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moonstruckme · 5 months ago

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hi Mae! I've never requested anything before, so forgive me if I'm doing this wrong. Can I request poly!marauders x reader who has a cold? I've just gotten sick and I feel icky, and these type of stories always make me feel better 😅 no worries if you can't, thank you!

Thanks for requesting lovely! You nailed it don't worry <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Your home is suspiciously quiet when Sirius enters. You and James ordinarily beat him there, but there’s no blaring TV or sound of something sizzling in the kitchen, he can’t even hear the shower running upstairs. The only evidence of either of you are your shoes by the front door, yours lined up neatly as they always are and James’ strewn a couple of feet from the doormat (as they always are).

Sirius kicks his own shoes off, leaving them amongst James’, and starts to go in search of you upstairs. Only, as he passes the couch, he does hear something. A quiet whistling.

He turns, and there you both are. Slumped where he couldn’t see you from the door, your body laid over James’ and his head propped at a painful-looking angle against the arm of the couch, the both of you covered in blankets. Your breath wheezes in and out of you.

An unintentional tsking noise comes from Sirius’ mouth as he crouches beside you. He slots a hand underneath James’ neck, trying to alleviate the cruel bend.

His boyfriend makes a sulky groaning sound. Mile-long lashes (which go sorely unappreciated by their owner, by the way; Sirius would do much better with them) flutter reluctantly as James turns his head towards Sirius.

“Hello,” Sirius says softly, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight of the other boy’s sleep-glazed eyes. “Are you very comfortable like that?”

“M’sweltering,” James admits, “but she’s cold.”

Sirius feels his brows furrow. “I meant your neck, Jamie.” But it is odd that you’d be cold, considering that he’s a bit warm and he has no blankets. You don’t usually get so chilled. “She’s cold?”

James makes a face that’s half pout, half frown. “She’s ill.”

Sirius frowns harder, and only then does he realize how unusual it is for you not to have woken while they’re talking right above you like this. He sets the back of a hand to your forehead and finds it scorching.

“Oh.” The coo drops from his lips almost without his notice. He feels your cheek with his other palm as if that will change things, but it’s the same. “Since when?”

“She was home when I got here,” says James. “Don’t think she ever made it to work this morning. I gave her some paracetamol.”

That had to have been hours ago. Sirius is about to ask if James is feverish himself, or what other delusion caused him to nap with you instead of calling him and Remus home, but you start to stir, saving your boyfriend a berating. Sirius’ attention goes to you.

“Hey, sweetness.” He strokes his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping to wake you gently. “You’re not feeling well?”

You make an unhappy humming sound Sirius takes to mean No. Sniffle wetly. James grabs a box of tissues from beside him on the floor and offers them to you like it’s a routine.

“When did this start?”

You blow your nose before replying. It sounds awful, and when you’re done Sirius can see that the tip of your poor nose already looks chapped. “I think it set in overnight,” you croak. James winces at the sound of your voice.

Sirius strokes your cheek again, doing his best not to look too severe. “And why didn’t you call us, lovely girl?”

Over the top of your head, James mouths emphatically, She wouldn’t let me.

You only shrug, burrowing further into your blankets. “No point. Why should you come home just because I’ve got the sniffles?”

Sirius sighs. He gives your cheek a mean little squeeze, standing and pulling out his phone.

“What’re you doing?” you ask suspiciously.

“Hush, don’t hurt your throat.”

You pout, but Sirius is not James, and while he’s far from immune to your sweetheart face, he won’t be swayed by it. Remus picks up on the third ring.

“Hi, love.” He answers already sounding weary, albeit lovingly so, used to Sirius getting home around this time and calling him impatiently. Remus works too much, Sirius comes home every day itching for a kiss from all three of you; it’s a routine they both love to hate. “I’m just about to wrap up here.”

“Right, I totally believe you,” Sirius scoffs (affectionately). Remus is always ‘wrapping up’ when Sirius calls, one chapter bleeding into the next until it’s dark and one of you goes to collect him. “I just wanted to let you know that our bird never made it to work today; she’s come down with something.”

He can practically hear Remus’ frown forming. “She didn’t say?”

“What do you think?”

A sigh crackles through the line. “And bad enough that she stayed home, hm?”

Sirius looks at you, finding your eyes still big and expression pouty. He pouts back. “Yeah, she’s got a wicked fever and whatever it is has turned her nose into a poorly tuned woodwind instrument.”

Your expression sours. James hides a smile in your hair. “It’s only a cold,” you say.

“Honestly, Rem, she’s incoherent.”

Sirius can hear movement on the other end of the line, the quiet snap of his boyfriend’s laptop shutting. “I’m coming. Try to get her to drink something, please?”

He appraises you. You don’t look particularly happy with him. “I’ll try.”

“Thanks, love. I’ll be there soon.”

“Alright, drive safe. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“That was so unnecessary,” you complain as soon as he hangs up.

“Sorry, I can’t understand you when you’re all stuffed up like that,” Sirius replies flippantly, pocketing his phone and crouching in front of you again. “All your consonants sound like ds and bs.”

He uses his cold hands to his advantage, pressing them to your cheeks and allowing his genuine sympathy to surface in his expression. It wins you over quickly; you tilt your face into his touch. Fever glazed eyes droop indulgently.

“Now, my lovely snot monster, would you like ice in your water or do you want it plain?”

Remus bustles in when you’ve halfway drained your cup. Sirius can tell he’s worried because he hardly kicks his shoes into alignment next to each other, not taking the time to bend over and arrange them as neatly as he always does.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says in his most dulcet tone, dropping a kiss on your temple while he feels your fever with his knuckles. “Jamie, you’re not ill too, are you?”

“No, I’m just here in solidarity,” James assures him from beneath you. “I’m tip-top, promise.”

Remus nods, his mouth an unhappy line as he appraises the two of you. “I think you need to lose the blankets, dove. We need to get your fever down.”

“But it’s cold,” you whine.

“It’s not,” Sirius promises you. “It’s just that you could roast a marshmallow on your forehead right now.”

“You can still have Jamie,” negotiates Remus, already peeling the blankets off you and balling them up out of reach.

“S’all you really need,” James says agreeably. You look unsure, but you relax a little when he cuddles you closer.

“And how about some tea?” Remus palms the side of your face, frowning slightly at the heat while he drags his thumb across your cheek. “It’ll help with your throat and keep you warm, yeah?”

“Okay, yeah.” You take Remus’ hand, bringing it to your lips. Your eyes are fever bright. “Thanks, Rem. I’m sorry you came home.”

“Now, what kind of thing is that to say?” Sirius teases. “I, for one, am very glad to have Remus home.”

You attempt a glare; it’s poorly executed. “I meant I was sorry you called him.”

“Well, I’m not,” Remus says firmly. Sirius fights the urge to stick his tongue out at you. “You should always call me, sweetheart. Or just any of us, but we can talk about that later.” (Oh, Sirius cannot wait. The scolding he wants to give you would have paled in comparison.) Remus gives your cheek a little pat. “I’m going to make your tea. Try to finish your water before I get back, please.”

Sirius follows him into the kitchen, pleased to hear you asking James to pass you your water behind him.

“Hey,” he says, coming up behind Remus at the stove.

Remus sighs, turning around and looping his arms around Sirius’ shoulders. “Hi.” He rests his chin atop his boyfriend’s head. It’s a welcome weight. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Don’t be.” Sirius runs a hand up his spine, feeling each knob. “Sorry I worried you on the phone. I was freaked when I found her like this. She’s alright, though.”

“She’s alright,” Remus agrees. “I just hate to see her so poorly. Her throat sounds awful, poor love.”

“I hate that she didn’t tell anyone.” Sirius intends to sound a tad bitter, maybe with an edge of teasing, but his voice comes out whiny and wounded.

Remus kisses his hair silently. He knows Sirius has trouble with the people he loves suffering in silence, even when it comes to things like this. “That, too.”

“I hope you lecture her into never doing it again.”

“That’s the hope.”

“James aided and abetted, too.”

The faintest traces of a smile in Remus’ voice. “You want me to do something about that, do you?”

“If you think so.”

“Mm. I think you just want me to be the bad guy.”

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sirius steps out from his boyfriend’s arms, pecking him on the cheek as he gets it. “I mean, you’re already so good at it.”

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i4oba · 8 months ago

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nct dream as… / fanfiction aus 𓈒✳︎🏡

[take the quiz here to see which one you get!]

✰ MARK — childhood friends to lovers!au

ever since you've basically known your name, mark has been the boy next door. there was the cheeky, red letters of "lee" painted on the mailbox, the windows were adorned with the same coloured curtains, and the same doormat has been sitting in front of their door for ages. you have loved mark ever since you two have met. there wasn't a day where you wouldn't think of him, and there hasn't been a day when you haven't loved him. it was like a vicious circle which you couldn't get out of, because those stupid feelings would destroy the oh so precious friendship of yours, and you cannot let that happen, right? i mean, that's what you've thought for far too long, since this friendship meant more to you, than the fragile feeling of love - you didn't want it to get to the point where you would rather spit on each other, than talk it out. maybe that's why you pushed him away from yourself? maybe you just did that because you weren't too sure of your own peace of mind? no matter what, you knew the decision itself was wrong, only to realize it way too late. damaging the friendship and crying yourself to sleep was all your fault, after all, being way too proud and scared, stupid even; when you came back to the town where you two grew up, the least thing you wanted was to meet mark lee, mainly because you wouldn't have been able to look him in the eyes after all these happened. but you had to, so soon you even got a little surprised. it's been a while since the last time you have been home, your bedroom seemed way too unfamiliar at that point, just like the vhs tape placed directly in the middle of your bed. one which you haven't seen yet. it didn't have a title, the white label completely empty as you picked it up. you were a little bit cautious when placing it in the system, waiting for it to play whatever is on it, not having such large imagination to expect anything. it was a home video montage, full of videos of you and mark: playing together, getting ready for the first day of school, going to the movies, the way you two got engaged in middle school as a joke, and the omnious day of prom... you got teary eyed, with one thing on your mind - you have to go and save whatever's left now. maybe you're not too late.

✰ RENJUN — soulmate!au

life had been pretty much grey and dreary until you found The One. the other half everyone had been so obsessed to find. you were never big on all this stuff, because you were convinced you'd be able to live as a single half for you whole life, and don't need anyone else to feel complete. deep inside you knew that all of this is bullshit, truly, and all that was coming out of you was true bitterness and constantly ongoing unsuccessful confessions, making you believe in your delusions. with every passing second, you had to see people find their other half, while you were left to deal with the grey world you were left in, not as a choice but as fate instead. you felt like a loser, a big zero, who doesn't even deserve a soulmate. you thought you were destined to die alone, maybe compensate with something of brilliance: be a composer or a singer, write or paint something extraordinary, lord knows what, just something of importance! you were looking for yourself in every corner of the world, not for a lover or a fling, not for an other half, fully ignoring the law of attraction. it might have been some reverse psychological trick, effecting it all. and this may have been the reason behind why you had to leave that horribly boring theatre play, sneaking out and bumping into The One, who handed back your accidentally dropped bag, slowly looking into your eyes. he might have worked at the theater as he was wearing a name tag on his elegant shirt - huang renjun, it said. but it doesn't even matter, because his eyes were brown! brown! not grey, brown! everything cleared up. you did find the half - with brown eyes and a smile so bright.

✰ JENO — coffee shop!au

it was pretty much bittersweet to step foot in your favourite café: it was getting dark out there, and although the rain has stopped pouring, you got absolutley soaked to the core along the way there, rain replacing the tears on your face by then. your hair was sticking to your forehead uncomfortably, your body trembling without stopping, as you entered. the bell placed above the entrance was ringing lightly, gathering everyone's attention to you, although there wasn't too much people there except for the baristas, maybe two wandering souls, working on their laptops or reading in a cozy corner. well, maybe if it wasn't for getting dumped literal minutes ago, you wouldn't be here either, but it was still the most reasonable choice compared to going to a club or a ruin bar, gettig incredibly drunk, Plus! a good espresso might be able to clear the fog in your head, which you were in need of during this stupidly stressing period of life. you expected hyuck to greet you by the coffee machine, grinning ear to ear, as he always does when you visit between two lectures, but there was a completely new face behind the counter. it's been a long time since you've last seen a new employee here. his smile was sweet and rather warm, eyes conveying a sense of concern as you took one step closer, rubbing your eyes while getting your purse out of your pocket - you discreetly looked at his name tag, right on his black apron: lee jeno. whatta name... by then, you were way to hopeless to try and guess how the day would go, but life had to surprise you, fate deciding funnily against all odds: next to your cup of coffee, there was a napkin, hiding a telephone number on it, messily written down with a short message as well: "would you go out on a date with me, darling? :)"

✰ HAECHAN — rivals to lovers!au

lee donghyuck's name rushed through the hallways of your music academy just as quietly as a whisper, and you never knew why was it all like that ever since you've stepped foot into the school. you couldn't even hide the way too obvious rolls of your eyes every time you heard it. lee donghyuck was one of the biggest prodigies at the academy, no one could even be considered as a rival for him, this is mainly why he was such a big living legend amongst the students - you couldn't even hide how annoyed this made you, especially because he made sure you knew this ever since you two were little. music played a huge part in both of your lives, and somehow, you two always seemed to be at each other's throat, the first place at being the best always changing between the two of you. you could never get rid of each other either; your dad, always being so positive, once said, on your way to the academy sometime between sophomore and junior year, that the only reason behind this is that you two are equally good at what you're doing. you were pretty much skeptic for the longest of time, and felt as if you were destined to be the forever second next to him. you've had enough of always bumping into walls, since hyuck was the one who could stand at the first place ever so proudly. in kindergarten, in middle school, and even in high school, every. god damn. time. and that infuriating smile was plastered all upon his face even when you two were asked to not perform alone on the annual charity gala of your academy - you two had to perform something phenomenal, putting the childish jarring aside, growing out of the silly phase of hating each other, which was all made up by you, and you only, pushing the poor boy away from you. the boy who had always been so obsessed with you, utterly and completely. he won this time again, isn't it right?

✰ JAEMIN — photographer!au

when jaemin brought up the idea of making the last parts of his portfolio with you (which basically means about you), you were a little bit skeptic at first. you loved jaemin dearly, since he was a really understanding friend, but... you were simply terrified of cameras. you didn't really like the idea of being captured at all, you hated looking back at yourself on pictures taken of you, and you couldn't even think about how high quality his pictures would be with that hyper super machine, focused on all the little flawed details of your face that you absolutely despised. no, you couldn't even bear the idea of this whole project, and you stood by this decision of yours, jaemin waiting patiently the whole time, not pushing it too hard. since he wanted to work with you no matter what, giving up on his plan wouldn't be too typical of him - the fight didn't last long but it was pretty heated, him highlighting so many known things that needed to be said finally: it's childish how you reflect on yourself, and your delusions stop you from way too many things. the way he said straight into your face how beautiful he thinks you are, inside and outside, and that he wants the whole world to know how ethereal you are, made you tear up a little - especially when he said his heart breaks every time you speak so lowly of yourself. he truly thinks you're the modern manifestation of aphrodite, that you are his own venus, the muse of him, someone he can adore... that he's way too in love with you to let go of this, and-; the kiss you gave him was short, yet gave him exact answers. answers to hundreds and thousand of unsaid questions he kept hidden in himself for years and years on end.

✰ CHENLE — blind date!au

you clearly didn’t brace yourself for this whole fiasco proposed by donghyuck himself, foolishly believing his reasonings behind how perfect of a matchmaker he is. of course you knew that what he way saying was partly stupid, plus you were like a seventy percent sure he wasn't even sober when he set up a blind date during that omnious frat party he wasn't invited to. you didn't have to worry or anything, that's just how you were - overly anxious of such things, even if you weren't meeting a psychopath. you were only a bit vary of the awkwardness this whole new experience would bring, both of you rushing home way too soon from the date, trying to forget about it as soon as possible. these misconceptions about how the night would go stayed straight until you stopped in front of the restaurant to wait for your - then late already - date. you were a little nervous he stood you up, and you got yourself into the most beautiful piece of clothing from you wardrobe for nothing, but it was worth it, looking back at it, as zhong chenle arrived and you two simply just... clicked? automatically? not to mention you two decided to leave the place after the hors d'oeuvre, since you both found the place a little too fancy at that moment, going to a simple ice cream parlor instead, taking a walk in the park after, talking about anything and everything that came to mind: family, politics, movies and the most embarrassing memories from your childhood came up too, as you couldn't help but laugh at how chenle dropped his ice cream cone on the ground, while he simultaneously promised you that he wouldn't drop the cone on the next date - and you smiled, so happily.

✰ JISUNG — secret admirer!au

you were head over heels for jisung and his undying love for dancing. but, thinking a bit deeper about it, while writing that foolish, teenager like love letter for him, forced into the role of his secret admirer, there were much more of those things that made you feel head over heels for the boy: he showed you what persistence was, he spent the whole of his youth with you, and he wasn't afraid to spend the rest of his life with you, helping you out anytime you're in need of it, since he couldn't not do that as you "best friend". he couldn't be evil with you, he was never able to leave you and he couldn't even envision a future in which you weren't by his side. but the border he made up between the two of you, was never crossed - you two were friends, not more, not less. you were so torn deep inside, as you were helpless, being in the never ending limbo you would rather push forward, but he kept on tugging it backwards; the idea of writing letters was originally from your mother, who had enough of your obvious agony. she was positive you would write every feeling of yours out, making it easier as time goes by. their number kept growing, however, one letter becoming a dozen soon enough, maybe even more in the meantime, while not writing a name on any of them, referring to yourself only as a mere secret admirer. they suddenly disappeared from the bottom of your drawer one day, though, realizing way too late that the ringing phone in your pocket was in fact park jisung, the picture of him taking up the screen of your mobile - did he know?

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 2 years ago

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Are you a zombie? Because you’re drop-dead gorgeous.

~Dead on Main pick up lines?~

Danny fell from the ceiling trying to find a better angle of view on Hood’s butt. He gets up, shakes off the dust and opens a notebook. Reads aloud.

Danny: Are you a gravestone? Because I really wish you were on top of me.

Hood: Are you my sleep paralysis demon? ’cause I get used to seeing you every night.

Batman: Who is he?

Hood: My trophy wife from Amity Park. Don’t ask. I’m only with him for the guns.

Danny: Hey, what about my refined sense of humor?

Hood: You think you're dead funny, don't you?

Danny: You’re right about half.

Hood: If you don’t shut up, I’m gonna be so damn right. 100% right!

Danny: So you admit I’m funny?

Hood: ..you’ll sleep on the doormat tonight.

Joker*feels uncomfortable as he is not the main clown in the room*

Batman*feels uncomfortable because he’s not ready to be a father-in-law, not just a father*

~~Next night, in one of Hood’s lairs~~

Hood: Are you the vacuum of space? Because you took my breath away.

Phantom*blushes in green*.

#dc x dp prompt #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dead on main #Danny x Jason #danny fenton x jason todd #danny phantom #Jason Todd #red hood #damian wayne x danny fenton

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trashmouth-richie · 10 months ago

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𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞

love sick! eddie x fem reader

eddie comes to your house in the middle of a rainstorm begging for something you can’t give him

hurt no comfort, reader is kinda a fuck girl in this situation, eddie is sweet, smut 18+ only mdni

Rain pattered loud against the windows, thunder clapped and rumbled in before the lightning rode behind and brightened the midnight sky. His hair was sopping wet, dark waves drenched to silky ropes. You didn’t know how long he was knocking before the repetitive noise had woken you.

He was soaked.

Soggy Reeboks squished against the doormat as he chattered his teeth unwillingly through the threshold of your front door.

Water pooled around his feet as you counted the slow drops of rain falling from his fingertips onto the carpet. A steady rhythm— anything to keep your eyes from seeing the hurt etched into his face.

A fling was all this was supposed to be. Nothing serious. No feelings. You kept your side of the bargain but Eddie fell for you before he could stop himself. He thought if he kept his feelings hidden you wouldn’t catch onto them, or maybe he silently hoped you also had feelings for him.

It wasn’t until he noticed your car parked outside of Steve Harrington’s house, on the way to work one morning. Dew slicking your windows, that he realized you had been there since night, having spent the evening tucked into a king bed with Steve, of all people.

He ignored his aching heart, shook away the hurt. The smile he put on when you stopped by his work to have a quickie in the bathroom, was practically believable, award winning.

Your car showed up in other driveways, and he wondered if you’d always been there— under his nose, or if this was new for you.

Eddie wanted you all to himself. But that was not part of what this was. Months went by and he never once turned down your midnight calls. He ignored hickies that weren’t from him, earrings with initials that weren’t his or yours. He wouldn’t dare lose you because he couldn’t handle how he felt. But one night he messed up.

The night was like any other, he was buried inside of you, as you rode him in the tub. Soapy water was splashed all over the floor, his tattoos looked alive beneath the shimmery smears of body wash. As your tits bounced in his face, your fingers were curled tight at the back of his neck, wringing the wet from his curls.

And it slipped.

You felt so good, your perfect body full in his hands, delicious curves and smooth skin he could never get enough. He’d never forget the tangy lick of cherry on your lips, the way your eyes closed as you came.

Three words fell like a prayer from his lips, a spewed string of murmurs that stung his eyes from relief, finally letting it out. And as he came you stopped cold.

And that was it.

It had been a month. Arguably the worst month of Eddie Munson’s life.

A month spent drunk and high, only to find out that the demons couldn’t be deceived. The reality of you telling him it was over hit him over and over again. Your face, the tears you wouldn’t allow yourself to fall, blinded his dreams, tortured his sober hours. He was a wreck.

Arms crossed tight, socked toes working into the carpet you haven’t stopped staring at the water running from his rings.

“Eddie… what are you doing in the rain?”

He couldn’t tell you that he walked here from The Hideout. That he just needed to see your face.

“Are you drunk?” You reach for the keys on the little hook shelf he had put up for you after it sat in a plastic bag on your table for weeks. He teased you about knowing your way around a screw driver, put the wall stud meter on himself and told you it was broken when it didn’t beep.

He didn’t say anything and you sighed clutching the keys in your palm and reaching for a jacket, “c’mon, let me drive you home.”

He held your arm before it could grip the cotton of your jacket, bringing it down to your side.

“Please..” he begged, a cold hand moved to your cheek and you finally looked at him. Almost taken aback by the purple circles of agony coloring his under eyes, his skin was sickly ghost-white and pale, “I wanted to see you.”

You breathed his name as his fingers curled around your jaw, sighing, closing your eyes, “I can’t… I can’t be what you need.”

Love wasn’t for you. It never had been, and he understood that… until he didn’t, until he told you he loved you, until he swore you felt the same. But you didn’t, you couldn’t.

He felt insane coming here. The guys tried to stop him but he wouldn’t listen.

“I know, I just…” what he wanted was you, wanted to feel your body pressed to his, wanted to taste your lips as you desperately unzipped his pants— giggling in the empty hallway to his bedroom.

He wanted to hear your pretty sighs as he nipped at your thighs, feel your knees buckle when his fingers pushed past your warm slick lips under your skirt.

“..didn’t get to— I know you can’t change how you feel but..”

“Eddie…”

“…lie to me.”

You’re stunned, staring back at him at his wild eyes filled with so much hurt you could feel it in your soul. “I… don’t understand.”

He wets his lips then, and you can taste the bated breath on them, the intoxicating essence that Eddie always filled you with, and you yearn for more.

He’s so close to you now, pressing your back firmly against the shut door. his wet hair beading onto the thin strap of your tank top.

“Please sweetheart,” he whispers, moving the strap down your arm, “.. lie to me, tell me you love me.”

You hang your head, murmuring out a plea that’s formed with hot staticky lust and pain, “I don’t want to hurt you Eds.”

A finger hooks under your chin bringing you back up to him and he smiles with tears in his eyes, “you won’t baby, you never could.”

You say it and his lips find yours in a heated squish of flesh and teeth. The gasping breath echoing along the walls as Eddie hooks his arms beneath your knees and carries you tight against his chest to your room.

Your arms untangle the leather jacket from his shoulders, and when he sets you down like a dainty flower on your mattress he finishes the hasty job of wrestling his arms out from the destroyed fabric and it slaps to the ground.

Clothes are everywhere, yours dry and his completely soaked, he shivers in his nakedness, skin bitter cold to the touch. He seethes when your warm hands pull him down to you, your body practically a furnace against his.

His mouth is hot against the column of your throat, sliding his tongue around the silk of your skin. His hips roll into your body when he smells your shampoo, fuck he’s missed you.

You’ve missed him. Nobody in Hawkins could compare to the way Eddie made you feel.

He intertwined your fingers like lover’s would and you let him. Easy to pretend that you were both on the same page of feelings, everything with Eddie came easy. He’s murmuring nonsense into your neck, tongue swirling, teeth biting, marking you up the last time.

He wanted to be yours. Wanted you to want to be his. But he had to let you go, and tonight he would spend as much time as he could bringing you over the edge of the peaceful shattering of pleasure.

He moves down your body kissing between the valley of your tits, lapping up your honey sweet nipples like they were made of nectar. Never getting enough.

Your pitiful moans dance like dandelions around your room and he nearly cums on your blanket when you pant his name as his tongue licks up your cunt.

He’d missed your taste, the way he’d fuck you stupid and hours later he could still taste you on his lips. You wrap your thighs around his head like he knew you would.

A peek up your body and your fingers were fisting the comforter, and he smirked into your clit.

Whoever you were fucking now must not be doing it right because you had come fast on his tongue not once, but twice, and his heart swelled with pride.

When he climbed back up the bed, your eyes were shut and you looked drunk, ragged breathing making your heart skip beats.

He lays beside you, kissing your bare shoulder, working a path to your cheek, waiting patiently for your strength to come back, whispering how he’s missed you, how beautiful you are, and you hold back tears.

You said it again when he stretched you open, gasping and crying out from his size, “..fuck, so so so big.”

He chuckled into your neck, pistoning his hips with a jerk causing you to moan, “don’t want you to forget about me pretty girl.”

Your reply is snuffed out into his neck, slurred out with moans and murmurs of his name. He fucked you hard then slow, a lazy rhythm with his forehead resting on yours, collecting your lips with his whenever he could, swallowing each others groans.

He’s close, and so are you. You can feel his arms beginning to shake, and his breathing picks up in racing tandem with yours. “where’d you want me?”

Your eyes are rolled back and you’re arching your back from the bed, babbling a plea of how you don’t care where, and your orgasm snaps.

Eyes pinched and huffing you both come at the same time, tangled in sweaty sheets and frizzy hair. It’s pure bliss, no matter how ignorant you may both be in the moment.

—

Hours pass. Eddie’s light snores keep you company with the hum from the dryer filled with his clothes. Your fingers slide through his curls, working knots out with your fingernails as he lays heavy on your chest. His lips are red from the night, maybe a bit swollen.

Pushing back his bangs you get a good look at his features. The bulby nose, the silver scar on his forehead that you never thought to ask where it came from. The thick sweep of black lashes contrasting to his porcelain skin. He was beautiful.

And you were a liar.

Saying it a third time tonight, you say the three word lie Eddie begged you to tell him.

He was fooled, and you’d keep doing it to protect him from you. Because saying you loved Eddie, never was a lie.

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie imagine #eddie blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie x you smut

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fuctacles · 26 days ago

Note

What about milf 6?

Well, apparently I only had to proofread it so...

<<😺😺😺😺😺 | 😺😺😺😺😺😺😺>>

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end is not the one Eddie wants to hear, but he should have expected it. He did call a total stranger, after all.

"Robin, right?"

"Yeah, who is it?"

He feels like he's already fucked up, somehow, but he pushes on.

"Eddie, I'm taking care of Stephanie's cats. I, uh, I think they want to talk to her."

He breathes out in relief when the woman on the other side laughs.

"Yeah, I can hear that. Gimme a second. Steph!" She pulls the phone away from her, but the volume is still a bit too much. "Your boy is calling!"

"He's not my boy!" he thinks is what he hears from even further away before there's a clatter in the receiver, and a way softer "Eddie?"

"Hi." He brings the phone closer to his ear again. "How's your weekend going?"

"Really good, thank you. Robin nearly broke her finger trying to beat me in bowling and I ate way too many steamed dumplings. But I swear they are the best in the state."

"You a big fan of dumplings?" he asks with a chuckle.

"You have no idea, I'll eat any kind. Pierogies, dim sum, samosa... How are you doing with my little idiots, though? I can hear they're being evil again."

"Uh, yeah." Eddie turns to look at the three furry menaces sitting in a perfect line and meowing more off-tune than even Gareth ever could. "Seems like they really want to get into the bedroom."

Steph huffs into his ear.

"They think I'm hiding from them. Let them in and keep an eye out because I'm not getting new drapes again. Lure them out with catnip if they won't leave on their own."

"Okay."

"And, uh, if you see something weird, like, on the bed or something, just throw a blanket over it and pretend it's not there, okay?"

Eddie blinks at the closed door, Robin's distant laughter and the cat's very close cacophony melting his brain.

"Weird how?"

"Shut up, Rob!" Steph hisses to her friend before coming closer to the phone. "Underwear, uh, toys, the likes," she explains, voice slightly pained.

"Gotcha," Eddie gulps at the prospect of running into Stephanie's sex toys.

"I think I put everything away, but I'm not used to having men in my bedroom."

"Uh-huh, yeah, me neither."

Eddie is really tempted to bash the receiver into his skull.

Stephanie clears her throat.

"Hey, could you feed them this evening too? I was—"

"Absolutely," Eddie interrupts her, cringing at his own eagerness. "You just have fun with your friend."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you so much. I'll pay you when I get back."

"What? No, absolutely not."

No no no no no, don't you dare turn it into a transaction, Stephanie.

"Well, help yourself to the beer, then."

That's better, that's how friends pay for favors. He deflates with relief.

"Or food, the TV, anything you want."

"Thanks," he says, but doubts she's heard him over the commotion on the other end. The sounds are not dissimilar to Jeff's two toddler siblings fighting.

"Well, I'll be back tonight or early morning, so just leave the key under the doormat."

"You don't have a spare?" he frowns.

"Robin has it, in case of emergencies."

That sounds like a weird arrangement but Eddie's not going to question it.

"I could wait for you," he offers, but as soon as it leaves his mouth he realizes how weird it sounds. "I stay up late anyway, you can just drop by my uncle's and I'll hand you the key," he quickly amends.

"The doormat is really enough," she assures him but he doesn't like the idea of leaving anyone's key in an obvious place.

"What? Sorry, I can't hear you over the meowing. I'll see you later."

She huffs, and he hopes it's an amused, fond huff, like his uncle gives him. Then hopes it's not. He doesn't want Steph to respond to him like his uncle does.

"Sure. Later, Eddie."

He finally opens the door to her bedroom, and it's like a switch has been flipped. The noise immediately ceases, and the cats rush inside.

"You guys are insane," he mutters, following them. He turns the light on and looks curiously around, tamping down any sense of guilt.

He spots a white bra thrown over the end of the bed and pulls the blanket over it so he can pretend it's not there. Everything smells like Steph and he has this millisecond urge to plop face-first into her bedding and just inhale her.

When they don't find their owner where she should be, the cats retreat without the need for a bribe. Eddie closes the door behind them and his body deflates with a soft sigh.

When he's back in the evening though, he makes a grave mistake.

He lets himself indulge a little, grabs a beer from the fridge, and peruses Stephanie's movie collections. It's mostly romantic comedies, and, surprisingly, the Star Wars movies. He picks the first one and plucks it into the VHS.

The couch sinks under his butt and he sighs in contentment as the opening credits appear on the screen. He could stay here, binge the trilogy, and welcome Steph home.

Open her a beer and massage her feet and kiss her hello. Like a loving husband.

Eddie sighs at his own thoughts, falling deeper into the cushions. He met Steph two days ago and meanwhile, there's a girl back in Indy he's been idly flirting with. And that cute guy from Battle of the Bands.

But they fall apart in the face of Stephanie's beauty, of her luscious hair and disarming smile. Eddie slides down a little bit further. Arwen decides it's an invitation to sit on his lap and he welcomes the distraction, petting her mindlessly.

Sometime later, he considers getting another beer, but he's trapped under the black cat. He nudges her gently, but all he gets is a warning side eyes so he raises his hands in defeat.

"Okay, I'm not moving." He admits his loss and focuses back on the movie.

#crazy cat lady stevie #steddie #transfem steve harrington #stevie harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #steve harrington #steddie fanfiction #stevierything #older steve harrington #steddie fluff

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adverbally · 3 months ago

Text

I Still Got You to Be My Open Door

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘Go, see if I care.’” | wc: 662 | rated: T | cw: referenced parental neglect | tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, steve’s parents suck, references to cutting off contact with parents | title from “Grey Room” by Damien Rice

Steve’s own voice echoes after him as he slams the front door and stomps to his car.

“How did you think I would react?” Infuriated. Poisonous.

He fumbles his keys and they fall to the asphalt with a discordant jangle that sounds the way his nerves feel. He has to shut his eyes and breathe for a moment so he doesn’t fall apart.

“If you don’t want me here, I’ll go somewhere else.” Emotionless. Numb.

Another breath, then Steve retrieves his keys. He wonders, as he unlocks the car door, if he should leave his house key. He could drop it in the mailbox, slip it under the doormat. He could throw it in the pool or toss it into the woods behind the house…

The silence inside the car is deafening. It was quiet enough outside, the sun already setting on a short fall day, but every bird’s song and rustle of leaves had seemed magnified by the roar of his pulse in his ears. The car muffles everything outside, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.

“Go, see if I care.” Sneering. Disdainful.

That’s the part that stings the most. His parents dropped this on him over the phone. They couldn’t even be bothered to come home to discuss it. Probably because in their minds, there is nothing to discuss. They will be selling the house, they will be moving to New York for his dad’s business, and they need his belongings packed up by the end of the month.

They didn’t invite him to come with them. They hadn’t even thought to ask what his plans were, now that they were yanking his home out from under him.

“Good luck in the city, I guess.” Hurt. Abandoned.

Steve drives around town in silence for what feels like hours, replaying the conversation over and over. What should he have said differently? Would it have changed anything? No, he decides. At the end of the day, the fact is that his parents don’t care about him, don’t even know him, and this kind of fight was a long time coming.

It still makes Steve’s throat tight. Standing up for himself like this means he’s given up all hope of having a relationship with his parents. As unlikely as that was, the possibility had been there. They could wake up one day and realize how absent and neglectful they had been, could apologize and beg for his forgiveness and try to make it up to him. That bridge is well and truly burned, now, which isn’t surprising but still feels like a gut punch.

Without consciously picking a destination, Steve finds himself parked outside the Munson home. He kills the headlights, shuts off the ignition, but doesn’t get out of the car. Now that he’s stopped moving, he doesn’t have the momentum to start again.

The tap on his window is gentle but it still makes him jump. Of course it’s Eddie, standing there in one of Steve’s old Hawkins High sweatshirts, peering at him through the glass with that concerned frown Steve loves so much. “You okay?” he mouths.

Steve can’t begin to answer that right now. He opens the car door, careful not to hit Eddie, and slips out right into Eddie’s comforting embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Eddie murmurs, one hand holding Steve’s head against his shoulder and the other rubbing up and down his back.

“My parents,” he sighs. That about sums it up.

Eddie doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just squeezes him tighter. “You can stay over if you want. Wayne won’t mind, and he’s working tonight anyway.”

Everything will wait until tomorrow, when the hurt isn’t so fresh and he can make plans with a clear head. For tonight, Steve can cuddle up with his boyfriend, in borrowed clothes that smell like Eddie, maybe smoke a little, and stop thinking so hard.

“Thanks,” he tells Eddie, his voice small.

Eddie kisses the top of his head. “Any time.”

#steddieangstyaugust #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve/eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #ugh this prompt fought me the WHOLE TIME

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smooth-perceval · 11 months ago

Text

“Stop acting like the grinch.”

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary: Max pushes reader away, but reader is too stubborn to leave him alone- and soon find outs the truth.

Warning: swearing, max being a bit of a dick, forgiven very easy, reader being stubborn, fluff, angst?

Key: Y/N (Your name) Y/L/N (your last name)

Word count: 715

A/N: this is short and rushed please don’t hate me! It’s busy season and I forgot how busy I get at Christmas!!

Me and max hadn’t spoken in a few weeks or so- something about needing space over the holidays to focus on training…

Every year without fail for the past 4 years we spent Christmas together, it was our sworn vow in our friendship- Christmas never gets missed. Maybe except this year… Well unless he tells me to leave him alone then I’ll have to just walk away- right?

“Max! I know you said you need space… but I got all my decorations!” Kicking the door with my foot, I juggled the boxes in my arms.

“Max? You in- I should’ve texted before coming over I’m sorry.”

Nudging the door once again, I then sighed dropping the boxes to the floor hearing what sounds like a possible few broken ornaments.

“Max?” Hands on my hips I stared at the door. “Such an idiot Y/N… he’s out.” Mumbling unholy words to myself I prepared myself to carry the boxes back down to the car.

“Y/N?” With squinting eyes, messy hair and slightly red face- peering through the slightly opened door was Max.

“Max?” Mouth slacked I stared at him like a deer in headlights.

“Hi-” it felt lovely to see him again… I missed him deeply.

“Hey… what are you doing here?” Furrowing his eyebrows- he opened the door a little more.

“To decorate?… like last year- and the year before…”

“Y/N- I said I am focusing on other shit…”

“But max- we do this every year.”

“Not this year… you need to go.”

“Max-”

“Don’t Max me. Just go…”

Deflated, my shoulders slumped. I thought it’ll be easy to just turn and go- but truthfully I wasn’t giving up the fight that easy.

“Stop acting like the grinch.”

A little smile crept on his face before he quickly wiped it away.

“You’re still here.”

“No shit Sherlock. Let me in.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll wait out here… decorate your front door or something…”

“Fine.”

Silence… he didn’t shut the door we just stared at each other.

“And if this is the most I’ll see of you- then merry Christmas and happy new year.” With my hand now against his forehead I pushed it back slamming the door shut on my own face. And true to my word, I started decorating his front door- making do with what I had, a little tinsel around the door- a doormat In front.

I went to tie some balbals around the handle- when the door sprung open again.

“Y/N.”

Leaning forward I wrapped the balbals around before rummaging through the bag again.

“Y/N.”

“What Max.”

“I’m sorry…”

“I know.”

“I just-”

“You just?”

“I’m not busy- I lied.”

“You lied?… why did you lie?” A little insulted I took a step away from him- like he twisted a knife in my heart. “I realised I am in love with you- and that has scared the shit of me.”

“You’re in love with me…?” And the knife was untwisted, heart was kissed better and floating back in his arms.

“So much it hurts.”

“Max…” shushing me he looked up pulling the tinsel down from the door

“So if you’ll have me- I’d like to celebrate this Christmas a little differently from the last.”

“How so?” With a sly smile on his face, he threw the tinsel around me pulling me in. “I’ll show you-”

And there it was the first time ever in 4 years- we kissed. And it was magical. I couldn’t describe the kiss just- I knew I wanted this forever. The tinsel around my waist, max grip on the tinsel wrapping it around his hands the closer he pulls me in.

“Max-” mumbling I pulled away- his eyes still closed as he pulled back slightly humming as a response. “Can we watch the grinch?”

“Seriously…”

“You was a dick.”

“Because I love you!”

“And now you’ll watch the grinch while we decorate!”

“I guess I will.” Rolling his eyes he grabbed the bag of decor, as I picked up the rest.

“Oh and max-” turning around he looked down slightly at me.

“Merry Christmas.” Whispering to him- I leaned up kissing his lips delicately- leaving him with a cute smile on his face.

“And a happy new year.” He whispered back returning the kiss.

#f1 imagine #formula one imagine #imagine #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen

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devilmademewriteit · 1 year ago

Note

Drabble request for dbf!joel getting blown under the table or something while he's having a convo with reader's dad?!?! IDK I just love your dbf!joel!!

You Can Be the Boss

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

warnings: rough oral (m receiving); petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart); age gap; choking; hair pulling; (yall this is pure pure daddy issues FILTH, I warned you. I warned you hard).

Hi y’all ty for sending me all ur requests. ummm you guys are insane ! and so am I ! maybe more because I’m actually the one writing these ! this one is so dirty ! don’t say I didn’t warn you !

more to come hehehe. I don’t tag ppl for my smaller drabbles / fics so turn on notifs or whatevs ;)

-em<3

—

“As close as I’ll get to the darkness, he tells me to, ‘Shut up, I got this.’”

- You Can Be the Boss

—

It was still a secret, after all.

Sneaking into his apartment, late nights in alleys, abandoned cars lining the streets of the QZ… you’d managed to keep your joint intoxication with one another under wraps.

Today… today was risky. You usually waited until the wee hours of the morning to even walk by his place, let alone enter, but you’d needed to drop off a sweater that Tess had leant you the previous week, intending to leave it folded up on the doormat before bolting down the hall. Your footsteps were nervous and heavy, which led to the door swinging wide open on its hinges, a gruff “where you runnin’ off to, Angel?” and a set of rough hands pulling you through the doorway.

Then you were spread open against the tattered table cloth of his (busy) kitchen table, underwear shoved to the side, watching a hunched over Joel Fucking Miller spit on his hand and run it up down his heavy, hard length.

“Shouldn’t come here during the day,” as he’d lined himself up, “Can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

That’s when you heard the definite sound of a key twisting inside a lock. Joel’s head shot up — your eyes barely had time to widen before he was shoving you under the table, panties still twisted around your ankles.

A quick zip, then footsteps.

“Oh, sorry man—”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“—Tess said you wouldn’t be home.”

It’s your father.

You thank God for your his poor observation skills (and the tablecloth) as Joel responds, “ah, no worries,” frustratingly non-chalant as ever.

“While you’re here though,” and your heart sinks, identifying your dad’s intention to stay, “Was wondering if we could go over the plans for our new routes. FEDRA assholes blocked off another south-east one today.”

Your blood turns to ice inside your veins as both men pull out their chairs, settling into a purely-business conversation. Joel barely hesitates, cool as ice.

Not fair that he gets to be so calm while you’re so… not.

Not fair.

If only there was a way to even out the playing field.

Crunched into yourself, you scoot closer to Joel’s calves, clinging onto his denim and doing your best to make as little noise as possible. When it’s clear, however, that your father’s far too invested in the practicalities of the conversation to suspect or inquire into or even notice anything else, your eyes wander towards the slowly softening bulge, still visible underneath Joel’s belt.

And you get an idea.

The man always tortured you, and you were well aware that what made your arrangement especially enticing — for the both of you — was the taboo-ness, the wrongness of it all.

So your pussy drips just thinking about it.

Slowly, delicately, you slide your hands up Joel’s thighs, feeling his every muscle respond, tensing, turning to stone, or jolting with electricity beneath your playful touches.

It’s hard, quietly pulling down his fly. Still, metal tooth by metal tooth, you eventually succeed, unable to hold back a smile of vindication when his cock springs up, swelling and hardening between your fingertips. Joel covers his choke with a cough.

Just as you duck down to lick a fat stripe up his cock’s dark underside, noticing how the lungs above you constrict — freezing — the conversation changes.

“You been seeing a lot of my daughter?”

Joel takes an uncharacteristically long time to grunt out a “here n’ there.”

You hold in a laugh, both at your dad’s timely question and the reaction it causes. Placing a hand at the base of him, you consider this the perfect moment to start teasing his tip with patient, innocent little kitten-licks.

“Been acting weird,” your old man continues, unphased and unassuming, “Worried she’s been gettin’ herself into trouble.”

Trouble? You’re looking at him.

Your dad’s whole “fatherly concern” (not like he’d ever shown any before) angle makes you bold. You want to make it harder for Joel to deny your father’s suspicion.

You want to make him lie through his teeth.

You part your lips, wrapping them adoringly around the entire head of his cock before gliding down, using your hand to assist you as you please every inch of him.

While he mostly manages to keep it together, his legs don’t, gently parting with desire to allow you better access.

“She-she’s a good girl, man,” Joel manages, and while his delivery borders a groan, he stays surprisingly level (your body doesn’t forget to note his praise, either, aching cunt growing wetter and wetter at his every word). “‘Bit juvenile sometimes, and reckless—” he pauses, and it’s very clear he’s not speaking to your father, “—but good—” you work every inch of him with your hands, throat, and mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges and veins, the taste of his salt on your tastebuds, “—so good.”

You freeze, scanning the room for tension as both you and Joel try to figure out if his desire-stricken tone’s given you away.

It hasn’t.

Of course it hasn’t.

Your dad continues on as if everything were normal, as if Joel’s tip wasn’t kissing the back of your throat. “Just not sure if I’m raising her right—or… or if I was much of a father at all.”

Yeah, probably not. You know, given that I’m under the table sucking your best friend��s dick.

You watch, head still slowly bobbing up and down his length, a hand carving a careful path down his leg. Joel’s fingertips breach your shoulder, his palm slowly graduates to cupping the back of your head.

And he shoves you forward, forcing every punishing inch of himself down your little, gasping throat.

“Just needs a little discipline,” your torturer responds, raising his gravelly voice to mask the definite sound of choking.

“A heavy hand.”

You huff against his abdomen. Just like that, Joel’s taken the reins of your little operation.

Like he always did. Like he always does.

“You’re probably right,” your father responds, sighing with concession. Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes while your lungs burn for oxygen, mouth stuffed and nose pressed into Joel’s skin. He chuckles, slapping the table. “Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile, huh?”

“That’s right,” Joel responds, a soft coo, tightening his grasp in your hair and somehow forcing more of himself between your lips.

Making his point.

You hold back a whimper, nails hopelessly clawing at his jeans.

Your dad raps his knuckles against the wood, pushing his chair back to leave. Unfortunately for you, Joel doesn’t move, holding you there like a prisoner — suffocating you.

He clears his throat. “I’d walk you out, but, you know—” your eyelids grow heavy, little stars beginning to dance in your vision “—been goin’ hard recently. Wearin’ myself out.”

A huff of understanding and concurrence from the other side of the room.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, hinges squeak, goodbyes are uttered, and your father’s left you alone with his buddy again.

Joel’s chair scrapes back — he pulls you along with him, attached to him, out from underneath the table.

Finally, finally, he releases his grasp.

You jump off of him, strings of saliva trailing from your lips, gasping for air as if you were seconds from drowning.

You aim to collapse against his knees, but he quickly grabs you by the throat, presses his big thumb under your chin, and forces your wet, tear-lined eyes up to meet his.

They’re filled with a lust so dark, you wonder if just that look might swallow you whole.

“Prouda yourself?” He speaks, voice low.

Dangerous.

And you just smile, dazed, nodding. Nodding because you know where it’ll get you. Nodding because you just know how much it’ll entice him.

“‘Course you are,” he continues, softer, “Shoulda been honest — shoulda told your old man he raised a fuckin’ slut.”

Joel lifts you up, indelicately shoving you down on the table, right back in the position you’d originally started the visit in.

His eyes darken to black when he sees how wet you are, how fucked-out, needy, and unapologetic you are.

“And you know what, baby?” A deceiving coo as he lines himself up at your entrance, using his other hand to squeeze your jaw — tight.

You look at him with big, begging doe eyes, eyebrows already knitting together from the tantalizing contact.

“I’m really fuckin’ glad he did.”

And as Joel Miller roughly sheathes his cock inside your young, tight cunt, you find yourself agreeing with him.

—

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #tlou #request for em’s answering machine: answered<3

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fluentmoviequoter · 5 months ago

Text

Speak Up

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x shy!fem!reader

Summary: Your shyness makes it hard to speak up for yourself. Your boyfriend Deacon makes it easy.

Warnings: angst?, reader is belittled and harassed, fluff and comfort!

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Deacon Kay is unlike any other boyfriend you’ve ever had. Though you are used to disappointment and broken relationships, many of which you blame on your shyness, you know that what you have with Deacon is different. Your relationship is fairly new, you’ve been together less than a year, yet you survived the honeymoon phase and the weeks that followed. Perhaps the most incredible part of Deacon and the relationship you’re building with him is how he treats you. From the beginning, Deacon acknowledged your shyness but has never abused it or treated it as a flaw. He supports you, talks for you when you struggle, and has never shamed you for being shy or falling into quiet moments.

As you move around your home, getting ready to meet Deacon, you realize that Deacon doesn’t know the full extent of your shyness. He knows that you have trouble talking to strangers and look away when he compliments you to hide your warming cheeks. The other part, the one that leads you to be quiet because you know people won’t listen even if you did speak, the one that drives you to watch videos on how to stand up for yourself, is the side that Deacon hasn’t seen. Your phone buzzes and you forget about your struggles being shy as you see Deacon’s name appear on the screen.

You smile at his text, a simple message that he’s looking forward to seeing you. Once you’re ready, you slide your phone into your bag and exit your home. Deacon often runs late for dates, but you don’t mind waiting for him. You’d wait forever for a man like Deacon.

At the restaurant, you linger by the door for a moment. There was no sign of Deacon’s car in the parking lot, but it’s so busy tonight that you wouldn’t be able to see him even if he was here. You consider asking the hostess if Deacon’s here yet, but there’s a crowd around her stand.

“Are you in line?” someone asks behind you.

“No, sorry,” you answer softly as you step out of the way.

“What was that?” the woman asks.

You shake your head this time, and she laughs in your face. There’s nothing to say in response to that, nothing you want to say at least, but when she turns and calls her friends over, your eyes drop to the floor.

“Aw, she can’t even talk,” one of her friends says over their laughter.

“Did you get stood up, honey?” the first woman adds. “I can see why.”

With your eyes on the floor and your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, you don’t see Deacon walk in. You also don’t see him stop to watch the high-school-level bullying you’re facing just for being quiet. He wonders how often you deal with this; how many people have treated you like a doormat that can’t argue rather than the amazing, beautiful woman you are.

“Hey,” Deacon says as he walks to your side.

You close your eyes and sigh in relief when his arm circles your shoulders. However, you tense when you realize what he just witnessed.

“Go back to your table and harass each other,” Deacon tells the woman.

“We were just having a little fun, handsome,” she argues.

“I’m not.”

She rolls her eyes and leads her friends away, whispering about you even as they leave. You want to take Deacon’s hand and thank him, but he steps back before you can.

“Come on,” he urges kindly.

You allow him to take your hand and follow Deacon to your table. Rather than sit across from him, you slide into the same side of the booth and look toward Deacon. He smiles at you, his eyes nothing but caring and loving. Nothing like the judgemental look of the women earlier.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “But it’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“It’s not fine,” Deacon argues firmly but kindly. He takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “And you shouldn’t be used to it.”

You shrug, and Deacon raises his other hand to your jaw. He cups it gently as he repeats, “It’s not fine. And what they said wasn’t true. You’re not different or undesirable.”

You nod; the only reason you believe him is because he shows you daily.

“You deserve better than that,” he continues. “I’m not going to convince you to stand up for yourself if that’s not what you want. This isn’t about becoming someone you’re not to stop that from happening, okay?”

“I know,” you assure.

“Besides, you don’t have to do anything about people like that when I’m here.”

You chuckle as he puffs his chest, then lean against his shoulder as you examine the menu before you. Speaking up for yourself won’t be easy any time soon, maybe never, but you know that Deacon will always be here to tell you the truth.

Deacon thinks that he can read you well, and after what he witnessed at the restaurant, he’s convinced that he is getting even better and knowing what you need and want without asking. As you sit on his couch the next evening for movie night, he gets confirmation.

Your legs are folded underneath you, but your shoulders are rigid as you toy with your fingers. You need something, Deacon thinks, and though he’s told you everything here is as much yours as it is his, you struggle to help yourself to what you want. And sometimes, you can’t bring yourself to ask.

“Are you okay?” Deacon inquires during a lull in the movie plot.

You nod and send him a small smile in reply.

“I’m going to the kitchen for a refill. Do you need anything?”

Your eyes drop quickly, but you answer, “No, thanks.”

“You can talk to me, you know that, right? Anything you want to ask, I’ll do it,” Deacon adds.

“I…” You pause as you try to find the right words to say. “Thanks.”

“For?”

“Most people, in the past, I mean, tried to force me to talk. When they thought I needed something, they kept pushing, but that makes it worse. So, thanks for inviting me to ask.”

Deacon’s jaw clenches quickly. He gets angry for you sometimes, and upon hearing that people have pushed you to talk when you are obviously shy angers him tonight. There’s no reason to force you to talk, Deacon thinks, because you’ll ask when you’re ready. And the more comfortable you get, the quicker it comes. Last week you left his side to get a snack and he’d never been so happy to be abandoned on the couch. But right now, rather than letting his anger show, Deacon pulls you into a hug. You happily wrap your arms around one of his and lean closer to his side as the move continues.

Deacon can’t help but smile when you ask, “Do you have more popcorn?” ten minutes later.

“Can you help me with something?” you ask Deacon.

“Of course,” he answers without hesitation.

“You don’t know what it is yet.”

“Of course,” he repeats firmly.

“Okay… I want to learn to speak up for myself. If I can.”

“You can.”

“Online it says to be prepared, identify your feelings, be assertive, set boundaries, and be confident. I don’t know if I can do all of that all the time.”

“You’ve researched this?” Deacon asks.

“Is that weird?”

“No, no, and it’s good advice, but a lot to remember. Maybe that’s just my brain getting old.”

You laugh and gently shove Deacon’s shoulder. He grabs your wrist and uses it to pull you closer.

“What if, next time someone says something you don’t like, you ask them to stop? Not much to remember and it would be over quickly.”

You nod as you lean against Deacon’s chest. “What if they don’t stop?”

“Walk away.”

Before you can ask if Deacon has any advice on what to say, he kisses you, and you forget about the question. With Deacon beside you, you feel like you can do anything. Even learn to stand up and speak up for yourself.

“Can I have another kiss?” you ask boldly after he pulls back.

Deacon smiles and rewards you with several kisses instead of the one you asked for.

Waiting in the police station isn’t something you do often. Deacon usually meets you in HQ, but he’s in a meeting, so you take a seat in the lobby.

“Hey, aren’t you dating Sergeant Kay?” an officer asks.

You look up and nod, surprised that anyone can recognize you as Deacon’s girlfriend.

“Yeah, you’re the one that never talks. How can you think he actually loves you if he doesn’t even know you?”

“I’d rather not talk about my relationship with you,” you respond.

Your soft and polite version of asking him to stop only spurs him to continue. As the officer continues making inappropriate and unwelcome comments about how unhappy Deacon must be with you, you stand. Deacon once told you that you were welcome to come into HQ if he was running late. So, you’re taking his advice to leave the situation because the person you spoke up to didn’t listen.

“Who will do all your bidding when Deacon gets tired and leaves you?” he asks, following you into the hallway.

“Stop,” you demand.

“Or what? You’ll give me the silent treatment?” the officer taunts.

“Officer Duncan!” Deacon calls as he enters the hall. “Sounds to me like you’re interested in armory duty.”

“Sergeant Kay,” he replies quickly. “No, sir, I was just talking to your girlfriend here.”

“Really? Because it sounded to me like you were pushing her after she told you to stop. Do you do that often, Duncan? I’m sure IA would love to make an inquiry into your treatment of women on and off the force, if so.”

“I’m sorry,” Officer Duncan tells you. “Excuse me.”

Deacon smiles once you’re alone and hugs you tightly.

“You did so well,” he applauds quietly.

You duck your chin to hide against his shoulder, but the truth is that you’re proud of yourself, too. The shyness inside you won’t disappear, but with Deacon teaching you to speak up for yourself and helping you when you can’t, it’s not so bad.

“I love you,” you say against Deacon’s shoulder.

“I love you,” Deacon replies.

He proves it with a kiss, and you find that you’re not shy about the public affection. Deacon is good for you, and he always will be.

#david deacon kay x reader #shy!reader #david kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #deacon kay fluff #david deacon kay #deacon kay #david kay #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader #requests #team shy!#hanna writes✯#🍄 anon

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eth3real-ess3nce · 1 year ago

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PICK A ♡ PILE - THREE MONTH LOVE FORECAST

Top left (1) , Top right (2) , Bottom left (3) , Bottom right (4)

Enjoy!

PILE 1

This reading is meant for you if one of more of these apply: ♡ you have been planning your Christmas holidays (2-3 months prior) ♡ you were born in March or April ♡ life path 3 6 or 8 ♡ someone close to you (or you) is named Christina ♡ summer is your favourite season ♡ you hate coffee ♡ it's your last year of high school or college ♡ you own a cat ♡ you are from Asia or dream of visiting Asia / Eastern Asia ♡ you love Starbucks ♡ you see angel number 333 ♡ you used to love Bratz or Monster high ♡ I see you regaining your confidence, how lovely! Many of you have been thinking about making changes to your appearance & you will make these thoughts come true. You will be PAMPERED by the universe. Feels good to finally spoil yourself, huh? Totally! And because of the radiance your glow up offers you, you are going to attract multiple "knights" who will want to add to it. I see material gifts, thoroughly planned dates and tokens of appreciation in your future. Many of you will be meeting new potential love interests during Christmas holidays. Please be careful of lovebombers. Now it isn't the case for everybody of course, since it's a collective reading. But if you notice that someone is making big promises early on and you feel uncomfortable with it, listen to your gut please. For many of you, there might be a third person you don't know about. And whether you know about the third person , please avoid getting entangled in such situations as it won't end well for you..I'm saying this with love Being showered with gifts and being treated like a queen is amazing , but just be aware of the hidden agendas. In cases a third person doesn't exist, they will attempt to lure you in by pretending that you are everything you ever asked for. Keep your lovely eyes open! ✨ 💗 Zodiac signs mostly present/related: Taurus, Leo, Cancer (sun, moon, rising or venus)

PILE 2

This reading is meant for you if one or more of these apply: ♡ Life path 5 or the number 5 on your birth date ♡ you are christian or muslim ♡ you wear earphones most of the time ♡ your favourite colour is a shade of blue ♡ you have sensitive stomach or food intolerances ♡ you drop things on the floor easily lately ♡ you like to draw, you use black&white filters on pictures a lot ♡ you live near a thrift shop ♡ your name ends with an "e" ♡ you have practised art before like drama or sculpting I feel that this is my heartbroken pile. I want to start by giving you a BIG warm hug and try to offer you the sweetest, most encouraging words possible today. I'm sensing some type of betrayal here whether it's literal or emotional. You tend to overgive to people close to you, even if they don't deserve it. You are tired of feeling taken advantage of. You feel that so much is owed to you and you definitely have the right to feel this way. You have been stepped over and over again. This is the time where you will be given the decision to put an end to these energies. Some of you might be still entangled in situations where they drain your soul and your light , others might have walked away but are still trying to pick up the pieces of their hearts & heal.. It seems very difficult for you, because making the decision to prioritise yourself & your needs is something brand new to you. You never thought you were supposed to put yourself first before ; to think that your physical mental, emotional wellbeing must come first. My dear pile 2, I know you are seeking a glimpse of hope in today's reading but I ought to be 100% honest with you. Dating is not what is meant for you right now. You are going through one of the deepest spiritual transformations in your life currently and I am not exaggerating. You are still learning how to perceive yourself as someone who is human with needs and desires, and NOT as a doormat for others to step conveniently on. "But is there hope for me to find love?" Yes. I see that happening later than sooner, though. When you will be coming out of your "winter" phase in your life ; with your healed scars and with confidence you never even imagined you'd possess before. The future holds endless, limitless blessings for you, pile 2. All the power & courage you're seeking is within. Zodiac signs mostly present/related: Pisces & Sagittarius (sun, moon, rising or venus)

PILE 3

This reading is meant for you if one or more of these apply: ♡ you have short hair ♡ life path 9 or have 9 on your date of birth ♡ one of your parents or siblings has aries placements ♡ you traveled inside USA in the past month ♡ you own a green jacket ♡ you are an athlete ♡ your chart is water or air dominant ♡ your name or last name starts with an "M" ♡ you have trouble sleeping lately ♡ you have neon lights in your bedroom ♡ you prefer older guys (I don't blame you) ♡ one of your favourite artists is Taylor swift, Jhene Aiko, Beyoncé ♡ you have tattoo(s) on your wrists/hands ♡ you stay home a lot lately Currently, it seems that you prefer your solitude. Many of you have given up on dating, you feel defeated in some way. You are extra picky with people (as you should) , as you can clearly see through them & make correct judgements about them often. Some of you might have been practicing abstinence, you are spiritually isolated and you are single by choice. I see you living your truth and stand firmly on your beliefs, even if it comes off harsh or weird to others. You don't care. 😉 In the next three months: Initially, you will stay this way. It's very likely that for some of you a past lover might return and even offer closure. You will have reflected a lot on past mistakes that were made & since you took time off the dating pool, you will be able to make healthy choices for yourself. And also, to say "no" to what doesn't serve you. Dear pile 3, I agree it's good to be highly selective, but I see here that many of you struggle when it comes to receiving. You might be looking at those videos where girls are getting princess treatment, flowers, etc. from their boyfriends and you deeply yearn for it. I know some of you won't even admit it 😅 But it's PERFECTLY fine to desire those things. You deserve to be properly loved & cherished. Allow this into your life when the opportunity presents itself, because I assure you it will. Something passionate is in the cards for you. You won't expect it and you won't expect with whom it will happen. You might know (or get to know) this person & not like them at first, but then sparks will begin to ignite. Mark my words. I'm sensing heavy air energy from this pile, woah. (gemini, libra, aquarius) sun moon rising venus. Because of your naturally detached nature, you don't fall in love with just anyone . This time, though , your inner child finally feels safe with someone. This is what your spirit has been asking for. A love that feels like home. Zodiac Signs mostly present/related: Pisces, Aries, Leo, Sagittarius, Libra (sun, moon, rising or venus)

PILE 4

This reading is meant for you if one or more of these apply: ♡ you braid your hair very often ♡ you're reading this while you are not in your hometown ♡ you were born in 2005,2006,1997 ♡ your father is an attorney ♡ you have leo placements ♡ you come from money ♡ you have heart(s) in your bio ♡ you have dark hair and light eyes ♡ you mostly wear boots ♡ you love Green Day ♡ your venus is in Aries ♡ you have nose ring(s) ♡ your name has two A's ♡ you ate cereal the same day you read this ♡ you have a pet with green eyes ♡ you own a necklace with a crystal/stone ♡ you're half European Hello hello! I must say, this pile is scaring me a bit. So wild! 😳 and so much secrecy... 👀 Pile 4 your love lives never cease to be boring. I can hear you thinking "why am I falling in love with the wrong people" "why do i have to make difficult choices in love". I see.... There are multiple energies coming through so bear with me as I'm going to cover them all ❤️ As I said, I sense so much secrecy here. But during the next 3 months everything will be revealed. Do you have feelings for someone you shouldn't, but you keep it to yourself? You will probably either tell them or they'll know. Someone from your friend group or class has a crush on you? You will definitely discover it. Do you have an affair behind someone's back? Baby.. it will be known. Does the person you are involved with know that you don't want something serious? It's time for them to learn... I don't seek to be strict, only honest and loving with you, so this is why I advise against being reckless, okay? With your heart and others'. One of the first messages that popped up, is **warning against unwanted pregnancies** so pretty please make sure you use protection if you don't plan on getting pregnant!!! 💗 Pile 4, in the next 3 months karma will be served, whether it's good or bad. If you worry, it's not too late to change how things are. You always have free will. It's just the overall energy that I am getting. For example, if you don't want your crush to know that you like them, then they won't. BUT, opportunities will present themselves.. just sayin'! It's your choice, always. Expect those changes to occur during the next mercury retrograde (December 13th if you're reading this before that date). I advise you to be on your best behaviour, pile 4!!! I know "forbidden love" situations & mind games are giving you adrenaline and meaning in life... but it's not the time to act up if you want to be free of consequences 😳 And for those of you who know you're doing nothing wrong, I got you. Someone is absolutely infatuated with you but something is holding them back. I have channeled a few clues for you ❤️ : "dark hair" "Scorpio" "19 (could be age or numbers at their date of birth)" "Works in retail" "Initials J or D" "has a flag/scarf of their favourite football team in their room" "met at a party" "subtle ways to have physical contact with you" "had a cringe emo phase a while ago" "has randomly bought you food before" Does it ring a bell?? Zodiac Signs mostly present/related: Aquarius, pisces, Scorpio (sun, moon, rising or venus)

#pick a card #pick a pile #pac #pick a card reading #pick a picture #astrology #love reading #love readings #fs

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fivesslut8 · 2 months ago

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I just got to the episode in miraculous s5 where alya is just not believing marinette and omg it just makes my blood boil anyway heres a revised version of how i think it should have gone down

Marinette felt her pulse racing as she stared at Alya, her best friend, the person she thought would always have her back. But the look on Alya's face—the disbelief, the way she was brushing her off like she was being paranoid—was too much to take. Marinette's fists clenched around the edge of her lunch tray, knuckles white.

Lila had been lying again, and everyone was falling for it. Again. Marinette could feel her stomach twisting in knots as she tried to keep calm, but the fury bubbling inside her was impossible to ignore this time. Adrien had been by her side, trying to back her up, but Alya and Nino just wouldn't listen.

"You don't need to defend her, Adrien," Alya said, her voice dismissive as she rolled her eyes. "I mean, come on. It's not that big of a deal. Marinette always has a problem with Lila, and it's getting old. Just... let it go."

Marinette's breath caught in her throat. She felt something snap.

"Let it go?" she repeated, her voice low, trembling with restrained rage. She set her tray down on the table with a loud *clatter*, startling everyone. "You think I should just *let it go*?"

Alya blinked, clearly taken aback. "Mari, I didn’t mean—"

"No! You listen to me for once!" Marinette shouted, stepping closer, her face flushed with anger. "I’m sick of this! Lila’s been lying to all of you from the very beginning, and no one—*no one*—will listen to me! I’ve tried to be calm, I’ve tried to be patient, but I’m done! I’m done pretending like I’m the one with the problem here!"

Adrien stood frozen, unsure what to do, while Nino looked uncomfortable, fidgeting nervously. Alya opened her mouth to say something, but Marinette cut her off, her eyes burning.

"You’re supposed to be my best friend, Alya," Marinette spat, her voice cracking. "But you’d rather believe some lying, manipulative snake than the person who's always had your back! You'd rather trust her over me? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Alya’s eyes widened, but Marinette wasn’t finished.

"You know what’s worse?" Marinette continued, her voice growing sharper. "It's the fact that every time Lila pulls her little tricks, you act like *I'm* the one overreacting, like *I’m* the one causing the problem. But she’s been lying to your face, and you just eat it up like it's nothing!"

"Marinette, I—"

"Shut up!" Marinette snapped, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, not from the betrayal, not from the sheer frustration that had been choking her for months. "I'm done being the nice one! I'm done trying to protect you from her lies when you don’t even give a damn about me! Do you know how much it hurts to watch you believe her over me, time and time again?"

Alya stood there, speechless, guilt flickering in her eyes, but Marinette was too far gone to stop now.

"You can keep letting her manipulate you, but I'm done being your doormat. If you want to trust someone like Lila instead of me, then fine. But don’t you *dare* expect me to stay quiet and smile like everything’s okay. Because it’s not." Her voice dropped to a bitter whisper. "And I don’t think it ever will be."

The tension in the room was suffocating. Marinette's chest was heaving, her hands trembling with the weight of all the emotions she had kept buried for too long.

Alya opened her mouth to respond, but for the first time, she had no words.

Without another glance, Marinette grabbed her tray and stormed off, her heart still pounding, anger and pain swirling together like a storm she couldn’t contain. Maybe she had gone too far, maybe she hadn’t. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t care.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom #marrinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #adrian agreste #lila rossi #nino lahiffe #rewrite #miraculous fanfic

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year ago

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the breakfast

lilac, chapter two

a/n: when my love, @chvoswxtch, asked me to bring the horny energy of miss patty from gilmore girls, of course I fucking did it, I'm not a criminal, that's what we all deserve

summary: “well, hello stranger.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, wholesome villagers being adorable

word count: 2373

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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The Lilac Inn wasn’t just an inn to the citizens of Dunbrook. It was its beating heart, a hub for the small community to gather.

As the town’s only culinary establishment, the residents had always made a habit of eating a fair amount of their meals in the inn’s dining room, the door to the kitchen often staying wide open so that Harvey wouldn’t have to leave the stove in order to catch all of the juicy small-town gossip that had people blabbering.

“Dad, did you turn off my alarm?” you snapped as soon as your scurrying feet carried you into the bustling kitchen.

Not lifting his eyes from the loaf of bread he was currently slicing, your dad simply countered with a jovial, “well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty!”

“Dad,” you sighed, jaw clenching at his usual demeanour, the paralysing dream you’d just roused from not setting you up to be in the right mood for such a level of positivity.

“You just looked like you could use the extra hour or two,” a smile still warm on his lips, the middle-aged man defensively raised his hands.

“But I’m supposed to help you out,” your eyes followed his movements as he trotted towards the stove, “I can’t do that if I’m asleep.”

“Exactly,” your dad passed by a hook full of tangled textiles and tossed you an apron, “that’s why I let you go a little longer so that you wouldn’t doze off on me before lunchtime arrives.”

“I wouldn’t have dozed off…” you mumbled pettily as you tied the linen around your waist. Exhaling lowly as you watched him crack two eggs into a sizzling skillet, you asked, “what can I do?”

“Well for starters,” he tossed the shells into a small scrap bowl to his side, “these were the last eggs, so if you could go get some more out by the front desk, that would be superb.”

“Why do you have eggs on the front desk?”

“Because Otto’s chickens are laying a lot right now and so he told me he’d give me some today when he swung by for breakfast.”

“Wait, Sheriff Nilsen has chickens now?”

“Yeah, has for a long time,” the decade of you not living here grew palpable, “he usually just drops the extra ones off here, so they should already be there because I just took his order two minutes ago.”

“Alright,” you disappeared through the back door and snaked down the narrow corridor, ending up behind the messy reception area.

Your eyes didn’t have to search for long before you noticed the petite basket, brimming with beige eggs, resting on the top of the counter right beside the small rolodex that displayed what date it was. Grasping it in your hand, your vision momentarily drifted down to the small, framed photo nuzzled behind the ever-open logbook. Sitting on the swing that still hung from one of the sturdy trees out back, head adorably posed in a tiny palm, there a 7-year-old version of you sat, forever frozen in that singular moment, beaming up at the camera.

“Ah!” a sharp voice boomed as you heard the front door swing shut, “oh my goodness, oh my god! Y/n!”

Raising your chin, your eyes grew wide at the rotund woman beaming at you from the doormat, “miss Rays!” you hurried around the front desk, “oh my god, it’s been so long!”

Capturing you in a hug, she pressed your form into her bosom, “darling, we’re not in bed together, call me Donna.”

Pulling back with a light chuckle, your eyes fluttered over her features, “you haven’t changed one bit,” her lipstick still a fiery shade red and hair still short and feathery framing her plump cheeks.

“You however have,” she clasped your free hand in hers, guiding your figure to give her a good view, “oh, do a little spin for me,” you bashfully obliged with a giggle, “yes! Honey, who is this woman, what have you done with the adorable little girl I used to tutor?”

To your knowledge, Dunbrook never really had a proper school, but for as long as you could recall Donna had always operated as a teacher to the handful of children that called the reclusive mountain village their home. Even though it was just run out of her living room, she had still been the best teacher you’d ever had, her patient way rivalling any of the professors you had to endure when you went off for college. As a matter of fact, she had been the person who’d pushed you to send in the application, praising that you were too clever not to go out and change the world.

“Oh, stop it,” you sighed light-heartedly, a chuckle still bubbling out of your chest as you shifted the subject away from your own appearance, “so, you still come here for breakfast?”

“Of course, I do, you’ve tasted your father’s cooking,” readjusting her purse, she hooked her arm in yours, “a real shame that he’s never accepted any of my offers of becoming your stepmom,” she leaned in to add as you crossed over the threshold into the dinner room, “I could have been served all my meals in bed like some Egyptian queen!”

“I’m sure you can easily find another fellow that can handle himself in the kitchen,” the click-clack of her heels came to a stop by one of the small round tables, her eyes briefly taking in the other patrons before a slight crease appeared betwixt her polished brows.

“Oh, darn it,” her vision stayed glued to the table in the corner as she lowered herself onto her seat, “he’s not sitting at his usual table…”

“Who?”

“The eye candy over there,” she tilted her chin in the direction of the broad, muted flannel-clad back of the man sitting by the window furthest down at the bottom of the room, “you see, I asked your dear father to always reserve this spot for me just so that I can have a great view, if you know what I mean…” gulping down the rest of his coffee, the man’s head tilted enough for you to recognise whom the rugged looking visage belonged to, “oh boy, I tell you, if I was 30 years younger…”

Haven assumed that you’d never again run into the stranger who’d helped you just the day before, a warm flutter suddenly trickled down your spine, “like that’s ever stopped you before,” you pointed out, snapping your eyes out of their trance, “so, uh, do you know what you want to eat or do you just want some coffee or something while you think on it?” you took two steps towards the oblong table where mismatched teacups where stacked and the steam of a few thermoses, all containing a different hot beverage then the next, billowed out.

“Some coffee would be lovely,” she smiled as you with one hand snatched up a mug and the decanter labelled as such, “and some oatmeal if you don’t mind, sweetie.”

Promptly pouring her a cup, you then signed off with a wink, “you got it,” before your vision landed upon the latest of Donna’s abundant infatuations once more.

Attempting to make the short journey seem spontaneous and effortless, you bounced from table to table, topping off people's cups, before reaching the final one.

Drawing in a deep breath, your embarrassingly giddy voice then found his ears, “well, hello stranger.”

Eyes flickering away from the newspaper sprawled out before him, a look of shock washed over his gruff features as he glanced up at you, “oh, hi.”

“Pete–, it is Pete, right?” you checked, slight mortification beginning to brew within your belly.

“Yes, ma'am,” his head nodded ever so slightly.

“Do you want a refill, Pete?” you savoured the taste of his name on your tongue.

“Sorry?” his brows furrowed at your offer.

“Your coffee,” you pointed with the hand that clutched the handle of the thermos, “do you want some more?”

“Oh,” he breathed, though the puzzled look didn’t seem to fade, “yes, always.”

Leaning in slightly over the newspaper, you filled up the drained mug, only a murky ring at the bottom indicating what it had previously contained, “and can I get you something to eat as well?”

Eyes narrowing, he stared up at you, “is your vacation really already so boring that you got a job here or what?”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but breathe out a light chuckle as you answered, “I’m not on vacation and I guess, kinda,” staring back into his eyes as you attempted to repeat your question, “so, do you want any–,” though before you could finish the sentence, out pranced your father, a plate of food balanced in his palm.

“2 eggs sunny side up and some sourdough toast, as per usual,” he sang as his long arm came down to slice the air between your forms, placing the dish upon the table.

Briefly catching his eye, Pete then offered a polite nod of gratitude, “thank you,” folding the paper up and scooting the meal closer.

Feeling the small basket of eggs disappear from your grip, you blinked back at your father as he softly requested in your ear, “honey, could you give me a hand in the back when you’re done out here?”

“Sure, dad,” you flashed him a smile before watching him disappear once more.

Feet still glued to the floorboards right by Pete’s table, your vision then returned to him as his deep voice washed over you, “so, you’re Harvey’s kid, then?”

“Yep, that’s my dad,” your balance briefly shifted as you rocked on the balls of your feet, “thank you, by the way, for yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” his fork punctured one of the golden yokes, “how’s your car looking?”

“I don’t really know yet. The local mechanic is taking a look today, so fingers crossed it’s not anything too catastrophic,” you felt your palms begin to sweat as he simply stared up at you in silence, “anyhow,” you averted your gaze nervously, “I’ll stop bothering you, let eat in peace,” you nearly bumped into the chair behind you as you backed up towards the kitchen, the near accident not managing to draw any words out of him, only the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, “see you around, I guess…”

“Hey, dad?”

Briefly raising his eyes from the logbook cracked open on the wooden counter, he glanced up at you as you bounced down the wide staircase, “yeah, pumpkin?”

Hand tracing the railing, with the aid of the grip, you swung your form around the last post as you ascended the final step, “did you know that the hot water doesn’t work? Like at all.”

“Yeah, that and about a million other things around here,” he sighed, vision returning to the ledger as you rested your folded-up arms upon the top of the reception, “this is a beautiful historic building… and what I mean by that is that there are too many things that either don’t work the way they should or at all. I am not a millionaire, honey. If I was, then the issues wouldn’t be piling up the way that they are…”

Bottom lip snug between your teeth, your mind raced a moment before you quietly theorised, “exactly how long is that list?”

Eyes racing to find your eyes, your father joked, “why? Did you become a contractor while living in New York or something?”

“No, but I was always the handy one out of the two of us,” you noted before your shoulders raised in an innocent shrug, “how hard could it be?”

“Let me get this right,” he raised a palm up between you as his eyes crinkled even further, “you’re telling me you wanna try and patch this place up?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt the business side of things. When was the last time you booked out more than two rooms at a time here?”

“Oh, no, no,” the moustachioed man then began to shake his head, “you’re not turning this place into some fake, glossy tourist attraction.”

Swinging around to his side of the counter, you assured him, “hey, I’m not saying let's flood this place with tourists, but maybe just a handful more?” tilting your head in an attempt to catch his gaze that had now returned to the open book, “just enough to make ends meet, perhaps also enough to at some point hire someone else so that you won’t work yourself to death…”

Eyes frozen on the page before him, a long exhale then flowed from his lungs as he deliberated.

“Alright, fine, yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be that bad…” he tried to downplay the smile that blossomed upon his lips.

Spine pressed against the edge of the front desk, you then braced with your palms and hauled yourself up onto the spot that was just clear enough for you to sit there without knocking any knickknacks over.

“So,” you drew out, searching for a new topic to explore, “Donna seems to be quite set on that guy Pete to be her new husband, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harvey chortled, “but you know her, she’s like a dog spotting a pheasant every time she sees a new man. I think genuinely I might be the only person in town who isn’t either terrified of him or has some desire to sleep with him.”

“How long has he been here anyway?”

“Eh,” he glanced up at the stained glass adorning the front door as he thought, “maybe a year or two? He mostly keeps to himself, lives up in a cabin in the woods and only really comes down here to either provide some firewood to whoever needs it or have some coffee,” vision landing on you, he then noted, “you however seemed to have broken through to him quite quickly. Took me like 5 months to get anything more than a grunt of recognition out of him.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t stop your eyebrows as they promptly rose up, “well, he kinda helped me the day that I got here. He was the guy I caught a ride with…”

#lea’s writing #lilac series #lumberjack!frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher fic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #frank castle fluff #frank castle series #lumberjack au

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vividraft · 3 months ago

Text

red and black paint ✧˖*°࿐

⇢ ˗ˏˋ artist gn!reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ characters: Gojo Satoru

⇢ ˗ˏˋ summary: you lost the competition that you prepared for all your life, and now nothing seems to be able to help you regain your composure. Almost nothing at least

⇢ ˗ˏˋ a/n: this is too short to be a fic?? but i think its a little long for a drabble...? 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

masterlist

You didn’t call him. You didn’t call him, text him, or left him any sort of message. It wasn’t like you, especially because Gojo knew, today was a special day for you. Maybe special was the wrong word?

His fingers trembled a little when he called you one last time, without a response whatsoever. His head was shouting at him, to check on you. He tried to ignore it, because you were fine right? He probably just mixed up the time when you were supposed to find out your results of the competition.

He knew better than to think that way. He had marked it in his calendar, on his phone as well as on his wall, with the exact time. So now that two hours have passed without any response from you, he couldn’t sit there and wait.

And before he knew it, he was in front of your house, kneeling down to pick up the key he knew you hid under your doormat.

It was quiet when he entered, until a grunt came from your art room. An angry scream and another one.

“Y/n?”, he shouted from the moment he entered your hallway. Could you even hear him?

“Y/n”, his feet led him towards your art room.

Opening the door the smell of paint and old wood hit him, and right before his eyes there were you. You, standing in the middle of disaster, between littered canvas, some empty and some painted. Broken brushes which were tossed around the room, tubes of paint thrown and some of them opened, leaving marks of your anger all across the room.

Pens and erasers were brushed off your desk in an angry fit, leaving only some paintings untouched.

And there you stood, in the middle of it, with the painting in your hand that you spend so much time and tears on, to submit it into the probably most important contest of your life.

You raised your hand, ready to throw the painting, to destroy the work you were now so embarrassed of, feeling stupid that you spent so much time on it, and ready to destroy all proof that you ever tried so hard to be somebody with your art.

“Y/n!”, Gojo rushed into the room, grabbing your hand before you could do more damage to your work, and wrapping his arms around you.

You dropped the painting, and simultaneously dropped to your knees, sitting down on the floor with Gojo.

“‘Toru?”, since when was he here?

“‘Toru I failed, it all means nothing I don’t-”, your arms wrapped around him, hands clawing at the back of his shirt, one of his hands on your back, and the other on the back of your head, pushing you into the crook of his neck.

“I have nothing to show- I am nobody-!”, your breathing was getting heavier and tears were now rolling down your cheeks, and in your head you were begging them to stay where they came from.

You didn’t want to cry, you didn’t want to be so weak, and admit that you lost. You wanted to be angry, you wanted to be sure that your art was worth something, and if you cried, it felt like you were disagreeing with yourself. But it was no good.

“That’s not true y/n, you’re not nobody- you’re-”, all the things you were feeling made his heart clench. Like somebody was cutting it smaller piece by piece.

“Yes it’s true!”, everytime he said your name it was like he was reminding you that you were you, and you will always be you. You tried to push away from his embrace, but he held onto you. Why were you angry that he was disagreeing with you?

“I’m not letting you go. I never will” in your current state, you couldn’t understand the promise he was making to always be by your side, no matter who you were. So all you could do was sit there and cry and sob in his arms.

Until eventually, your eyelids felt so heavy, your sobs quieted down slowly, and your body went limp in Gojos arms.

He sat there for a minute, ensuring you were asleep for sure, before picking you up and carrying you to your bedroom. He was about to lay down next to you, when his eyes landed on your open laptop.

“WINNERS OF THIS YEAR'S COMPETITION!”, was written noticeably big across the screen.

There was a list of people who won, and your name wasn’t to be found. Gojo skimmed it once, then twice, and once again to ensure your name was really not to see. And indeed, you were not on the list.

He didn’t find it fair, the things you created, with nothing more than a brush and some paint, was better than anything Gojo had ever achieved himself. Every single one of your drawings should be put on show in an art gallery. He didn’t know much about art, but your drawings were as expressive as anything could be, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around how you didn’t win.

A few months ago while you were still preparing, he told you over and over again that he was sure you would win, and he said that because it was what he genuinely believed. He couldn’t see anything else other than you winning.

His brows furrowed, and he closed your laptop, before slipping under the covers with you. He wrapped his arms around you, and a shaky sigh escaped your lips.

a/n: part two? this wasnt written with a part two in mind so i gotta get creative, but if enough people want one, ill do it...

#! vivis drafts #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo jjk #gojo satoru x reader #jjk satoru #gojo

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starsstuddedsky · 7 months ago

Text

Blonde Phase

Renjun x gn reader

summary: spontaneous hair decisions always end in regret. that's what you expect to hear when you tell renjun you're bleaching your hair, but instead you find support, and even his help. you should appreciate his wholehearted support but instead it has you wondering: why doesn't he care?

genre: fluff, minimal angst, technically they're in grad school but that's not particularly relevant, non idol au,

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, spontaneous hair decisions (i do not endorse), lmk if I missed any

wc: 4.4k

a/n: in the immortal words of charles boyle, the most intimate thing you can do with a lover is wash their hair. yknow i made fun of him for that until i wrote this. i see it. also its been so long since ive finishing anything, pls forgive me if this is bad. renjun i love u. as always I'd love to hear what you think <3

“I’m bleaching my hair.” If you say it fast enough, Renjun won’t be able to talk you out of it. The plastic bag swings around your wrist as you walk across the parking lot. “I’ve already bought the bleach and gloves and stuff, and I’m going to do it, today.”

He’s quiet for so long you check to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “Okay.”

You almost drop your phone. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out. “Was I supposed to say something else?”

“Um, yeah?” You say. “You have opinions about literally everything. You talked me out of buying those pants two days ago.” You finally get to your car, tossing the bag onto the passenger seat and half-falling behind the wheel.

“That’s because they were made of polyester, and the thrift store was still charging $15,” he says immediately. “That was a scam.”

“Money is temporary, drip is forever.”

“Those pants would have lasted a year max, before they fell apart, and you still haven’t learned how to sew so you wouldn’t even be able to mend them or upcycle them.”

“You know what, I didn’t buy the pants, so this fight is moot,” you say. You set the phone on speaker, turning the engine on to blast the AC.

“Well, not moot. Technically I won,” Renjun says.

“I’d respect you more if you weren’t insufferable.”

“Here I was thinking you appreciated my insight,” he says. “You even asked for it.”

“I did not!”

“You literally asked about bleaching your hair.”

“I said I was surprised you didn’t have an opinion, not that I wanted to hear it,” you say.

“Semantics,” Renjun says. “So what time do you want to come over?”

You frown. “Tonight?”

“The roommates are out of town for the whole weekend, and I have way better ventilation,” he says. “I’d much rather bleach it without passing out.” He pauses. “You do want help, right?”

“Honestly, I was not expecting support. I was fully ready to fight you on this,” you say.

He snorts. “Come over whenever, I'm not doing anything today.”

“See you in twenty minutes.” You hang up, feeling a strange ball of tension roll around in your gut. That was… too easy? Renjun always has something to say about your admittedly impulsive tendencies. But if he’s going to help you’re not going to reject it—knowing Renjun he’s probably already watching Youtube videos and learning more than you will ever know about bleaching hair.

And it’s Renjun. When have you done anything without his help?

Renjun opens the door wearing a wearied expression. He doesn’t bother to greet you or even smile, just unlocks the door and steps to the side.

“Hi to you, too,” you say, trading your shoes for the spare slippers resting by the doormat. You follow Renjun into the space that serves as kitchen, dining room, living room, and Jaemin’s miniature gym, with weights and mats stacked next to the television.

“Who the hell clogs a toilet and then leaves for the weekend,” Renjun says.

You set down your plastic bag full of hair products and frown. “That’s disgusting.”

Renjun leans against the counter. “And you didn’t have to spend the last forty minutes trying to unclog it.”

“So which of the guys are you going to murder?” You try to guess, running through his roommates: you find it hard to believe Jaemin would do such a thing. Jeno maybe, and Donghyuck would certainly think it’s funny. But, in all honesty, it could have been any of them.

“Don’t know,” Renjun says, “but knowing them, they’ll make a pact to protect each other.”

“Seriously?”

Renjun pauses, gaze sheepish. “It’s what I did when I accidentally killed Jaemin’s little succulent that survived his college dorm.”

You fake a gasp, placing a hand over your chest. “Every day I learn something new about you. That’s devious.”

“I was drunk!” Renjun says, holding up a finger. “And Jeno and Donghyuck pushed me into it, so it was equally their fault.”

“If you say so.” You glance around the apartment. “Where are they all?”

“Jaemin’s visiting family, Jeno has a soccer tournament, and Donghyuck said he’s going camping with Yangyang.” Renjun says, counting off with his fingers.

“Donghyuck and Yangyang are friends?”

“Yeah, according to them they bonded over dealing with me.”

“Those were their exact words?”

“Dealing with my ‘stupid ass,’” Renjun says.

“That’s more on brand.”

Renjun nods.

You think about Yangyang, Renjun’s friend from when he was a kid. You’ve met him a few times now, especially since he’s moved half an hour away from Renjun. He’s fun, always bringing out a chaotic side of Renjun whether it’s dancing on a bar or bringing out angry-Renjun. But Yangyang and Donghyuck?

“That’s a terrible friendship. They’re going to ruin you.”

Renjun nods again, but you see the smile hiding in his eyes. He can rant all he wants, you know he’s excited his friends are getting closer with each other.

You point at the bag. “So where are we doing this?”

You half expect him to lecture you about rash hair decisions but he just gestures to the kitchen. “I figure right here should be fine. The tiles should be pretty easy to clean and probably could use some bleach anyway.”

He drags the chair with a rickety leg from the dining table. You dig through the bag and set everything on the counter. While Renjun cracks a window open, you begin to mix the developer and the bleach, curling your lip at the sharp scent. Renjun joins you, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Wow that’s strong,” he says, wincing.

“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely a good idea to do it here.”

When the powder is finally combined, you sit on the chair, Renjun following behind you. You section off your hair together, then he grabs the bowl and the brush.

He holds the thick paintbrush brush up against your hair, glancing at you, giving you one last chance to back down. You give him the nod of approval and he shifts back to focusing on your hair, brushing the bleach into it as carefully as he spreads paint on a canvas. He works section by section, carefully drenching your hair with the creamy solution.

“So, are you going to tell me why you decided to do this?”

You can’t resist turning and glancing at him. “I thought you approved.”

“I didn’t try to talk you out of it,” he says, “that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about how you came to this decision.”

You nod until Renjun uses his gloved hand to hold your head straight. “I suppose that’s fair.”

You pause, trying to find the right words. But you find yourself drifting back to Renjun. Why didn’t he ask this before the bleach was in your hair? It’s not like him to keep his opinions to himself. When you first met him, he was yelling at Donghyuck for going to a philosophy seminar just to fight with the notorious bigot of a professor (which Donghyuck did and then got kicked out, and proceeded to get the professor suspended). You only knew Mark back then, a friend from another class who invited you to meet some of his other friends in the dining hall. When Renjun turned to ask what you thought, you said Donghyuck should do what he thinks is right. Renjun didn’t hesitate to call you an idiot then. So why isn’t he calling you an idiot now?

To his credit Renjun doesn’t rush you. He continues to paint the bleach into your hair, content to wait for you to figure out an answer. Except you’re thinking about all the wrong questions. Like, seriously, why do you want him to call you an idiot?

“I want a change,” you finally say. “I’m stuck in a degree that will make me absolutely no money when I graduate, I can’t afford to break my lease, and don’t have any major relationships that need upheaving, so, hair.”

“‘A change?’” Renjun repeats. “Like, you woke up this morning and thought, today I’m going blonde?”

“Like, I have this feeling in my chest, this aching feeling that there’s something I need to do, someone I’m supposed to be, something more than the person I see in the mirror but I’ve made my decisions and I’m happy with my decisions and I genuinely like who I am. So, hair.”

You see Renjun’s hand falter out of the corner of your eye, halfway between the bleach mixture and your hair. He freezes for a heartbeat then continues to move, lifting some hair off your ear, careful not to brush the bleach onto your skin.

“‘So, hair,’” he says.

“Are you really going to repeat everything I say?”

This gets a short laugh from him. “I think the fumes are getting to me already.” He pauses, setting down the brush and stepping in front of you. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are, too. I’m really glad we’re friends.”

You smile at him. “Me too,” you say. “I definitely would have fucked up trying to bleach this on my own.”

“There’s still some bleach left,” Renjun says after he finishes with your roots. “You’re sure you don’t want your eyebrows to match?”

“Why don’t we do your eyebrows,” you say. “Better yet, why don’t we shave them off?”

Renjun sets down the brush. “Okay, no eyebrows.”

You grin at him. “That’s what I thought.”

He helps you get a plastic bag wrapped securely over your head, then sets the timer.

“What do you want to do for the next half hour?” You ask. “Preferably something that requires little to no movement.” You gesture to your head. “We’re not winning any frisbee tournaments tonight.”

“It was one time,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head and stepping around you plop down onto the couch. “We can watch something.”

You follow him, sitting on the other side, a cushion between you. The space feels strangely empty. Though you’ve spent plenty of time alone with Renjun, even alone with him at his apartment, the silence is usually interrupted by one of the guys getting bored of playing League, or coming back because they can’t go out to a bar without someone forgetting their ID, or in desperate need of Renjun’s expert advice (read: Jeno never remembers to ask Renjun to look over his submissions until 12 minutes before they’re due). The cushion between you never stays empty for long but the moments stretch on, only making the distance feel greater.

You wonder, not for the first time, how long it’s been since you’ve thought of Renjun as just a friend. If he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much about what he thinks. And if he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much that he suddenly doesn’t think.

You sneak a glance at him, fiddling with the remote for a couple seconds before realizing he grabbed the wrong one. He’s certainly always been handsome—that was undeniable from the moment you met him. But more than just being good looking, it’s Renjun himself. Not just those dark eyes, but the way they burn with passion (even when he’s arguing about the proper number of appetizers to order). It’s his perfectly shaped lips, the way they betray how he feels with a slight curve up or down—and his smile. Always, always his smile, beautiful and breathtaking even though you’ve seen it a thousand times.

He turns, a little furrow in his brow. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me funny,” he says. “Did I get bleach in my hair or something?”

You turn to face the TV, trying to pay attention to the show Renjun chose. “I wasn’t looking at you funny,” you say. “I wasn’t even looking at you.”

“If you say so,” Renjun says, “but if there’s a blonde spot anywhere in my hair, I’m so making you pay for it.”

You shake your head. Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Renjun, more than a friend? Sure, you’re close with him and sure, he’s objectively attractive, but you’ve never had those thoughts before. Well, at least not sober.

“Um, why are we watching Singles Inferno?”

“Because I asked and you were too busy not staring at me to answer, so I put it on,” Renjun says. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t like it. I saw you rant on your Instagram story the other day.”

“Okay, but you don’t get it,” you say. “This bitch really has the audacity to to—”

“I saw your post,” Renjun says. “Believe me, I get it.”

“If you didn’t want to hear about it you should not have turned it on, because now I can’t stop,” you say. Renjun rolls his eyes but even as you delve into a full on essay about the horrible men particularly common in dating shows, you see the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile.

The timer goes off halfway through an episode.

“Saved by the buzzer,” Renjun says. “I’m putting a ban on anything reality TV related for the next three hours.”

“You’re the one that brought it up,” you mutter without any real annoyance. Despite his banter, Renjun dutifully listened to your rants, and even got mad along with you.

You drag a chair to the sink while Renjun drapes a towel over your shoulders. He puts on gloves and unwraps the bag, letting your hair fall into the empty sink.

“Close your eyes,” Renjun says gently. He tilts your head back, cupping the back of your head for a moment before pulling the head of the sink faucet out. He runs the water, long enough for you to peek your eyes open.

You’ve gotten used to seeing Renjun focused. He gets a little furrow in his brow, always glaring at his work. Before you were friends, you used to think he was actually angry, that his frowns and short tone were real. You’ve learned since then, it’s not his emotions, it’s his passion. The frown only comes out when he’s focused, trying to be perfect. When he cares.

“Unless you want bleach in them, close your eyes,” Renjun mutters, with absolutely no malice behind the words. His eyes shift to meet yours and that’s how you know you’re right. He can glare and bluster all he wants, he can’t hide his eyes, warm and shining. Like when he’s looking at his art, his gaze is a combination of soft and intense, creating something stronger than affection. Except he’s not looking at his art, he’s looking at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Despite every attempt to shut down the thoughts, they race through your head, a stampede grown out of control. Renjun, who you’ve only known a year and a half but who has become one of your closest friends. Renjun, who never fails to share the only opinion you really care about. Renjun, who you can’t imagine life without. Renjun, who you’ve never dared to imagine life with.

He places a hand on your forehead, bringing the faucet closer to rinse your roots while keeping the water from pouring onto your face. You prepare for a cold shock but the water that soaks into your hair is the perfect temperature—not scalding hot, not freezing cold. Some water sprays over his hand, falling onto your eyelids and cheeks.

“Sorry,” Renjun murmurs. He holds the head farther away, running his fingers gently through the roots of your hair. He’s so close you can feel his breath, warm against your temple. You can feel his body, hovering over yours, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but warmth seems to emanate from it.

His friends would laugh at you if you described Renjun as soft to their face, but it’s the only adjective that captures the way he works the water through your hair. Soft and gentle and careful and nothing like the Renjun that has to corral everyone into his car at 3 in the morning. And yet this Renjun doesn’t feel like a stranger to you.

Washing your hair takes a lifetime, but as soon as he steps away and turns off the water, you miss it. You miss him, even though he’s only a couple feet away.

“You can open your eyes now,” he says. As soon as you do, he tosses a towel at you. It hits you in the face before you can get your hands up.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Renjun says, not sounding sorry at all. He manages to hold back the laugh but still grins at you, unashamed. He steps forward and pats your face dry, with the same gentleness as before, though there’s still a mischievous glint in his eyes. You yank the towel away before he gets any ideas, drying off your face on your down and wrapping it around your hair. You wring it out a couple times before letting go, doing your best to get it to fall evenly around your head.

You raise your eyebrows at Renjun. “Okay, how bad is it?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m insulted that you think there’s any way I’d fuck up you hair,” Renjun says. “And it looks really good. Blonde suits you.”

You take a deep breath and pull out your phone, studying yourself in the mirror and… he’s right. The color is even, somewhere between blonde and orange that is unavoidable when using bleach. Radical hair changes generally end in tears but looking at yourself in the mirror, you don’t feel the usual dissonance. The hair is different but somehow more familiar than the “normal” you that doesn’t feel right anymore.

“I’m right,” Renjun says.

You smile. “Yeah, you are.” You put down your phone, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Renjun.”

“For what?”

“Doing all of this for me,” you say.

“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.”

You shake your head. “Thank you anyways.”

Renjun just shrugs and grabs the bowl, rinsing out the bleach in the sink. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s avoiding your eyes.

You do your best to clean up the bleach from the floor, busying yourself until Renjun finishes. You wonder if you’re imagining the tiles getting a little bit whiter. Finally, he turns off the water and glances at you.

“You’re really happy with it?” He asks, sounding more like he doubts you rather than changing his opinion.

“Yeah,” you say, standing up. “I think it’s the ‘me’ of right now, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Like, I feel disjointed, and blonde hair is definitely not me, but it's the me that feels kind of all over the place, so even though it doesn’t look like me, it looks like me.” You wring your hands together, fingers tinged red.

“That makes no sense,” Renjun says, “but I think I get what you mean.” He smiles. “And I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”

So he did think this was a potential mistake? Why didn’t he say anything?

Renjun turns back to the sink, but before he can turn the water on, your voice calls his name. “Renjun?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Why didn’t you fight me on this?”

He doesn’t move for a long moment. You wish you could see his face. “I have been told by certain people,” he begins, which is code for Donghyuck and Yangyang certified their position as Renjun’s worst nightmare. He turns to face you, wiping his hands on a towel.

“That I have a tendency to be overly opinionated in a generally negative direction. And I thought about it, and I realized I'm never really fully supportive, whether it’s a big decision, or, like, coffee, and I’ve always been this way, but, apparently, it’s especially… apparent with you.” He frowns. “This is all coming out wrong. I’m trying to say that it’s different when I’m around you. I’m different.”

Your eyes jump between his, trying to decipher what he’s saying. “Different?”

“I care a lot about you,” Renjun says, “more than anyone, actually.”

“Oh.” You blink once, twice. “Wait, you like me?”

Renjun’s eyes shift to the floor. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but let out a short laugh, reeling at the absurdity of it all. Renjun likes you? But he’s Renjun. Even though he’s the most common main character in your daydreams, you never once realistically thought he might be fantasizing about you too. But he likes you.

“I really didn’t want to say anything, I mean, before anything else you’re my friend, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Renjun says rapidly. “We’re good friends, and I really didn’t want to be the guy that pretends to be your friend but just wants to date you the whole time, that’s really not what I was trying to do, it’s just—”

“Renjun.” You put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes mid sentence, mouth still hanging open a little. Before he can move, you lean closer, the type of line you’d only dare to cross in your dreams.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you say softly. He blinks, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

“I’d like that,” he finally breathes. So you kiss him.

It starts light, his lips exactly as you imagined—soft and warm. His arm works its way around your waist, pulling you closer. The other works its way into your hair, still wet and sticking to your head. Renjun kisses like he’s been planning this for a long time, and maybe he has. Every movement is slow and careful, until he’s stolen all your air and even then you don’t want to pull away.

Your bravery fades the minute you meet his eyes. You bury your face into his chest, your cheek resting against your own hand. Renjun wraps both of his arms around you, holding you snugly in place.

“I like you, too,” you say into his chest. It’s the cowards route but if you look him in the eyes the words will never come out. “If it wasn’t obvious.”

“It wasn’t actually,” he says softly. “I think I drove all of my friends insane trying to figure out whether I should confess or not.”

“They all know?” You groan. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Yeah.” When Renjun laughs, it shakes your whole body. You can feel the rumbling, overtaking his heartbeat. “It’s okay though. It’s worth it.”

You turn your head, emerging from the sanctuary of his chest and tucking your head so that you can see his face. He smiles at you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to expect.

“Yeah,” you say, “it really is.”

Renjun grins.

“Your hair on the other hand…” He says.

“I thought you liked it!”

“I like it,” Renjun says, “but when has Donghyuck ever liked a single change to anyone’s hair?”

“Since when do you care what Donghyuck thinks?”

“I’m just saying now that we’re officially dating, my friends are going to be extra annoying,” Renjun says.

“Extra annoying? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

You groan, pressing your face back into his chest. “It’s not too late to get some hair dye.”

“You are not changing your hair because of my dumbass friends,” Renjun says.

“You like it?”

“You like it,” he says. “That’s the only opinion that really matters.” He pauses then adds, “But yeah. I like it.”

You grin, lifting your head to kiss his cheek. “Maybe we should dye your hair too.”

Renjun snorts. “Oh yeah?”

“We could have matching couples hair.”

He laughs out loud this time. “Maybe we should just get some shirts.”

“Three minutes of dating and you already want matching shirts? Huang Renjun, be honest.” You push off of him until you can place your hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. “Are you obsessed with me?”

“Yes,” he says, layering his voice in sarcasm that still isn’t enough to hide the truth of the admission. “All day every day, all I think about is you.”

“Well, see, that can’t be true because if you were that obsessed and I’m this close, you would already be kissing me because—” You forget whatever you were going to say, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when Renjun is kissing you like this. Your hands at his shoulders slink around his neck, while his wrap around your waist, leaning so close to you, you feel your back begin to dip.

Huang Renjun is poison, the kind that turns into a heart-shaped puff of pink when the bottle is opened. You melt into his kiss and it’s still not enough. You could die, right this instant, and you don’t think you’d notice. Death itself wouldn’t be able to tear you away from this moment.

“Renjun!” Donghyuck’s voice thunders through the kitchen. “How dare you? You bastard, you’re cheating?”

You jump apart, turning to see him looming in the doorway. His glare settles on you, and you see the exact moment he realizes he recognizes you.

“Jesus Christ, you could have knocked or something,” Renjun says.

“I live here too,” Donghyuck says automatically. He squints, then looks at Renjun, then back at you. “YN? Your hair is blonde.”

For some reason, you raise your hand and wave at him. “Hey!”

“Oh my god!” Donghyuck cries. “Yangyang owes me thirty dollars!” He races back out the door, screaming something that’s lost as the door swings shut.

You glance at Renjun. “Cheating?”

He frowns at the door, still a crack open. “Did he… seriously think you were someone else? That I was cheating on my unrequited crush?”

His eyes shift to yours. A heartbeat passes and you burst into laughter. His friends might be annoying, but they’re still endearing. You press a messy, smile-infested kiss to his lips and wonder if you’ll ever get used to the giddy feeling.

There’s plenty messy in your life, plenty to doubt. But watching Yangyang and Donghyuck drag their backpacks in (apparently Donghyuck forgot his power bank and they decided to give up on camping) as they attempt to interrogate Renjun on every detail, you can’t help but feel like it doesn’t really matter. You don’t doubt Renjun. You don’t doubt blonde suits you. And you don’t doubt the power of a last minute hair decision, not anymore.

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