest, his heart squeezing tightly when he meets a pair of eyes that look like a mirror of his own, "and I know we planned to go to Dex's for lunch—"

Then Obi-Wan understands.

"But you have other plans?"

He looks appropriately apologetic.

He looks so much like his mom.

"Soniee just got her license," the teenager explains, holding up his phone as if it's evidence to his claim, his eyes darting away at the mention of his school friend's name, "She wants to celebrate."

"She wants to celebrate, hm?" Obi-Wan can't help but tease, barely resisting the urge to immediately apologize for the part his DNA had in the boy's complete inability to fight the blush creeping down his neck, remembering how endlessly Satine used to tease him, "With you?"

"Not just me," Korkie scoffs, somewhere between annoyed at his father and disappointed that it won't just be him and his crush driving around in the beat up sedan her father has been saving for her ever since he got that big truck he doesn't need, "She said she can pick me up here and drop me off at home later."

Obi-Wan know's that Home does not mean his apartment.

"I should call your mom—"

"I already texted her," Korkie quickly replies, holding up his phone to display the typical response of, "As long as it's alright with your father."

All Obi-Wan sees is the time.

And today, he just can't seem to say No.

"Alright," he agrees with a nod and a slanted smile, "As long as you promise to wear your seatbelt—" Korkie groans and rolls his eyes. Obi-Wan smiles. "And—" he continues loudly, holding up a finger as if to halt any oncoming complaints, "And if you consider spending an extra day or two with me before school starts so we can go up to Qui-Gon's camp."

"Fishing?" Korkie guesses, neither excited nor deterred by the prospect.

"I was actually thinking we could take his old Jeep out for some off-road driving lessons."

"Really!?"

"You can't—"

"I would never tell Mom."

Obi-Wan will tell Satine. He always does.

Sometimes, it's still fun to play the game.

"You're sure this is okay?" Korkie asks once the day's purchases are stuffed inside his new backpack, his tone almost uncomfortably earnest, "I feel bad about skipping lunch."

The kid probably thinks his dad is going to sit in their favorite diner by himself and frown into his french fries while Dex tries to cheer him up with wild stories of far faraway places.

Most times, he would probably be right.

Korkie also thinks no one has called Obi-Wan Daddy since he was seven.

"Get out of here," Obi-Wan insists with a smile, "I've got places to be."

That earns him a laugh.

There's an odd itch at the base of Obi-Wan's skull. One that crawls all the down his spine.

There's a secret in his throat he can't seem to swallow.

There's a low husky voice in the back of his mind counting down to a beautiful boy's thirty-minute lunch break.

"But that's more than enough time isn't it?"

He should leave.

Walk right out to the car and drive to Dex's alone exactly the way his son thinks he will.

"See you later, Dad!"

"Enough time for Daddy to fuck me—"

But, today, Obi-Wan just can't seem to say No.

[part one][part two]

[leeny-leens]

Draft: Untitled | BCJ x f!Reader

Five: Zoom Call

Warnings: blood (as a joke)

WC: ~1k

<< prev | m.list | next>>

there's SMAU part below the written part

Your mind was a jumble of thoughts, the most reoccurring one being curse words on repeat anytime Barty flashed you that sharp smirk of his, the one that stretched the corners of his mouth upwards in a way that had the skin strain against his lip piercings. The guy was unfairly hot, you thought, an epitome of sinful chaos incarnate. From the way his dark tousled hair fell over his eyes, streaks of acid green snaking through the mess, to the way his eyes glinted playfully when he cracked a joke or caught you staring a bit too hard at his face and piercings. The 3 o’clock shadow didn’t do much to help his case either, giving him a flair of rugged messiness that had your fingers itching to capture it on paper.

Still, you willed yourself to focus on the task at hand and not let yourself appear too distracted, especially when his piercing hazel eyes bored themselves into your soul, even through the screen. You were glad this was a zoom call and not an in person meeting, there was no way you would’ve survived a first meeting face to face with someone like him.

“-and in any case, hey, are you there?” His voice suddenly rang through your mind, and you scrambled out of your haze. “Sorry,” you muttered, rather embarrassed he’d caught you so absented minded. It certainly didn’t make for a good impression, that much is clear. Barty didn’t seem to mind at all however, rather he found humour in your scatter brained response. “Too distracted to pay attention?” He asked, his voice thick with that teasing lilt he’d made his trademark during the entire call. “Distracted by your ridiculous ideas,” you shot back, falling into the comfortable back-and-forth rhythm you’d built. It was an enigma really, how fast you both had warmed up to each other and fallen into a perfect mixture between friendly banter, familiarity and professional concentration.

“Come on, a segment where I’m soaked to the bone in blood would be amazing,” you didn’t dignify the statement with an answer, only threw him a dirty look you hoped was conveyed properly through the screen, and went back to jotting down the things you’d discussed.

He went back to his own notes, muttering dramatically about the censorship of his creative freedom as an artist, but when you looked up, the grin on his face betrayed the hurt he feigned. “We can consider it,” you finally relented, rolling your eyes at his over the top victory celebration. You gave your notes one last look over, just to make sure you didn’t miss anything, and realised with satisfaction that your two and a half hour meeting had been incredibly productive. Between Barty’s sharp memory and your penchant for details, the vision for this project came together slowly but surely. You’d talked over the things you’d already mentioned in your email exchange, but the majority of today’s meeting had been reserved to subtly feel out what kind of person you’d each be working with.

Underneath the jokes and easy going demeanour, you noticed an incredible work ethic in your partner, one that measured up well with your own. It was clear how much this song meant to him, and how passionate he was about bringing this vision to life. Your ideas seemingly bounced off each other, and the creative flow had been uninterrupted for longer than you could keep track time of. Now, there was not much left to discuss, at least for today’s meeting, and you stretched your arms above your head as the exhaustion caught up to you, courtesy of the constant focus you’d put out.

“Alright, is there anything else you’d like to discuss for today?” You asked the man on the other side of the screen. “Nope,” he replied, his cheek resting against his hand as he clicked through his laptop to presumably check for anything left to say. “Great, then I’ll draw up the contract per the discussed terms and-“

“No need,” he interrupted, “I’ll take care of the legal things, don’t worry about it.” When you stared at him with raised eyebrows, confusion and a hint of doubt overtaking your features, it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Gotta put my law degree to use somehow, you know?” He explained, causing your eyes to widen.

“You have a degree in law?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” His tone was tethering between mock offence and amusement, something that only further fuelled your confusion. “Do I not look like I could be college educated?” You knew he was only joking, but the statement made you realise how your confusion might have come across as offensive. “I- no I didn’t mean it like that,” you tried to stammer together an explanation, only for him to wave you off with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, not many know I used to study law before I got into making music,” he explained, “I dropped out before I could take the bar exam, but I did finish my bachelors.”

Each minute spent with this man unraveled more and more about him, yet it left you starving to know more. You couldn’t help it, not really, when he carried himself a certain way in public but sang about things that you could never express with your words alone. “Oh, is that why your first album is called Law and Disorder?” You asked, feeling proud at the connection you made when he gave you an approving nod.

“I think I made a great choice choosing you,” he mused after a few beats of silence, basking in the way you froze at his words. “I have a good feeling ‘bout this, let's give it our best yeah?” unable to do anything else, you didn't bother suppressing your own grin when you nodded. “Let's make this a masterpiece,” you added, a sense of exhilaration that you haven't felt in a long time coursing through you. Perhaps this project was the fresh air you oh so desperately needed in your career and life; and perhaps it would develop into something unforgettable.

Extra notes:

The call was awkward for a grand total of 30 seconds before Barty made the lamest joke in existence to break the tension

Barty claimed to be pretty free in his emails, but his appearance clearly tells a different story

he was going to shave before the call but ended up sleeping in due to the all nighter he pulled the night before and barely had enough time to shower and shave

he stared at YN as often as she stared at him, but no one needs to know that quite yet

on the topic of staring; most pictures of Barty are either blurry, dark, show his back or are taken from far away so up until he picked up the call YN had no real idea how he actually looked like

AN:

Yay first semi real meeting woohoo!! the plot is moving somewhere finally <3 I had to rewrite this chapter twice because the first time it was awkward and clunky and I hated it and while the second one isn't that much better I refuse to do it a third time

Taglist: @vun3r4b13xwrites @theynipulation @bubblegumcat229 @pookiebear16 @cruel-seduction @cursednevermore @starrynightviper @greenunoreversecard @idknunsadly

[toomuchracket]

birthday wish (d word matty x reader fluff)

it's the 6th for me already so here's the first of the matty35 birthday celebration fics, as organised by lovely @the1975attheirverybest and @abiiors!! pre-dating, very sweet, hope you enjoy <3

“for fuck's sake, matty, will you just fucking ask her?”

george is all but bashing his head off the desk in the office he and matty have unofficially claimed as their own, while the latter paces across the carpet, biting at the skin around his nails. “dunno, george. what if she says no?”

“wouldn't be the first time a hot girl's told you to do one, would it?”

“fuck off,” matty smacks his friend on the back of the head. objectively, he knows george is right - you are hot, that's merely a fact, you're gorgeous - but that doesn't mean he has to like hearing him bring it up.

whatever. it's not like matty can get mardy at him for it - he isn't your boyfriend, after all. technically, you're barely even friends; he's known you all of four weeks, and has yet to see you in a social setting. 

he really fucking wants to, though. hence, his current dilemma.

george laughs. “mate, you're only asking her to come over to mine for your birthday drinks. it's not like you're asking her out or anything.”

“no,” matty hums, eyes unfocusing on their view out the window as his brain conjures up thoughts of doing just that. it's a nice thought, admittedly not an unfamiliar one, and something he will absolutely get distracted imagining if he doesn't snap out of it now. he blinks. “i just think it'd be nice if she was there, y'know? but, at the same time, i don't want her to feel weird about me asking, cos she doesn't know us that well yet.”

“i think you're overthinking it,” comes the salient reply. “can sort-of see where you're coming from, but i reckon if you just fucking ask her like a normal person then it'll be fine.”

matty sighs. “alright. you're right. i'll ask her before the end of the day.”

“well,” george turns to him, shit-eating grin on his face. he nods towards the glass panel on the door. “she's heading towards us, so you're doing it now.”

fuck. matty peers through the window, heart softening as he watches you wander towards him - sorry, them - stack of papers in hand and your hair escaping the messy ponytail he watched you shove it into earlier. “perfect.”

he barely has time to force the panic from his face before you're knocking softly on the half-open door, poking your head around it with a sweet smile. “hi, boys. am i okay to come in with some admin? i can come back later if you're busy.”

matty opens his mouth to speak, but george beats him to it. “oh, we're not busy at all. matty was just doing my fucking head in, as per,” he laughs when matty scowls at him. “what d'you need?”

“just got some risk assessments for album events that i need you to read and sign. the fun stuff,” you awkwardly (endearingly, matty would say) put the papers on the desk, looking up at matty as you step back and shyly clasp your hands behind your back. god, you are so fucking cute. “and, for the record, i doubt what george just said about you is true, matty.”

“thank you, darling,” matty smiles, at the exact same time as george says “no, he genuinely was being a pain in the arse”; he turns to his best friend, glaring. “what, george, like you're being to me now?”

george winks at you. “worse.”

you giggle nervously, turning towards the door - matty's heart drops as you do. “well, don't let me get in the way. just get those back to me as soon as you can, please, alright?”

“wait, before you go,” george calls after you. “can we talk to you about something?”

“um, yeah?” you turn back around, pretty face panicked, and nervously cross one arm over your stomach to hold the other. “am i in trouble?”

fuck, you are so adorable. matty smiles as softly as possible - not difficult, though, when it’s you he’s smiling at. “no, no, of course not. what would you even be in trouble for, anyway? you’re perfect.”

“oh,” you smile bashfully. “thank you.”

“it’s true. anyway,” matty clears his suddenly-very-dry throat as best he can. “we were wondering… are you, um, busy on saturday?”

“the 9th?” your brow furrows as you think. “yeah, i am, actually - my friend’s moving in with his boyfriend, and i said i’d help,” the panicked expression crosses your face again. “why do you ask? is there something else on that day that i should be at?”

crestfallen, matty replies with a “no, it’s alright, not a big deal”; george cuts him off, though. “it’s not a work thing, no - we were just gonna ask if you wanted to come to the little birthday celebration we’re having for matty at mine that day-”

“but really, if you can’t make it, no hard feelings,” matty interjects, practically tripping over his words in his haste to reassure you (read: seem cool about it, and not let on that he’s disappointed). “we know it’s short notice.”

you blink a few times, biting your lip before you look directly at matty and speak. “what time would you want me?”

well, anytime, all the time, really. “oh. just after 4? it’s quite casual, not a sit-down dinner or anything. but, like i said, no pressure.”

“no, i think i could probably be there for that time!” you nod enthusiastically. “i’ll text you if anything changes, but,” you beam, and matty thinks his heart might pack in. “i’ll do my best to be there. thanks for asking, both of you.”

“of course,” george grins. “you’re our friend. why wouldn’t we ask you?”

he isn’t technically wrong, calling you that on behalf of both of them, but it still makes matty feel like he’s bitten into a lemon. a friend; how he wishes there was another word prefixing it, one only he could use to describe you.

still, you’ll hopefully be there to celebrate his birthday with him, and that sweetens everything - if you turn up, that is. “exactly. you’re top of the guestlist, darling.”

you huff out a laugh, looking at matty so affectionately he could cry. “better make a proper effort to get to the party, then,” you look at your watch. “i’m sorry, i’ve got to run to a meeting - hopefully see you at the weekend?”

“yeah,” matty nods. you’re out of the office before he can finish speaking, and his parting phrase comes out feebly as a result. “bye, darling.”

he moves to sit back at his desk, lifting one of the risk assessments and beginning to read it in silence. george peers round his laptop, gawking at his best friend. “why you being all emo?”

“i’m not.”

“yeah, you are. you’re like a black cloud,” a beat passes, then george speaks again, voice softer. “the invitation went well, at least.”

matty hums noncommittally. “s’pose.” 

“it did, matthew. she was excited. she said she’d try her best to be there. those are good things.”

“i know,” matty sighs. “i just… i hope she’ll be there. be a shame if she wasn’t.”

“i think she will.”

“well, we’ll see.”

***

“... happy birthday, dear matty, happy birthday to you!”

matty smiles at the mismatched chorus of voices, laughing when charli ruffles his hair after she sets the cake down on the coffee table in front of him. “oi, bean,” he lightly taps eilidh, sat on his lap, on the shoulder. “i know we’re a bit early to be celebrating your birthday, but will you help me blow out the candles?”

she nods excitedly, tiny ponytail bouncing. matty beams, and they gently blow out a “3” candle each, to a soundtrack of applause. ross, sat next to the two of them, reaches over to smooth his daughter’s hair. “have the cigarettes finally caught up to you, or are you just getting too old?”

matty furrows his brow. “d’you mean?”

“well, you just needed my toddler’s help to blow out your candles - stop it, i’m joking,” his friend laughs, leaning to the side to avoid matty smacking the back of his head. “did you make a wish?”

“obviously.”

“what for?”

“can’t tell you,” matty takes a sip of his wine, lifting it out of eilidh’s reach - ross lifts her onto his own lap, and she cuddles into him quite cutely. “won’t come true, otherwise.”

“fair enough,” ross shrugs. he nods to something behind matty. “g’s trying to get your attention, mate.”

“is he?” matty turns, heart rate increasing when he hears george saying your name into the phone pressed to his ear. after excusing himself from the table, he quickly follows his friend into the quiet hallway, tensing every muscle in his body to stop his leg bouncing in nervous anticipation.

the nerves fade quickly, though - george smiles as he talks, and then he says something that makes matty want to actually skip around the house. “you’re almost here? amazing, everyone’s looking forward to seeing you…”

understatement of the fucking century.

“... and yeah, i’ll make sure someone’s outside so you know where to go,” he laughs down the line, and matty’s heart melts at the thought of you endearingly asking for that. “alright, no worries. see you soon,” george ends the call, sighing dramatically before smirking at the birthday boy. “told you she’d be here.”

“yeah, yeah,” matty rolls his eyes, but he can’t keep his cheeks from lifting into a smile, no matter how hard he tries. although, to be fair, he’s not trying particularly hard. “i’ll wait for her, mate.”

“you sure? it’s your party, after all.”

“exactly - i should be there to greet the guests,” matty smirks. “and i fancy a cig, too, if i’m honest.”

george scoffs. “typical. here,” he chucks a set of house keys at matty, who manages to catch them with the very tips of his fingers. “you’d better head out now.”

“sweet.”

it’s actually a little bit chilly when matty steps outside george’s front door, but it’s a nice evening; the sun is just beginning to set, casting a golden hue over london, the birds are chirping quietly, and the whole thing is just really quite peaceful. he perches as well as he can on the front gate, lighting up a cigarette and contentedly taking a drag. by the time your uber arrives, he’s halfway finished the cig, but he barely has time to even think about stubbing it out before you’re out of the car and walking towards him. 

he waves, eyes trailing slowly up your body, lingering on your bare legs and almost popping out of his head when they take notice of the slight cleavage your sundress is showing off. not that it’s obscene, or anything, he’s just so used to seeing you all office-chic and buttoned-up. still, matty quickly shifts his focus to that beautiful face of yours, just to keep his cool.

as if he could, around you.

you beam as you near him. “hi! i’m so, so sorry i’m late,” you open your arms for a hug, and he slots into them eagerly, savouring the rose of your perfume. “had to marinate in the shower for a bit after today, i stunk.”

“well, you smell good now. and you look it, too, i love that dress,” matty replies, heart breaking ever so slightly when you pull apart. “and you’re here, that’s all that matters.”

“thanks! and i wouldn’t have missed your birthday, matty - speaking of, here,” you pull a bottle of red from your bag and hand it to him. “didn’t know what to get you, so i figured this was a safe bet.”

“you didn’t have to get me anything! thanks, though, darling,” he looks at the label, eyes widening. “shit, this is good. shall we go inside and open it?”

“oh, if you like,” you smile. “or you can save it for someone special, i'm cool either way.”

matty shrugs, smiling. “i mean, i'm looking at such a person right now.”

it's maybe a tiny bit far a statement for a platonic relationship, but you don't take it badly at all - you just smile back, quietly agree to share the wine, and follow matty when he leads you back into the house and straight into the empty kitchen.

you gasp when you see the birthday cake on the counter. “no! i missed the cake?”

“only by a few minutes,” matty stops rummaging in a drawer for the corkscrew to look round at you; his heart jolts when he sees you look genuinely sad. “really, darling, it's not a big deal.”

“i still feel bad, though. i really am sorry for not being here on time, matty.”

“hey, none of that, please,” he hands you a glass of wine and puts his arm around your shoulders, biting back a beam as you automatically melt into him. “like i said, you're here now, and that's the main thing. and it's my birthday party, so you have to listen to me.”

“alright,” you look up at him, smiling, and hold out your glass. “happy birthday, sweetheart.”

he smiles warmly at the pet name, heart aglow, and taps his glass lightly on your own. “thank you, darling. d'you think we should cut the cake?”

jesus, what a spiral that phrase could lead him into. thank god you're not wearing white today.

you nod. “where does george keep plates? i'll get them.”

“cupboard above the kettle.”

plates and knife procured, matty carefully slices into the cake, oohing and ahhing at the interior. “wow. look at the layers! they're so neat.”

“alright, paul hollywood.”

he giggles. “i love bake off.”

“so do i - oh, thank you,” you take the plate from him, and then a bite of the cake. “fuck me, that's good.”

he laughs, pushing himself to sit on the counter and taking a bite of his own slice. “christ, you were not kidding. fucking amazing.”

“isn't it?” you wash your bite down with some wine. “m'still sorry i didn't get to see you blowing out the candles, though.”

“eilidh helped me.”

you aww, perching yourself on the counter next to him. “i take it you made a wish?”

“of course.”

“good,” you rest your head on his shoulder, so casually intimate that matty thinks his legs would give way if he tried to stand right now. “d'you think it'll come true?”

he rests his head atop yours, smiling when you giggle at him. “you know what? i think it already has.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 32

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Well, this escalated in a way I didn't plan.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is a low drone. You can hear his curt tone as he comes through the front door. His slither is met by a booming timbre that makes you jump. Thor speaks loudly, enough for some of his words to thunder through the walls that divide you.

Your ears pulse as you try not to listen. You know you shouldn’t. By Laufeyson’s reaction alone, you know his brother is less than welcome. Thor’s presence brings you little peace yourself as the memory of his creeping touch crawls up your spine.

You sit behind the laptop and try to focus on the screen. If you can distract yourself, it will be over soon enough and Thor will be gone. Maybe then, you can figure out why Mr. Laufeyson has turned to ice.

“...is she?” The two words echo and jar you from your failing battle.

Laufeyson’s response is short and sharp. You fill in the blanks of his deflection; ‘none of your concern’.

“...busy cleaning up your messes, eh?” Thor’s taunting question rolls upwards as footsteps hammer up the stairs, stopped halfway as another pair shuffle after them.

“I did not welcome you in,” Laufeyson is clearer now. You assume they are on the staircase with how their voices waft airily.

“Always the gracious host,” Thor counters.

“Do not lecture me on grace. Say what you’ve come to say and go. I’m busy–”

“Oh, yes, if I had a little maid like that, I’d always be busy as well–”

“Get on with it,” Laufeyson snarls.

Thor laughs heartily, “brother, one day you will see we are more alike than you care to accept. Maybe then you would see that it is the crux of our problems. You might even appreciate our shared tastes–”

“If you’ve only come to ramble, I’m not interested. I’ve spent enough time entertaining you lot–”

“You speak as if we are enemies,” Thor accuses, “you cannot waste time on family.”

“Ah, because kinship has always been sacred in your heart,” Laufeyson scoffs, “you are like a storm, you bluster but only make a mess. Say what you came to say and leave me be. I’ve work to do. Real work.”

“Well, if I am to deliver my message, I think both recipients should receive it, don’t you?”

“Say it,” Laufeyson hisses.

“But it is meant for both of you. The little maid as well–”

You sit up straight and tweak your head. You shouldn’t listen but you’re caught now. You cannot keep from overhearing.

“House manager,” Laufeyson girds, “I’m certain I can efficiently communicate whatever nonsense has drawn you here.”

“And they say I am stubborn,” Thor snorts, “Walpurgisnacht.”

“Walpurgisnacht?” Laufeyson echoes the single word.

“Surely you recall the old ways.”

“Don’t,” Laufeyson warns.

“Mother is having a celebration. Like when we were young. Father’s agreed to it.”

“She didn’t mention.”

“Ah, yes, well, you’ve much going on. She sent me to inquire after the little maid– house manager. She would require help with arranging the festivities.” Thor explains, “oh, and you’re invited too, I suppose.”

“She has her staff, does she not?”

“Frida is too old. She only serves tea and Gertrude’s never been very strong-minded. Mother needs input, not an empty vessel.”

“Charming,” Laufeyson remarks, "well, I will consider it. Next time, tell mother to call.”

“There will be many old faces. Many may even be happy to see you,” Thor goads.

“I wouldn’t expect so,” Laufeyson retorts, “must I ask you to leave anon?”

Another rolling guffaw fills the house. You hear a grunt from Laufeyson and a muted thump. Thor quiets with a sigh, “ah, fine, fine, I shall leave you to your little– house manager. You will tell her I say hello.”

Silence roils through the air. A scuff cuts through the tension and footfalls clamour down the stairs. The front door opens and closes, leaving you to wallow in the dark cloud left behind. Mr. Laufeyson’s long exhale blows up the staircase ahead of him and you listen to his approach.

You look at the door, expecting him to come through any moment. But it isn’t that one he opens. It’s the study door that slams with a terrible force. His growl permeates through and the adjoined door clicks as the lock is flicked into place. You stare at it and frown.

You don’t suppose his mood will thaw any time soon.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson does not emerge for supper. You barely eat anything yourself as anxiety tortures your stomach. You clean up after yourself and retreat upstairs. 

You near the study, lingering before the door as you pluck up your courage. You tap softly on the wood. There’s no answer. You didn’t hear him go but maybe you missed it.

“I made dinner, Mr. Laufeyson. I’ve left you a plate in the oven,” you speak through the wood, to the ghost on the other side.

You traipse away in defeat. You’re entirely confused. What did you do so wrong? Even before his brother’s unprompted visit, Mr. Laufeyson was coolly apathetic. Yet that morning, in the shower, he’d been on fire, consuming you like flames.

Maybe you’re not good enough. Maybe you didn’t kiss him just right or make the noises he liked. Oh, but how are you supposed to know what to do?

You sit at the writing desk and tap your fingers on your chin. You squirm in your chair as the scene in the shower replays in your head. You tear it apart, trying to pick out the exact moment of your offense.

You shift on the seat and the throbbing pressure in your core ripples through you. Just the thought of his touch has you alight. You touch your hot cheeks and flutter your lashes. You shouldn’t be worried about all that, you should be working on that spread sheet.

You glance over at the study door. The house is stagnant once more. Just like those early days when you made your slow progress with a broom and mop. Something’s gone terribly wrong. Maybe… you should just leave.

You put your fingers mindlessly to the touch pad of the computer. You swirl around the cursor mindlessly. You blow out through your lips and sit up, another fraught peek towards the door.

You bring both your hands over the keyboard. No, you shouldn’t. 

You need to figure this out. You need to know what you did, or didn’t do. You can be what he wants you to be, you have to. You have nothing else.

You type, then backspace, then type again. After several times, you hit search. You click through to a site with a black background and gasp at the obscene ads that fill the margins. 

You bite down as you try to focus past the small thumbnails. You key into the search bar ‘shower’. You hover your finger over the enter key before you will yourself to hit it.

The search results are just as chaotic. You don’t know what you’re looking for. ‘Best Shower Scenes STEAMY’. Your insides tickle and you squeeze your thighs together. Invisible flames lick at you and cluster in your chest.

You mute the computer as the video loads. The house is so quiet that you’re aware of every creak and crack. You fidget as you sit through the ad of a woman giggling over a URL for meet-ups. You press your hands to your thigh, sitting forward so your weight rests on your pelvis, dampening the tingly heat.

The video begins. A woman with caramel coloured hair and a curvy body. You admire her figure and peer down at your own. Maybe that’s it, maybe you’re not hot enough? You remember how Mr. Laufeyson touched you all over, almost as if he was examining you. Did you disappoint?

You flick your eyes back up as a man enters and they step into the shower booth. You chew your lip as you fixate on his large dick. He’s very big but you think Mr. Laufeyson is too. You’re not sure. This isn’t helping, you still don’t understand anything.

They kiss and fondle each other. You lean forward, watching with a stitch between your brows. The woman drags her hands down the man’s body and gets to your knees. She pumps him with her hand and licks his tip, dragging her tongue down his length. He grabs her head and forces himself into her mouth.

She takes him greedily. Oh. That could be it. Last night, you were so afraid, and you got all teary, and you didn’t know what you were doing. 

You watch her as she touches his sack, squeezing then works her hand in tandem with her mouth on his dick. You put your hand to the side of your neck and hold your breath. You wiggle on the chair, the friction making your own arousal more obvious.

Finally, the woman stands, the man lifting her by her hair. He spins her and bends her forward. She braces the wall and as he slaps her ass several times before gripping her hip. He’s so rough. You don’t know if you could handle that.

He slides into her and your mouth falls open. Her thighs quake and your own give a tremble. Your walls clench as the pressure knots in you. The thought of doing that with Mr. Laufeyson both frightens you and excites you.

You twiddle your fingers and blink at the screen. The furrow in your forehead deepens as you lean forward. You put your fingers along the touchpad but don’t press them down.

“Ahem,” Mr. Laufeyson startles you as he clears his throat.

You sit up and quickly hit the X in the corner. Your throat closes as you struggle to breathe, caught but not entirely. He stands in the doorway between the study and library. From that angle, he can’t see what’s on your screen.

“You are working hard,” he muses as he strides in with crossed arms.

“Yes, sir,” you answer breathily. You stare him in the face, too afraid to look anywhere else as your mind dares to imagine the shower again, both of you naked, this time, you’re bent over and he’s behind you. “Um, did you get your dinner?”

You close the laptop as you stand. You wince as the fabric of your panties clings to your wet cunt. You feel like he can see right through you.

“I’m not hungry,” he stops on the other side of the desk.

“Okay,” you swallow and your eyes flit side to side.

“I never told you to come out,” he drops his arms, placing his hand on the desk as he leans over it.

“Pardon?” You blink furiously.

“I said to remain in here until I told you it was safe. If you made my dinner, then you did not obey me.”

“I… Mr. Laufeyson, your brother’s gone–”

“And how could you know for sure if I did not confirm it?” He challenges with a wry tilt in his head. “I’ve been patient, pet, but I think you may require a different sort of discipline.”

“Mr. Laufeyson?” You babble, “I’m sorry–”

“Your apologies grow tiresome,” he huffs and stands straight. “Come here,” he points between him and the desk.

You put your head down and swiftly walk around the desk. He swirls his finger in the air and you turn your back to him. He backs away and rounds to the side of the desk.

“Hands down,” he nods to the desktop.

You press your palms flat, bent slightly at the waist. He considers you and strokes his chin with a hum. He circles the desk and you in a single, patient lap.

“Stay as you are.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter.

“Ah, no talking,” he warns, “remember your rules, pet.”

You gulp as he turns and struts away. Is it okay again? You can’t tell. He’s still rigid and painfully formal. He hasn’t touched you, he seems to be avoiding getting close. You stare at the wood beneath your hands and shiver.

You hear him in his study. You glance over as he appears in the door frame, his hands hidden behind him. He tuts. “Head forward.”

You look ahead and focus on the wall. He nears, his shadow skewed in the lamplight. He stands behind you, a foot away and he hums. He clucks and strolls around the desk to face you.

He pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing a thick leather strap. The brown leather is faded and cracked. Your eyes round as you stare at it and he brings it taught between his hands.

“Flogging is historically a long held practice. For the monk in his self-flagellation, for the heathen in his cell, and… for the woman in her disobedience,” he explains as his lips curl. “Spare the rod, spoil the child…” He takes a breath, “and you, pet, are growing spoiled.”

Your lips part but you don’t speak. You must follow the rules. This is the test. If you fail this, then it’s over. If you fail, you have nothing.

He walks along the desk and rounds the corner, brushing by as he purrs, “remember your rules. Not a sound.”

He comes up behind you and you hold your breath. He tugs at the back of your skirt and shudders. He pulls the fabric above your ass, his hand trailing along the back of your panties. He hooks his finger in the elastic and tears them down to your thighs. You quiver and clench your jaw tight, fighting back a squeak.

He stretches the leather across your ass. It’s cool and smooth. You twitch as bumps rise across your skin. He pulls back and you lower your head. You wait. Nothing. 

You cautiously raise your chin and look back. He snaps the whip across your ass as you do and you spasm with the hot flash of pain. He points to the wall in a wordless demand. Eye forward. You turn your attention back to the grey blue paint as your eyes glisten. He strikes you again, the agony scalding across the swell of your ass.

Your thighs shake as he pulls back again. You await a third but it never comes. You don’t dare move. He paces behind you. You watch his shadow cast before you and he moves abruptly forward. You bite your tongue as he lashes you again. Harder as he lets out a thick grunt.

Your hands slip and you fall forward. You plant your palms more firmly as you push yourself straight. A fourth comes and sends tendrils down to your toes. You hiss through your teeth, quaking, fighting not to collapse.

You deserve this. Whatever you’ve done, you’ve earned this. 

A fifth and your knees knock together. You barely keep afoot as the sixth lands with extra bite. Seven, eight, nine… He lashes you in quick succession, as if he cannot stop himself. The tenth has you heaving, about to vomit with the pain.

He stops himself, his shadow holding up the stap. He lowers it and steps back. He sighs and turns away.

“Tomorrow you will pack for our departure,” he declares, “we leave on Friday.”

We? So you are to go with him. You don’t dare ask or say a single word. You stay as you are, shaking as you roll your eyes back against the flood.

“You will be on your best behaviour,” he warns as he nears the study door, “I trust this lesson will not be forgotten.”

He passes into the study and the door closes harshly. Your legs fold and collapse beneath you. You land in a heap, holding yourself off your ass as you whimper. You won’t ever forget.

[melancholiaincarnate]

how about one more?

「 in which ᵎᵎ 」 you and cult leader! suguru geto give out candies to trick or treating monkeys on halloween.

「 words ᵎᵎ 」 522

「 author's note ᵎᵎ 」 DAY THREE BABY. apologies for the lateness >,< but here it is anyway. check out the masterlist and zone's works since they're posting day four tmm head nodding emoji. do i hate this? yes. am i gonna redo it? no

「 warnings ᵎᵎ 」 slightly suggestive, suguru calling ppl monkeys as per usual, probs super ooc.

you sat perched on his lap, dressed as a witch with a bowl of candy in your lap. geto wasn't dressed up, he said it'd "taint" his image as the leader of the cult. he strived to maintain a certain persona to them, and despite your convincing, he remained sure on the fact that dressing up for halloween would damage his reputation as a stone-cold leader.

whatever his excuse, he still decided to give out candies with you to the oh so brave trick or treaters who stopped by the front door of the cult building.

"trick or treat!" there was a little boy dressed as spiderman at the bottom of the steps, peering up at the both of you.

"oh look, sugu, he's so cute." you gush, "he's dressed as spiderman!"

the boy nods, "i love spiderman!" and geto rolls his eyes as you hop off his lap to descend the stairs to drop some candy in the boy's bag.

you can feel his eyes on you as you pat the boy's head, giving him a bit extra as a 'reward' for having such a cute costume.

as the boy left and you settled yourself back on geto's lap, he wrapped his arms around your waist and sighed. "we're going to run out of candy at this rate if you keep giving kids extra for being cute."

he rustled in his robe pockets for a moment before bringing out some hand sanitizer. you had touched the boy's head after all.

"they are cute, sugu! look at them." you whined as a pair of boys dressed as ... ninja turtles ... (?) approached. you could hear geto grumbling about their stupid costumes.

"they're disgusting monkeys who are celebrating a stupid holiday." he mumbled. he didn't say anything else though, as the boys approached and you put candies in their bag.

as much as suguru geto hates monkeys, he loves seeing you happy just a (tiny) bit more. you'd asked to give out candy to trick or treaters, and he'd agreed but only if he could be there to protect you from any monkeys who tried any stupid ideas they had.

he also couldn't give up the view he had everytime you'd go down the stairs and bend over slightly to give the children candy.

you'd patted another kids head and so you sighed as geto sprayed you with hand sanitizer again.

"suguru," you hummed as you nestled yourself back into his lap, "we should have kids of our own."

"we have mimi and nana." he mused. "you say they're a handful - and yet you want more?"

you frown, "i do say that... but i want a baby! mimi and nana are old enough to go trick or treating by themselves - i want a little baby to take! imagine us with a little boy - oh and he's dressed as a superhero! how cutesie!"

suguru thought about it for a moment. "sure, why not? i can get more donations if my wife is pregnant." he nodded his head as his voice dropped low, "how about we give these candies to the girls, and we get started now?"

[bakugosworld]

Bitter not sweet

Endeavor x f! reader

platonic shoto x reader

Enji Todoroki and Y/N used to be a power couple. They used to be the most applauded couple at UA. Key words, used to be. Something disturbing happened to destroy their relationship, and now years later Y/N (a pro hero) is now helping teach and support her ex’s son in the same school she met his father.

Warnings: slight angst? Endeavor being Endeavor, trauma dumping, personal grudges

Endeavor could hear nothing but his own boots walking through the halls of his own agency. The place is empty due to the major villain attack that had happened earlier that day, and many of his sidekicks stayed to clean up the fight while Endeavor went to file some important paperwork due that day.

He shuffled inside his office and slowly shuts the door. As he makes his way to his desk his cell phone begins to ring. He quickly fishes it out of his pocket, recognizing the tune to be Fyumi calling. Thinking that there was an emergency he tenses up as he answers it. “Fyumi, what’s going on?” His voice alert. He hears her laugh from the other end of the line, his shoulders relaxed a bit. “Hey dad, I just wanted to know what you wanted for dinner? Shoto just finished his first day of UA and I want us all to eat together to celebrate tonight!” She seems excited as per usual.

Endeavor wraps up the conversation and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. Sighing as he sits down.

*earlier that day, Y/Ns perspective*

I had been hired as a new Heroics and Law teacher at UA high this year. I walked into the building for the first day of school and had passed a few familiar pros along the way. Once I reach my classroom I set down my bag and log into my computer. I had gotten the class environment set up during my orientation with Nezu who had provided me all the safety protocols and instructions. Once my computer is loaded I pull up my seating chart that EraserHead had provided and projected it to the wall, not even bothering to look at it.

I didn’t have a class untill an hour or two later considering I’m not a homeroom teacher, so I had decided to sit in the Faculty Room while I waited and caught up with a few long term friends. Once the bell went off I started walking to my classroom with Present Mic whose class is right next to mine. We stand outside the door chatting while watching the students trickle in one by one.

Eventually I had walked in to begin class. “Hello class my name is (pro hero name) but you can all me miss (last name)” I greet as I stand at the podium in the front of their seats. The class greets me back and I hear a few students talking amongst themselves quietly. “I going to call attendance so when I call your name just say a simple ‘here’. And if I mispronounce your name, please inform me right away. Understood?”

The students mutter words of acknowledgment. Going through the list, I seen a few surnames that are recognizable. “Next is shoto todo…roki…?” My jaw slightly agape as the last name rings in my head like a steel drum. The name Todoroki repeating itself over and over again. “Here” a monotone voice rings from the back of the classroom. I slowly turn my head up to look at the boy with split dyed hair. There’s no way. He looks exactly like him. Like her too. My heart squeezes in my chest. I thought I was over it.

I break myself out of the thought. I’ll just look into it after class. “Katsuki Bakugou?” I continue with roll call despite being shaken. I hear an angry grumble “here” from the opposing side of the classroom. I sigh and continue with class as normal despite me screaming internally.

A few students came to talk to me after class, some of them wanted to know more about my pro hero life *cough midoria cough* while others wanted to know more about the subject I would be teaching them this year. One student in particular left the class without a word to anyone. Yep. That’s his kid alright.

*back to the todoroki household*

“So shoto.. how was your first day?” Endeavor asks before shoving food into his mouth. Shoto sighs “it was fine..” Endeavor looks up to his youngest son. “What about your teachers? What teachers do you have, I want to make sure you have the best of the best so you can reach your goal” endeavor shoves more food into his mouth while waiting for his son’s response.

“My homeroom teacher is Mr. Aizawa. Then I have Miss (L/N) for Heroics and Law. Then I have Present Mic for English.” Shoto muttered quietly but it was loud enough for Endeavor to hear. Endeavor choked on his rice and slammed one hand on the table to stabilize himself while the other beat at his chest to dislodge the food from his throat.

Fyumi panicked and started to pat her father on the back, while asking him if he’s okay. Natsuo held back a very slight smile and kept eating. Endeavor finally cleared his throat and started down at the table in disbelief. ‘…y/n??’

After that incident he had finished his food and left to his room muttering a small ‘thank you’ to Fyumi for the dinner. Endeavor sat on the edge of his bed, looking towards the ground and his hands cupped around his mouth to help calm him down. He sat there for hours, thinking back on memories of you two in your high school days. It had been a long time since he had thought of you, he tried to suppress the memories due to the guilt that ate him alive.

—flashback—

“Enji!” Your voice rang through the halls of UA, he can hear your footsteps grow increasingly louder. He glanced over his shoulder to see you running his way. He smirked slightly and faced away from you, unsurprisingly, you jumped onto his back, like you always did, and wrapped your arms around his neck, and legs around his waist. He chuckled a bit “Hey hun, have a good day?” He asked while pushing you up his back by your thighs and holding you there. You nod into his neck. “It was good, Toshinori helped me push even harder with my quirk today during training” you say smiling. Enji slightly frowned at the name but was still happy for you. The truth is Enji never cared for Toshinori but didn’t absolutely hate him either. “That’s great darling, I’m happy for you” Enji bounced you on his back jokingly. You laugh as he spins you both around. “Thank you beef cake” you tease, and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek.

—End of flashback—

Enji sighed and sat up a bit more. He looked around his room, seeing pictures of his kids and a few with Rei. He walks to his closet and grabs out a small box. He sits down on his bed again and opens the box that contains photos. Sifting through a few, he finally found what he was searching for. It was a picture of you and him together outside of UA on the first day of your third year. You were wrapped in his arms standing infront of him, both of you smiling widely.

He set the photo on his bedside table and threw the box under his bed. Finally deciding to go to bed since he had to leave early for work tomorrow morning. He lays down and stares at his ceiling. Little did he know, his dreams will be filled with memories of you that night.

A week later

You were sitting in your empty classroom, it was half hour before first period started when you heard a knock on your door. You looked up from your computer, wondering why anyone would be here so early to talk to you. “Come in” you project your voice so they can hear you. Slowly the door opened to reveal Shoto Todoroki himself. “Sorry to bother you so early Miss (L/N)” he gave a small bow to you. “You’re not bothering me at all Todoroki. Is there something I can do for you?” I say turning towards him to give him my undivided attention.

He looks sort of puzzled. “Yeah actually, I wanted to talk to you about something” he says still standing at the door. You pull up a chair next to you and pat it, signaling for him to sit down. “What’s on your mind kid?” You say as he sits down.

“I guess I’m just confused.” He says tilting his head slightly. “How so?” You asked him, slightly mirroring his actions. “I found this in my dad’s room.” He says lifting up the photo of you and Enji together. You sucked in a breath and felt your heart drop, now understanding what this is about.

“What is this about? Clearly you and my father know each other. Very well. So what exactly happened?” He says looking up to you. noticing your shocked face he immediately felt bad. “I apologize if I had made you uncomfortable Miss (L/N).”

Finally, you shake out of your shocked state. “No, no. Don’t worry about it Todoroki. And to answer your question, your father and I.. well.. we used to be together.. but that was a long time ago.” You say quietly. Todoroki nodded.

Todoroki had asked a few more questions to which you were happy to answer them. He then left to go to his first class, leaving you completely alone to think about Enji.

Aizawas class had a field trip today, so the only classes you had to teacher were 1-B and 1-C. Which was relatively easy considering they are both calm classes. For the most part. That was untill you were getting ready for your next class when Mrs. Midnight burst into your room. “(Hero name)!! we need you to help immediately!! Class 1-A has been attacked by villains at one of our training centers! Your class is getting covered by nezu, please hurry!!”

Chills ran cold down your spine. You immediately bolted out the door and ran as fast as you could to your car. Breaking the speeding limit as a hero looked bad, but your students were in danger. You were doing 80 in a 30. The only thing you can think of was how scared your students must be, but you know they can handle themselves.

You were, unsurprisingly, the first hero on scene. Bursting through the doors, you took in the battle before you. Immediately jumping into action, you protect your students with your life. You hold off the villains untill the rest of the pros show up.

—a sort few days later—

(I’m not good at writing fighting scenes sorry)

You thought it was a horrible idea. Anything can go wrong. It was absurd. Hosting the sports festival directly after a villain attack?? That’s just disrespectful to the students who fought hard to stay alive during the attack.

You angrily grumbled to yourself. You were walking around the stadium to ease your mind. The first task just finished, Midoria taking first place which shocked everyone. You huffed and leaned your back against a wall. “Enjoying the festival so far?” You heard a voice ask.

You peak up to see nezu approaching you. “Yeah I guess so” you mumble. “What seems to be on your mind (y/n)?” Nezu asked while sitting on the ledge next to you. “Is this the right thing nezu? Having the festival right after the attack? Won’t it put everyone on edge? What about the villains? Wouldn’t they show up here if they really wanted to?”

Nezus face never changed. “I see why you’re concerned (Y/N), but this festival is supposed to take the students minds off of what happened. And for the safety, we have plenty of pros here incase anything does go wrong. It would be the villains downfall to prey on the kids now”

You relaxed a bit more with that statement. “Yeah you’re right” Nezu nods. “I am, well I do have to go now. If you need anything else you know where to find me” nezu says as he wanders away.

You once again are alone. You stand up and start walking down the hall. “So. You’re a teacher now?” You shiver at the deep voice and you stop in your tracks. “Yeah. What about it?” You snap back. You turn around to see endeavor who had just turned the corner. “You’re teaching my son.” He replied with his casual RBF.

Scoffing, you cross your arms over your chest. “Really? I had no idea.” Your voice dripping with sarcasm. He didn’t seem to appreciate that but he stayed quiet for a moment. “Is that all you wanted? If so, I’ll be on my way.” You turn around to leave once again.

“It wasn’t my choice”

—flashback—

“What the hell enji?!” You screamed at him. His eyes dropping from your face down to the floor. “Did you have this planned the whole time??” You you yelled a bit louder once more, tears brimming your eyes. He, too, teared up. Feeling ashamed of himself.

It was the day before your graduation from UA, and Enji was here before you telling you, after three years, that things won’t work out. “Was I a joke to you?” He didn’t respond..

What was worse. Is he had proposed to Rei, your best friend of thirteen years. “How long were you together for?” Your voice filled with venom and tears. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to know the truth. Was this even real? Who would propose to your girlfriend’s best friend and not the girlfriend?

Even after all the talks of ‘I can’t wait to marry you’ ‘we should have kids’ ‘I’m gonna grow old with you’. You had foolishly believed it all.

He wanted to say something to soothe you, he wanted to hug you, to kiss you, to tell you everything is gonna be okay. He wanted to make the whole situation go away. He felt a deep hatred for himself, and for his father.

—flashback ends—

“The hell do you mean ‘it wasn’t your choice’” you mock, growing more irritated. He sighs. “I didn’t want to marry her” you scoff “yeah right. Now you’re just wasting my time.”

Enji grows agitated now, but still hurt. “It was my father. He forced me into the marriage. For benefits of the quirks. He threatened to ‘get rid’ of you if I didn’t cooperate. I knew you’d be safer staying away from me, so I left. I did as he said. Because I loved you. And truth is, I believe I still do.” He mumbled the last part. Sure, you’ve seen him several times throughout the years. You kinda had to considering he’s the number two pro hero. He’s at your meetings, on the same patrol route sometimes, on the scene of a crime. He’s everywhere. But this is the first time he’s addressed you since the break up.

Hearing his words though… you wanted to believe him. You had found the piece of yourself that still loved him too. It that didn’t change the fact that he was married with several kids. And you couldn’t do that to them. Especially shoto as you’ve grown fond of the boy.

“I’d love to believe you. Truly. I still care for you Enji, dare I say I love you. If I could, I’d be with you right now. But we can’t be together. Never again. As much as I do love you, you must think of your family first.” You say as you turn away and walk down the hall, heading towards the stands to watch the rest of the festival. Enji watched her walk away for what felt like the hundredth time, and his heart shattered.

But little did either of them know, shoto was standing just around the corner, listening to the conversation. He too, had grown fond of you. He had even started looking up to you as if you were the mother that he never really had. Needless to say, he was just as disappointed in his dad as his dad was with himself.

[aguacatetoast]

The competition

You and the rest of your crew spent a late night drinking and celebrating after a long battle finally concluded, and your crew got the victory. After a couple of rounds of drinks some heated questions start being asked.

Female Reader x Zoro x Sanji

Warnings: 18+,These two..., threesome, overstimulation, smash or pass, getting a bit drunk, overstimulation, oral m!receiving, oral f!receiving, unprotected sex(be safe), jealousy, possessiveness, praising, probably more pls lmk!

Word count:2,399

Also it's my first time writing a story like this so I hope its good!<3

(Likes and reposts are greatly appreciated!<3)

You and your crew were worn out after a long battle, and tonight you guys were finally able to relax and celebrate the victory. Your crew had decided in a bar, with a restaurant of course for the Captain to indulge himself in as much meat as he wanted. You were laughing as you already had a couple of drinks in, admiring just how much your captain can eat. You Nami and Robin were all sitting in the same side of the booth. Usopp was off somewhere rambling to some strangers about his lies and fake stories as per usual, Zoro was on the other side of the booth downing some sake, and Sanji as always smoking his cigarettes. You saw your Captain stop eating and started to semi yell "I'm boredddd" You saw Robin let out a soft chuckle and calmly say "How about we play a game?" You can see Luffy's face light up in excitement. Sanji also immediately joined in the conversation as soon as Robin spoke. "Whatever the beautiful Robin-swan says," Sanji says with his eyes in the shape of hearts. Zoro still kind of off to his own world said "Yeah I guess we can play something.."

As everyone started to gather around at the booth Usopp suddenly felt left out and ran towards them, he had overheard that his crew wanted to play a game, he had a mischievous look on his face as he put a pointing finger under his chin. Once he reached the booth he said it in a prideful tone "How about we play Smash or Pass?" Nami had an evil smile on her face "Usopp that's a great idea!" Sanji was over the moon with a nosebleed, your heart started to race because of course you've thought of a couple of your crew mates sexually, it can get lonely in the sea at times. You blushed a bit, and in the end, everyone agreed to the game. "So who's gonna start?" asked Luffy, Nami confidently asked "Robin…would you smash or pass Usopp" Robin was startled by the mention of her name and then processed the question. In a monotone voice, she answered "No, he is not my type of offense" You see Usopp fake cry but then have a cheeky grin on his face "It's ok I already have a girl that I have my heart set on" Next went Luffy "Sanji would you smash or pass Nami" Sanji let out a yelp and started putting his stupid pervy face and blushing "Why Of course I would, she wouldn't have to ask" Luffy is cackling as Nami is hitting him in the head for asking such a stupid question. Zoro rolls his eyes in annoyance and asks "Ok who's next?"

Usopp volunteered "Y/n would you smash or pass Zoro, since he's so impatient" Zoro's eyes widened as he didn't want to be the next choice, and he was anticipating your answer a bit… Your heart started pounding and you bit the inside of your cheek, you had definitely touched yourself in the past to him but how shameful it is to admit that. You felt everyone's hard stares, especially Zoro and Sanji's. You let out a soft sigh and looked away from everyone, "Smash.." everyone started a commotion, especially Sanji. He started yelling "What about me my sweet?" You started to blush again, once again, it's been a lonely couple of months. "Smash…" he starts celebrating and going crazy as expected but you were feeling so ashamed for admitting that out loud. As the commotion was going on, you took this distraction to its advantage and rushed to the bathroom. You locked yourself in a stall and started to breathe in and out trying to calm yourself. Once you felt calmer after 15 minutes or so, you felt a light knock on your stall door "y/n? Are you okay?" You were nervous at first but settled down once again when you realized it was just Robin. You let out a soft sigh "Yeah I'm ok, just needed to be alone for a bit." You started opening up the door, Robin greeted you with a nice smile "Well come on, hurry up we're leaving" You two made your way out.

Once you've made it to the ship, you realize everyone went to their respective rooms so you said your goodnight to Robin and rush into bed, you are not ready to face those two tomorrow. As you felt yourself drifting to sleep, you heard a soft knock. You were confused as it was late at night but stood up in case it was an emergency. When you opened the door, you were surprised to be greeted by the presence of both Zoro and Sanji. You immediately felt your face get hot and before you could even ask what they were doing there, they asked you "We have a favor to ask" Both with a serious straight face, you assumed it was something important and said "Yes, of course what's up" before even asking for the details. Then you see a devilish smirk appear on Zoro's face. Zoro whispers in your ear "We're having a competition…, on who can make you feel better" Your eyes widen in shock and Sanji leans into your other ear "Only if you let us M'lady.." You were shocked, not expecting to be faced with this situation, but you thought to yourself 'When will this happen again'. So you simply agreed to it, they seemed to be pleased with your answer and you allowed them into your room. They had both been in your room before, but never like this. You were wearing a simple tank top and shorts as your pjs, which they both seemed to a fan of.

You noticed Sanji headed towards the open window in your room looking off into the distance with a cigarette in his mouth he simply stated "Moss head, you can get a head start, I know you'll be needing it" Zoro gritted his teeth but didn't complain because that meant he had more time pleasing you. His body towered over you as he leaned in to kiss you, he wasted no time and immediately went to grab your ass and pushed you into his firm body. The kiss was warm and passionate, he tasted like the remains of booze he had consumed earlier, but it was delicious. You ran your hands through the back of his neck playing with his hair teasing him with a little tug. He pulled away at the tug, a string of mixed saliva being pulled along with the movement of his face. You saw how his eyes saw you with pure lust, and you felt your pussy getting wet with just this view.

He pushed you onto the bed and he took off his shirt preparing to go on top of you. He kisses you once more before he takes your shorts off swiftly. You were flustered as you were just in panties and the tank top. He started teasing your wet clit through the clothed panties causing you to release a soft moan. His eyes never left your beautiful face as he didn't want to miss any single one of your reactions. Before he could progress, you heard a soft sizzle and footsteps getting closer to you. "Step aside moron, I'll show you how it's done" Zoro shoots a deadly glare at Sanji, while he's undressing himself.

Sanji, in only underwear now, kisses you while being on top of you, you feel the taste of the fresh cigarette from his mouth leave its imprint on yours. The combination of Zoro's taste and Sanji's was so erotic and you couldn't help yourself but get some more. Sanji pulled away and started leaving a trail of kisses from your collarbone to your lower stomach, he was so close to your throbbing pussy. You felt his heat and desired it. And as if he read your mind, he carefully slipped off the soaked panties with darkness in his eyes, he licks your entire pussy, licking up every single part and consuming the juices you had released so far. This made you moan out loud and you saw Zoro getting jealous by your reaction. He then proceeds to kneel down by your face, with his cock pulled out, stroking it, hard as can be. Your mouth started to water at the view, but at the same time, you were concentrating on how good Sanji was making you feel. Eating your pussy like a starved man, his wet tongue flicking your clit so good every time. But Zoro brought you back to him, he ran his calloused thumb over your semi-opened mouth, using your bottom lip to allow him access to your hot mouth. Zoro's size is just as you expect for a fit man like him, big and girthy. Your mouth stretches over his tip and he's already letting out a small groan before he slowly shoves it all in your mouth.

Sanji had decided to stick two fingers in you as he was bringing you closer to your climax. Meanwhile, Zoro is face fucking you, his salty taste taking over your senses and your saliva dripping down on your chin. Your hands were gripping the sheets, Sanji had one hand gripping your thigh as he ate you out and the other one was his curled fingers being shoved into you. Zoro has his hand resting at the back of your head guiding you through his inches, "Fuck sweetheart you take me so well", Zoro let out a soft moan. His praise and Sanji's constant precision to your clit caused your legs to start twitching and trembling "That's it beautiful, cum all over my tongue" said Sanji in a raspy voice, as he started to go at an even faster pace. The burning sensation that had been growing intensely boiled over and as you started sputtering with your release, Zoro started pushing your head harder into his cock making tears start to flow.

Zoro let go of your head and took his cock out dripping with precum, he didn't want the fun to end just yet. Meanwhile, Sanji made sure to not let any single drop of your release go to waste "Madmoseille, that was one of the best things I've ever tried." You blushed and he made his way up to lean in and kiss you again, your juices mixing with zoros. But while he tried to take off your shirt Zoro pushed him off "Move pervy cook, you've had enough" he says clearly jealous that he hasn't been able to feel your cunt yet. Sanji moves away feeling like he's already won the competition. You felt Zoros strong hands flip you over into all fours, ass arching up and he backed up behind you and felt his tip tease the entrance to your pussy, "You ready sweetheart?" as your pussy throbbed for him you let out a soft yes he tugged on your hair "If you want something you're gonna have to speak up baby. While you were trying to form the words in your mouth, you noticed Sanji touching himself as he saw you in such a sinful state. You spoke up wanting to satisfy yourself, and Sanji. "Y-yes, fuck me Zoro" and with that, he thrusted all of his inches and girth, and although Sanji had stretched you out a bit with his fingers, nothing compared to the size of Zoro, as you let out a loud moan, he only thrusted harder making your legs feel weak. Sanji started to get closer to you, tired of teasing himself, and aligned his tip to your mouth.

Both of your holes being filled felt so sinful but you could care less, as Zoro thrusted into you making your ass bounce, Sanji's face fucked you. These two, although always fighting, they were able to find a rhythm. Your mouth stretched over Sanjis impressive size as he was abusing your mouth, having a tight grip on your hair and admiring your flushed face and plump lips "Fuck y/n with that pretty mouth of yours you'll make me cum soon", Sanji said with flushed cheeks, and hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat he's produced on focusing on not cuming right then and there. While moaning Sanji would moan things such as "Fuck y/n you're so beautiful like this", and Zoro while still abusing your cunt saying things like "Such a pretty pussy fuck" and "takin' me so well baby.." but you couldn't even acknowledge what they were saying because you were on cloud nine, too overstimulated to focus on anything. All these praises you were getting led you to your release again the flame in your lower stomach making it unbearable to hold it in any longer, and while you came, you felt Sanji's cock twitch and he let out a groan "Fuck..Y/n I'm g-gonna" and before he could even finish his sentence he released his seed in your mouth. You made sure to swallow every last drop, although it was difficult for you to do so gently as Zoro was thrusting at you with full force causing even more tears to come out of your eyes you felt his hips stutter and he released his seed into your cunt, he pulled out wanting to see his work of art dripped out of you, right before he pushed it back in. Your cunt felt empty now without Zoro.

You still had Sanji in your mouth as he was being overstimulated and you enjoyed watching him beg and be flustered until he couldn't anymore. You let go of his cock with a pop as he moaned until the very last second, Zoro had gotten a damp cloth to clean up his mess, meanwhile, Sanji reached for a handkerchief that was in his suit to wipe the tears and saliva off your face. You were wrecked after such pleasure and abuse, you laid down in your bed with Zoro and Sanji on each side as the three of you cuddled up, you were in the middle squished between their chests, you felt as if you had died and gone to heaven.

While you drifted off to sleep, you knew that you were going to have to choose a winner eventually…

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: mistaken letters

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: helluva boss

rating: PG

genre: slight angst, mainly romance

pairing: stolas x reader

summary: when the letters that you wrote were the only thing that got him through.

When the letters he wrote were the only thing that got you through.

Request:

Can I ask for one with stolas where they are friends and writing each other per letter and someday stolas wrote a love letter but never wanted to send it to reader- but did it in the end because he mixed up his letters? 

Writing letters to Stolas is what got you through some of the hardest times in your life, but also was where you went during the best times of your life to celebrate about positive things that had happened. Stolas was your best friend and closest confidant. 

You had photos from all the important stages of Octavia’s childhood and knew of the marriage problems that Stolas was facing with Stella. It broke your heart that someone so kind could be treated so cruelly. You had mentioned, kindly of course, that you felt that maybe he should seek a way to amicably end the relationship, seeing as neither were happy. This caused a very heated letter to be sent to you from Stella, telling you to “stay the fuck away from my husband and my family”. You hadn’t sent a letter after that, nor had received one from Stolas either. 

You sighed as you sat on your balcony, looking out over the Pride ring, recently moved up here from Gluttony. The red sky was very pretty, you mused. It made you miss you feathered friend even more.

Friend… you sighed looking down at the street below watching as sinners walked past. You had constantly wished to be more than friends. When you had spoken of others who would treat Stolas better, you only thought of you, as selfish as that sounded. You wanted to be the one to be there for him, but he had a family. You had a dream that was dying a slow death. You turned and walked back in, heading to your kitchen when you saw a letter zap itself onto your counter. You would know that celestial magic anywhere.

“Stolas….” You breathed as you reached for the letter and began reading. 

My Dearest, I do hope this finds you well. I have missed your letters deeply and I apologize for my own absence.  I took your advice. Stella and I are now divorced. It’s been hard on Octavia, but I think we are both happier. And now I can finally be truthful with you.

Your torn from the letter when a sharp knock is heard from your front door. You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to be torn away from the letter, but then the knock becomes incessant. 

“I’m coming!” You yell as you cross to the door, letter still in hand and open it, coming face to face with spindly, bird legs. Looking up you see Stolas, out of breath, disheveled and eyes wild. 

“S-Stolas?” Your mouth forms the word, his name, but it’s like your body has been knocked of breath. 

“I-uh-I see you’ve already read the letter I mistakenly sent.” He whispers, his shoulders sagging. 

“Mistaken? It’s addressed to me? What do you mean Stolas?” Your confusion prevailing over your shock of seeing him after so long.

“You haven’t read it all the way through then?” His eyes light up, hope glinting across them.

“No, I was in the middle of doing so before someone so rudely interrupted me.” You sass, leveling a glare up. 

“Wonderful, then let me just switch these out as I sent the wrong one dear.” He smiles sweetly and tries to grab the letter and you pull it away. 

“Oh, no. I’m reading this one. You can hand me the other too, but you’re not getting this one back.” You say backing into your home. 

“Please, just give it back, darling.” He says and starts toward you. 

“No!” You exclaim as you run to your room, him hot on your tail as he is yelling for you to stop. You make it to your room first with just enough time to shut and lock the door. You hear him bang on the door as he pleads with you.

“Please, I will beg if I must, don’t read it.” He whispers the last bit. You don’t answer and look down at the letter, continuing it.

And now I can finally be truthful with you. Your letters were some of the brightest parts of my day. Your perspective I cherished and your sassy little come backs never failed to make me smile, even on my most miserable of days.  I guess this is to say that I have fallen in love with you.  Completely and wholly. It is not the reason why Stella and I separated, I don’t want you to think that.  But I do love you, and I hope that you can say you love me too. Yours, Stolas

Your mouth fell open as you quickly snatched open the door, seeing the sorry sight of Stolas, hunched over and almost looking like he was waiting to have something thrown at him.

“I-I told you not to read it. I mistakenly sent it to you… I never meant to. I am so sorry.” He murmured, his head and eyes low.

“Can you bend down for me? I can’t reach you.” You ask quietly.

“You can just decline my advance from here, thank you very much. I don’t need pity.” His voice haughty, to disguise the anguish. 

“You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, now bend down.” Your voice leaving no room for arguments. He kneels in front of you, finally eye to eye. Your hand reaches up and brings his chin up so you can look into his eyes. 

“Your silly, you know that?” You smile and he looks indignant. Before he can say anything, your thumb swipes across his lip, rubbing over the break where part of his beak was and continuing across. A little whimper being dragged from him as his eyes shot open, not even realizing his eyes had closed. “I love you too.”

“You what?” His voice wavering, as his eyes searched yours trying to confirm what he heard.

“I love you, Stolas. I have for a while. Deeply, for everything you are, and are not and will be.” A smile spreading across your face at his cheeks burning bright pink. He leans in and captures you in a kiss, feeling more so than hearing his hum in his chest as he quickly deepens the kiss. Pulling apart, you gathered him to you and rested your head on his chest. 

“I’m not letting you get away this time.” He whispered, his voice rough, like he was fighting tears.

“They’ll have to pry you away from me, birdy.” You say, your words muffled by his chest as somehow pulls you in tighter, not letting you go. 

[elhanoka]

THAMEPO: cosmos & myth

／／／／／／。Mars & M.A.R.S.

[scientific knowledge]

Mars became waterless and dead because it is assumed that its weak and unstable magnetic field failed to protect it from the solar wind. for hundreds of millions of years the atmosphere was slowly draining out. eventually only a thin layer of orange dust and permafrost became all that was left of once an abundant with water Red planet.

in the very center of the planet there is a large and massive core made out of nickel, sulphur and iron. its radius is more than a half of the whole planet. due to the immense pressure the core is solid for the most part thus unable to create a stable magnetic field.

[thamepo plot]

t-pop group M.A.R.S. is facing a major crisis. successful in the beginning of their career they start losing popularity, bringing less and less money to their company. it directly affects the atmosphere within a group and the once friendly environment becomes solemn.

Thame, being the leader of the group, feels responsible. he's considered the most popular member and the company starts promoting him more compared to the other members in hopes to get more income. Thame is even forced to sign the exclusive contract which puts him under great pressure and makes him become distant form his group. very soon he is to sign with a korean agency, abandoning his members. however, Thame's one true desire is for M.A.R.S. to succeed as a group and be active together as long as possible. consequently, he feels like he failed his members and betrayed his own dream.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓏹 ‌ ⠀⠀⠀❤︎♬♪ ⠀　𓈒⠀⠀⠀˙⠀⠀⠀⠀｡⠀⠀⠀ㅤ𓏏𓏏

／／／／／／。Mars's moons: Phobos & Deimos

[mythology]

The names Deimos and Phobos are as evocative as the emotions they represent. Deimos, derived from the Greek word “δεῖμος,” translates to “dread” or “fear.” Phobos, on the other hand, comes from the Greek word “φόβος,” meaning “panic” or “fear".

Born to Ares, the god of war, and Aphrodite, the goddess of love, Deimos and Phobos are twins who had a unique upbringing. Their immediate family was a blend of contrasting elements: love and war, beauty and brutality. This duality is perhaps what shaped them into the gods of fear and terror.

As Daemones, or spirits, Deimos and Phobos serve as extensions of their father’s will on the battlefield. They are not just symbols but active participants in the theater of war, amplifying the emotions they represent and thereby making their father, Ares, even more formidable.

[scientific knowledge]

Mars’ moons are among the smallest in the solar system. Phobos is a bit larger than Deimos, and orbits only 3,700 miles (6,000 kilometers) above the Martian surface. No known moon orbits closer to its planet. It whips around Mars three times a day, while the more distant Deimos takes 30 hours for each orbit. Phobos is gradually spiraling inward, drawing about six feet (1.8 meters) closer to the planet each century. Within 50 million years, it will either crash into Mars or break up and form a ring around the planet.

[thamepo plot]

getting into a dating scandal is the easiest way for celebrities to lose their success and popularity overnight. so when Pepper and Thame decide to pursue their romantic relationship, they fully understand the gravity of their situation.

Po and Gam are their lovers but they are also the biggest source of concern and fear for all members of the group. once somebody finds out about their love endeavor, the whole thing blows up. in ep. 6 Pepper and Thame adress it direclty:

– Even if Gam and I are a ticking time bomb for you guys?

– I have my own ticking time bomb, don't I? Per, trust me, don't break up with her. I think we'll just keep going together like this. I believe that we can both work as a group and like someone at the same time because both are part of our lives.

Po and Gam understand this simple truth too. they are putting themselves and their lovers at great risk just by wanting to be near, to be together. only they can bring so much comfort, care and joy to their partners, but one little mistake...! and the conflict will induce, leading not only to the relationship's break up but dismantling all of their dreams, careers and plans for the future.

/ edited thamepo steels and ep. 6 dialogue are by @pamouche

[xiaq]

AO3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Pt. 3 I combined the prompts: Outsider POV, Steve Harrington is an Idiot (affectionate), Everyone is Queer Because I Said So, and @c0olness's hyper-specific Wayne's Boyfriend Owns a Gay Bar in Indianapolis and Introduces Steve to a Drag Queen. :)

Angel Reyes has loved Wayne Munson about as long as he’s loved himself. The timing is not coincidental.

Which is why he’s willing to wait for him, even when Angel’s patience is worn thin like the shirt he stole from Wayne three years ago and wears like a prayer to bed.

Some nights, when Wayne calls at the end of his shift and Angel is wiping down his own bar at closing, he’s tempted to say: we might not have much time left—shouldn’t we spend what we do have together?

But he doesn’t.

Because he already knows the answer.

Because the same reason he fell in love with Wayne is the reason Wayne won’t move to Indy. The man is loyal to a fault and when he gives himself to people he gives all of himself and there’s no force in the world that would convince Wayne to leave Hawkins if he thought Eddie still needed him there. Because Wayne loves Angel. But Wayne loved Eddie first. And Angel can hardly begrudge him of that.

So he repeats a well-worn mantra, only slightly comforting: not today, but someday. And he hangs up the phone and he checks the calendar and he looks forward to the time he is allowed. If there’s one thing he learned over the years, it’s that he can’t get greedy when he already has a good thing.

Wayne is worth the quiet agony of patience.

So when he’s locking up for the night and the phone rings, he expects the conversation to take a familiar path. 

“Evening, handsome,” he says, canting his hip against the counter. “You tell him yet?”

It’s been his standard greeting for close to a year. Why the man won’t just tell his gay nephew that he is, conveniently, also gay, is beyond Angel. But then, listening has always been Wayne’s strong suit. Talking, not so much.

“Well,” Wayne says. And that’s new.

“Well?”

“I did, actually. After I walked in on him and Steve kissin’ last night—“

“Finally!” Angel crows. The saga of Eddie and Steve and their will-they-won’t-they relationship had quickly surpassed even his favorite telenovela’s dramatic storylines. The pretty jock with hidden depths and the nerdy metalhead falling in love? Hospital vigils? Protracted pining while sharing a bed? Impeccable. 

“They’re together now,” Wayne finishes.

“Darling,” Angel says, not for the first time, “I’d like to remind you that you are not paying per word for this call.”

Wayne huffs at him, also not for the first time.

“Steve didn’t know liking both boys and girls meant he was bisexual. He thought there was some sort of…threshold he needed to pass to be queer enough to date a man. I suppose Robin set him straight––or, not so straight as the case may be––” he chuckles a little at his own joke, “And he came over to declare his love as soon as his shift ended.”

Angel takes a moment to digest that. “...Maybe they use Eddie as the sperm donor if they want kids,”  he suggests.

“Ease up, it’s not like they teach this shit in school. Bet I’d been a lot more confused too if I had the luxury of liking both.”

“Alright, I won’t pick on your future son-in-law, promise.”

“ Speaking of school,” Wayne says, sidestepping his implication. “Eddie got his diploma in the mail yesterday.”

“You going to do something to celebrate?”

“Actually, we thought we’d take a trip to Indy this weekend.”

Angel twists the phone’s cord around his finger. “…you’re supposed to come next weekend.”

“So you’d have to see me two weeks in a row, if you can bear it.”

“A trial, to be sure. When you say…” he pauses, trying to figure out how to clarify without breaking his own heart. “When you come this weekend. Would you want us—would you want me. To meet them?”

He closes his eyes and bangs a fist against his forehead because that is not the safe way to ask that question. 

“It'd be pretty weird if they didn’t meet the person hosting them.”

“Oh, I see. You’re just using me for my five star accommodations,” he says, because he’s apparently determined to dig his own grave.

“No. Wayne says, “those are nice. But mostly I just want to introduce them to my boyfriend.”

“Ah.”

“And saying shit like that makes me think you’re trying to compete with Steve in the stupid Olympics.”

Angel makes an outraged noise but Wayne talks over him which is unique enough an occurrence that Angel lets him get away with it.

“See,” Wayne says. “The boys have decided they don’t want to stay in Hawkins long-term. They figure they’ll stay another year. Save some money. Make sure the kids are settled. And then Eddie’s set on New York or California and I think Steve’s just set on Eddie, wherever he is. I thought we could at least make a case for Indy, though. ‘Cause if Eddie isn’t staying in Hawkins, I’ve got no reason to.”

“Ah,” Angel says again. “And you don’t have any interest in New York or California?”

“I sure don’t,” Wayne says levelly.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ll mop the floors and clean the windows. Give them the best showing I can. Should we plan to take them to one of the…heavier… music venues? I can probably have Frank cover for me, I’d just need to ask him now.”

“Nah. I figure I’ll help you out Saturday night and let them explore on their own. Eddie’s already making a list of options. But Friday is drag night at your place, right?”

“It is.”

“We should start them with that, I think.”

Angel grins. “Their debut in queer society shall be heralded by Dolly Parton and glitter.”

“Mm.” 

Angel is familiar enough with Wayne’s thoughtful noises to know that he’s smiling.

“Enough about my boys,” Wayne says. “Tell me about your day.”

Angel does.

When Angel hangs up ten minutes later, for once, he’s grinning. He thinks, as usual, not today but someday. Only ‘someday’ suddenly feels tangible in a way it never has before.

***

Eddie Munson is exactly what Angel expected him to be when he comes tumbling out the driver’s side door of the van parked half on Angel’s driveway and half on his lawn. Angel has been hearing about him through the rosy lens of Wayne’s affection for close to five years and as a result, Angel loves him immediately upon first sight. 

Then again, he’d be difficult not to love. Eddie is a bright, frenetic, presence, all hair and chains and affected airs, who shares Wayne's smile, though he dispenses smiles much more freely than his uncle. He is unashamedly himself as he shakes Angel’s hand, tells his uncle he approves, and then asks for a tour of the house.

Steve Harrington is somehow simultaneously exactly and nothing like Angel expected.

Exactly, because he looks the part: a cropped Hawkins Varsity Basketball sweatshirt, tiny athletic shorts, and the well-built frame of someone who regularly works out. His hair is verging on ridiculous. His face is…well-suited to the body, he’ll say.

But the kid also has a hyper-awareness to him, a quick-eyed, assessing, vigilant posture, that Angel has only ever seen in war vets twice the kid’s age. He puts his back to a room’s farthest corner. He keeps doorways in sight. And he constantly, constantly, orbits Eddie like the world's most unsubtle protective detail. 

There are also the scars. Terrible, still-healing, scars. On one exposed thigh, the side of his neck, and his right forearm. On the slice of skin between his waistband and the frayed cut-off hem of his sweater. He wears them unapologetically, with the composure of someone who is neither proud nor embarrassed by them.  

Angel suspects, only a few minutes into their first meeting, that Eddie may have similar scars beneath his torn jeans and bleach-speckled band shirt. One of his arms has some sort of medical sleeve on it—the pale fabric covered in black bleed-fuzzy Sharpie drawings of bats. Angel considers the mangled half-moon-shaped lines decorating Steve’s thigh. Unless earthquakes have suddenly developed teeth, Wayne has clearly been editing his stories. 

But despite their significant aesthetic differences, the two boys are well-suited, if painfully young and unpracticed in the art of subtlety. They touch each other constantly; unthinkingly. Hands. Hips. Shoulders. Elbows. And the way they look at each other—well. They’ll need to work on that if they don’t want to accumulate more scars. Granted, they hardly have to hide their relationship in the sanctuary of his home, but he gets the feeling they don’t know how to be any other way with each other. 

It’s both sweet and more than a little heartbreaking.

“So,” he says, “ I need to get back to the bar before the opening act at 8. It’s drag night.”

“Robin is going to be furious she didn’t come,” Steve says.

“We’ll bring her next time,” Eddie says. 

They go.

***

Angel’s bar is called Innuendo. 

He can’t take credit for the name, but he can take credit for the atmosphere. It’d been a dark, sticky, hole-in-the-wall when he started working there at 21. When he’d bought it from the former owner a decade later, he’d cleaned it up, regulated the jukebox hours, and started live music, drag, and deejay nights. A few years after that, in 1984, when the mayor issued a proclamation declaring the new city policy to no longer discriminate against queers, he’d taken the boards down from all the windows. 

It’s still dark in the back where the stage and dance floor are tucked away, but the front windows with a clear view of the street are big and unashamed. He keeps the windows clean.

There’s a copy of the proclamation framed above them, along with pictures of Angel and noteworthy patrons of the establishment over the years: Wakefield Poole; Tom Higgins; Bayard Rustin; Freddie Mercury, and Jim Hutton. 

A lot has changed in the last two decades that he’s worked there, but some things, like the old oak-wood bar where all the pictures were taken, stay the same.

He brings Wayne and the boys in through the back to scattered shouts of hello from regulars. He and Wayne slide behind the bar to start helping Frank, and the boys sit on stools with wide eyes.

It’s nice, to see the place from their perspective. The magic of it is never lost on him, but sometimes he does forget exactly how magic it is: a bar that looks like most other bars but where men look and touch and kiss without concern, where there’s art and magazines and conversations that wouldn’t be permitted by common society a scant few feet outside the door.

After fifteen minutes, they get brave enough to explore—admiring the posters on the opposite wall: Bijou and Boys in the Sand; Passing Strangers, Forbidden Letters, and A Night at the Adonis.

They play a round of darts near the front windows, the boards covered in shitty black-and-white copies of Anita Bryant’s face.

They sit at a table near the stage when the show starts. They pull their chairs together. They hold hands on the tabletop. They laugh and shout and sing along and kiss when invited.

After, when they’re back at the bar, flushed with alcohol and the subtle worldview shift that Angel remembers well from his first visit to a gay bar, a few of the queens come over to introduce themselves. Leslie, currently in her Cher era, steps up to the bar, accepts her drink from Wayne with a wink, and gives Steve a clear once-over.

“Aren't you out a little late for a school night, baby?" she says in her customary baritone.

“Uh, no ma’am. I graduated last year. Sorry. Sir?”

"Sugar, do I look like a ‘sir’ to you?"

“Take it easy on him, Les,” Angel calls. “He’s new.”

“No kidding.” She purses her lips at him. “Ma’am is fine unless you meet me on the street. But here I’d prefer ‘honey. Or ‘darling.”

Steve swallows. “I promised I’d reserve pet names for my boyfriend. So. I’ll stick with Ma’am.”

“Well aren’t you a charmer. And where is this boyfriend?”

“Hi,” Eddie says.

She gives him an equally critical once-over.

“Do you know what that color bandana means in that pocket?”

Eddie glances down at his back left pocket; at the black bandana hanging against his thigh.

“Ah...that I’m into S&M but that I like to be the  submission one? Like the one getting tied up?”

“You what?” Steve says.

Angel notices that Wayne has made a hasty exit to the bathroom, which is probably for the best.

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Leslie says, “it means the opposite on that side, so maybe switch pockets.” She considers Steve’s pink face. “And also maybe talk to your boyfriend. The whole point of flagging is to find someone to meet your needs and you've got a pretty one right here who seems like he’s awfully willing.”

Steve pulls the bandana out of Eddie’s pocket and, using his teeth, tidily rips it into two. He tucks one half in Eddie’s right back pocket. He tucks the other in his left. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow like he's expecting Eddie to argue. Eddie does not argue. Eddie doesn't do much of anything except stare at him with wide, hungry eyes.

“Well,” Leslie says, sounding pleased, “My work here is done. Honestly, kids these days.”

She gives Steve a little pat on the shoulder as she pushes back into the crowd. “I’d dance while you have the chance, boys. Life is short and sometimes so is love. Capitalize on that shit!”

“Do you want to dance?” Steve asks.

Eddie is still watching Leslie with a bemused smile. “I don’t know how to dance to this music.”

“Well I won’t know how to dance to yours tomorrow, but I’m planning to let you show me.”

“Fair enough, King Steve." Eddie affects a curtsy, offering Steve his hand. “I suppose I can allow you to take me for a turn about the dance floor, good sir.”

Steve bows low over Eddie’s hand, pressing his lips to his knuckles, looking up at him with a grin. “An honor,” he says solemnly, and then drags Eddie, laughing, into the throng of moving bodies.

***

The next morning, Angel wakes up early for no reason he can determine. He’s not good at sitting idle, and he doesn’t want his fidgeting to wake Wayne, so he elects to take his book to the garden. Only, as he slips into the hall, careful with the door behind him, he can hear the quiet, indistinct lull of voices in the kitchen.

Angel moves down the hall on sock feet, avoiding the creaky bit of flooring where the original foundation meets the master addition he added four years back. 

The boys have opened the double doors to the patio and Steve is leaning against the jam on one side, coffee cup in hand, looking out at the garden. He’s shirtless, wearing only the shorts from the day before. Warm, tree-diluted, sunrise rays cast him in sepia, making the scars that traverse his flank to his thigh look less gruesome and more artistic. Poetic. He knows more than one photographer who would kill for a shot like this. Something about the coexistence of beauty and pain. Something about a commentary on perceptions of strength; the allure of imperfection resulting from battles survived.

Eddie joins Steve, sliding under his open arm like a habit, dragging a hand down Steve’s side to cup the puckered line of recently-stitched skin at Steve’s hip. 

Eddie is also shirtless—wearing jeans and a riot of bed head that Steve presses his face into, murmuring something low and clearly funny by the stifled laughter it produces. 

Angel wasn't wrong with his initial assumption: Eddie’s back is littered with shallow scars as well, but he also has a fair amount of tattoos, which makes the other marks less incongruous. There’s something about Steve’s otherwise flawless skin and sculpted muscles that make his injuries feel more visceral.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Steve suddenly looks behind him, like he has a preternatural awareness that he’s being watched.

“Oh,” he says, “Good morning.”

Both boys turn to face him. 

And Angel realizes that Steve’s injuries pale in comparison to Eddie’s.

Because Eddie’s chest and belly is a brutal mess of scar tissue.

It looks like something tried to gut him.

It looks like whatever it was probably succeeded.

He knows he’s staring but he can’t seem to stop himself until Steve slides a proprietary hand over the worst of it, spread fingers against what has to still be an agony of healing skin.

He meets Angel's eyes and all but dares him to say anything.

“I think,” Angel says, turning abruptly to enter the kitchen, “the occasion calls for french toast. Thoughts?”

“The occasion?” Eddie asks.

His hand covers Steve’s and presses, not a dismissal but an invitation to linger. 

“Your diploma,” Angel says, “Steve’s first time making a fool of himself in front of a drag queen. Whatever excuse is sufficient for the making of said french toast.”

“See, we’re sort of trying out this new thing lately,” Eddie murmurs, looking at Steve, “where we don’t need excuses for things that make us happy.”

“No guilt in our pleasures,” Steve agrees, voice soft, expression reverent. He tucks an errant curl behind Eddie’s ear.

Angel resists the urge to sigh at them. Instead, he toasts them with a carton of eggs. “French toast for the pleasure of french toast, then. You two go sit on the bench in the garden. The sun should be hitting it right about now and that is surely a pleasurable experience. I’ll let you know when breakfast is ready.”

Steve meets his eyes again, this time less challenging, more thankful. 

His hand slides from Eddie’s belly to the small of his back, pushing him out onto the patio.

“That sounds nice,” he says.

And they go.

When Wayne shuffles out to join Angel at the stove ten minutes later, the bread is sizzling in the skillet. 

They take their time washing the egg bowl and whisk in the sink, elbow to elbow, two men sharing space for a one-man job.

They lean into each other, considering Eddie and Steve, similarly leaned into each other, on the bench under the oak tree outside.

“You think I should talk to them?” Wayne murmurs. “About the way they look at each other. And touch each other. And how they need to cut that shit out if they’re in public?”

“Probably,” Angel sighs. “But not today.”

“No,” Wayne agrees after a moment of silence. He presses a kiss to Angel’s temple. “Not today.”

Pt. 4 (Will's POV)

[sitp-recs]

15 fics with Harry pursuing unusual careers

I love the adrenaline and potential angst within the Auror partners trope as much as the next guy, but we can all agree that our mental health improves 10 times when we see Harry leaving the Ministry, embracing other possibilities and making his own destiny. This rec list hopes to celebrate those creative, disruptive, feel-good fics that are not afraid to come up with the most absurd positions and original job titles. They can be fun, smutty, depressing, hopeful or cathartic; there’s a little bit of everything in here and I’m hoping to bring some hidden gems into everyone’s radar, too. Happy readings!

Twisted Wizards by Enchanted_Jae (T, 3k)

Draco is just putting his life back together when Potter comes along and mucks it all up again. Job: storm chaser

The R. Correspondence by noeon (T, 7.5k)

While working on the Bagshot papers, Draco makes an important discovery for British Wizarding History. Now if only Harry can keep him alive long enough to enjoy it. Job: private security consultant

Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it) by @fluxweeed and @lastontheboat (T, 10k)

Or: the one where Harry has writer’s block and Malfoy isn’t helping. Job: writer

Home County, orphaned (G, 10k)

Harry is an architect and the reluctant part-owner of his own firm. Malfoy works at The Ministry but doesn’t actually have a proper job title even though what he does sounds as though it’s pretty important. Job: architect

A Working Title by mindabbles (E, 12k)

Another in the long line of absurd biographies finally drives Harry to a desperate act. How desperate he doesn't know until his ghost writer shows up at his door. Job: Daily Prophet columnist

An Improbable Bout of Summer Madness by acari (E, 16k)

Draco had planned a quiet, peaceful summer holiday with his son. The last thing he expected was to find Potter here, in Draco's little Cornish retreat. Making fudge in a shop? The idea was too ludicrous for words. Job: fudge shop owner

The Strongest Affinity by @eidheann (T, 17k)

Trouble finding a wand for Scorpius leads Harry and Draco to something they never imagined. Job: wandmaker

Phoenix Repair Services by carpemermaid (E, 20k)

Draco hires a suspiciously private wizarding handyman to fix his kitchen when he returns home to find it destroyed. He expects a middle-aged wizard with greying hair and a pudgy gut to show up. Instead, he gets Harry Potter—with a utility belt and a charming smile—who is more attractive than he has any right to be. Job: Handyman

The Snitch-Maker by Omi_Ohmy (T, 21k)

Draco is content with his Snitches, with the tap tap tap of his hammer, and the tiny gears and sharp scent of metal in his workshop - until one day Harry Potter appears, asking for help to solve a rash of Snitch-tampering in the Quidditch world. Job: QUABBLE official (Quidditch representative)

Silhouettes in Sunsets by Pie (T, 22k)

Draco Malfoy was a Gringotts accountant by day and a luthier by night, making musical instruments that sang the language of the player’s heart, language audible only to the ears of his soul mate. Harry Potter was a struggling quill pal to the children of war and the owner of Hedwig’s Owl Emporium on Diagon—haven for future pets, owls retired from services and orphaned chicks. Job: Owl Emporium owner

Better To Burn Than To Fade Away by Ren (E, 23k)

Harry Potter is a legend in the world of broomstick racing. He's won almost every cup, trophy, and bowl – except for the historical London-Nome which has been on hiatus for the past several years. Now the London-Nome is starting again, and Harry will do anything to pull off one last big win. Job: broomstick racer

Doing the Lambeth Walk by @blamebrampton (T, 26k)

There are only three traditional choices for the cashed-up hero after victory. Harry Potter is too young to settle down and provide the wizarding world with a happy ending, and has too acute a sense of humour to spiral downwards into a spectacular flame-out. That leaves a life of good works. Job: Owner of a Social Housing and Care Centre

All Roads by @korlaena (M, 36k)

Draco hates his job at the Prophet. He hates it even more when he’s assigned to write an article on Harry Potter, who left the country three years ago after their falling out. Draco doesn’t want to face the truth about himself, but he’s stuck between Harry and his duty, and he’s out of options. Job: Magizoologist

Whimsical by strawberryrose (T, 42k)

In which Draco is completely out of his depth (until he isn’t), Harry builds something improbable with the help of his friends, and everyone bonds over food. Job: amusement park owner

What Shall Not Be Unearthed by @iero0 (E, 49k)

At the northernmost point of Shetland, surrounded by pointed cliffs, towers the Ootsta Lighthouse on a small isle in the middle of the open sea. Little does Harry know that he's not the only new lighthouse keeper. Draco Malfoy is as obnoxious as he always was, with his posh tone of voice and his luxury yacht jumpers. Job: lighthouse keeper