#for which reason it might take me a while to finish all the prompts but i hope you won't mind! 💚

[daistea]

Might I… request a fic about Kabru and Mithrun (respectively) encountering a succubus that appeals to them by taking on the form of the reader. While the reader is standing Right There

oh my goodness this was so fun for me. However, it was only after I finished writing it that I realized what 'respectively' implied. So this did not happen respectively, I'm sorry. I think it's funnier this way, though, if that's any solace.

If you still want this prompt done for them both separately, then let me know and I'll be happy to do that!

Mithrun x Reader x Kabru (not a love triangle, no established relationship)

2000 words!

no tw except for a very mild implication

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The first sign of danger was the cloying, saccharine smell that consumed every inch of the room. It was as if the air had been replaced with pure perfume created to appeal to a specific victim. 

Kabru’s eyes fluttered as he recognized the scent of Utaya’s fields, especially the moments when the breeze would roll across the wheat and envelop him in a warm hug. Then, there was the hint of Milsiril’s kitchen, which wasn’t a scent he would usually describe as appealing. Yet, it sunk into his skin and made his heart clench.

To Mithrun, the petrichor was faint, but recognizable. It was just a hint in the back of his mind, bringing up a split second memory of the rainy, rolling green hills of the Northern Central Continent. Since the demon, though, he’d never been particularly sentimental of his home. As if the source of the scent read his mind and realized that, the perfume in the air gently switched to something savory, like elf cake. He didn’t care about that either. Again, the scent switched to wildflowers. He didn’t care about that either. And once more—

Succubi were so annoying, so invasive. Mithrun sighed and nudged Kabru with his elbow, “There’s monsters nearby.”

Kabru caught on almost immediately, “Succubi?” Without waiting for an answer, he glanced over his shoulder at you, of all people. His expressions weren’t as well-guarded when with you and Mithrun, and the Captain recognized the concern that flickered over his face. Mithrun’s hand twitched with the urge to grab Kabru by the hair and redirect his stare elsewhere, perhaps onto the life-sucking mosquito monsters that were slowly approaching from the shadows. 

The dungeon was a collapsed ruin, but still traversable to those determined enough. You had insisted on coming with Mithrun on one of his regular explorations of the ruins. Once Kabru had discovered that you were going with Mithrun, he insisted upon coming along as well despite his obvious distaste for the place. There was some deeper reasoning behind his decision, Mithrun knew. Whether or not you knew that, though, remained to be seen. 

There was rubble in the corners and moss growing between the cracks in the stones. One wrong step and the ceiling could easily fall. It was wise to have more than one person when encountering a succubi, yet all the times Mithrun had encountered them in the past had ended up in his favor. The succubi didn’t quite know what to do with him. He cast you and Kabru a wary glance, though— you two were far more susceptible. 

“Just stay close,” Kabru said as he took a careful step forward. He reached out a hand behind him, grabbing for your wrist. You let him take your arm, and Mithrun felt his shoulders tense. 

“The wisest thing to do would be to cover your eyes,” Mithrun mused. As he spoke, he took your other hand. In response to that, Kabru released your wrist and also held your hand. For a moment, you felt like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. It wasn’t the worst feeling, but perhaps one of the most confusing. 

Mithrun and Kabru led you through the ruined room. The shadows were thick and alive with the scuffling of feet, the brushing of wings against the wall. Kabru did his best to hide his concern, but his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed down whatever he was feeling. A quick glance at Mithrun confirmed that the Captain was not at all bothered by the cloying scent of succubi, their calling card and greeting. They could strike at any moment, yet he remained calm. 

“It will be fine,” Mithrun’s voice cut through the tension, “just close your eyes.”

Kabru sent him a look over his shoulder, “‘It’ll be fine’ is easy for you to say, Captain.”

“It is, the succubi have never really known what to make of me.”

You imagined a life-sucking, giant mosquito monster just staring at Mithrun as it tried to process what it was seeing. Yet, just the other day, Mithrun had expressed a small desire for a specific dish. 

You snorted, “Your desires are coming back, though. You never know, it may take the form of an unseasoned elf casserole.”

Kabru put up a gloved hand to stifle his laugh, “Yeah, with boiled chicken and white rice without an ounce of salt.”

You could practically feel the heat of Mithrun’s stare on the back of your neck. “Elven cuisine is an acquired taste.”

“As in… once you actually acquire taste, you’ll move onto much better food?” You asked. 

You would’ve liked to share a high-five with Kabru over that one, but the familiar buzz of a mosquito interrupted the laughter. The three of you froze as a flicker of mana filled the air. Mithrun didn’t seem worried, this succubi obviously wasn’t for him, but—

Kabru put out an arm in front of you as if to shield you from… yourself. 

An exact copy of you stepped out of the shadows. Its eyes were wide with a look that could only be described as desperate desire. Its cheeks were flushed and brows furrowed, every ounce of attention focused precisely on Kabru. 

Both you and Mithrun looked at him. 

Kabru cleared his throat and looked away. The red on the tips of his ears was undeniable. 

How were you supposed to feel about that? Flattered? There was some flattery in it, though it was mixed with mild horror at the absolutely breathless and desperate version of yourself that he apparently desired. Was that what you looked like? You were sure you never made a face like that. (You did, last week when Melini had a heatwave and Kabru had fetched you a glass of water. The memory haunted him.)

To your right, Mithrun raised a shaking hand. His shoulders trembled a little and he closed his eyes. His brows furrowed as he exhaled shakily. He looked as if he was only held together by a thin piece of string and a wad of chewing gum. The sight made your heart skip a beat in panic until you noticed the slight twitch of his lips. 

He was trying not to laugh. 

You choked on air. Kabru also choked on air, but for a very different reason. The succubus copy of you slowly sauntered toward him– you do not saunter like that, you would never saunter in such a manner, with that hungry look in your eyes and your lips parted ever so slightly. Horrifying. But like all good horrifying things, it also made you want to kneel over and start laughing until your stomach hurt. 

“Kabru,” you gasped, barely holding yourself together, “You—”

“Shut up!” He snapped as he took several steps back, “Don’t overthink it! It’s nothing! It’s–”

Mithrun interrupted with a heavy, resigned sigh. He took a casual step forward and touched the succubus version of you on the shoulder. Its eyes widened and it tensed, but before it could react, it was gone. You were pretty sure he teleported it into a nearby wall, judging by the muffled, strangled hisses coming from nearby. 

Kabru was still red, “I can explain.”

“I don’t think that requires an explanation,” Mithrun said flatly. 

“You know what?” He glared, “Not everybody can be as unaffected as y—”

Another buzz, another footstep on the stone floor. The three of you froze once more as another succubus stepped out of the shadows. 

It was also you. 

Fortunately, this version of you was much less desperate. Yet there was something about it that reminded you of a painting in a cathedral. Perhaps it was the look in its familiar eyes, the sheer love and affection it held as it stared at Mithrun as if he was the only person who ever existed. 

“That’s not mine,” Kabru said.

And it obviously wasn’t yours. Both you and Kabru looked at Mithrun. 

The Captain was tense, his body taut like the string of a bow. His fingers twitched at his sides as he stared at the succubus. His good eye was wide and he kept blinking as if that might help clarify the existence of a version of you that looked at him so adoringly. 

He schooled his expression and casually pointed at the love-struck succubus, “That’s not mine.”

“Of course it’s yours!” Kabru snapped, “Who else’s could it be?!”

Mithrun only shrugged. The soft tinge of pink on his cheeks betrayed his feelings. 

Once again, you were at a loss of what to think. It was sweet. Your heart fluttered and emotion filled your throat. Yet, did he truly desire for you to look at him like that? Did he lie awake at night, wondering what it would feel like to have every ounce of your attention on him, to value him so dearly that you were incapable of seeing anyone else? The very idea knocked the breath from your lungs. 

Except, Kabru ran a sword through the adoring, angelic version of you, and the mosquito monster screeched in a very not-you way. Mithrun only grimaced and chose to stare at the wall instead.

“Okay, so hopefully that’s the last of them,” you said. Your cheeks felt very warm. Kabru and Mithrun both desired you, though in different ways. You didn’t think that was possible. There was nothing more you wanted to do at that moment than run and hide and mull over possible explanations for what you’d just seen.

“Wait,” Mithrun stretched out an arm in front of you, “there’s one more.”

Despite his serious tone, awkwardness permeated the air. You were practically choking on it, unable to breathe normally because all your body could process was sheer embarrassment. Kabru’s ears were red. Mithrun looked more dead inside than usual. None of you would meet each other’s eyes. 

The last succubus stepped out of the shadow. First, you saw a brown boot, then a familiar hand, then a familiar face. 

You gasped, holding your chest as if afraid that your heart might burst through your skin. “I-It’s you…”

Mithrun and Kabru both looked at you. “It’s…” Mithrun couldn’t finish his sentence. 

But Kabru could, “Your biggest desire is… The meat pie vendor who sets up shop on the corner on Thursdays?!”

He said it as if that was a bad thing. 

The meat pie vendor smiled seductively and held out a fresh, steaming hot meat pie. You took a step forward, your hand trembling as you reached for the treat. 

“You don’t even want him romantically!” Kabru yelled, “You just want him to give you food!”

Once again, he said it as if that was a bad thing. 

Before your hand could brush along the flaky, warm exterior of the meat pie, Kabru pulled out his sword. Mithrun grabbed a broken piece of wood from the ground. It happened too quickly. There was no time to defend your desire. You gasped as the sword ran through the beloved meat pie vendor’s stomach, and as the wood was teleported through his neck. With an inhuman screech, the succubus collapsed to the floor. 

Your friends, who wanted you, had just killed the one thing you wanted… Your heart was torn in two. 

It was a complete mystery why both Mithrun and Kabru stormed out of the dungeon without saying one word to you. You were the one that should’ve been mad. 

Still, as you took Kabru’s hand in your left and Mithrun’s in your right, they both gave your fingers a light squeeze. 

Still, “We’re never doing this again,” Kabru said. 

Mithrun nodded. You grimaced. And none of you ever spoke of it again. 

[divinegrey]

ᴘᴀɪɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ʙʟᴜᴇ / ᴊɪɴx x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sorry for the wait everybody!! been writing other things in the meantime, arcane hasn't been my sole focus. also i have homework and exams. but here's something to appease all of you!! anon, i hope i did this prompt justice!

prompt: I'd like to request a Jinx x Fem! Reader. I like the idea of the reader being a follower of Jinx, as I think the dynamic could be fun. I think it could be cool to explore a follower of Jinx getting to know her and realizing that she's more than just a symbol. She's a multifaceted individual.

words: 1585

warnings: none

It started when she caught you tagging the side of a building. With her face, no less. 

With all the shit going down in Zaun in the wake of Silco’s death and every gang leftover fighting for scraps of power, it was only time before Jinx caught up to the fact that while yes, her face is plastered everywhere on wanted posters, there are about a dozen more spray-painted graffiti tags of her over them. Which was the goal of what you were doing when she dropped down from a building and walked to your side. 

All she did was look at the statuesque version of her face, washed in shades of blue, and say, “My nose doesn’t look like that.” 

And she was right.

Of course, with time, you got better at it. The wanted posters did a mean disservice, honestly. The only thing they got correct were the pink eyes, pink eyes that followed you when you went to your shitty box of an apartment and flopped onto a mattress flattened by years of use. You’d go to sleep, wake up, grab your paint duffel, and head back out again. The nice thing about Zaun is that there’s always an empty spot just waiting to be tagged. 

Somehow, Jinx always finds you. 

“You know people see you as a leader, right?” You say, shaking a can of neon pink, the ball rattling around inside the canister. You glance over your shoulder to where Jinx sits on some pipes connected to the wall, her braids dangling and the gold bullet casings wrapped around reflecting the faint light that falls through the fissures. With a gesture to your own head of hair, dyed an insane hodge-podge of bright colors, blue included, you continue, “Silco’s gone. Whole world down here has turned upside down. But for the first time in a while, we’ve got hope. Cuz of you. Cuz of what you did to those fuckin’ Pilties.” 

“For all the good it did,” Jinx remarks, a dryness to her tone you’ve come to know and love. 

“I’m serious. C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t know the reason why I keep painting you? Why a dozen other taggers I know keep painting you? Why the color blue is nearly sold out in every damn shop?” You kneel down, arcing a curve of pink paint along the grey brick wall, moving quick and precise. Overthinking it makes it worse. “I’m not wearing spray-painted clothes in your colors for nothin, Jinx.” 

She turns, peering at you. In the shadows, her eyes seem to reflect some more, glowing like a cat’s would. “Because y’all have some weird, deluded sense that I’m a leader, or somethin’.” 

“You are. To me. To us.” You point at the other tags in the alleyway, some of them copies of the same mark you’ve seen a dozen times around town. Jinx’s name, sigils of BOOM! and explosives doodled about. You twist and take a seat on the scaffolding, your legs dangling off the side of it. “I didn’t know you when I first started drawing you. I heard what you did, and I thought damn, there’s someone out there willing to actually do something. In a single day, you did more than Silco ever did in years. Sure, we might be going head long into a war, but dying free is better than living under someone else’s boot.” 

Jinx hums. She leaps off the pipes, crossing the gap between you and her with ease, landing on the wooden scaffolding. She straightens up, gazing at the half-finished tag you’re working on. With a hum, she turns to you, and puts something in your hand. Before you have the time to look down and figure out what it is, Jinx says, “Nozzle control. Quality on some of your cans are shit, no offense. Slap that thing on it and you won’t have an issue after that.” 

“Oh, thanks—” 

“Don’t mention it!” Jinx steps off the scaffolding, landing on the ground below with a THUD. “And for the record, I ain’t the kinda person to follow.” 

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that to convince me!” You call down, grinning from ear to ear. Her brows furrow together, then a small huff, a hint of a smile on her own face. She walks away, off to do… whatever it is that she does when she’s not hanging out with you. 

It isn’t for some time that you see her again. You’d say you’re worried, but you pass through the crowds hearing whispers of Jinx sightings. Every day, it seems another head of blue hair appears, the quiet signs of revolution brewing in the heart of Zaun as the enforcers grow more and more strict, searching anyone and everyone for some hint or clue to find the one that destroyed the Council Chamber in Piltover. You’ll never say a word. 

You walk into your apartment. Work was… work, boring and mind-numbing as it always is. You wonder if you can handle another day of it, but another day will bring another chance of seeing her out there, so you decide not to fly off the handle just yet. You shrug off the soot-stained work clothes, and where you reach for your paint-splattered jacket, it isn’t there. 

Instead, a note. 

Never had anyone believe in me quite like you. The Hound’s statue, midnight. Come and get it. 

With the pink lettering and the doodles of monkeys and bombs scribbled across the page, it doesn’t need to be said just who left this note. You snatch it off the wall, utterly beaming; Gently, you fold it into fourths, tucking it into your shirt. Thank god for the late shift— less waiting!

Any of the weariness you might’ve felt before is gone as you race through the streets, taking any and every shortcut you know. The night is quiet, what with the enforced curfew put up by the Pilties to discourage wandering, not that they’ve done a good job of it. Zaun is Zaun, and the cogs down here will always keep turning, whether Piltover likes it or not. 

When you arrive at the open plaza where the statue erected to Vander, the Hound of the Underground, is, your mouth drops in shock to find the entire plaza covered, every square inch of it, in neon paint. Sigils upon sigils that you have seen time and time again, glowing in the dark. It reaches all the way to the statue, pink highlights in Vander’s hair and blue accents along his metal jacket. 

Sitting on the shoulder of the statue, paint can in one hand and your jacket in the other, is Jinx. 

“Shoulda known you’d be a little early. Good thing, I work fast,” Jinx remarks. She crooks a finger at you to come closer, and you do, taking care to step over the paint lines on the stone. You’re a little in awe of the work she’s done— how has nobody taken notice? Come to think of it, you heard there was a scuffle a few blocks away. The logistics don’t seem to matter anymore the closer you get to her. 

You arrive at the base of the statue. “How’d you even know where I live?” 

“Sweets, there are a lot of things I know about you. And a lotta things you know about me. Things that might drive other people away, but not you,” Jinx says, something like an angel as she looks down upon you from the statue. In the flash of a second and the trace of neon light left in the sky, she’s standing in front of you, your back pressed against the statue. The beam of moonlight that breaks through shines on her, her shimmer-pink eyes locked onto your frame. “You keep sticking to the inside my brain, can’t stop thinking about you.” 

“Could say the same for you,” you reply, a little breathless. “Why’d you do all this? Get my jacket and bring me here?” 

“Cuz you showed me somethin’ important. That people, for whatever crazy reason they got in their head, believe in me,” Jinx says. She holds out your jacket to you, and you take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves and fixing the collar so it stands upright. Her eyes go from bottom to top, taking her sweet time. “I wanna show em what I can do. Give those people with my blue in their hair a reason to keep going. To keep fighting.” 

“You have me. All the way, Jinx,” you say, putting a hand over the front of your jacket, where a pink heart has been painted. “So what do you wanna do? Other than all this?”

“Right now?” Jinx cocks a grin. “I wanna kiss you.” 

What? You blink, wondering if you heard that right, but her taking a step closer to you only confirms that yes, you did hear it right. You swallow the nerves, finding your cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling. “And then what?” 

“And then, we show Zaun all the fun we have to offer, and we tell Piltover to shove their Hextech where the sun don’t shine,” Jinx finishes, her hands grabbing the lapels of your jacket and pulling you in. Your lips touch hers, something you never thought would happen, not in your wildest dreams. 

But here you are, arms wrapped around Jinx as she kisses you in the streets of Zaun, the cry of revolution soon to come. 

~~~~~

A/N: thank you for reading!! comments are always appreciated <3

[faeriichaii]

Hey so I know this isn’t the most original idea but could you do a mutual pining Legolas x reader where reader braids his hair without knowing the significance?

For some reason I haven’t been able to find any of em recently but it is my absolute favourite thing to read 😔😔

Softest Touch ~ Legolas x Reader

A/N: that's also my favorite prompt ngl :) Anything that has to do with brading makes my heart melt haha. Btw thank you so so much for requesting <33 I appreciate it a lot :) I really hope you like the story!!

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: fluff ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 933 ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes (thank you <33) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Meleth Nin ~ My Love ࿐ྂ

Summary: After looking at the etheral elven prince, you have the urge to weave your fingers through his silken hair, leading to more than just simple hair braiding.

Sitting on a log in front of the fire, you thank Sam for the soup he just handed you. Taking a spoon full of one of the rare warm dinners you get on your journey, you look at all of the other companions gathered around. Boromir playing around with Pippin and Merry while Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas sat on the log opposite of yours. Your eyes stop at the elven prince for a little too long, fascinated by his beauty. The light of the fire giving him a golden glow making him look even further ethereal than he already was. You noticed your growing fondness for Legolas weren’t just friendly feelings towards a companion as he once helped you out with your aim. Since then, it became almost a routine. After dinner, the both of you always decided to go a little further away from the company to practice your aim with the arrows (that you also carve together) and sometimes share a few stories of your past.

Finishing up your soup, you decide to join the other three on the log for a quick chat. Legolas notices you first and gives you a soft smile, before scooting over to make some room for you. Sitting down beside him you notice your close proximity and feel the familiar warmth spread to your cheeks. Looking at his side profile you see his beautiful white hair, which almost seems to glow due to the light source in front of you. The way his hair falls over his back makes it look like the softest of silk and you wish to run your fingers through it. “Legolas, I have been wondering if I could maybe braid your hair?” Gimli spits out his soup while Aragorn lets out a cough. Confused at their reaction about your request you look at them bewildered. Legolas cheeks were dusted in a soft pink as he clears his throat. “That sounds lovely.” Gimli abruptly stands up and staggers away, followed by Aragorn, who politely excuses himself.

Grinning at him, you stand up from your seat at the log and take your place behind him. Weaving your hands once through his hair you realize how soft it really is. You open the braid by his ear carefully, not to hurt him before deciding on a small herringbone braid. Parting his hair into two sections, you softly start to intertwine the strands together, sometimes accidentally brushing your fingers against his pointy ear. At the soft touch he accidentally lets out a gasp. “Are you alright?” You ask him, worried that you might have hurt him. “Yes, don’t worry.” Finishing up the braid, you move back in front of him and take a look at his face. A smile graces his lips before he thanks you.

The days have passed and you notice that Gimli, as well as Aragorn, seem to have started to call you ‘Your Highness’ as well as ‘Your Majesty’. You didn’t think much about it, until one night, during your watch. You looked up at the moon, while being perched onto one of the logs in front of the fire that has been put out since a few hours. The sound of footsteps nearing you made you look up at the source. “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” Legolas says, before taking a seat beside you. Smiling at him you nod softly. Looking at his side profile, you notice the braid you had done a few days ago, still in tact and untouched. “Do you want me to rebraid your hair for you?” He hums softly at your question, signalling you to redo it once more. Opening the braid, you start weaving through the strands again. “I have a question I would like to ask you.” You mutter from beside him, completely focusing on his hair. “Do you know why Gimli and Aragorn suddenly call me by royal endearments?”

The elven prince chuckles softly before turning towards you after the braid is finished. “Well let me braid your hair and I can explain their behaviour.” Turning around you let Legolas comb his fingers through your hair, before he decides to start braiding on a small section. “You know, in my culture braiding is a very important and intimate gesture.” He starts, making you blush at his words. “Normally we only braid or let our hair be braided by someone we would like to court.” You gasp softly at the realization that dawns upon you. “I- I’m sorry I didn’t know.” You rasp out, turning around after Legolas is done with his braid. “Does that mean you don’t wish to court me?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. A bright blush creeps up your cheeks before you shake your head. “No I- I mean yes I do.” You look down at your hands, beginning to play with your fingers.

“I do have feelings for you Legolas. If I would have known that braiding indicates my feelings, I would have just done a better job at braiding your hair.” His laugh makes you look up at him, before he puts his hand on your cheek. “You now have enough chances to braid my hair Meleth Nin.” His thumb softly brushes against your cheek before he leans in. Meeting him halfway, your lips brush against each other in a soft kiss. Wrapping your hands around his neck you lean even closer towards him. The warmth of his body encasing you, making you feel like this is just a dream. Breaking apart you both smile softly at each other, basking in the moonlight above.

[mywritingonlyfans]

Teacher's pet. // Prof! Alex Turner X Stud! Reader (Smut) Part 2 of 3.

prompt: (Age Gap/Smut) Alex, an undergraduate professor, wasn't known for his friendliness until he found himself gradually warming up to you. Your remarkable writing skills, particularly directed at his class, heightened his interest even further. He's determined to show you firsthand just how talented you are, even if the journey is challenging. Eventually, both of you realize that resisting this connection is futile, and you must let go of your inhibitions to explore what lies ahead.

words: 9K.

a/n: I'll need to add one more part, I hope you still feel like reading them! Thank you for waiting all this time! (I'll try my best to finish the last part soon)

HERE'S PART1

Alex promptly notified campus authorities about the boys. Although he didn't know their names, his detailed description enabled other professors to identify them. He ultimately concluded that they weren't a real threat, just a bunch of troublemakers. Nevertheless, he did his part, unwilling to let the situation slide and subject himself to any torment for having overlooked their inappropriate behavior. In the same way, he'd be watching you just as closely, not only because he wanted you to be okay but also because of the intensity that had built up inside him (thoughts and a tiny bit of obsession) after the last time he saw you.

…

His messy and crooked handwriting on the napkin somehow lingered in your mind. Not as much as the possibility of him being someone other than yours, but it persistently surrounded your aura. Your idealization of Professor Turner did not fit with him being a traitor, so yes, the way you portrayed him in your mind did not allow for such a possibility unless he proved otherwise. And that hurts, from deep within your core to the bitterness in your mouth and the burning in your throat. It was frustrating, yet you still wanted him around. What continued to motivate you to read the book he had given you and delve into his notes was the feeling of having him by your side, reading every word with you. Sometimes you were certain that if you closed your eyes, you could hear his rough, accentuated voice blending with the characters.

Perhaps, if you were his age and already held a degree, maybe even a professor specializing in romantic literature, there might have been something between you two. Picture it: a rainy afternoon, your head resting on his chest, his warm lips near your ear as he read to you. You hadn't openly acknowledged it yet, but you felt a certain compatibility despite the numbers of years difference. It took you a while to realize, but his demeanor softened whenever he saw you, his gaze growing more serene, and even the beloved wrinkle between his eyebrows had time to relax. His voice became gentler. You weren't completely oblivious to these cues, though you did have your doubts.

It all traced back to that one night when he had come to your aid, opening your eyes to the possibility that he could belong to someone. The faint, woody scent of his blazer had found its way to your home. He had even apologized for pulling back from a kiss, not wanting to be rude, and left his phone number in your belongings with a simple message: "Call me if you need me, lil’ one." He left no room for doubt; your mind still spun, and you felt helpless, uncertain about what steps to take. But your desire to do something about it burned brightly.

"I can hear your breathing," his tone was relaxed. Just as you hoped it would be with you, and then you wondered if he could recognize you by your breathing alone.

You remained silent, there was no plausible reason or emergency that had made you call. It wasn't strange, just unusual. He laughed, which made you imagine him with a cigarette between his fingers, taking a breath on the balcony with his mouth slightly open to blow out the smoke. Maybe he just smoked too much, and you weren't obsessed.

"It's okay, little one. We can stay in silence." He laughed, in a way that filled your lungs, and the little wrinkles around his eyes appeared for contemplation. At least in your mind, just for you.

You exhaled, your eyes filling with tears. It wasn't exactly a desire to cry, but you felt genuinely sad knowing that you weren't and wouldn't be his.

"How do you know it's me, Mr. Turner?" You wanted to sound playful, but your voice came out so shaky that it made calling him that seem inappropriate.

"It was a guess. Besides, I can't think of anyone who would call me at this hour and stay in deep silence. And, well," there was a pause, his guttural and muffled breathing making you take a deep breath. Enough time for a drag, you thought. "You know, I was ‘oping you’d call." He was sincere, typical of him. He always seemed too clear when he wanted to be. Everyone said he was strict, but you couldn't think of a time when he had made his students confused or uncertain about something he demanded. Demanded, that was a word that suited him in the classroom.

"Waited?" And you saw him nod with a sweet look for you, as if he were by your side. In fact, he just mumbled. "Expected me to be in trouble?" You tried to sound more cheerful.

There was a pause; you lay down, staring at the walls until you buried your nose in the pillow in a hug. He was close to his phone; you could hear him wet his lips and breathe lightly. You wanted to run your fingers over his face and hair again, but you couldn't deny that this was as magnificent as it got.

"Not at all, but I wouldn't hesitate to save you." His eyes closed tightly. The silence grew deeper, still comfortable, it was cute. If you had the chance, you would kiss him before that, before it got too cute. "I'm sorry," he said, not sounding regretful, just reluctant due to your brief absence.

You laughed, not saying anything, but it was enough for him to understand that everything was okay.

"Are you sad?"

Then you felt the pillow get a little damp.

"Am I really that transparent?"

He let out a breath through his nose, his lips curving. If he closed his eyes just right, just like you did, he would also be able to feel your fingers dancing around him.

"Only when you write, but I blame myself for watchin’ you too much during this time." You sounded the same way as when he pushed you a little too hard with his pragmatic comments, and although he found it adorable, over the phone, without being able to do anything about it, it made him a little uncomfortable. His words took brief seconds to be spoken; he wondered if you noticed how nervous he was that he needed to formulate sentences before speaking. And even then, he regretted some of them, not that they were bad, but he didn't want to hurt you.

"I guess I am,"

"Guess?" The air caught in your throat, the back of your nose starting to burn, and you feared it would be difficult to keep tears from flowing.

You didn't want to comment on the woman in the photo, at least not at that moment; you wanted to enjoy being with him as much as possible. Taking a deep breath, you decided to omit the reason but still let him know that you were genuinely upset. Maybe it was because he had helped you; you didn't know why, but you trusted him to a moderate extent that included your feelings. You believed and knew that talking to him would make you feel better.

"I think I'm just stressed," it wasn't a lie. His body shivered, unable to hold you close to comfort you. You felt a little pathetic making such a confession to a 37-year-old man who didn't have the same problems as you.

"I feel like I'm trying so hard for nothing, the days of writing have been a burden, and everything I write is so thought out and time-consuming that I feel like no one would want to read it, I'm almost certain I'm a fraud. I'm just waiting for the day they'll realize." Your throat was already scratchy enough to be closed from the middle to the end; your face was wet, and your head pounded in pulses. This was a recurring thought of yours; you had never verbalized it to anyone.

He listened, his steady breathing becoming slightly faster, and in a way, it calmed you over the phone. The whimsical feeling that he was there for you, even if it was a situation made up in your head, put you at ease.

Alex had noticed that you were insecure about your writing; it was clear how you reacted to his notes and negative feedback. But that was one of the things that made you good, the persistence in wanting to recognize your mistakes, listen, and do things differently. He wished all his students were like that. Although you had a special place in his mind and heart. Alex found you talented and determined; weakness didn't align with your gentle and loving personality. He wanted to make you see yourself through his eyes and free you from that feeling.

"I don't think you are, lil’ one; I know you're not," the pet name brought a smile to your face, and Alex noticed, his chest warming with the satisfaction of successfully soothing your worries. "You'll reach your goals. You write well, pay great attention to detail, and I love every touch of romance in your writing. I mean it now, and I'll mean it even more in the near future. You’re quite meant for this." He settled into his bed, clearing his mind as he imagined you lying beside him. Alex could almost see your gaze darting away from his, just as you often did during his lectures, as if you hoped he wouldn't notice.

You wouldn't admit it, and he wouldn't discover it, but you felt more confident and better in this emotional aspect after his classes. You recognized that you felt even worse about this in the months before you even knew Alex. Now it was different, and you liked that.

"Do you really think so?" It didn't sound like you wanted to hear him repeat the same words. It was more like you still had traces of doubt. He could even see your nose wrinkling, a habit of yours when you were uncertain, which he found endearing. Just like hearing your weak voice like that, no matter how wrong it may be.

"Sometimes I'm certain that I'm not worth the opportunity that someone needs to give me so I can succeed in something, something that hasn't even happened yet and might never," Alex didn't let you linger on that and hushed you until your voice diminished. If he found it painful to hear you talk about yourself this way, he couldn't imagine how you were dealing with it inside your head. "I don't want you to talk ‘bout yourself like that." His voice was firmer, and you shrunk back; it was good to hear above all. "You'll make it. You're worried ‘bout a future you can't control. You're still young, and you haven't even finished your degree. Give things time. Like I said, you're talented, and you'll have good opportunities. And I'd help you in any way possible." Inside his head, he concluded, and in the impossible too. He wished he could hug you, have your body close, and be sure that you were comforted and that your voice was no longer filled with tears, but all he had were words.

Even without a turn of phrase, he noticed you calming down, and he could feel your exaggerated heartbeat through the call. Or maybe that was just his worries. You were a mess. And even though you were frustrated, he didn't want to be anywhere else that night but on the phone with you (even though he preferred you in person next to him).

"Do you think it gets better with time, Mr. Turner?" You smiled; it was forced, he knew that, but he was relieved that you were trying. Then he scratched his nose with a funny look, the way you called him still sending shivers through his body, but he also found it cute how the sound came from your lips.

"The insecurity you're feeling?" You nodded in a mumble. "It doesn't get better, but we learn to deal with it better, I think." You laughed again, with more enthusiasm, and Alex felt accomplished, feeling his own cheeks blush.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner." You said softly, closing your eyes, the phone pressed against your cheek, still hugging your pillow even tighter. His breath truly acted as a calming agent on you.

"Little one?" He noticed you were tired. "You can call me Alex if you want; there's no reason to be so formal." He felt awkward asking for that, even though the whole situation was awkward.

"Okay," you said softly, not quite able to bring yourself to say his name. The way you sounded thoughtful even with such a small word made Alex chuckle quietly in a discreet way. You were so adorable in his eyes.

Silence took over, in the same warm and familiar tone as throughout the call. You began to smell his scent on your sheets and remembered lying there with his blazer before, although for now, it was likely just a figment of your imagination. But it felt so real; you were really drowsy from sleep.

"Turner?" He murmured to let you know he was still there, finding the evolution of you avoiding "mister" quite sweet, as it made him feel less old compared to you than he actually was.

"I've been writing different works; I'd like you to take a look. I like it when you assist me without taking away my freedom." He ran his hand over his abdomen, his body warm, and he felt guilty once again for pulling you into this with him, even if that was your will too.

"I'd love to. I'm free tomorrow if you want to come over." It sounded subtle and right. Neither of you could tell if it was the effect of sleep, but he liked the idea of having you at his house again and being able to talk to you outside the academic environment. You took a while to respond, and he almost took back his earlier words.

"Is it not a problem?" Your mind went back to how he could have someone who was his person.

"No," he said, not sounding pensive, but he was wondering if someone important at the university found out it could give you problems. He knew it wasn't right for him, but he didn't care as much about what could happen to him; you had more to lose than he did, you were at the beginning of your academic career, and he wouldn't do that to you. "Do you think it could be a problem for you?"

You denied it, realizing you needed to speak for him to know the answer. "No, I think it's a good idea," you concluded, deciding that you would make the most of it, whatever it was. It was the first time you felt attracted - you liked him, you were a bit obsessed, you were afraid - and you were almost certain he felt the same way, and you didn't want to waste it.

After a few short minutes, you continued, "I love the way you write about being in love, as if there's only room for that one person in your head, and nothing else matters. I hope that if someone ever falls in love with me, it's at least 10% of how you describe that feeling." He knew you read his publications, yet he felt a delightful warmth, like receiving a handwritten note from your middle school crush confessing the same feelings. He appreciated your work, and your appreciation of his made him feel great. "Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new? I won't settle for anything less." Although Alex had written this a while ago, he found himself contemplating how well it matched what he felt for you.

You couldn't find more words, but both of you could sense each other's presence, the subtle laughter, and the soft breaths. Words weren't the sole means of communication; you both comprehended the situation and willingly let things progress at their own tempo. With this feeling of ease, you slipped into a peaceful and rejuvenating slumber, so unaware of it.

A few before this, he commented about needing to dispose of the ashes and the ashtray, and your face brightened in the darkness upon realizing you were right. He was smoking this whole time. Once you drifted off to sleep, Alex allowed himself to do the same, filled with the assurance that you were safe.

…

Your gaze appeared distant, and your fingers, on the verge of digging into your arm's skin due to impatience, twitched nervously. You leaned against the wall, seeking to evade the curious glances of passersby, well aware that your tension was conspicuously written across your features.

"Hey, what happened?" His voice carried deep concern, and as his gaze met yours, you couldn't help but fear that someone had issued a threat you were blissfully unaware of. He didn't hesitate, closing the gap between you, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. He was clearly worried.

It took a moment for you to find yourself as you briskly navigated the corridor leading to the reception desk, anxiety clutching at your chest.

"They're having issues with my documents, for dear God. I need them to apply to some campus. I did everything correctly, notified them of my need for these documents, and I'm still well within the deadline…" Your voice trailed off, caught in the charged atmosphere, your mind aflame.

His gaze remained steady upon you, his countenance markedly soothed now that your anxiety had heightened the stakes of the situation. He adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder and extended a reassuring touch, his fingertips coming to rest gently upon your hand.

Moistening his lips and making that soft, almost playful sound one uses to capture a cat's attention, you couldn't help but release a small, albeit apprehensive chuckle, providing relief to both you and Mr Turner; he was doing well.

His presence, grounding and reassuring, helped to temper your nerves. He remained with you until your breathing found its way back to the present.

Glancing around, his eyes found no one in close proximity. He dipped his head slightly to align himself with your level, a tremor of emotion causing your cheeks to twitch. His face and the tip of his nose were red.

Running his fingers softly across your cheek, he offered you a warm smile despite your obvious reluctance stemming from the absence of his hand in yours.

"It's alright. Everything's going to be just fine, little one." His voice gradually dissolved your anxiety and the gripping sensation in your chest. He brought his fingers to his lips, tenderly kissing them before tracing their path back to your face.

First, he lightly pressed against your forehead, then your nose, and finally your cheek before his hands slid back into his pockets.

Unbidden, the thought crossed your mind that he would've kissed your tears away, a gesture of comfort he was undoubtedly willing to extend, if only the circumstances allowed. And then your mind ached at the brief reminder that you had woken up in the double bed in his room that night.

His laughter filled the space, eyes glistening with warmth, and the wrinkles around them adding to his features. In that moment, you fervently wished he could be yours, even as your self-awareness acknowledged the depth of your feelings.

"Where do you intend to apply?" Your gaze descended to his chest, buttons undone, and a gleaming chain vying for your touch.

"Huh, I... I plan to apply to a university in California. That's the crucial one, although I'll be submitting applications to others as well. Missing this deadline is simply not an option."

He nodded in understanding, skillfully alleviating the awkwardness you felt over your hesitant words. You remained unaccustomed to the unwavering attention he directed your way, where your words and actions seemed to bear a significant weight. He made you feel noticed and appreciated, you liked that.

"Give me a few minutes, and I'll be right back."

That said, he didn't take long to re-enter the room you had left about 40 minutes earlier and resolve your issue. He emerged with a furrowed brow, the self-assured smile gradually returning to his lips as he made his way back to you. It almost felt unfair how swiftly he had solved the problem, but then you remembered that he wasn't known for his friendliness to everyone. You imagined the firmness in his voice and expression as he demanded to know the whereabouts of your documents from whomever happened to be present. A sense of relief washed over you as he asked if this was what you needed and handed you the envelope. With a quick glance inside, you confirmed that your documents were indeed there.

He seemed genuinely pleased to have been able to help, but you didn't quite notice. Your reaction was instinctual as you rose on your tiptoes and let your body collapse onto his, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him close. He took a deep breath, unprepared for this, but he managed to keep his bag from slipping off his shoulder and circled his arm securely around you. His nose brushed against your hair, and he hoped your scent would linger on his clothes for at least a few more minutes.

It was brief, both aware of the potential consequences of this closeness. You apologized, although a smile remained on your face. He could have frozen that moment in reality, gazing at you for hours, your short shirt rumpled from your previous touch, knee socks slightly disheveled inside your tall boots, while you clung to the documents he had just retrieved. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was evident how you found comfort in each other's presence. And he easily concluded that you suited California.

"I need to go," he said, his thoughts consumed with the image of you sitting in his classroom in a few hours and potentially at his home later if you hadn't changed your mind. He didn't want to bring it up, wanting the decision to be entirely yours. If you decided not to show up, he'd understand, and you knew that. You appreciated the pressure he removed from you. His desires were quite evident, and even though you still needed to address the matter of the photo in his room, his intentions were anything but unclear.

…

On that day, you sat a few desks behind due to the front-row seat's creaking issue. Every time he entered the room, your attention soared. You enjoyed admiring how he placed his brown bag on the desk, neatly rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, and adjusted his blazer before starting the class. However, you noticed how his eyes searched for you before initiating this ritual, his face stern and composed, his hand tracing his jaw until he reached the spot where he found you, a few desks back. Your radiant smile met his timid one, and your hands fidgeted with your skirt. At that moment, you both knew that neither of you concealed your feelings well. It was evident in the softening of his expression upon finding you and the shy smile that curved his lips; with crooked lower teeth and cute prominent lines. It warmed your heart.

The following minutes went as expected, with your heart racing when he addressed you, and he posed questions that he was confident you could answer or raise thought-provoking ones. You remained addicted to gaining his favor, even though you no longer needed it. There was no doubt you were his favorite one.

"I think that's enough for today," he murmured, dismissing the others, which included you. Yet, you hesitated to pack your things and leave. You wanted to show him that you still intended to meet him later, fearful that he might think otherwise.

Initiating the conversation didn't come naturally. You leaned against the closed door, observing him tidy up the last of his belongings. You felt uneasy, and he sported a self-assured smile. He was yours, soon you'd gradually become aware of it.

"It's okay, little one. We can stay in silence," he offered, approaching you. Your nervousness was palpable, and you couldn't even contemplate forming words. "There's no one on the other side of the door," he reassured, peering through the small glass window. "I wouldn't force or manipulate you into anything you don't want to do." He was cautious, but the idea that he thought you might think of him like that made you shake your head vigorously.

"I know you wouldn't, Professor Turner." His nose wrinkled slightly as you insisted on calling him that. His cheeks gained color, and you loved that.

You pushed your hair back, trying to clear your head. "I just wanted to confirm that you still want to see me tonight, and also to say thank you for helping me after the bar incident. I don't want you to think badly of me. I—" You paused, swallowing hard. Dry throat, just like your eyes, which couldn't stop blinking. His attention was fully on you, and it didn't help. Seeing your struggle, he moved closer, gently removing your hand from your hair. He whispered while still close, "I don't think anything bad 'bout you, and I'll still be waiting for you if you want to be there."

You nodded, your eyes lost in his, feeling as if you could almost touch his skin without making physical contact. Your hand involuntarily touched the collar of his shirt, your palm pressing awkwardly against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the coolness of his necklace. His fingers followed yours, resting on top of your hand with a pleasant size contrast. Your touch affected his body in ways you couldn't fully fathom, but he was better at concealing it. Your mind briefly entertained the idea of his lips brushing against yours, but this thought was soon supplanted by a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your chest met his as in an embrace, and it lasted long enough for you to feel his fingers below your knee, lifting your high socks until they were even with the other. It sent a great burn through your thigh and made you want to keep him close, but then he was stepping away. "I just want you to feel comfortable with me, pet." Your words once again choked in your throat. You wanted to hear him say he wanted you, but you refrained from vocalizing it, and you understood, but you still longed to hear it from him. Just as you wanted to shout that you felt good with him, despite being a novice in matters of the heart.

…

In your imagination, Professor Turner was someone who didn't shy away from the daylight, and you believed he was just that, even though it was amusing to picture a darker side to him that other students described. When you told your roommate that you wouldn't be back that day, and she suspected it might be related to him, you received a playful, "Take care, don't let him pull you to the dark side." It made you laugh and think about how some of your classmates had asked you to talk to Alex about his grading approach because they had noticed his fondness for you and were in desperate need of a miracle. You didn't think your intervention would change anything, but your curiosity would lead you to take the risk.

The air felt trapped in your lungs, and there was still an alert in your mind that being there was wrong. Students were gossips (your friend even more so), if he had someone, you would know, right?

"I thought you might be hungry," he gestured for you to enter. The same calm and gentleness that always characterized his demeanor toward you, as your roommate had reminded you over the phone just minutes ago. Your mouth quivered, and your hands turned cold as he looked at you. His expression was meticulous, as if trying to read every one of your signals. The sensation within you intensified as you adjusted your knee socks, and his attention followed you until he realized how his hands clenched around nothing. This time, it was you who laughed.

"I wish I could say you don't have to pay for things for me, but honestly, I wouldn't have had the money to come here," you explained, with more than a hint that you might be less financially stable than him. The age difference still nagged at your mind, but you had promised yourself to make the most of this situation. He had covered the Uber ride, just like last time, and now you felt guilty about him spending money on your meal, even though you found it adorable.

He was flushed, certainly not from embarrassment. "It's okay, I don't mind. I want you 'ere." It sounded so formal and yet so natural of him, it made you wonder if he did this often; seduce their own students. It was quite a torment for you to add to your worries, had he ever done that before? And why were you bothered by that? Why did you want to be the only one who had ever gone through this with him?

You only realized that you were standing there staring at him when you felt his hand lightly press your back and guide you to the living room. There were sheets and pillows on the wooden floor rug and the light was dim. He had thought about that and it made your cheeks hot, you were unable to contain a smile. Before sitting down, he took your bag off your shoulders and murmured, "Your thoughts are quite noisy, little one."

He sat next to you, his shoulders pressed against yours. Your legs stretched out and your uncontrollable fingers played with the hem of your socks. You kept your eyes on the orange colored juice and some bread, your belly emptying and your head becoming fuller. “I just,” you looked at him, his messy hair and tired look but still giving you all the appreciation. "I'm not used to it, I guess."

"I'm not sure if it helps you either, but, I'm not, I'm not in the habit of bringing students to my house. You're the first one." You smiled, the weight of your body joining him. Alex noticed you becoming more comfortable and brought his hand closer to yours, then you rested your palm in his; bringing your fingers over the veins and calluses on his fingertips. You bit your lip at the thought of him actually playing the guitars in his room. And then you felt heavy once again at the thought that you wouldn't be able to be present in the moment with him if you didn't know if he had someone else.

You were careful to pull your hands away from his, stealing a piece of bread and pouring yourself some juice. His gaze on you was unmistakable, hard to ignore. Even though you enjoyed it, you felt like you were caught doing something bad.

"You can talk to me," he said, nothing but reassuring. "The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable." And he didn't, it was in your head, and deep down you knew it.

As the orange, viscous liquid touched your lips, you noticed his flushed cheeks going harder, even though he remained confident. It was the same Mango and Passion Fruit blend you had at the campus bar. Your face lit up with a smile, and he wished it could always be like this. "This is almost an obsession." He laughed too, relieved that you didn't think he was crazy for it.

He had indeed asked in the following days what that drink was, and he had learned that you always ordered that, he was just trying to make you comfortable around him. Little did he know that it didn't take much. "I swear my intentions were for the best," he concluded to have succeeded as he held your gaze for a little longer, and then your head rested on his shoulder. Your arm was lazy at first but within minutes, it was around his waist, brushing the top of his pants and then pulling your body closer. You felt the scents mingling, and your head grew lighter. He kissed your forehead, and you closed your eyes, savoring the feeling. Silence was indeed a great friend of yours, something you both cherished.

"Do you have someone?" You weren't as confident as you'd like to be, though you thought the answer was no, you still feared the response. He held your chin close to his, so near that you could see the scar near his eye and the more expressive fine lines. A tear threatened to escape as he appeared puzzled. You didn't like letting him think that you thought ill of him, but you couldn't move forward without answers. "Please, say you don't." Your voice faltered.

He ran his fingers over your face, letting his forehead rest against yours. He definitely didn't like seeing you upset. "I don't have anyone romantically," he chuckled softly, finding it attractive how you nestled into his touch. Even though you were uncertain, you wanted to hear it from him first, and he found that so mature of you. He felt guilty for thinking of it that way, as a warning that this wasn't entirely right.

You nodded, your heavy gaze fixed on him, and yet he stayed with you. "But what 'bout the girl in the photo in your room and the double bed..." Your body tensed, your face pliable in his hands.

Alex felt the weight of it and wanted the words to sound painless for you. It wasn't your fault, and there was an easy explanation; it was a concrete and unchangeable situation, only painful. He held you close when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes, with just the right amount of strength, and his chest ached as his own vision welled up. "I don't have her anymore, not anymore," and with that, you understood. His gaze and his voice, the tone of affection, you didn't feel jealous, and in a way, you understood.

Your response was to cradle his cheeks and kiss his face, not liking to see him sad gave you the courage you'd been seeking all along. His arms enveloped you, a subtle embrace, his nose brushing against your thin top, your bodies aligning inch by inch. It felt right, and it didn't seem so wrong anymore.

He chuckled against your neck, lacking much humor. "It's been a while, I'm not trying to replace her or anything." His hand traced his eyes, and you nodded in understanding. You didn't sense that from him. "It's okay, I just didn't expect that and got scared." You whispered, letting your nose touch his while his forehead sweet bangs tickled you. Soon, your fingers were lightly tugging at the nape of his neck, and he didn't avoid your gaze; he only seemed upset about worrying you. Your lips brushed his eyes, tasting the saltiness, making you feel compassionate.

Nevertheless, you let your lips touch his, soft and warm, drawing out a lingering sigh. His grip tightened around you, and with that, your hands went from entwining his collar to pulling him closer, as if you could make it better; you wanted to make him feel great.

He solemnly withdrew from you, keeping you close while planting kisses on your face as he did so. As he pulled back, you realized that your senses were more attuned to him than to yourself. You couldn't pinpoint at what moment during all this you ended up in his lap. You didn't feel bad about it, but you still felt like you should.

"I'm sorry," you began, but he didn't let you pull away from him. He didn't need to explain, but he did it anyway. "I stay 'ere to teach, not because of her. I loved her, and I probably still would, but I'm not bound to her in any way, or sustained by being in love with someone I won't see anymore. I just don't see myself forgetting her entirely after years as if nothing had happened, just as I don't want to make you think this distances me from you or makes you believe I'm trying to replace her with someone else." He was precise, his voice trembling like never before. The coherence as something he had planned to say before hurt you; he wanted to say it but avoided it, and you didn't blame him. "I just want you to know these things." Your response was to hug him, craving the ability to merge with his body. It was dramatic, but you wanted to take some of that weight off him. His broader back, along with the embrace, covered you entirely, and you could feel his breathing calming as your thighs and arms clung to him.

With your head feeling lighter, your face nestled deeper into his chest. Your nose brushed against his neck, his warmth matching yours. The roughness of his baby beard made you smile into nothing. You could swear you felt him shiver. He kissed your face, his lips finding every space from your mouth to your neck, and your jolly reaction was to pull him closer by his t-shirt's collar. Your body burned, in a comforting way, and before falling asleep with him enveloped in you, you thought about how you should have done more or even asked for more. You no longer felt hesitant towards him.

…

Your eyes slowly opened, the lighting still cozy, just like the feeling of his chest. He held you tightly, his chin nestled on the top of your head, making you feel whole as one. As you shifted in his lap, you wanted to squeeze him, feel the flesh of his waist, and unbutton more of his shirt to accommodate your hand. You needed to take a deep breath, unable to avoid the initial sweat on your forehead. He let out a sigh, his fingers tracing your back and holding you as you bit your lip to hide a smile. His dark circles were more pronounced, his skin softer, although his eyes slightly puffy. You snuggled back into him, and he accommodated you, sealing the moment with more kisses.

"I'm sorry, Turner," the muffled laughter left you happy too, not that you weren't already. You ran your wrist over his mouth, he was still fixated on every part of you. In truth, you might not have known what you were doing, or you were just nervous. You didn't want to disappoint him.

"It's okay," he ran his fingers in circles on your waist. Your skirt crept up, and the position improved as he leaned against the wall. You could feel him better, every inch of him, and the thought that you were arousing him made you tense up a bit, even though it was good. He noticed and held your face, his lips touching where you had just tried to dry because you forgot you needed to breathe through your nose when kissing someone, "Hey, it's okay, lil' one. We don't have to do anything you don't want. I like you being with you."

You took his neck, your lips soft and moist, albeit timid against his skin, making him release adorable sounds that made you want more. This caused you to grip onto him, your hips moving closer to his, and you wished he would touch you, even if just for the mere thrill of feeling him.

"Please," you sighed, his face pressed against yours. Your fingers toyed with the closed buttons of his t-shirt as you shifted your gaze to your hands. Alex understood that you weren't entirely sure about what you were asking for, and this sweetly confirmed how much he considered you nothing but a good girl. It was evident that you wanted to be wonderful for him, and it was adorable to see in your eyes how you were eagerly waiting for him to lead the way in this dance of desire.

"I'm all yours, princess." He concluded with a mixture of pet names that both disconcerted and melted you into him. You took a deep breath as the pressure of his large hands adjusted your hips, your knees slightly burning, but you couldn't help but create the necessary friction to feel him better. You could indeed feel all of him, from the light fabric of his dress pants to the zipper, hitting you perfectly. "I know, little one, you're doing so great," he praised, mesmerized by how you lightly closed your eyes and then opened them to him, and he nodded in agreement, acknowledging your success. It was attractive to see you feeling secure and knowing how to make yourself feel good. With your hands still held against him, he intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing the remaining buttons to be undone, and then your palm found its place into his flesh.

He held you tighter, your body against his. "Don't move both together, use your legs or just grind against me, or you'll get tired quickly," he sounded precise, his deep and raspy voice filling you up. You obeyed. "That's my good girl," he said in a husky growl. This effectively worked to keep you going with him. His fingers gripped your nape, pulling your head to look at him, gazing down at your sleepy and pleading look. He clenched his jaw, sure that he could surrender for so little. His lips landed on your neck, his nose burying into your skin, so soon his teeth were pulling you into a light and pleasurable bite.

And then you were his, his hands working on you better than your legs were trying but failing to reach that level. Soon, he removed your top with the same gentleness and urgency with which he pulled you to him just to devour your breasts. His grip traveled to your waist, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin, encircling how hard they were and sucking them into his mouth as if it was genuinely pleasurable for him. The tip of his nose brushed against your skin, and he caused pain by nibbling on the flesh ready for him to take. You found yourself liking how every sound you made was heard by him, and he understood every nuance to repeat or intensify whatever he was doing to you.

You fit him well; being with him and having him wrapped around you made you feel confident. You had been embarrassed to be so spontaneous with someone before, but with him, it was different. His calm presence over you, the tranquility and affection, as well as the satisfaction in his eyes and touch when he saw you well, made you want more and more of him and to surrender yourself to him even more.

"You're so delicious," and he meant it. He squeezed you tightly, and you were worried you might have marks afterward. In a way, you liked it; you wanted to see him sprawled over you when it was all over.

And at all times he paid attention to your high socks, fixing them in the right place and smoothing them so they wouldn't move from where they were; keeping them pretty on yourself.

To soothe your whimper, he nestled his thumb against your clit, adjusting his movements until it felt like it was working for you. Alex was flushed, and you wanted to capture the look he was giving you. He didn't feel entirely guilty, but something weighed on him, as if he were corrupting you; the sensation wasn't bad at all. He pulled the flimsy fabric upwards, giving you more traction, lightly laughing at the pastel color and the central bow, knowing that it would haunt his mind for many days to come when he was feeling drowsy. It was magnificent, every detail of you, and he marveled at having your tired and prolonged sighs and teary eyes, just as he always thought they would be when your weak body collapsed onto his in such adorable spasms.

…

Your body ached, but the electricity in you felt good. Your hands ran clumsily through the pleasurable haze. He placed his lips on your forehead, lingering there until your body melded to his like a magnet. "I need to go, but I don't mind if you stay 'ere, lil' one," he sounded even better after waking up, husky and lazy, yet strong. Gradually, you became aware of the fact that you were in his bed, wearing the button-up shirt that you admired on his body. You smelled like him. You remembered him covering you with it, draping your figure while he kissed your collarbone gently. You were so drowsy that you were so certain it had been a dream.

"Go where?" You asked absently, looking around. He pulled up your socks, your legs entwining with his beneath the sheets. He loved this, wanted to have you there forever. You slept so serenely, comforted by his touch, and he thought about leaving you there. But he remembered how scared you had been at the idea of him leaving without notice the night he took you from the bar. He didn't want to cause that in you again, especially knowing he wouldn't be there when you woke up. "I have to teach in the morning, but I'll be back in the afternoon. I don't mind if you stay 'ere if you want."

"And do you want me to stay?" Your lips quivered; you understood his careful approach to your desires, but you wanted to hear it from him without reservations.

"I want you to stay, very much. I still need to read your new work, and I want to hear more from you." Your smile widened, and your face met his neck. He stroked your hair, keeping you close. You had almost forgotten that you had tucked prints of your writings into your bag to leave with him, or to have him read while you waited for his shrewd criticisms. You didn't care as much anymore; you wanted to hear him. You wanted to hear everything he had to say about you, whatever it may be. This thought, combined with the reminder that he preferred printed works over email submissions, made you beam more against him. He pulled you close, looking at you curiously.

"Okay, I can stay here, old man. It's good that I can finish reading the book you gave me." His cheeks flushed, and he got up, making you laugh more and grumble in disapproval. Alex didn't make a fuss and went to the wardrobe, putting on a clean t-shirt and taking off the pants he had worn earlier. He was serene, and he didn't mind you watching, your calm eyes on him, unraveling with each visible patch of skin. You wanted to scream about how everything in you wished this could be your routine. When you looked around, the photo was no longer there, and it didn't seem strange. In fact, you didn't feel jealous of it. However, knowing that he had put it away in another place made you feel good. You thought you might ask him more about it soon; she was important to Alex, and you understood and respected that. You thought it was only fair for him to know you didn't think badly of it.

"Promise you won't be too harsh when reading my stuff?" The buttons were still opened when he turned to you, his eyebrow arched, and his chocolate-colored eyes sparkling.

"I'm not cruel," you huffed, making him suppress a sly smile. "At least not with you." Your cheeks burned. He went into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he grabbed his toothbrush. You followed, sitting beside him on the large sink, attentive to him.

"You know, they told me to ask you to go easier on the students, at least in my class. They all seem to think you're pretty tough," you mentioned.

He chuckled. You liked this, it was intimate and comfortable. His hair was messy, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled; he was perfect. He wiped his mouth and kept his brows tense, "I'm not; the world is just not as perfect as most of you believe, and not everyone is as good as you." He was such a cute old bastard. You arched your brows, mimicking the expression he often made, and he laughed, softening for you. "I won't harm anyone; I just think lower grades make you all work harder." He clarified, placing himself between your legs, and you soon enclosed him in your embrace.

"That's cruel and unfair, Professor Turner." He kissed your face, seeing that it bothered you more than you pretended it did. "You don't have to agree with me, pet."

"And I don't." You sounded more irritated, and he liked that. "It's not very fair."

He laughed, nodding. "Well, know that I'm not going to change." You shook your head but stayed there. You pulled him closer, buttoning up the shirt just as he did, and then folding the cuffs as you had noticed he liked to leave them. He enjoyed that with a great goofy smile.

Briefly, his mind wandered to how he didn't have another place besides there. He might have already renewed the campus contract and then planned for another season in Europe. But for the first time in a long time, he found himself questioning that decision. He could go to other places if he wanted; his qualifications allowed him to move beyond where he was. Basically, all it took was his own mind. So he thought about postponing the decision of whether to renew or not. Things might change.

"Turner, aren't you going to be late?" He snapped back to reality, kissing your lips before he actually heard everything you said. His fingers played with the elastic of your knee socks, tugging gently and then letting go, causing you to gasp in pain against his mouth. "It's funny how you want to punish your students but don't even care about arriving on time." You narrowed your eyes, trying to sound intimidating, but your breath gave you away quite well. "You look beautiful like this." He ignored the irony and felt your legs tighten around him. "In my shirt, princess," he whispered between lip nibbles, amused at how easy it was to leave you speechless. He lifted your hips from the sink, aligning your body better with his.

"I want to feel you, taste you on tongue, princess, is that okay?" His nose brushed your face, trying to soothe you as his hands roamed around you, feeling you tense with nervousness. He loved that. Your lips touched his, with wetter and more intense kisses, and you felt silly when you realized from the way he was smiling that he wasn't talking about that. You swallowed hard and nodded. "I just won't know what to do," you said, feeling dizzy as you held your breath. "Don't do anything," his hands comforted your body, and you leaned in so that he could remove the damp fabric from under his (yours) shirt. "Just relax, don't think 'bout it for now." You agreed, eagerly watching him kneel in front of you.

You did as he said, settling in more comfortably and following his eyes as he spread your legs, playing slowly with your socks before slipping your legs over his shoulders. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his nose diving into the area, and then his teeth nibbled the skin as you gasped. He chuckled with delight. "Are you going to teach me how to make you feel good too, Mr. Turner?" He couldn't resist your sweet voice. He nodded, giving a kiss to your center, your flesh glistening in anticipation. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, princess." And then that new, wet, and firm sensation invaded you, your eyes closed, your lips parted in a brief, silent sigh. Your breasts were highlighted in the white t-shirt, so hard that they were attractive to Alex's gaze from time to time.

Your fingers clutched his dark hair, while his eyes remained closed right after taking a great look at you, and he released such a beautiful prolonged, satisfied groan. The taste made him a little dizzy, but he loved every second of it. "You're divine, did you know that?" You couldn't respond anymore; his nose caressed you, and his fingertips marked your delicate skin. He liked the time he was taking; it was nothing more than his tongue, and he relished the sensation of exploring you slowly. You also liked it, and that was enough for him. He could feel his chin wet and his breath falter, but he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. "Don't stop, please." And all you heard was the hum of his confident laughter against you, along with the recent texture of the beard growing, while you only thought about making it easier for him as you spread yourself further and fully surrendered to him. You just knew you would feel the same way tasting him on your lips and tongue.

...

taglist: @ohladymoon @indierockgirrl @bloo-wisteria @bellaturner @cosmoschaotic @nikisfwn @andrews-lovr @nela-cutie @artimonkii @alexturnersbbg3 @blackberryblossom @lilmisssweetdreams @alexshotelandcasino @tbhclove @rostarblog @babieswiftie @yourstartreatment @atticssmellgood @aacheinthejaw @mingods

tagged only for teacher's pet (the one who asked for and people who asked for the part2) : @thenightslikeawhiirlwind @missbabyjay @kayla1717 @ladydraculasthings @tyatthiapoewy @depthhell @hvncae @raven-ql @kittyrob0t @jakethsims @mayaawesome10 @michelleisheres-blog @love-me-until-ilove-myself @est3va @viviannagiorgini

google forms!¡ (taglist)

Let me know if something is wrong or if you're not comfortable!

Also, I'm taking thoughts/ideas for part3 (it'll be the last one, I promise!)

[beawhatchumean]

BOOM! IT'S FINISHED!!

after so long, it finally done and dusted and ready for public release :3c

LMK SIX EAR MACAQUE SHIMEJI VER 1.0!!

Just click on the big words and ya can download, ye :D

Contains 2 zipfiles: The normal version and less frames version

Read down below for explanations on that

if got any problems launching and stuff, dont be afraid to message me, i'll try to help ya out :>

but as seen in the quick lil poster i made there, it says extra animation + more more info about that underneath the read 👇

from the top,

EXTRA ANIMATION

Same like the SWK Shimeji, this one is has unique frames for each action of the Shimeji. best example is the walk, run, dash actions seen below

there are other actions that have unique frames like these, you are free to explore them :>

CUSTOM ACTION NAME

There are a few actions renamed in the shimeji code. Here is a guide for what they do:

Take Out Lantern = Mac takes out his lantern and admires it

Create Clone = Shimeji breeding 1

Visit Shadow = Shimeji breeding 2

disclaimer, I plan on making a full action guide list in the future so you can much easier reference what each action does :>, so stay tune when that happens

CUSTOM ACTION

Just like SWK, you may pet the Macaque!! >:3c give the lil bugger all the love he deserves~ (credit to Kilkakon for the original script)

as seen in this gif :3

Steps to do this action is as followed:

Make the shimeji sit down (any surface is okay, ie work floor/window top)

Move the cursor to the shimeji's head

Make sure it is a hand cursor and not an arrow cursor

Pet away!!

If you want to pick up the shimeji without prompting the pet action, just move the cursor lower until it turns into the arrow icon

NON-SYMMETRICAL SHIMEJI

One more thing that causes this to be my fav Shimeji so far. HE HAS NON-SYMMETRICAL FRAMES. Meaning his black sleeve stay on his left, while yellow stay on his right.

To do this, Mackie needed much more frames compared to SWK, which might cause him to lag on some devices. Hence why I prepared 2 versions of Mackie here. One with symmetry and one with none

PLEASE DOWNLOAD THE LESS FRAME VERSION TO NOT FRY YOUR PC'S!!

UPDATES WILL HAPPEN!!

just like SWK, this is version 1.0

updates will happen and I am at work working on the next csutom action. But it will not come out anytime soon since it requires me to draw a bunch of more frames again hhhh

BUT DO STAY TUNED >:3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

but for now that will be all for ver. 1.0

many thanks to anyone interested in this project and of course

BIGGEST THANKS TO THOSE THAT HELPED BETA TEST THEM

for privacy reason they shall stay anonymous but

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ >:3

PLUS EVEN MORE HEARTS!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading.

TWO FOUR

THREE

You're sitting on the floor of your living room, waiting for Barnes to finish scanning your apartment for any signs that someone might be watching you. The most ironic part of this is that he's doing it just minutes after discreetly placing a camera above your door. The message this sends to you is that only he can watch your every move.

"What can you tell me about your life?" you ask while serving a glass of wine to each of you. You're certainly nervous about drinking wine near the expensive rug you received as a gift from a bakery customer, but it seems worth the risk when you think that drinking wine while sitting on the floor seems romantic.

"Well… non-confidential details. For example, my middle name, which is Buchanan, by the way. I was born on March 10th, a beautiful spring day. My mother used to say I was the most patient baby she ever knew. On the other hand, during my teenage years, I became a troublemaker. And I only started to behave better when I met my best friend. Steve was definitely the best person in the universe. Always thoughtful, trying to be cheerful even when there was no reason to be. The rare times he lost his temper, I knew the other person was in the wrong." Barnes sits down next to you. He smiles sweetly, as if he's fondly remembering the past. Then he takes a sip of the wine and looks at you, as if he's expecting something. You don't realize that you've been staring at him or making the atmosphere a bit awkward until he clears his throat, as if prompting you to say something.

"Your best friend must have had to put up with a lot to keep you in line… considering you're still getting into trouble even today. By the way, do you guys still keep in touch?" you ask, as if returning to reality after losing your train of thought while staring at Barnes. But how can you avoid getting lost in the most beautiful blue eyes you've ever seen?

"He wouldn't be proud of what I've become. But we lost contact after, let's say, we went our separate ways. In my mind, he's living a peaceful life, maybe with a house near some lake where he can fish. Maybe he's married, with at least one dog. But part of my job was saying goodbye to what was valuable to me before, well... before I accepted the job. A sacrifice I was willing to make." Barnes says, this time between sips of wine, seeming to get emotional. It's probably the wine taking effect, or maybe it's the longing for those he had to leave behind.

"And do you regret it? Giving up being with those you loved most for a job that obviously puts your life at risk? I don't mean to criticize you, but it's not too late to have regrets. We could have died when that guy attacked the bakery." You end up judging Barnes' life a bit, without intending to, but you know you've crossed a line when he looks at you with a certain anger, saying nothing.

"I didn't realize I was here to be judged. What else do you want to criticize about my life? The first time I fell in love with someone? Or maybe something more spicy, like like the time I fucked my partner while we were on a plane? Do you want to know if I managed to make her cum or would you like to criticize me because sex in a public place is wrong?" He takes another sip of wine, emptying his glass. You feel a mix of emotions as you listen to him speak. He wanted to humiliate you, that's obvious. So you don't think twice before throw the rest of the wine in your glass in his face.

"I would have apologized for intruding on your life in an untimely manner. But you can't talk to me like that. Now, I'd like you to get out of my apartment." You say angrily, getting up off the floor and hoping your expensive carpet stayed intact after you throw your wine at Barnes. You assume he can leave on his own, so you head to your bathroom to wash your hand. It's stained with wine, so you clean it off. Your thoughts are in turmoil, wondering how something that was supposed to be romantic lost its meaning. Maybe Barnes was better in theory than in practice; maybe your hypothetical Barnes was just an illusion. You only refocus when you catch a glimpse of Barnes standing near the bathroom door out of the corner of your eye.

"I overreacted. You didn't mean to be disrespectful, and I was out of line. It wasn’t my finest moment." Barnes says as he approaches you, and you watch him through the reflection in the mirror. He quickly moves to stand behind you, not close enough to touch, but close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your back. You get goosebumps, unsure if it’s because of his proximity or the huskiness in his voice as he speaks.

"I should have guessed it would be like this. You clearly have no intention of letting me get close to you. And you know what? Right now, it seems to me that you're doing just fine on your own." you say cynically, which seems like the right thing to do at the moment. Barnes gives a crooked smile and then moves closer. You turn to face him, as if you don’t want to make this moment more dramatic than it needs to be.

"Want to know something about me? I push away most of the good people I know because, most of the time, I have no idea if I deserve to have them around. But somehow, I don't push you away as easily. I eat your bread every day even though I don't like bread that much, just because I noticed you like to test new recipes when I stop by your bakery. Your coffee isn’t your strong suit, but I drink it almost religiously. Not everything I know about you comes from the fact that I put you at risk. I just took an interest in the lovely baker who smiles at me every morning as if I were the most important person in the world." Barnes says, looking into your eyes, and you’re surprised. All this time, you thought you were the only one noticing him. But he was noticing you too.

You have no immediate reaction, processing what he just said. Then, a surge of confidence takes over you; you place your hand gently on Barnes' face and caress him. But something awakens in Barnes. He places his hands on your waist, pulling you closer, and in moments, he brings his lips to yours. The initial contact is delicate as he explores every part of your mouth. It takes you a moment to believe that you're kissing James Barnes, but once you realize it, you pull his neck closer, deepening the kiss. It's as if your mouth is waging a war with his, as you both savor the taste of each other. You let out a soft moan as he presses you against the sink, but you quickly wrap your legs around his waist. He runs his hands down your back until he reaches your ass and holds it tightly. Urging you to climb onto your sink, you feel his hands release you onto the sink and then touch your thighs and leg. You are however interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Apparently she was worried about the lack of news. He takes a breath while you watch him text Natasha, probably reassuring her. Then he looks at you, but this time with a hint of regret. It’s obvious it was too good to be true.

"Let me guess? You need to leave, and it’s better if we don’t talk about what just happened because you shouldn’t have done that?" you say as if you already know what he’s going to say, which you probably do, because he doesn’t make any move to deny it.

"It seems that, in the end, you know more about me than you realize," Barnes says awkwardly before quickly leaving your apartment, leaving only a lingering tension in the air. Soon after, you decide to take a shower and go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day, and thinking about Barnes won’t do any good right now. The next day, you head to work earlier than usual, wanting to make some muffins and éclairs to sell at the bakery. Your first customers compliment your coffee and muffins, and you can’t help but wonder if your coffee is as bad as Barnes made it seem.

"What would you recommend to a new customer?" A man with a kind look, blue eyes, and blonde hair approaches your counter while you’re pulling a batch of fresh bread from the oven. He is muscular, well-built, and has a wonderful scent.

"I’d recommend almost everything here except the coffee; I’ve heard it’s not that great. And welcome to Y/L/N Bakery. My name is Y/N; I’m the owner and also the baker. If you want my honest recommendation, this new bread recipe turned out great, and I’ve made some éclairs if you’re interested in sweetening your day." you say subtly as you watch the man place his backpack on the floor of the bakery. It looks like he’s just arrived from a trip.

"My name is Steve. Steve Rogers. I heard that an old friend of mine used to frequent your bakery, and I came here hoping to find out where he might be. Have you by any chance seen Bucky?" Steve asks gently as he approaches the counter. You look at him thoughtfully.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" you ask, not quite understanding who he’s talking about. You’ve had many customers, but none named Bucky. Steve then pulls a photo of his friend from his pocket. Immediately, you recognize him. It’s Barnes, in military attire, in a photo that looks like it was taken a few years ago. And then you realize that Steve must be the best friend Barnes was talking about last night.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[theyluvlyss]

Can I request if you can Hcs of all the ghost boys + Finney being in love ? ( Feel free to not add Finney since you wrote something similar before )

Xoxo 💋

𝐨𝐟𝐜 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧😌...

it's what I'm here for🫡♡. I really like the idea of writing about them being in love/having a crush rather than being with reader right off the bat !! very cool and unique idea (imo), and it definitely harbors that little difference in feelings/slight nuances that I'm very happy to expand on !

although it took me a bit, I've actually gotten most of the boys done already, and that's around when I gained the bright idea to just ... instead of making you wait, I remembered there's this thing called free-will, and I can quite literally post whatever and whenever I want lol😆 ...

meaning I can just post each boy for you one at a time as I finish them instead of waiting until they're all done and then making one long post :D !

on that note, here's finney's hehe...

𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬

《 ♡ 》 headcannons

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 :

while it's always fun to imagine (haha, get it💀) what it'd be like for him to be your best friend or your boyfriend, there's times when you yearn for that tension. that something in between that's more than a platonic relationship, but just short of being a lover. and I'm here to revive that feeling of what it'd be like for finney blake to have a crush on you...

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

fem!reader x finney blake - she/her/hers pronouns!

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 :

70s-80s - the grabber doesn't exist

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 :

cursing, as usual - small mentions of anxiety/nerves - finney being super cute lol - overall super duper fluffy and pretty much everything the prompt describes lmao.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

I know you said I didn't have to do him since I already have, but *adds that mf in anyway because he deserves round two of some lovins😆🫧💙🪩*.

Finney liking somebody/finding someone attractive is usually a dead-end deal. He keeps it to himself - buried deep down within the depths of his gentle soul, never to breach the light of day, because he knows good and well that even if it did arise, all it would lead to is rejection and - if he's extra unlucky - a teasing+beat-down combo attack from some known bullies of his (should they find out or be witness to these nonexistent attempts of confession).

A little depressing, I know, but bffr ... if you were Finney, would you do anything different🤨?

Althoughhhh....

Him having a crush on you, specifically, is very,,, confusing. Think of when you have a crush in real life, but you actually have a little bit more of a chance with them than usual. It's realistic. There's a sliver of hope. A light down in the depths of that depressing darkness.

It's like that.

And dare I say, he's fairly obvious about his liking towards you, but only if you're paying close attention.

If you're in a totally different clique, especially a popular one, just kind of in your own little bubble (which might as well be a whole new world to him), then the chances of you noticing/realizing his infatuation with you is very slim. Even in Finney's own case, he'd view you way out of his league, no chance whatsoever, so don't expect him to make any moves of any kind.

And on top of that (as I mentioned first thing), he'd do his damn best to not let ANYONE find out, ESPECIALLY Robin, Gwen, or Bruce, because the last thing he wants is for them to get overconfident on his behalf and try to set y'all up. What if you reject him?

Or worse, what if you end up liking Robin or Bruce instead of him? He wouldn't be able to take it. And lord knows he keeps his crush hidden from his bullies for highly good reasons. An even worse scenario in his mind than the last one is if they publicly teased him (or the both of you) about it, made a mockery of his feelings for you to witness and either join in or pity him - neither an outcome his ego and self-esteem were built to handle.

Now, the opposite - actually knowing him and/or being his friend - the case would probably still remain the same with only slight differences. He'd still find you out of his league, probably wouldn't make any bold moves. But, being his friend, closer to you, a little more comfortable around you, there may be times where he'd make the SLIGHTEST of nods to MAYBE, POSSIBLY liking you in a romantic fashion. JUST A LITTLE BIT.

BUT, he'd also be so worried and absorbed in his own head about all the different little things - am I impressing her? am I making her uncomfy? Does she already know? Does she not know and thinks I'm weird? Did she already think I was weird before I did that thing? Did she even catch onto that thing I did? Is she ignoring it? Is she ignoring me? Oh my god, she fucking hates me - that he lowkey wouldn't even consider the fact that you've been making more obvious moves on him this whole time.

He would probably end up liking you because of something you said or did. Like, depending on the situation, you said/did something that really resonated with him, or he found himself thinking about a lot. Which would then lead to him thinking about you a lot, and it's a spiral from there. Or, if already friends, it's probably something you did/said that had him now seeing you a new/different light, which, again, spirals from there.

Should anyone that's not you uncover the feelings he harbors, he's so the type to deny it. Gwen could be studying your behavior and body language up and down, and then report back to Finney with WRITTEN, PICTURE, PHYSICAL FUCKING EVIDENCE of you liking him/reciprocating the crush, and Finney would just be like, "...Nahhhh, you're just delusional, she wouldn't even notice if I disappeared the next day." And Gwen would just be like, "This bitch here😐..."

Either way tho, what I meant way earlier by "confusing" is that his version of (just barely) letting you know he likes you romantically is him just being,,, himself/friendly but a little bit more than usual LMFAO. Like, if y'all are friends and he always walked you to and from school, what he would do to further insinuate that he 💙likes💙 you is to just,,, walk you everywhere else🥴💀. Essentially be your moral support wherever you go lmfao.

Or like, besides doing stuff he really doesn't need to do that confuses you, he'd do things that kinda give the OPPOSITE of, "I'm literally in love with you." Avoid/not talk to you, avoid eye contact, stuff that just leaves you like, "...I don't think he wants to be my friend anymore🥲💔." LIKE BOY-!😭

But it's not intentional. It's just his nerves and doubts getting the better of him, y'know? Overthinkin, which leads to overreacting, etcetc., you know how it goes/what that's like lol.

So yeah, basic point, if the feelings aren't already made VERY CLEAR from the jump, don't expect things to get any clearer😻.

BUT, if after a while should he either gain a little more confidence (prolly from Robin) or you grow a pair and make the first bold move yourself (which would confirm it for him to be more comfy getting bolder himself as well), I feel like he'd still remain a little shy and mildly confusing, but very berry cute nonetheless.

I'm telling you, he'd put those crafting skills to work, hon👏🏽!! Just any chance he gets/has to either make you something or just impress you with something he's made, he's putting 1000% percent into it. I'm talking he's going broke, losing sleep, practicing what he's gonna say and how he says it - it's all going into whatever little (or big??) craft he knows you're going to see/he's gifting to you.

He'd also compliment you a lot, along with being more himself, which HELLO, he's so silly when he wants to be. I feel like he'd have you laughing a lot without exactly meaning/trying to, but HE'D FS CHERISH THAT like,,, every time he'd make you laugh, he'd just feel like he was on cloud nine - 'I made her laugh, I did that, me, she thinks I'm funny, she likes me, she's literally in love with me like I am her, otherwise she wouldn't be laughing so hard-'

...😃...Yeah, he takes what he can get and RUNS with it (which is why I think he'd love and is in need of lots of reassuring, plz take care of my baby😭🙏🏽).

On the topic of such, actually, it's kinda funny because it doesn't really affect his envy levels.

I don't think he'd get all that jealous if he saw you with other ppl; it would just be the thing of like,,, "That's what I get for getting my hopes up."/"It could be worse ngl." lmao which is sad on one hand but kind of mature on the other, yk?

Mature that'd he'd just leave it alone, not be pushy. But sad because wdym you think you're not worthy of some love/what you want out of life :( ? Luckily for him, though, I don't think he's able to hide disappointment/sadness very well.

Not that he's going around telling people, but he's just one of those "face/tone of voice says it all" kind of guys. So, depending on your thought process and if you can put two and two together, you're quick to squash any doubts of you being interested in someone else romantically.

"I'm not really into *state another persons features lol idk*. Not my type of guy..." which may or may not be you trying to guide him into asking your type, and he may or may not take the bait🤭.

No, but seriously, he literally may or may not catch on. There's definitely been a few times where he's missed the social cue, and on the inside, you're just like "😔🙄..."

He gets SUPPPPER flattered if/when you get jealous, tho. Like, I'd imagine it's a pretty rare occurrence (surprisingly to you, don't nobody be hitting on Finney Blake, okay💀✋🏽), but when it does happen, you're very quick to make it known you're hardcore crushing and liked him first, even going as far as to make it appear as if he's already taken.

You're hanging off of his arm more than usual or playing with his hand to keep him from fidgeting, you're staring at him with such a strong look of love-sickness in your eyes that might even cause the other girl to throw up, and should she even get as far as asking him out...? Oh boy...

"Actually, Finn, we were gonna hang out today, weren't we? I wanted to help you paint that rocket you're working on, I have the perfect colors in mind already...!"

"You...You do?"

"Yes, I do😃😐."

And the other girl just has to be like, "...I'll um,,,, Nevermind, Finney, I'll see you around."

"Maybe...!" You'll call after her cheekily, smile growing wider and wider as she trails away with Finney yet to even process the entire interaction at all. And while he might not catch on right away, the second he does, he's BEET red💀😭.

He doesn't know whether to admit he's smitten by your hostility or to let you know you don't have to be😭✋🏽. And more often than not, he'll opt for saying nothing at all, smiling to himself all shy while you're back to normal, talking as if you hadn't thwarted off a foe.

Confessing... That's not fucking happening, ever at all💀. And if he did, it would be on his death bed (I'm joking). But srsly, if he can avoid it for as long as possible, he will. The type to tell you on the last day of school, I'm talking GRADUATION DAY, right as one of y'all are leaving FOREVER, on some "I've always liked you..." type shit, and you would just have to be like, "WHYDIDYOUWAITSOLONGWHATTHEFUCK😭💔💔‼️‼️" Which is why I think it'd truly be up to you to confess (hopefully) way sooner😭💀✋🏽.

And if/when you did, he'd probably forget how to,,, exist lmao. Like, one of those moments where the information has to process in his head so he's just standing there looking at you like, "🧍🏻‍♂️:0" for a second before he's like, "o-OH!...I...I like you, too! And I have for- I mean... Like, it's been long. A long time. I've liked you a long time :D."

YOU KNOW WHAT?? If he felt he, himself, absolutely had to confess, he'd write you something. He's not Shakespeare or anything, but it would be much easier and less nerve-wracking for him to just write it all down. He'd hand it to you in person, apologize for the length of the letter that YOU HAVEN'T EVEN OPENED YET😭, and then practically teleport from the scene because he doesn't even wanna stay for your reaction. The fear of rejection is genuinely too much for him.

He'd be better off never hearing from you again if you didn't like him back rather than have you tell him to his face. ALSO, he'd give it to you in private. Wouldn't want to put you or himself on the spot, nor would he want to risk somebody catching him or you with the paper that has him pouring his heart out to you on it.

But, of course (because why else would you be reading this if you weren't expecting The Good Ending™), you're confused while opening and reading it until those feelings gradually begin to swell into a mixture of flatter, adoration, and just flat out love because not only had he FINALLY confessed to you...

But you had found it to be written quite beautifully, and it was overall the cutest thing that had ever happened to you, so now you have to return the favor - scribbling your response in some colorful pen color on the back of his own confession note, doodled with hearts and squiggly lines and all of that nonsense, leaving it in his locker - and letting the events take off from there.

Letting the relationship blossom from there🫧🥹🪩💙✨️.

𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 !!

ik I say this literally every time I post something, but I really loved writing this, and it's because I LOVE WRITING; I love doing this shit, idcidc✋🏽😭✋🏽. if I could make a living off of this, I would, and I love seeing your guys' requests every day and reading through them over and over again.

and guys, let me tell ya', there isn't a better feeling in the world than completing and posting one, because whew...!! it's like having an endless supply of inspiration fr, I love it.

anyways, robin's will be posted soon after this one, so be on the lookout🫡😼 !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 :

@in3rci4

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :

2,103 words

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

none :(

[eyesofshinigami]

Worth It

Rating: E

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, smut, anal sex, top Eddie, bottom Steve

Prompt: For @sharpbutsoft "Love is being late to work because you can't ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time"

WC: 579

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 14. Spicier bits under the cut

Steve knows he’s going to be late. Robin is going to kill him and he’ll deserve it, but. Right now?

Right now, all he can do is lay back and enjoy the way that Eddie feels against him. 

He’d woken up before his alarm, which happens some mornings. His body gets restless, feels like he needs to get up and move and do something or he’ll crawl right out of his skin. Most mornings like that he just gets up and goes to make breakfast and start getting ready for the day. His boyfriend isn’t a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, so Steve lets him sleep.

Not this morning, apparently.

No, just as Steve was getting up, Eddie wrapped a sleepy arm around him and pulled him back into bed. “W’er you goin’?” he mumbles, nuzzling into Steve’s shoulder. His lips brush the mark he left on Steve the night before, making Steve shiver. “Can’t leave.”

Steve laughs, half-heartedly trying to squirm out of Eddie’s grasp. “Going to go make breakfast. Have to leave for work soon.”

“Wrong answer,” Eddie teases, his hand snaking down to slip inside Steve’s boxers. “You’re going to stay right here with me and let me love you some more.”

Eddie sounds much more awake than he should be, given the hour, but Steve feels the hot press of Eddie’s cock against his back. Steve whimpers, heat flaring in his belly. No. Nope. He’s got to get up and get ready for work, not get fucked again. “Eds, no, I have to get up.”

Eddie wraps his hand around Steve’s cock, giving him a good stroke that makes Steve shudder. “If you really want me to, I’ll let you go. But I want to hear you say it, baby. Tell me you don’t want me to send you off to work well-fucked and full of me.” Steve’s cock is hard and throbbing in his hand by now, and Steve can’t help the way his hips shift, how much he wants it. He knows Eddie would, would just let him get up and go about his business, wouldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.

But Steve wants it. He wants it so bad he shifts so that Eddie’s fingers can trail down, down, down, right to where Steve’s still a little wet and a little loose from the night before. “Want that. Want to be full of you.”

“Yeah? Want to feel me all day while you work? Remind you of what you’ve got waiting at home for you when you finish your shift?”

Steve nods, pushing back against the fingers sliding inside of him. It stings a little, riding the line of pain and pleasure that they tend to ride together when they’re like this. “Please, baby.”

Eddie grins against his neck. “You might be late, if I get to do all I want to do to you.” He doesn’t stop the steady thrust of his fingers, spreading them wide and making Steve moan at how gloriously full he feels. “But how could I say no, when you’re writhing against me like this? Begging for my cock. Don’t worry, baby, I want you just as bad.” He grabs the lube from under the pillow (apparently they’re the kind of people who leave lube everywhere) and pulls his fingers out.

Steve lets out a whine and Eddie hushes him. It becomes a tangle of limbs as they push their boxers down and Eddie covers his cock in lube, rubbing the head against Steve’s hole a couple of time before he pushes inside.

It’s a tight slide, but fuck if it doesn’t make Steve’s nerves sing. His own cock flexes against his belly as Eddie fucks him slowly, Steve losing himself in the rhythm and the feeling of being taken like this. It’s slow, lazy, and perfect. All the thoughts of being late flit out of his head, taken over by Eddie’s hot kisses against his skin, the dirty words he’s saying smeared across his neck and shoulder.

He’s close, can feel it building low in his belly. His cock is dribbling precome and he reaches down to take his cock in his hand, feeling it jerk in his fingertips as he starts stroking. 

Which is right about the time the alarm went off.

Steve freezes and so does Eddie, mid-thrust. It would have been comical if Steve hadn’t been right on the edge of coming. 

“Are you going to turn it off?” Eddie asks, resuming his thrusts. The heat starts building again and Steve nearly forgets what he was supposed to be doing.

He reaches over and hits the button, moaning against the sheets when the change in angle makes Eddie hit right against that spot inside him. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, right there…” Steve cries out, stroking himself and fucking back against Eddie. It’s no longer slow and lazy, but frantic and fast and just a little rough.

Steve comes with a cry, his cock jerking in his fingers as he rides out. Eddie tumbles over a couple of thrusts later, warmth blooming inside of him from where Eddie’s cock is flexing and filling him up. It’s good. It’s so good and Steve can’t even care that he’s going to be late.

“Worth it?” Eddie asks between kisses.

“Worth it,” Steve repeats as they pull apart.

It’s a rush to shower and Steve grabs a piece of toast to go, Eddie kissing him goodbye as he runs out the door. 

He’s fifteen minutes late and Robin does yell at him, even as she’s wiggling her eyebrows and teasing him. But he’s happy and well-fucked, whistling as he goes about shelving movies and rewinding tapes.

Worth it, indeed.

[jjkeremika]

Goofy

description: you think levi’s too serious. he thinks you’re too goofy.

levi ackerman (aot/snk) x reader (fem!reader), levi x you

disclaimer/warning(s)?: aot universe (you’re a scout); historia/sasha/ymir/you/armin friend group; hair pulling; NSFW

“fuck, marry, kill…” sasha giggled at the prompt before ymir even finished the sentence, which caused historia and you to laugh too. ymir ignored everyone and counted the men on three fingers as she spoke their names into the game. “erwin, levi, eren.”

“oooh!” historia squealed, her palms covering her open mouth, resting into her knees and sitting onto the backs of her calves. “i have to think about this one…”

“booriiing,” sasha sighed dramatically and loudly, dropping her head to her arms. she drew a heart in the loose dirt with her finger and kicked her legs in the air. “connie and jean aren’t even in this one…”

ymir scoffed, “sh’yeah,” rolling her eyes and scowling, kicking at the building’s wooden siding, “there’s a reason for that.”

“do you think captain would kill me if i killed him?” sasha asked sincerely, pausing her art to glance around the small crowd. “he scares me.” she glanced to her left and right before chuckling out, “and not in the good way.”

you shrugged, mentally disagreeing. definitely in the good way. “hey, they each have their perks.” you lifted one hand in the air. “marrying erwin means good eats…” you smiled at the array of considerate nods as everyone remembered his campfire stew. you raised the other hand. “levi guarantees clean living.” you thought back to him in his white apron, the handkerchief tied up in his hair, the broom handle firmly held in his grip.

ymir cackled crudely, leaning deeper into her slump against the wall. “what’s eren’s perk?”

you pursed your lips playfully and dropped your hands to your lap. “he’s… passionate,” you supplied weakly, high-pitched, shrugging awkwardly, the other perks of marrying the captain still occupying your mind. you opted for a joke instead, “his girlfriend’s hot.”

sasha laughed and pulled some more grass from the ground, letting it fall into the rest of the pile. ymir glanced at historia before chuckling and nodding in agreement.

“i feel bad killing eren,” historia added quietly, talking to herself, oblivious to the rest, “but mikasa might kill me if i don’t…”

you guffawed and clapped once, which took historia out of her own mind with an embarrassed blush. “tori, its a game.” you tapped her arm. “you can fuck her boyfriend in a game.”

you caught historia and ymir look to each other before both hurried to look away; historia with a nervous sheen and ymir with a disappointed scowl. “would you even want to?” she muttered into her shoulder.

“what about you, ymir?” you asked, gesturing to her with a nod of your head and a faux evil smirk.

“eh, i’d kill all of ‘em,” she answered plainly, a noticeable contrast to the mischievous light in her dark eyes, “and play with their girlfriends.”

you and sasha made amused eye contact and hid your laughter in your palms, sasha practically screaming.

you all but swallowed your tongue when historia directed her question towards you, “you’d fuck levi, right, y/n? would you care if i did, too?”

ymir sneered and rolled her eyes again, and you heard sasha whisper to her, “girl. why did you even ask?”

you blushed, suddenly aware of the heat of attention. you tugged at your shirt collar, finding it too tight. “w-why do you say that?”

“uh,” ymir replied first, like it was obvious, like it was confusing to them why you were even asking, “because you want to fuck him?”

you rotated your attention between your three girl friends while ymir and historia giggled. the unpleasant heat overtook your body. “n-no, that’s not what i…” you settled on historia, taking a mini deep breath, trying to ignore the uncomfortable rustling in your chest. “why would i care if you chose him?”

historia’s face lit in nervous surprise. “o-oh, b-because you…” she tilted her head to the side, raised her eyebrow. she questioned herself as her sentence tapered off. “don’t you…?”

“hey!” the four of you jumped at armin’s sudden appearance from behind the building. he had the same bright, wide smile on his face that he always did when he approached the four of you, like a younger brother desperately trying to fit in with his older sister and her friends.

he sat in the circle with his legs crossed between ymir and sasha. a spot he now claimed as his own. he smiled at each of you. “what are you girls talking about?”

you felt your body temperature rise as the thought of armin already knowing popped into your mind, as you wondered if he’d overheard everything and timed the perfect entrance, the perfect cover.

historia’s eyes were fixed to the pile of grass near sasha’s fist. sasha repeatedly traced the same shape in the dirt before her. ymir debated kicking armin’s cheek with the heel of her boot.

“are you one of the girls, armin?” you asked with a straight face. ymir, historia, and sasha all looked to him simultaneously. “do you swear your clitoris to the greater girlie good?”

you bit back your smirk as you watched the adam’s apple in his throat bob, as you noticed the small droplets of nervous sweat forming in his hairline. sasha and ymir hid their smug smiles behind their hands.

“you have to answer the question, armin,” sasha added, nodding convincingly. “you can’t be one of the girls if you don’t.”

“pretty simple stuff,” ymir added casually, checking her fingernails. “we all did.”

“swear it every day,” historia mused quietly, the four of you sharing a smile.

his flushed face made the bright pink blush oh so noticeable. armin played with his fingers, slumped lightly in his position. “does it, um. w-well. c-can i swear on an honorary cli—” he interrupted himself with a loud swallow. “o-one? can i swear on an honorary o-one?”

the four of you made bemused eye contact with each other before looking back to armin. you shrugged as historia giggled behind her palm. “yeah,” you answered casually, “we’ll allow it.”

“you have to say the word though, armin,” ymir threatened, sitting upright and moving closer to him, “say clitoris, armin. say. it.”

“ymir, stop,” historia denounced, moving to grab her shoulder, yanking her back, “don’t harass him.”

ymir rolled her eyes, but let historia drag her closer. “it’s literally a word, tori. he’s a big boy. he can say clitoris.” she turned her head to look at historia, whose face was only inches away. “you say it.”

you and sasha chuckled awkwardly, turning your attention away from them. “uh, ignore them,” you told armin, “we were just playing fuck, marry, kill.”

*******************

sasha chuckled quietly into the crook of her elbow as she blatantly watched ymir draw a cartoon of the commander and the captain in armin’s notebook.

poor armin was just trying to take notes on the formation and erwin’s tips and suggestions when ymir leaned over and started drawing mildly offensive caricatures of the whole team. you tuned out of the lecture as she was drawing one extremely tall and one extremely small cartoon.

you peered at the doodle from over armin’s shoulder and your fingernails squeezed into the coarse green fabric of the cape to distract you from laughing.

“make hange a pet titan. give levi a mop. give erwin a horse,” sasha not-so-quietly whispered to ymir, “oh! oh! no! make levi his horse.”

“sasha, shut the fuck up,” ymir quietly retorted, trying not to laugh more than anything else, “youre not funny.”

armin put his pencil down and hid his entire face behind both of his palms. sasha mockingly repeated ymir’s sentence as she leaned back into her chair. “yeah, well, you’re not nice,” she concluded and rolled her eyes, crossed her arms in a huff.

you tapped ymir’s arm from behind armin’s back. “give him a leash,” you added, gesturing to levi with a nod to the front of the room.

ymir snorted and shook her head disapprovingly, but her pencil started moving to oblige. “yeah, you’d fucking like that wouldn’t you.”

armin looked to you curiously, but you glanced levi up and down. “oh, yeah.” you nodded repeatedly, a smirk settling as your jaw locked. “i’d ride him all day.” armin’s wide eyes caught your attention, and the color flushed from your cheeks. “l-like a horse.” you felt the heat prickling under your skin.. you wondered if he knew. “like how you… how you ride a… horse.”

armin nodded slowly, concern and confusion bubbling in the blue. you started to laugh uncomfortably. “armin, stop. don’t look at me like that.” you pushed his face away with your palm.

“y/n! quit messing around!” levi shouted, the authoritative command stimulating each nerve and crawling under your skin. his voice echoed in the room.

you felt the entire room’s eyes settle on you. you smiled in disbelief that he singled you out, again. “aye, aye, captain,” you sang monotoned and coldly saluted, digging your toes into your shoes when you saw the slightest twitch of his eyebrow.

**************

“did you guys see levi’s new boots today?” historia asked in between a bite of her salad, the tiny tomato rolling off from the fork tine.

sasha glanced up at her then to you. “highly surprised that didn’t come from y/n.”

“shut up,” you chirped, stabbing the cucumber with your fork, “i would’ve asked if you saw his cock outline, so,” you added, punctuating your sentence by biting into your lettuce, winking.

ymir and sasha laughed boisterously. historia nearly choked on her kale. “oh my god, stop,” she mumbled between small coughs, covering her mouth politely, “i was just pointing out his new boots have heels.”

“ooh, tall boy,” ymir snarked, pointed at historia with her fork, “that’s sexy.”

“wait, did you see his outline?” sasha asked you, reaching her hand across the table to cover yours.

you shook your head and chuckled lightly, wiping your mouth with a napkin. “in those jeans? no.”

“i think they’re riding boots so they add a couple inches. he was almost as tall as mikasa when i saw them together earlier,” historia continued.

“do you think he’ll ride you with those boots?” ymir diverted the conversation, pointing to you.

sasha cackled and clapped her hands. “shit, he can if he wants to,” you answered with a laugh, a pink blush hugging your cheeks. you felt neighboring eyes turn to your group.

“not with the boots,” historia murmured into her hand, rubbing at her forehead, trying not to laugh along with her friends.

“yes with the boots!” sasha yelled along too loudly for comfort, slapping the table excitedly.

fellow scouts at the nearby tables started looking over. “she just pegs him,” ymir added with a loud cackle, knocking her arm against sasha’s chaotically.

sasha fell into her arms on the table, drowning her laughter out. “ymir!” historia yelped, her fork rattling against the bowl, her innocence plastered bright red on her cheeks.

“boots stay on,” you added cheekily before taking a deep breath and stabbing at more lettuce. sasha wiped at her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“i was kidding!” ymir excused herself loudly, arms raised in an unapologetic defense.

“i wasn’t,” you said. you made wide eye contact with sasha before ironically following with, “who said that?” and watching your friend break out into another fit of laughter.

“y/n!” the shout cut through the cafeteria chatter like an elephant on thin ice. you felt the syllables dig into your skin with sharp fingernails and claw its way to your skull. “cut that shit out!”

the chatter and laughter in the room fled into eerie silence as you turned your to see levi glaring at you with a burning scowl. “whatever you saayy,” you sang sourly, muttering “captain buzzkill,” under your breath and outbreaking into a giggle afterwards.

a confident heat rose in your chest as you noticed levi’s lip and eye twitch in sync. you felt his watchful eyes linger on you the rest of the night.

**************

“we’re going to have to separate the four of you,” commander erwin announced, glancing at each of you individually but spending most of his time on you: the one deemed most problematic. “the four of you are loud and disruptive.”

ymir rested her arm comfortingly around historia, who was starting to tear up from being reprimanded. “that’s dumb. eren is way more disruptive and he’s still around,” she grumbled, which earned her a slap on the wrist from historia.

“yeah! why are getting separated when we haven’t even done anything?” sasha questioned confidently, but sank in her seat as soon as levi and erwin’s dark glares casted over her.

levi’s settled on you. “ask captain goofy over here,” he answered disgruntled, his face twitching in and out of a tight scowl. he crossed his arms defensively across his chest.

you scoffed. “goofy?” you stared at the visibly disturbed captain in disbelief. “i do less than everyone else!”

“stop,” erwin demanded, seemingly purposefully lowering his voice. he straightened out his spine. “you are all disruptive to the learning environment.”

“oh, brother,” sasha groaned, resting her cheek into her fist, “some learning environment.”

“have you considered that the learning environment is stupid?” ymir objected, and historia slapped her arm again.

“quiet,” levi said as he stepped forward, the platform heel of his boot clicking against the tile. “you’re further proving the point.”

the group of girls smirked. ymir glanced him up and down. “nice boots,” she chided, sitting back in the chair and resting her shoes against the desk, “one inch? two inches?” she eyed him curiously as she held up three fingers. “three?”

you and sasha giggled. “did she put you up to this?” levi asked ymir directly, sharply, meanwhile he pointed at you.

you scoffed in disbelief, again. you turned to the commander, argumentatively held out a flat palm towards levi. “i breathe and get accused from captain cruel.”

“knock it off,” levi ordered, his eyes immediately fixing towards you, intimidatingly stepping towards you, still pointing at you, “you’re on thin ice.” his jaw locked.

you thought about licking it. “or what?” you felt hot under his intense gaze. you couldn’t help but cynically smile. “you’ll call me goofy again?”

you caught him off guard, saw the slight panic in his eyes when you didn’t stand down.

he took another step forward, a fire replacing the split second of nerves, and he debated pulling you down to him by your hair. he debated making you regret the scene. and he debated doing it in front of everyone.

“oh, hey, everyone,” the familiar voice greeted, a wave of sheer innocence washing over the stiff, tense room. “is there a meeting i didn’t know about?” armin quickly glanced around, tilting his head questioningly when he noticed levi. “oh, captain, did you swear your clitoris to the greater girlie good, too?”

you pursed your lips and crossed your legs to stay quiet and nonchalant as the girls broke out into hysterical laughter. you watched the deep red break out on levi’s face, practically watched the steam seep out of his ears.

erwin ignored the comment, awkwardly walked armin out, but levi was glaring at you like he couldn’t decide if he should murder you now or later.

“everyone out. now,” levi ordered, his tone verging bloodthirsty, a pitch none of you have heard before. the room erupted into a myriad of noise as chairs and shoes collided with the floor. “not you.” the index finger pointing towards you was overkill. his stare was burning countless holes into your stature. you were practically melting into the ground.

he glared daggers and spears and bullets until you were scraps hanging by threads. his stare hardened until you two were the only ones left in the room, when his facade collapsed and his face contorted into haughty anger and confusion.

“I don’t fucking get you,” he admitted after minutes of aching silence, leaning against the desktop.

“join the club,” you muttered, checking your fingernails, “i don’t get you either.”

his fist slapped against the table, the painful noise reverberating through the vacant room. your attention shot to him. “i didn’t fucking say you could speak.” his tone trailed off as he spoke. you noticed him shake out his hand.

you gasped in disbelief. “jeez, are you always this tense?” you tentatively took a step forward, eying him cautiously. you paused when he glanced over.

“you make me tense!” he shouted, exasperated, flailing his arms in the air. “fucking something about you just… irritates me.”

“poetic,” you responded instantly, defensively. you cocked your hip and crossed your arms.

“jesus, y/n, not everything’s a fucking joke!” he pinched the bridge of his nose and refused to make eye contact with you.

you shrank in your spot, shriveling and wilting like a thirsty, neglected plant. you liked when his attention was on you. “better that than everything being deathly serious,” you retorted defensively, meekly, “you’ll have a heart attack, living like that.”

he huffed, flicked his head to fix the strands of hair that fell out of place, the ones not worth the energy to touch. “no one will ever take you seriously. you’ll always be—”

“goofy?” you interrupted, wearing a tiny smile. you couldn’t help it. he was shining in the waning sunlight sneaking in through the exposed windows.

his expression didn’t waver, the same stern, crass look plastered on his face, but now with an amused glint in his eyes. levi closed the gap between you by a couple steps.

“yeah,” he agreed breathlessly, reaching his hand up and squishing your cheeks together, “always a fucking joke.”

you looked down at him, absentmindedly bending your knees to bring him closer to eye level. the skin was tingling under his touch. he took the distracted opportunity to ravel one fist in your hair and pulled down, throwing you to the floor.

a stinging signal spread to your eyes as thousands of nerve endings prickled along your scalp. “agh, fuck!” you cried, your hands reaching to cup the irritated skin, “uh, ow!”

his hand was wrapped in your hair again within seconds. he knelt down and pulled your head upwards, forcing you to make eye contact. the blood rushed through your veins and you felt the scared adrenaline amplifying everything. every unsettling itch racing through your bloodstream.

“what? can’t take a joke?” he hissed, every muscle in his body locked and tensed like being this close to you was physically tough for him.

“some joke,” you grumbled weakly, meeting his fiery gaze and feeling your stomach flip and drop and define new movements. you felt sparks at the friction between your legs as you squirmed.

you flinched as his face inched closer, as he inspected you. “let me guess.” he ignored you. his nose brushed against the thin sensitive skin of your neck, teased against the perky hairs near your ear. “punishment’s not really your thing?”

the uncharacteristic whimper escaped as soon as you felt his lips less than a hair’s width from your skin. you swore you felt a smirk before he ripped all contact away and tugged mercilessly on your hair, lifting you to your feet.

you had no time to process before his hands were roughly grabbing your sides and hips and he was forcibly walking you backward until your thighs collided with the hard desk and you fell over, your ass hardly and uncomfortably landing against the solid material, your feet lifting up from under you. you threw your arm back behind you to brace your fall, prevent you from uncontrollably sliding off the desk, but your hand collided with air and you only fell further, your stomach leaping into your throat at the free fall.

“ah!” you whined as you felt caught by levi’s firm grip in your hair, a life-saving tether that sparked inexplicable feelings elsewhere. you felt a couple strands of hair detach at the force. you didn’t really care.

you looked to him as his free arm swept around your waist and pulled you closer, your lower cheeks bracing his warm upper thighs and your face erupting into pinks and reds as his prominent erection settled just above the warmest bud of your body, where you wanted to touch the most.

he let go of your hair, gently caressed the fiery nerves of the roots and stared into your eyes. his eyes were softening the longer he stared at you like this, the longer he thought about how hot and itchy and uncomfortable your roots must be.

you couldn’t help yourself. not when you knew what was going to ensue when you did.

“got any more jokes, funny guy?” you asked him sarcastically, smirking arrogantly, inching your nose closer to his.

[xiaq]

AO3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t.

Because he already knows the answer.

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

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

Wayne is worth the quiet agony of patience.

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

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

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

“Well,” Wayne says. And that’s new.

“Well?”

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

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

“They’re together now,” Wayne finishes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You going to do something to celebrate?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

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

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

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

“I sure don’t,” Wayne says levelly.

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

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

“It is.”

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

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

“Mm.” 

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

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

Angel does.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They go.

***

Angel’s bar is called Innuendo. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Eddie says.

She gives him an equally critical once-over.

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

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

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

“You what?” Steve says.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to dance?” Steve asks.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” he says, “Good morning.”

Both boys turn to face him. 

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

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

It looks like something tried to gut him.

It looks like whatever it was probably succeeded.

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

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

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

“The occasion?” Eddie asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hand slides from Eddie’s belly to the small of his back, pushing him out onto the patio.

“That sounds nice,” he says.

And they go.

When Wayne shuffles out to join Angel at the stove ten minutes later, the bread is sizzling in the skillet. 

They take their time washing the egg bowl and whisk in the sink, elbow to elbow, two men sharing space for a one-man job.

They lean into each other, considering Eddie and Steve, similarly leaned into each other, on the bench under the oak tree outside.

“You think I should talk to them?” Wayne murmurs. “About the way they look at each other. And touch each other. And how they need to cut that shit out if they’re in public?”

“Probably,” Angel sighs. “But not today.”

“No,” Wayne agrees after a moment of silence. He presses a kiss to Angel’s temple. “Not today.”

Pt. 4 (Will's POV)

[lemonluvgirl]

Good

an everlark smutty drabble inspired by an anon prompt:

Post-MJ, Pre-Epilogue (after the night of “Real” maybe) and Everlark are becoming more intimate and open in the bedroom. Katniss finds out Peeta can be quite ~dominating~ in bed and Peeta discovers Katniss’ praise-kink (although she denies it sometimes)… I think you can see where this us going 😉 so kinda just dirtytalk!Peeta saying things like “Good girl” and Katniss is just “Yes, Peeta” and it just gets really, really HOT because after all, she is the girl on fire 😏🔥

since I was cleaning out my inbox today I decided to try and write this. NSFW themes ahead. Read with caution, and pay attention to the prompts specifications.

We discover it almost accidentally, lying in bed one afternoon atop the rumpled sheets, trying to catch our breath as the sweat dries on our naked skin. 

“Where did you learn that?” I ask him turning my head to peer at him from across our bed. 

He’s gloriously sweaty and flushed, his chest still rising and falling swiftly, his pink lips and over-kissed mouth hanging open and pulling in the air like a man winding down after running a mile.

 He’s beautifully, perfectly undone, and best of all, he’s mine. 

He turns to me, lazily, eyes dropping with tiredness and the leftover rush of pleasure that’s still humming through both our veins. He still has enough energy to smirk, though. 

“Learn what?” He asks in a mock-innocent tone that makes me roll my eyes.  

“You know what,” I say, with a little more grit in my voice because I actually want to know the answer and he’s being annoying. He chuckles in delight at the discomfort in my voice. 

Peeta knows by now that while I’m very enthusiastic about our activities I still have trouble discussing certain things in blatant detail. He thinks it’s hilarious that after all this time and after all the things we’ve done together that I can still get flustered discussing sex with him. 

“Oh, you mean the thing that made you scream?” He asks, trying to continue his innocent charade but the slight smug quality of his words ruins the intended effect.

I narrow my eyes at him in warning, but he doesn’t even blink. 

“Or, was it that thing that made it impossible for you to speak at all?” He adds, lowering his voice and stretching out his hand to trail one lone fingertip down my ribs to my hip. The action makes me shiver with want, even though my body is still quietly pulsing with the aftereffects of his love. 

“The second one,” I answer quietly, reaching out and twining my fingers with his, stopping his indulgent touches before things heat up between us again and I lose my train of thought. 

He gives a quiet, “Hmmm,” in response and moves in closer. Then I’m gathered up in strong arms and my head is pillowed on a strong chest. I listen to the soft drumbeat beneath my ear and I relax into his embrace. 

“I didn’t really learn it from anywhere or anyone. I just had a feeling you might like it.” He replies thoughtfully, all traces of teasing gone now. 

“But how did you know I’d like it when you called me a—” I break off, unable to repeat the phrase for some reason. 

Which is silly. Because there’s actually nothing outwardly crude or sexual about it. But the way Peeta had said it, and the way I had responded to it, was intensely erotic. 

“A good girl?” Peeta offers, finishing my thought for me and I inhale sharply. My heart skips a beat and I feel myself involuntarily clench around nothing. I feel a blush creep up my neck.

Peeta’s arms tighten around me as if he knows how much his words affect me and when he speaks next it sounds deep and rumbly. 

“Because you are, Katniss. You’re such a good girl.” His voice takes me back to a few minutes ago when we were joined and Peeta was moving in me with that perfect rhythm and his words vaulted me over the precipice and hurtled me to perfect ecstasy. I had loved it, and despite just having my hunger for him sated, I greedily, selfishly, wanted more. 

“Peeta,” I plead, not fully knowing what to ask for. I have no idea if I want him to continue in this vein or stop. 

“You’re so good, and so sweet, lying here naked in our bed, writhing and biting your lip to keep from asking for more, after I’ve already filled you to the brim.” His voice takes on a decidedly dirty edge and I know I’m already lost. There’s no way I can hold out when he gets like this. 

I let out a strangled little moan and in the next second, he has us flipped, with him on top of me, hands holding my wrists above my head, as he spreads my knees with his own. He looks down between us, eyes dark and nostrils flaring. 

“Look at you, still dripping with me but you want more, don’t you? Do you want me to fuck you again, sweetheart? Does my good girl need me to make her come again?” His warm breath ghosts first over my lips, then my throat, and collarbone, and the words are uttered against my skin like a secret before his lips close over a nipple and I cry out as he sucks. 

“Yes! Peeta…please,” I beg and he lets go of my breast with a wet pop before releasing my wrists and slowly sliding down my body. 

“Keep your hands up. You’re not allowed to touch until I tell you.” He commands and it sends a dark thrill through me. If people knew how much I liked this side of Peeta they might be surprised. I know a lot of people think of me as the dominant one in our relationship, but that’s because they don’t see us behind closed doors. When it's just us, all of the trappings fall away. And I’m free to admit that I need Peeta in this way. For me, it's not so much about submission as it is about freeing me from the burden of having to be in control all the time. That and I trust Peeta unlike anyone else. I know he will never abuse my trust or hurt me purposely. 

We are so past that. And here in the privacy of our bedroom, the only thing that exists is me and him. 

 I nod frantically at him, eager all over for him, again. I don’t think I ever won’t be. It's been years since we became intimate like this, and I still get the same rush when I think about sleeping with him. He lets out a little growl and nips at my skin when I unconsciously start rocking my hips against him. 

“Patience, sweetheart. All good girls know how to wait.” He tells me and our eyes lock. I’m practically panting for want of him, but I hold myself still.  We both know what the other is thinking, what is needed. 

There’s a magic in the way we fit together like this. Sure of ourselves and each other, neither of us questioning our love anymore. There’s only the heat of reassurance and desire that passes between us and curls in the air around us as we begin again. 

His mouth moves over my hipbone, hot, wet, and fervent. His strong arms pin my legs apart, my knees kiss the mattress as he lowers his face down to peer at my center.

“So swollen and messy,” He says, a finger dipping in to play with the puddle of fluids seeping out of me. “So beautiful. You should always be like this. Full of my come. Begging for more.” He says with a sigh before swirling his fingers, gathering it, and then pushing it back in. 

I whimper loudly, loving the feeling of him filling me up, even if it's just his fingers. I love his hands. I love his touch. I love him. Plain and simple. 

“I love you,” I say out loud because I try to make a point of saying it whenever I can now. So that he always knows. So that he never has to question it again. 

He peers up at me from between my obscenely spread legs. His pupils are so dilated, I can hardly see the thin sliver of blue iris. 

“Love you too, sweetheart. I’m going to eat your pussy so good, you won’t be able to form a full sentence for hours.” He promises, pecking my clit with a soft, short kiss that sends electricity racing through me. 

Then he starts to lick, softly, around my sensitive flesh, and down to where his fingers are pumping into me. 

“Mmm, you still taste delicious, even mixed with my come.” He states between licks and all I can do is groan in reply. 

I can feel his self-satisfied smile again on the skin of my inner thigh. 

“What was that? I didn’t quite understand you, darling.” He teases before diving back in and flicking my clit with his tongue, not even giving my muddled brain a chance to try and form a response. 

‘PEETA!” I scream as the orgasm washes over me, sharp and sweet, and sudden. 

He laps up my release, holding down my shaking thighs and murmuring sweet little praises that I can’t make out because my ears are ringing. 

Then I’m being flipped over again and he arranges me with strong, firm hands until I’m braced on my elbows, lower half lifted up and legs spread for his benefit as he situates himself behind me. 

“Fuck, this ass. I’ve always loved it.” He says, one large palm cupping and kneading my cheek possessively as his other hand tilts my hips up. 

He notches himself at my entrance but doesn’t sink in. Instead, he slides through my lower lips, coating himself carefully, even though I know he wants inside me. He’s fully hard again, and more than ready.

“Hands, sweetheart.” He says in a quiet, strained tone. 

I know what he needs, so I carefully shift my weight from my forearms and link my hands behind my back, letting my forehead sink into the bed, my nose and mouth angled in such a way that I’ll be able to breathe even if he pounds me into the mattress. 

“Good girl,” He whispers, and I whine pathetically, distressed at my own emptiness. I need him to fill me. 

“Shhh, baby.” He coos, and then with one well-placed thrust, he sheathes himself up to the hilt. 

My moan is swallowed up against the bedsheets, but Peeta’s grunt of pleasure rings out loud in the room and fills my ears, making me press back into him. 

“Still so tight, after I ate you out, fucked you, and ate you out again. Perfect little pussy, just for me. Feels, so fucking good.” I hear him say, as he plunges in, moves his hips in a circle, pulls back, and plunges back in again. 

I’m making noises, desperate little sounds that do nothing but spur him on to take me harder. It’s glorious. He feels amazing, even after all the pleasure he’s already given me. I know he’ll give me more. Because he’s so good. Because he’s my Peeta. 

“Sweet girl, taking me so well. Taking my cock and letting me fuck you however I want. You’re so good Katniss. You’re perfect, sweetheart. Perfect for me. I always knew you would be.” He says, breathless and strained, his hips knocking against my bottom with the force of his thrusts. 

“Yes!” I shout, and I can feel the way I tighten at his words, I can feel the way my body winds up and grows taught, waiting for release. 

“I always knew it would be like this. Incredible. You, sweet and desperate. Begging for me. You’re so cool on the outside, but inside you’re pure heat. All fire. All mine.” His voice is rough and his thrusts take on a punishing edge, the kind he knows really gets me fired up. 

I turn my mouth to the side, blowing stray hairs out of my face. 

“Yours, Peeta. All yours. Forever.” I promise him and he moans, his fingers gripping my hips tightly enough to bruise. 

His right hand loosens its grip and he brings it around my front to slide between my legs and rub small, firm circles around me. 

I let out a broken, choked noise. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. Wanna feel you come on my cock. Be a good girl and come for me. Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up—” 

His words, his beautiful, filthy words are what tip me over the edge. 

I clench around him and come, sobbing his name, and clutching the sheets. 

I hear him swearing behind me and feel his hips stuttering before he lets out a low groan and plunges as deep as he can. 

Warmth pools inside me, with the ghost of my flutterings and the last of his twitching pulses, and we collapse, exhausted and much sweatier than the first time. 

We can only rest a moment because Peeta is heavy on my back, and it's uncomfortable, but he rearranges us quickly enough until we can spread out comfortably. 

“How was that, sweetheart? Was there anything you didn’t like that time?” He asks, quiet and inquisitive now.

I shake my head. Brushing my lips across his bicep, back and forth, wanting to kiss every inch of his skin in happiness, but my body is so tired and sated that all I can manage is this. 

“I liked it all,” I reply as I move to get more comfortable. 

He moves his arm under my head so I can use it as a pillow. One of his hands brushes a strand of hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His brilliant blue eyes are searching mine for something more. 

“It was good,” I tell him with a simplistic finality that makes him smile, and sleepily close his eyes in contentment. 

“So good,” I repeat to myself as I close my eyes and drift off, warm, sleepy, and safe in the arms of my love. 

[golbrocklovely]

let's fall in love for the night // colby brock

A/N: wow, this fic felt like it took a decade to write. and fun fact, after finally finishing it (editing wise), come to find out it's one of my longest fics. not the longest, but one of them. so now it makes sense. so, the inspo for this fic is the song, and i hear it all the time at work. i love it a lot, and thought it was a good fic idea. hopefully that translate well. it's not a direct interpretation of the song, it's more just a couple of the lyrics at the beginning and end and the rest is vaguely related to the song. sorry this one doesn't have an outright happy ending, but i promise the next fic will be. please let me know what you think, and i'll see yall later :)

inspired by the song "Let's Fall in Love for the Night" by Finneas

prompt: it was simple idea: act like the two of you were dating for one night. what possibly could go wrong in just a couple hours? || colby brock x fem!reader

trigger warnings: light smut (but no sex), pretend dating, angst, possible happy ending (but still heartbreaking), club scenes/partying, drinking, romantic moments, super cheesy at times, fluff, cursing??

word count: 5590

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Let's fall in love for the night / And forget in the morning

~~

It started out as a silly joke - "let's pretend to date for a night". You were the one that brought it up, but immediately felt embarrassed by it. Of course, you were joking. You would never want to actually date your best friend, Colby. The only reason you even suggested it was because after a long night of talking about life, you both confessed how lonely you guys felt. How you both deeply wanted someone to be in love with. How much you yearned to have someone that was yours. But there was a lot of things in your way. For Colby, he didn't trust many. And it was hard for him to open up to those he wanted to be close with; including you, at first. And for you.... it was a bit of a laundry list of reasons. The main one? You just weren't sure there was "the one" for you. And for that reason alone, you didn't feel like breaking your heart over and over again just to search for someone that wasn't even real.

So, your suggestion was quite simple: pretend to date each other for one night, to get the experience of being in love. Maybe pretending even for a couple hours might alleviate some of the desire you felt. Maybe it would cool the fires in you that only came out when drunk and vulnerable.

Colby at first was against it, only because he couldn't imagine actually dating you. You were one of the few girls in his life he never had a thing for, but that wasn't because he didn't find you attractive. You definitely were, which is why he found it hard to believe your love life was as dry as his. But him... dating you? It felt strange. But the more he thought about - not spending a night alone again, going out on a date, actually planning one for the first time in months, holding someone's hand - it sounded nice. Relaxing, even. And having it be you and not someone he had to keep his guard up around made it all the more enticing.

He eventually said yes weeks later, which surprised you immensely. Especially given the distain look he had when you mentioned it, you thought there was no way in hell he would say yes.

"How do we do it?" He asked, taking a sip from his drink.

“Well... we would only date for the night. Until midnight. Tomorrow.” You stated.

He agreed. “That sounds good. Where would you like to go?”

“Where would you take a girl you've been with for a while?” You queried.

He snorted, “It's been a long time since I've had to worry about that.”

“You’ve got until tomorrow at seven to figure that out. Maybe a bit before. I would like some time to get ready for our date.” You grinned, raising your eyebrows.

“Okay then. I'll see you tomorrow...” Colby paused, his eyes locking with yours. “Girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes jokingly, “And I'll see you tomorrow, boyfriend.”

The rest of the party you guys stayed away from each other. And all night all you could think of was what will tomorrow bring. Your stomach flipped with anticipation. But you tried to settle it down by thinking repeatedly it's just a "date" with Colby. There's no reason to be hyped for it.

You were just playing pretend.

~~~~~

It was after five in the evening when Colby finally texted you about the date - you guys were going out to eat. But he wouldn't tell you where. All he mentioned was that you guys had to dress semi-formal.

You started getting ready, not really sure what was completely in store for you. You showered, did your hair, and makeup in record time. Now... for the outfit. You weren't sure how "formal" Colby was actually going to be. That man very rarely ever dressed formal. But you figured the red cocktail dress you bought a couple weeks back would work well with whatever you two were doing tonight.

The benefit of living with Sam and Colby in this scenario was that if Colby wasn't dressed as formal as you, you could get change, which did calm your nerves a bit.

Slowly walking down the stairs, you could hear someone in the kitchen. As you reached the bottom, you turned and saw Colby waiting for you, staring down at his phone.

You inquired, “Calling an uber?”

“Yeah it should be here soon.” He mentioned nonchalantly.

Colby finally picked his head up, gazing at you. His eyes widened for a split second. He collected himself, calmly saying, "You look beautiful."

You giggled, trying not to notice the way he looked you up and down. "Thank you. I'm surprised to see you in actual dresswear."

You glanced at his outfit: black dress shoes, black slacks, and a dark maroon button up. He had his leather jacket on, giving him that little edge that you were used to seeing.

A shy smile came to his face. “Yeah, I don't really get a chance to get dressed up so I figured tonight would be a good time to do it.”

“You look really nice.” You admitted.

He nodded quickly. "Thanks."

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. You weren't sure what it was from - nervousness, lack of conversation, or just waiting for the uber. Either way, you hated it.

“The uber's gonna be here in a moment. Want to head outside?” He asked.

“Sure. Sounds good.” You replied.

You grabbed your jacket on the way out, slipping it on quickly. As Colby locked the door, the slight chill in the air made you shiver. Colby began to walk down the path to the street, his hand reaching out for yours. At first you were surprised to see him do that, but then you slipped your hand into his. His hand was warm and soft, somehow making your body feel even colder. The uber pulled up, and you two got in. He let go of your hand for a moment, only to grab it again.

The ride was quiet the whole way to the restaurant. You couldn't tell if it was your nervousness or his, but either way you could cut the tension with a knife. As you finally arrived, you felt your heart flutter.

Like many restaurants in Vegas, it was inside a hotel. And this was one of the nicer ones, from the way there was a doorman that propped the door open for you as you entered. Colby knew where he was going, so you followed right along with him; his hand still embracing yours. You cupped his arm with your other hand, squeezing him lightly. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but you doing that made his heart race.

Finally reaching the restaurant, you could see by the name that it was an Italian place - and an expensive one at that. Everything on the outside seemed bougie, and that continued inside the restaurant.

“How did you get us into a place like this?” You questioned under your breath.

He smirked down at you, “I have friends in high places, I guess.”

“Good evening.” The hostess spoke.

“Hello, table for two under ‘Brock’.” Colby stated.

The hostess looked at her screen and nodded her head. “Okay, follow me.”

You glanced around as you followed behind Colby, feeling out of your element. You weren’t used to places like this. No man had ever taken you out to somewhere this nice. The last time you went somewhere like this was for a dinner Sam and Colby had thrown after a successful video series.

“I hope this table is to your liking. Your waiter will be with you shortly.” The hostess smiled, walking away.

Colby pulled your chair out as you slipped your jacket off, resting it on the back. He slid into his seat, you both finally making eye contact for the first time since leaving home.

You picked up your menu, Colby following suit. You both mumbled what you planned to have to eat that night, you settling on the three cheese ravioli, and Colby was getting some pasta dish neither one of you could pronounce. The waiter came to your table a moment later. You ordered the food and drinks, and then stared at each other again.

Why does everything feel so awkward? You and Colby had been friends for years, could talk about anything and everything. Why was now so strange?

Sure, you were pretending to be dating but... it shouldn't be that weird.

After the waiter came back with the drinks, you paused until he left to finally speak. You blurted out, "Is this not kinda awkward, or am I just going crazy?"

Colby sighed, happy that you picked up on the uneasiness between the two of you. "Yeah, this is a bit strange. Don't you think?"

You shrugged. “A little. Maybe it's because we aren't playing pretend enough.”

He raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“Well, if we were an actual couple, there wouldn't be all this tension. Assuming we've been together for a while.” You remarked.

“How long do you think we've been dating?” Colby added, “Hypothetically.”

You bit your lip and then thought for a moment. "Hypothetically, I could see us maybe having dated for... two years? Maybe going on three?"

He sat back in his chair, “Hmm, interesting. What would have been the starting point of our relationship?”

“I'm not sure... maybe us hooking up at a party?” You suggested, sipping your drink.

Colby grimaced, “No, I don't think so.”

“Well, what do you have in mind?” You responded.

"Hypothetically," Colby stared at the flicker candle at your table, then looked up at you. "I think we would have just happened to start dating. Maybe, we would have been on double date with Sam and Kat or something."

“You mean, basically any time we all hang out?” You laughed.

He shook his head. “Yeah, no. An official, actual date? We've never done that as a group.”

“I don't know, I feel like if that scenario did happen, we would have had to have been drunk at some point during the night.” You commented.

“Why do you say that?” He squinted.

You whisper-yelled dramatically. “We're both nervous as hell right now, and this isn't even a real date!”

He chuckled. “True, I guess. But the real question is what would make us want to start dating?”

“Ohhh, that's a good one.” You both paused for a second. You spoke first, “Hypothetically?”

He nodded his head.

“I think.... Oh! Two years ago, do you remember when we all went to that haunted hotel, but we weren't filming?” You described.

He blinked, “You're gonna have to be more specific. It's kinda my job to go to haunted places.”

“Shut up," you deadpanned. "Remember, we had a layover when flying to New York for some event, and we had to stay because the flight was cancelled due to the weather. And the closest and only open hotel was the –”

“Annamarie Inn, or something like that?” Colby chimed in.

“Yes!” You exclaimed.

“Oh my God, I remember that place. That was....” he shivered. “Fucking creepy.”

“It was so small, borderline a motel. And the front desk person was mean.” You remembered.

“Well, if no one had stayed at my place for months on end, I too would be annoyed by some out of town LA-ers.” He snickered.

“It didn't help you were wearing a Fendi hoodie.” You jeered sarcastically.

He gaped. “It was cozy!”

“You're a brand whore who sticks out like a sore thumb in the middle of Nowhere, America!” You sassed.

He glared, “If we were actually dating, I would break up with you right now.”

"Aww, don't like being roasted?" You mocked, pouting.

“Not when I'm paying, no.” He replied dryly.

You sat back in your chair crossing your arms, scowling jokingly. You took a swig of your drink, and then continued. "But anyway, that night would have been the beginning of us, in theory, I think."

“Why? What even happened?” Colby cocked his head.

“We had to share one bed, remember? Kat was insistent on sleeping with Sam because the building creeped her out, and so we shared a room instead. But when we got to the room, it was a single bed.” You recalled.

He hummed, agreeing. “Yeah, you're right. But why would that have been the night we started dating?”

“Well, I remember us sharing the room and I remember it was really cold and we just cuddled with each other, and I think being that close could have caused something to happen.” You stated.

“Maybe...” He mumbled.

"I just know that that night was really stressful but us being together in that room was..." Your mind drifted off to the memory of that night. You could remember studying Colby's face in the dark, how relaxed he looked after the stressful day you all had. You couldn't understand how he looked even more handsome up close. You remembered having to hold yourself back from touching his face, his lips.... "Nice. It-it was really nice."

You took another sip of your drink, hoping that Colby didn't notice your cheeks and how red they had become.

He did notice, but he didn't say anything. And part of him remembered that night. That was the night he woke up with your head lying on his chest and it was all he could think about the rest of the trip.

“Did you have a different idea of when we would have hypothetically started dating?” You asked.

Colby cleared his throat. “Sort of. But I kinda like your idea better.”

The idea he had in his head was also during an investigation, but it was when the cameras were off. You both had crazy things happen during the night; during the Estes Method it said your name, and Colby at one point thought he saw a figure at the end of a hallway. Everyone was taking a break outside, and you asked for a hug. Of course, he gave you one, and you offhandedly told him that you felt safe in his arms.

It took a lot to make Colby speechless, but you did it so easily in that moment.

The waiter interrupted Colby's memory, bringing out the food. You both chowed down, the pasta tasted extra delicious. You continued to talk about your made-up relationship, and also just talked about life in general. You ended up skipping dessert, and asked Colby if there was anything else planned for tonight.

He informed you, slipping his jacket on. “There's a new bar that opened up in the next hotel over that I was thinking we could check out.”

You smiled. “That sounds good.”

He slid his phone out, turning back to you as he walked. “Do you want to walk or catch another uber?”

You followed him, placing your jacket on again. “We can walk, I don't mind.”

Colby grabbed your hand as you left the restaurant. You felt giddy this time around, all the tension from before now gone after talking with each other for a couple hours. You couldn't help but smile as you walked outside onto the Vegas strip. The sky had grown dark but was somehow darker than usual. A distant boom bounced off the buildings on the strip. Thunder.

He glanced up at the sky, turning his head to you. “I think it's about to rain. Let's walk a little faster.”

You nodded your head, picking up the pace. Colby stayed near you, even though he could speed walk faster than you could run. He wasn't going to leave you behind. Finally crossing the street, you made it to the other hotel. You still had to walk to the doors though. But suddenly, the skies opened up and rain poured down onto you and everyone around. Some rushed into the hotel, others pulled out umbrellas. Colby pulled you two under an awning, his arm wrapping around you.

“Do you want to wait here until it lets up a bit?” He queried, getting close to you.

“Sure.” You nodded.

You stared out at the rain, watching it splatter as it hit the ground. It very rarely rained in Vegas, so to see it come down like this was both strange and fascinating. And somehow, for a moment, there weren’t that many people around. Most had ran inside, leaving the two of you out on your own. Having a solitude moment in Vegas was even more rare than the rain. A thought popped into your head: go dance in the rain. You didn't know why, but you had to do it. You slipped out from under Colby's arm and walked out into the street, letting the rain hit your skin and clothes.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” He called out to you.

You let the rain slowly soak you, turning towards Colby. "Live a little! Join me."

Colby shook his head slightly, squinting at you in amusement. A moment passed. He sighed and stepped out into the rain.

You started jumping up and down, laughing at him as he opened his arms wide. His maroon shirt grew darker as the rain drenched him. He turned back to you, grabbing your hands and spinning you around, almost dancing. You cackled as he pulled you close and picked you up for a split second. He spun around with you in his arms, and only stopped once you wailed at him to do so. Your eyes landed on each other’s and time froze. You felt hyper aware of how Colby's hands were on your waist, and how yours were wrapped around his neck. Your bodies were close to one another, his heat radiating onto you. You couldn't contain yourself, even if you wanted to. The closeness made it all the more easy to lean in, and Colby followed suit.

This wasn't your first kiss with Colby; that one happened a long time ago during a truth or dare drinking game. But this one blew that old one out of the water. Back then, you felt embarrassed to kiss him, kind of wishing you had just taken the five shots that was given as an option instead. But now, all you could think of was that you hoped this kiss never ended. Once his tongue slid across your bottom lip, you knew whatever relationship you had with him was going to be permanently changed.

He felt the same as you. There was a sudden craving that raced through his body the moment your lips touched his. How was it possible that all this time he had missed out on this? On you? There's no way the first kiss was like this. If it had been, he would have asked you to be his that night. Maybe he had been so wrapped up in his own bullshit, he couldn't have imagined asking you out. It was crazy to think that pretending to date for a night got him here.

And then it hit him: this wasn't real. You guys were on a fake date, pretending to be a couple. The light pain in his chest made him pull away, but part of him wished he never did.

“We... we should stop.” He voiced, breathlessly.

You stammered, trying to calm yourself. “R-right. And, uh, get out of the rain.”

"Yeah." He stepped back farther away from you, needing some space so that he could think again. "C'mon, let's get inside."

You both raced in, not wanting to get anymore wet than you already were. The cool hotel air hit you and made you shiver, Colby doing the same.

"So... where's the club at in here?" You asked awkwardly.

A brief smirk passed his face, his hand finding yours again as you walked. “It's a speakeasy, so it's hidden behind the back of some store. It's similar to the other one we go to all the time. Made by the same people.”

You exhaled, “That's fun.”

“Yeah, me and Sam were gonna check it out last week but never got around to it.” He turned to you, studying your face. “But if you don't want to, we can just –”

"No, I don't mind." You stopped Colby lightly, pointing at the signs for the bathroom. "Maybe before we go in, I should use the restroom and make sure I don't look like a complete mess."

He glanced down at himself, “Same here.”

You went inside and looked at yourself in the mirror. Not too bad for being drenched, weirdly enough. Your makeup had survived the rain, thank God for waterproof, and all that really looked a bit messy was your hair.

Realistically, while you were going in here to make sure you didn't look bad, you were really in here because of how nervous you were. It had finally really hit you that you two just made out in the rain. Something you had wanted to do with someone since you were a kid and saw 'A Cinderella Story'. And now you did it... on a fake date, no less.

Maybe he was the one for.... no. You couldn't allow yourself to think like that.

You dried your hair as best you could: drying the ends under the hand-dryer and running your fingers through the rest. You pinned it up with a clip in your bag, checked your makeup again, and then stepped back out into the busy walkway of the hotel. Colby was leaning against the wall waiting for you, looking ridiculously suave for no reason. He perked up when he saw you, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

His shirt looked mostly dried, and his leather jacket had been wiped down - something he had done in the bathroom while you were gone. He hoped you didn't notice; he didn't want to seem like he was doing too much. He prayed he was pulling off the effortlessness he could usually get away with.

You noted it, but didn't say anything.

Colby grasped your hand again, pulling you along silently to the store in question that housed the speakeasy. It looked like a regular Vegas gift shop. He stopped at the back of the store, in front of a "Employees Only" door with an eye-slot on it. It opened up, and a man asked "Password."

“’I'm looking for Piper.’” He quoted.

The man nodded, closed the slot, and opened the door. Inside was a dark, booming club. You were shocked to see it. Knowing how the other one looked, this was somehow more impressive. It was packed and the music was loud and fun. Colby smiled at you and pointed at a free table across the way.

“Wow, this place is crazy!” You yelled over the music.

He glanced around, “I know. I'm surprised how many people are here tonight.”

“What time is it?” You questioned.

Colby looked down at his watch. “It's... a little after ten.”

Your heart skipped a beat, hearing the time. “Oh.”

“What is it?” He furrowed his brow.

“We only have a couple more hours until midnight.” You explained.

“And then...” His voice grew quiet, “our fake date is over.”

The two of you stayed silent for a moment, Colby breaking it by looking up at you. "Well, we better make the most of it."

You ordered drinks, downing them within minutes. The upbeat music made you want to dance, so you grabbed Colby's hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. Colby didn't really like dancing. He was more of a people watcher when he was at the club. But you were not taking no for an answer.

You swayed your hips to the music as you faced Colby. He watched you, stepping back and forth to the beat. His hand still held onto yours, eventually spinning you and gliding you into him. He slid his hands down your body, cupping your waist sweetly. His body pressed against yours, his breath fanning across your neck. Your back arched at his closeness, causing goosebumps to form across your skin. How was it possible that he was doing all of this to you? You had danced with Colby on countless occasions, spent multiple times in your life at the club with him. But tonight, after everything... things really felt different.

Colby's mind was reeling just as much as yours, if not more so. He started out the night thinking this was going to be a fun night, but nothing too crazy. And now... he had to do everything in his power not to jump your bones in the middle of this club. But your ass pressed against his crotch was making that very hard to do.

His grip on your waist tightened as you grinded back into him harder, teasing him. You felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled. He buried his face into your neck before whispering "Fuck, Y/N, what are you trying to do to me?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You smirked.

Colby suddenly spun you around, pulling you close. He leaned in, keeping his eyes on you. Somehow, even in the dark, his eyes almost glowed with lust. He kept his mouth close to yours, lips brushing against each other. But he never fully leaned in.

“Kiss me.” He dared.

You exhaled, closing the space between the two of you. The kiss became intense in no time. One of his hands landed in your hair, pulling lightly on your locks causing you to open your mouth, gasping. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside. You could taste the fruity cocktail he had finished not long ago. Your hands drifted up to his chest, tugging at his button up and jacket. His other hand snaked down your body, cupping your ass softly.

Your breath hitched, surprised by his forwardness. "Too many people are looking at us. Let's go home."

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you off the dance floor. “Sounds good to me.”

The intensity had stayed between the two of you the whole time you were in the uber on the way home. You were nice enough not to make out in someone's car, but you couldn't help but squeeze Colby's hand every so often, knowing you guys were getting closer to home. He would do the same back, his eyes snaking up your body.

You weren't sure what was going to happen between the two of you, but you were excited nonetheless.

You both rushed inside after getting dropped off, thanking the driver quickly. Colby had you against the front door the moment it closed, kissing and sucking on your neck. You couldn't help the little noises that fell from your lips, him finding all of your most sensitive spots. All you needed was for him to take you to any of the bedrooms in the house, and you would be set.

Colby's hand drifted up to your shoulder pushing your jacket off, but suddenly his hand froze in place; his eyes staring at his wrist.

“What? What's wrong?” You murmured, breathlessly.

He hesitated. “It's.... five minutes to midnight.”

Your heart sank. And you would never know it, but so did his.

You inhaled. “Oh. So our date is-”

“Done.” Colby grunted.

He backed himself away from you, his hands falling to his sides. You leaned back against the door, running you hands through your hair. You looked back up at him, his eyes still on the floor.

“Why don't we just.... ignore it?” You felt bold saying it, but the way Colby looked at you made you realize you said something wrong.

He shook his head, “N-no. No, we can't.”

“But why? I mean, we had so much fun tonight.” You stepped towards him, trying to close the space again.

He turned and walked away, going to the kitchen. “I know we did, but it was... pretend.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at his words. “Oh, so none of that was real for you? You were just what, faking it? Pretending to want to kiss me?”

“Well no. Of course I wanted to kiss you but the whole point of tonight was just to... live out a fantasy we both wanted.” His voice lowered, hoping you wouldn’t hear him say, “Needed.”

“Colby, you can't be serious. The night started out that way, sure. But after we kissed in the rain, there's no way that that was just part of the plan,” you argued. “Or making out in the club. Or what we were literally going to do until you saw the time.”

“We both needed that, yes. But that isn't reality.” He clenched his jaw, “You and I are meant to be friends.”

You challenged, leaning across the island. “But we could try for more.”

“No, we can't.” Colby didn’t like how his voice trembled.

“We worked so well together tonight, why not give it a try?” You pleaded.

"I'm not willing to lose you as a friend. I care about you, and this was nice. But.... no.” He stuttered, trying to catch his breath. “I... I won't lose you as a friend just because I'm lonely.”

You almost winced, your mind going to the worse thought. “So, none of that meant anything to you. That was all just pent up hormones?”

He glared, his stare turning your body cold. “That's not what I said. Don't put words in my mouth. But what about you, huh?”

“What about me?” You sneered.

“How did tonight make you feel?” Colby asked plainly.

You huffed, “Clearly enough of a way to make me ask you to continue this!”

“What exactly are you feeling, then? Tell me.” He walked around the island, his eyes on yours.

“Well, tonight I felt...” You trailed off.

A certain word came to mind, but you shook it off. There's no way you were going to say that. There's no way you felt that way about Colby, especially not after one date.

He got in front of you, his arms on either side of the counter as he spoke. His voice was gentle, but intense. “Tell me. Say anything. Tell me what you're feeling.”

You gulped, “Right now, you're making me nervous.”

“Why?” He whispered.

You closed your eyes, his stare making it hard to form words. “Because it's hard to think when you're this close to me.”

“But other than that?” He questioned desperately.

You stayed silent, trying to figure out the feeling. A million words came to mind, but none felt quite right to say. They were all too vulnerable, too personal. And him staring down at you intently made it even harder to speak.

He stepped back, his face dropping. “That's the problem, Y/N. Neither one of us knows how to express how we feel. Which is why we went out in the first place. We don't trust ourselves enough to find someone and to trust them in return.”

“Why are you trying to make this more difficult than it has to be? Why can't we just... try? And if it doesn't work out, so what? We can still be friends.” You bargained, trying to make him understand.

He moved towards you again, his voice almost frantic. “You want me to be honest? To tell you how I'm actually feeling?”

“Yes.” You whispered.

“I'm terrified... of not having you in my life. That if we did try this, I would just make you miserable, or vice versa. I can’t give you everything you need. And I can't imagine you not in my life so I would rather take the safe route than try this.” He confessed, not able to even look into your eyes longer than a second.

“When have you ever taken the safe route on anything?” You insisted.

He bit his lip hard, shaking his head. “I'm not willing to bet on this. You are too important to lose.”

You whimpered, “Colby...”

“Maybe one day, we could do this. Maybe one day, this could be us. I'll take that chance later,” he laughed bitterly. “But having this happen tonight? No.”

“Can you promise me that? That we'll try.... later?” You grabbed his hands, holding them once more.

He nodded, doing his best to hold it together. “I'll give it my best shot. When we're both emotionally ready for this, when I'm ready for this.”

There was no way to persuade him, and you didn't want to lose him as a friend with. So... you just accepted what he said.

“Well, you know who to call.” You smiled, brokenly.

He slid your hands out of his, leaving the kitchen slowly. He turned back, not even knowing he was breaking your heart more. "This was nice, Y/N. Thank you for... helping me feel less lonely for an evening."

“You too.” You croaked.

As he walked to his room, he never felt more alone. Each step made him regret every single word he said as he got closer to his bedroom door. All he wanted was to run back to you and hold you as close as he could.

You followed him with your eyes, trying to hold back tears. You watched him go into his room, shuddering out a breath. How long were you holding it, you didn't know.

It took a lot to make you speechless, but he did it so easily in that moment.

~~

I know better / Than to ever call you 'mine'

[ravencincaide]

Surprise, You son of a-

Summary: You acquired a stalker. A man who harmed those around you, but never touched or approached you. The plan was for you to play bait, lure him and mace him. Then Dazai would take care of the rest. Unfortunately there was just one thing you did not calculate with… 

Pairing: Dazai x fem!reader (x dark/ Yandere Chuuya)

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 7: Sharing clothes 

Warnings: Cursing, abduction and drugs, stalking, mention of sexual content including hint/mention of non-con, voyeurism and questionable consent. Insanity- if you really try. It’s dark, okay?

Enjoy?

_____________________________________________________________ 

“ I think you’re right, this might actually work!” You exclaimed excitedly as you stared at yourself in the mirror; you were dressed in a pair of light pants and a white shirt. Over it, you borrowed your boyfriend's vest- a dark thing that was just a tad too long coming down to your midthigh. And over it his beige coat, which too was oversized, the sleeves coming past your fingertips and the coat itself stopped mere inches above the ground. Though you didn’t necessarily think it a bad thing, the less of your body that was visible the better. You had gathered your hair up into braids which you then shifted around your head, hiding them beneath the wig cap and the dark brown wig which almost matched Dazai’s shade. 

The rest was just bandages and make up. 

You both noticed that you were not a perfect replica of Dazai; too feminine even with all the binding, wrong hair lengths and colour, wrong height and paler complexion, but you both reasoned that no one would be looking too closely. At least not the one this disguise was intended for. 

“ See Y/N, I told you it wouldn’t be an issue to get you to look exactly like a lady kill-aouch” Dazai hollered in pain as you pinched him, sending him a warning glare not to re-attempt to finish that sentence. The grin you got in return made you wonder if the physical pain was actually a punishment to him- or foreplay. 

Rather than find out you turned your attention back towards the mirror, your fingers moving to fidgeting with the wig. You were playing ignorant to his advances. This earned you a dramatic sigh, as if you were crushing his heart. “ Ohh Belladonna why must you be so cruel to me, my love? If only you’d fulfill my humble request of–

“ No  We’re not turning this into some self-cestious kink-exploration for you.”  you cut him off with a warning glare as your hands finally left your wig and grasped the can of mace from your nightstand. You brought it close to yourself, the control-freak part of you wondering if it worked and a rational part of you reminding you that it was best not to find out. 

Especially inside. 

Sensing your nervousness Dazai came up and rested his hand on top of yours, a moment of seriousness on his face. “ It will go fine Bella” he promised “ I’ll be right behind you. You just need to lure him into an alley and spray the mace. I’ll handle the rest.” Then a quick peck on the lips, which made you smile.

You leaned forward and gave him a slightly deeper kiss salvaging the closeness. Before it could go too far you broke it off and pushed some rogue strands out of his face, staring at him with all the love in your heart. You were so lucky to have him. “ You know If this works and we get rid of this stalking sun of a biscuit quickly we’ll have plenty of time to take a version of this outfit for a ride in bed- what do you think?” 

You were met with a Cheshire’s grin, Dazai’s lips on yours while he carefully walked you backwards towards your front door. “ Then let's get this over and done with Belladonna” he purred before he opened the front door and shoved you out before slamming it in your face, in your typical- he’s-annoyed-you-enough-fashion. 

You stumbled, caught yourself before you made an act of clingy Dazai; banging on the door, a fake cry of ‘why Belladonna why’ before dancing away to the sound of Dazai laughing through the wood. 

You just hoped he didn’t blow it. 

The act was about as perfect as your appearance; but you hoped it was enough to fool your stalker. After all this was a man who never got close to you and never approached you- from what you could tell at least. But he did seem to hold a grudge towards anyone who dared visit your apartment. In fact, if he hadn’t hurt one of your childhood friends a few weeks ago you wouldn’t have even noticed his existence. Now however you felt like you were watched wherever you went. Yet no matter how hard you looked you never saw him.  

Dazai suggested turning this game of cat-and-mouse around; they’d still think they were the pray and be too blind to notice they were walking right into a trap. The only thing you had to do was pretend to be Dazai and lure him away and disarm him, then your boyfriend who’d follow from a distance, would take care of the rest. You shuddered slightly when you thought over what ‘the rest’ meant. But decided against asking. 

Sometimes ignorance really was bliss. 

 As you left your apartment complex you headed down into the half busy streets in a rather relaxed fashion, arms folded above your head, using the sleeves of the coat as a way to keep another part of your face obscured. Your eyes flickered from one person to another; teenagers sharing candy in the corner of the street, a young couple shopping together and a bunch of punks trying to trick an older teen into buying them cigarettes. There were some elderly too enjoying the warm weather, sharing pleasantries and complaining about how things have changed from their youths. 

No one looked particularly threatening and you were beginning to think your charades failed. Just when you were about to turn back around you sensed it; that bone chilling feeling of being watched. You resisted the urge to look around or pick up your pace as you turned off the main road and towards a smaller street filled with tiny mom and pop shops- the route Dazai told you to follow. The narrow street drew less attention and had several decent obscured alleys. You kept your pace slow, listening closely. About a minute after you turned into the alley you heard the fast click clack of dress shoes behind you.

Bingo. 

You heard the steps grow closer and quickly rounded a corner towards an even smaller alley. One step, then you pressed your back against the wall, mace in hands. Your eyes closed as you focused on silencing your breathing. Seconds ticked in your head as the footsteps grew closer and closer, growing faster, eager to not let you out of sight. 

  3, 2, 1 .

You jumped out back onto the larger alley. “ Buu you son of a –” you yelled, pressing down on the mace and spraying for a good thirty seconds. It wasn’t until it was too late that you realized who the figure doubling in pain was. But when you did, you dropped your weapon with a bewildered cry. 

Clang of the metal echoed against the walls as the mace rolled away out of sight. 

“ Chuuya what the? I’m so sorry!” You started taking a step towards him. Then as you felt your eyes burn you quickly moved back again and ran a hand through the wig trying to mask your embarrassment. 

“ I-its okay Y/N” he coughed a few times waving his hand in an attempt to get some clean air into his lungs. It took him surprisingly little time to completely recover. The only trace of your little attack being a redness around his eyes and a slightly runny nose which he took care of with a clean handkerchief. Now  his attention was on you, his look clearly demanding to know what the hell you were up to. 

You just shook your head a no- it was best not to ask. “ I’m so sorry again” you mumbled feeling incredibly stupid. “ Come, let me get you a cup of tea as an apology.” 

Chuuya raised his hand as if to say not to worry about it. Then he lowered it and flashed you a smirk; “ Only if we can agree on coffee” 

“ Deal!” you exclaimed before taking a look around. Realizing you were still in the alley you turned on your heel and continued heading straight towards the exit. 

At the corner there would be this wonderful little shop that sold all sorts of imported coffee and coffee-based treats. It was one of the pricier shops in the area so you deemed that it would be good enough to suit the executives tastes. Chuuya followed you, however rather than walk right beside you he kept a step or two behind you. You glanced up at him, then carefully glanced behind him towards the alley entrance with slight confusion. 

You still couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched- the icy cold dread in the pit of your stomach which grew with each step that you took. A warning bell was going off in your head but you couldn’t quite place a finger on why. The notion was ridiculous after all, Chuuya was your friend. 

“ What are you doing here, Chuuya?” You asked, making small talk. Suddenly you paused mid step as the sense of dread became overbearing. Dazai should have caught up with you already. 

But he didn't. Why? 

Did it mean that the stalker saw through your charade? Impossible. You weren’t perfect but you knew the act was good. You and Dazai had practiced for hours and even fooled Atsushi with it when you took it for a test-run. No, the act was good enough. Unless your target knew Dazai very well. Say, like the back of their hand, familiar with every single mannerism of his down to the way he walked, talked and breathed. If that were the case they’d first prevent your boyfriend from helping you and then, “ Say Chuuya, Dazai was your twin dark. You’d have realized I’m not him unless-” 

You never got to finish your sentence as a sweet scent filled your senses a second before Chuuya took one larger step closing the distance between you. He clasped a cloth over your nose and mouth. His other hand wrapped around you in an iron grip, keeping you in place and restraining your struggles. You screamed and screamed, trying to bite the cloth away from yourself, your fingers clawing at his hands. But with each scream you inhaled more of the substance. You could feel your body growing weaker on you- betraying you. 

It was no use.

“ I’m sorry Y/N, you’re too smart for your own good” Chuuya whispered in your ear as dark dots played in your vision “ You should have just left it alone- you really should have.” That was the last thing you heard as you passed out, praying that Dazai would find you..

Your head was killing you, like a thousand woodpeckers pecking away at your skull. Your body felt heavy, groggy and your limbs refused to cooperate properly. You silently cursed yourself as you tried to pry your eyes open. The mixture of medicines in your body fighting with you, trying to keep you under. What was it? Anastesia? Were you under an operation? No, it was something else, something else and chloroform.  You knew chloroform, you’d recognize it anywhere; the sickly sweet smell that made your stomach turn. So why didn’t you recognize it before it was too late? 

Because it was Chuuya. 

The thought made you angry and with it came a burst of adrenaline: snapping your eyes open, you sat up in one quick motion before you felt your stomach turn. You clutched it, uncertain whether whatever you ate that morning was going to stay inside you or not. The world span, the colors twisting and fleeting into one another making the unfamiliar objects around you almost indistinguishable. One thing you were certain though; this wasn’t a hospital, your room or any kind of mom and pop shop.  

You heard a sound, someone rushing to your side and then felt an arm quickly wrap around your shoulders steadying you. A hand was on your back, rubbing up and down “ Shhh shh shh, not so quickly Y/N, you need more rest, you’ll feel better soon I promise.” You tried to focus on the voice as another wave of nausea rolled over you. On instinct you curled more in on yourself trying to make the world stop spinning

“ Wanna throw up Sweetheart or are you good?” 

That nickname made you freeze. You shook your head making a weak attempt at pushing him away from yourself. Damn traitor was what you wanted to call him but all that came out was a pitiful “ njah” 

You felt something cool press to your lips before he tilted you back slightly. “ Just water. Drink, it will help clear your head.” 

The water splashed against your lips, a drop rolling down your chin. You resisted the temptation. You heard Chuuya sigh before he moved. He shifted the glass more, giving it a deeper angle. The glass pressing past your lips, the water now almost slipping down your throat. You had no choice, so you drank, feeling instant relief. The water felt soothing, like a miracle for a dying man and you could feel your stomach settling down. Almost too quickly it finished, yet you were too stubborn to ask him for another. You felt so tired again, to the point you barely noticed as he lowered you back in bed and covered you with a blanket. 

You were out cold in seconds.

The next time you woke up, you felt well enough to take in your surroundings. You were in an unfamiliar room, laying on a rather large bed with a metal headboard. You could see cuffs dangling from above your head, one set on either side, yet your arms were free, resting beside you beneath a thin fuzzy blanket. You guessed the room wasn’t very big but didn’t dare turn your head and check. Not yet. You could hear him breathing a few paces away and did not want to risk having to look at that traitorous hypocritical bastard without proper assessment of your state. 

When you shifted your legs,you felt the cold metal of the cuff cutting into your right ankle and heard the shift of the metal chain. It was heavy, so much you could say. You doubted you’d be able to break it with sheer force. Your fingers inched towards your pockets, still icy cold and somewhat slow in their movement. As they brushed against your clothes you realized you were still in Dazai’s attire and cursed silently in your head. Then you drew in a deeper breath and closed your eyes, thinking of your next move. 

“ Don’t try to use your ability” you heard Chuuya’s voice ring loud and clear a small distance away from you. “ It’s a government chain, you’ll only end up hurting yourself if you try.” You didn’t grace him with a reply. He didn’t seem to mind as he continued speaking” I’m sorry I had to take your gun away. I couldn’t have you do anything stupid” 

Before you knew it you were back in a sitting position. “ What the fuck do you mean stupid? And why the hell are you doing this.” You yelled at Chuuya who was sitting on a chair a good distance away from your bed. His legs were crossed, his hands resting on top of them palms up. His usual jacket was not on him; it hung casually across the back of another chair with his hat on top. On that second chair was a tray of food, a flimsy bottle of water and a handful of pills in a small white paper cup.  

“ I know it's hard to see it right now, but I’m not here to hurt you Y/N. I’m here to help” He said each word slowly and calmly, clearly hoping to soothe you. 

Your face shifted into an expression of bewilderment and anger “ Help me? How does beating up my friend and then abducting me ‘help me’ Chuuya? How?!” 

“ Because Y/N you’re so caught up in Dazai’s webb you’ve stopped caring about yourself and your future. You just bow your head to his every beck and call and that’s not you” he stated as he leaned to the side and lifted up the tray moving it closer to you. 

“ What are you–” Your sentence got caught in your throat as you took a look, finally took a look at Chuuya. He was older than what you remembered him to be. More worn out perhaps? There wasn’t a hint of a smile on his lips, not even a smirk or a grin. His lips were just set in a straight line, slightly white from how hard he was pressing them together in barely contained anger. But it was his eyes that shook you down to your core; the normally vibrant shimmering blue orbs which put even the sky to shame as they glistered with a wide range of emotion were completely empty. They were a hollow blue grey shade- a shell of their former self. “ Chuuya what did you do?” 

Your question put him in a frenzy, the way you looked at him, as if he was the monster was killing whatever sliver of light that was left in him; “ Don’t think I haven’t seen you Y/N, haven’t seen you cry your eyes out when slimy Dick’s not home cuz he’s fucking another woman.” Chuuya’s hollow eyes stared down at you, his lips pulled up into a sadistic sneer “ or when he forces you to take him whenever or whenever, or pressures you to agree to whatever shit his mind comes up and you’re crying both during and after Y/N. Don’t think I haven’t seen you. Ugly sobbing and all.  It’s not right Sweetheart. It isn’t” 

You gaped: your mouth opening and closing like a fish, your cheeks dusting a light pink, words stuck in your throat. They were refusing to come out. You didn’t know where to even begin, or how you were going to reason with him.

Chuuya wasn’t finished, however.

He moved closer, his gloved hand slowly inching towards you. “ But I’d never disrespect you like that sweetheart, never force you or hurt you. I’d never abandon you- you know that the bastard pretty much gave you away to me? ”

“ Dazai would never” you glared darkly at him. As his fingers grazed your cheek you flinched and turned away putting distance between you. The action made Chuuya sigh heavily and move back, running that hand through his hair. He looked bitter. 

“ You think? The mackerel served you up to me in his attire with an added comment ‘you can have my left overs.’ slimy bandages. And you still think he cares for you?” He was shaking as he stared down at you. Chuuya took a deep breath before his voice took on a sad, heartbroken tone.” While I’ve always been here, waiting and waiting ready to sweep you off your feet and yet you’re eyes were only on him” 

“ Dazai isn’t- he wouldn’t.”  

“ Dazai this, Dazai that. Even now when we both know he’s already balls deep in another woman! And you’re still relying on him hah-!” Chuuya shook his head before something seemed to change in him, the contained anger spilling into something dark and full of malice-  “- You think I’m smaller than him, is that it?! That somehow that womanizing bastard is better in bed? That only he can satisfy you ehh? Is that why?” Chuuya yelled, his hands landing away from his hair, dangerously close to his belt. 

At that moment, for the first time that night, you realized that you were in danger. Real actual danger. This wasn't Chuuya, the sweet hot-tempered ginger man whom you’d share stories and dirty jokes with over a glass of wine. This was a man with slipping sanity capable of anything. His eyes alone were an atonement to that. Those hollow blue orbs told you that if you didn’t think fast enough you’d learn on your own skin- your own pussy- how far he was willing to go to have you. 

You moved, launching forward as far as the chain would let you and pressed both hands on top of his larger ones, trying to get him to leave his belt alone. “ No not at all, I must be still a bit hazy after the drug. I didn't mean to upset you.” 

He didn’t react, his fingers finishing pulling the edge of the belt out of the first loop and starting to fiddle with the clasp. 

You tightened your hold on his arm. Your heart beating loudly in your ears. You thought you were going to throw up. Maybe you should- maybe it would disgust him enough to make him stop. No, a little voice in your head told you. All that could do was enrage him more. And that would end up making it worse on yourself. 

“ I’m definitely still not clear in the head, so lets talk some more later please Chuuya, please stop” You called to him, leaning more of your weight onto him. That didn’t stop him, if anything it made you more aware of the growing tension in his pants.

Fuck. 

You needed a plan- a way out and you needed it now. However each plea and logical call fell on deaf ears and you were in no condition to fight him. Ability or not he’d overpower you in seconds. You were running out of options and this was your last card to keep yourself safe;

You forced your mind to think of each embarrassing and humiliating memory until your cheeks glowed a dark red. Then you tilted your head down, faking a shy appearance.“ but you wouldn’t want our first time together like this, right? All dry and then bloody. And me passing out and missing out on the fun mid-way through, right?” You felt his movements grow less erratic and continued; “  So would you let me rest a few hours more, clear my head a bit, please? Please Chuu'' you pleaded 

You glanced up at him, staring up with big pleading eyes. You saw the newly made nickname stir something in those hollow orbs. Like a spark of life glimpsing through insanity.

 “ Please Chuu” you pleaded again, continuing to stare at him, praying that this was enough. A moment passed, two, three before he let his hands drop away from his pants. 

You bit your tongue to stop yourself from flinching as he raised a hand and rested it on the back of your head, then he leaned forward pressing a long kiss on your forehead. “ You’re right, I’m sorry, Sweetheart, it was so selfish of me. You need your rest. And I need to get you something comfortable to wear- slimy mackerel clothing really does not suit you.” With those words he turned around as if nothing happened and grabbed the hat and jacket from the back of the chair. 

He paused in the doorway long enough to wish you sweet dreams and tell you not to eat what he brought earlier, and that he’ll be back later with some fresh food and water for when you’ve had your rest. Then he left. As the door clasped shut you heard the automatic lock kick in, shutting you in place. Then two more additional ones; a chain and a key. 

Slumping back into the bed you curled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms tightly around them. Tears were running down your cheeks in steady unpretty streams. 

You bought yourself a few hours tops but what were you supposed to do then? 

[flightfoot]

Best Lovesquare-centric Fics And Series That Completed In 2023

So the majority of fics I read include the Lovesquare in some capacity, but I figured people might appreciate a list of great fics that really center around them, particularly romantically.

As with the other lists like this, these fics all come from my previous reclists for ML fics I really liked that finished during 2023. So if you like these, you might want to look through the collection I set up for all these fics.

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home is where the fight is by @rosie-b

Nadja Chamack’s voice greeted Adrien as he sat up straight, wiping his clammy hands on his pants and ignoring the black kwami floating by his shoulder. “—shocked to see our heroine fall in battle today, taking a direct hit from the akuma just as she detransformed. Parisians are torn between blaming Hawk Moth and Cat Walker for their roles in this tragedy, which ultimately revealed the civilian identity of Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Adrien turned off the TV and lowered his head as his vision blurred. Written for Ladrien June Day 7: Injured

I adore this fic! Which shouldn’t be a a surprise, it’s no secret that I love Sentiadrien Enemies AU. Adrien’s so worried about Marinette getting hurt, and wishes that he could help keep her safer, could tell her what’s really going on or get rid of the ring or something, but he can’t. Still, he IS able to find clever ways around some of his father’s more problematic orders. Loopholes for the win!

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Patrolling with a friend for Christmas by @seasofsilver

Adrien just wanted to gift his Lady some time off and hang out more with Marinette during the festive season - it didn’t exactly go to plan, but somehow ended up… better?

This was adorable! Chat Noir tries to give Ladybug a break by recruiting Multimouse to replace her on patrols for a bit, and Ladybug returns the favor by recruiting Aspik to replace Chat. Yep, it’s Snekmouse!

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Under the Umbrella by @fruitdragon1a

Almost everyone has a soulmate. What are Adrien and Marinette supposed to do when they meet theirs? ML Secret Santa gift for Mei! Merry Christmas! Thank you to Now Loading and Rewan Demontay for beta reading this fic!

So this is a version of soulmarks I haven’t seen before. Around age six, soulmates get a soulmark that shows what their soulmate is thinking when they first meet them. Though I guess it doesn’t register while transformed, since it only counts for this one when Adrien and Marinette meet as civilians, and not when they first meet as superheroes.

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you don’t even know me at all (but I was made for loving you) by @ladyofthenoodle

They didn’t remember each other. The hospital told them there’d been an accident—brain damage—but Alya had told them the truth, later. Who’d they’d been to each other. What they’d given up, and why. But even with their memories of each other gone, Adrien and Marinette are still inextricably tied together—by law, by their social circles, and by their hearts. And in the apartment they share, there’s only one bed.

Yep, it’s the “there was only one bed” trope XD! I especially love how it was used here, how Adrien and Marinette are strangers now but they had a whole life together, and they pine for each other even without remembering, and how Marinette just can’t believe how in love with her Adrien is even though he doesn’t remember her. I loved the emotional turmoil the two of them went through together in the fic, and the resolution, it’s great!

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Until I Found You by @linnieluna

Working their way up to a settled adulthood, Marinette and Adrien, now 23, gain a reason to believe that they are expecting—way earlier than they ever planned. Still unwed, it evokes a revelation on Adrien’s behalf. Was it time to take the next step forward?

I loved the emotions here, how Adrien and Marinette reacted to the results of the pregnancy test, how complicated their feelings about it were - and how it prompted Adrien to take action. It’s a really sweet fic!

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From school bells to wedding bells by @linnieluna

When the superhero duo takes on another exhausting fight against an akuma, Chat Noir does what he never hesitates to do and takes a hit for his partner. The problem being: neither of them knew what power the akuma possessed. That is… until he is transported into the future. More specifically, to his friend Marinette’s wedding.

Ah I love time travel fics! Older!Marinette’s surprised, Younger!Adrien’s bewildered, and Older!Adrien is off knowing exactly what happened and giving his younger self some subtle heads-up. 

It gives Adrien something to look forward to, to cling onto, through bad days in the future at least!

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u + me = love by @xiueryn

Marinette has a massive crush on Adrien. He has a crush on the superhero, Ladybug. When he says the only person he’ll invite as his plus one to an event is Ladybug, Marinette takes her chance to romance him for the night. AU. (a fanboy and fangirl start to date.)

This is just a fun Ladrien story. Ladybug is happy to oblige in Adrien’s fantasies, and no one else believes that he’s actually dating Ladybug.

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Miracoffee by @pauliestorylover

Ever since the last Mr Pigeon attack over nine months ago, Hawkmoth has fallen off the face of the earth, seemingly for good. There’s never been a better chance for an identity reveal—but after keeping her identity a secret for so many years, Marinette feels incredibly nervous about one. When Chat Noir accidentally finds Ladybug working at a café, Alya comes up with a brilliant idea. If Ladybug and Chat Noir interact regularly in a civilian setting, surely they’ll move towards an identity reveal without outside interference?

Adrien Never Goes To Public School Coffee Shop AU here! It’s funny how he clocks Marinette as being Ladybug IMMEDIATELY. And then after discussing it for awhile, decide to make a bit of a game of the identity reveal, having Chat come in on pre-determined days and seeing whether Ladybug can figure out who she is, all while they get to know each other, even if in passing. 

Love the other Miraculous heroes making cameos as well, Marinette seems annoyed that Nino cosplaying as Carapace actually doesn’t tip anyone off XD.

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For the Sake of a Ring by @rosie-b

An akuma that transfers people’s consciousnesses into other universes hits Ladybug, sending her into a world where everything is the same… but instead of earrings, she’s wearing a ring on one hand! She’s only just arrived in this universe, but already Plagg seems to have gone missing. It’s up to Marinette to figure out what happened before she’s sent back home! This fic takes place in the future, after Season 5, but it does not contain any leaks or major spoilers. Please keep the comment section spoiler-free, too!

This is really cute, Marinette gets transported into a world where she’s married to Adrien and is really confused as to why and how they got married at sixteen. Adrien’s just an adorable puppy who thinks his wife is the most amazing person in the world! 

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His Princess and Her Knight by @seas-of-silver

Adrien, Marinette, Nino and Alya have a group assignment about how the past has shaped them into the people they are today, but they’ll make a discovery that’ll send them searching for answers.

This fic is adorable, Adrien, Marinette, and Nino uncover that they all went to the same preschool together, with Adrien and Marinette immediately latching onto each other, Adrien being the knight to Marinette’s princess, and also making friends with Nino. Sadly he was pulled after two weeks, but it made quite an impression on him.

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A Friendship Not Abandoned (Just Delayed) by @nomolosk

Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste first met as tiny little kids, but then Adrien had to move away. When they finally meet again, will they even remember each other, much less become friends again?

Poor Adrien keeps on saying or doing just the wrong thing to give Marinette the impression that he’s a bully like Chloe when he’s not, and he keeps desperately trying to fix it. So a bit of an enemies au in that way, since Marinette doesn’t like him much. He does gradually manage to convince her that he’s a good person though.

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The Mer-Human Race by @rosie-b

Bringing her hand closer to his lips, Adrien tried to plant a kiss on it, but Marinette pulled away before his lips could touch her. “Save it for your girlfriend,” she said teasingly. “Or do you still not have one yet?” Adrien smirked and crossed his arms. “It’s a girl,” he said. “And I know her in real life. That’s all you get. Now, let’s get back to planning, shall we? We have a mermaid to beat.”

Lovely world-building here! Merfolk and humans have had a treaty for a long time, so there’s a tradition where merfolk can challenge humans to a race, and whoever wins gets to ask for a reasonable sort of reward (in Marinette’s case, she wants to be allowed to captain a ship at a younger age than is usually allowed). Alya, Nino, and Adrien are naturally very encouraging towards Marinette, and luckily for her, a nice merman going by the name of Chat Noir shows up and challenges her to a race…

Yeah you can see where this is going XD. It’s fun, I thoroughly enjoyed it.

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A Mousey guest by charliepoet13

Adrien Agreste has finally managed to break away from his father and make his way out into the world. One faithful night, after settling down in his new home, he spots a strange guest.

Adrien X Multimouse fic here! So this is inspired by the Borrowers, with little people the size of mice living amongst ordinary-sized humans, and Marinette got a little careless here XD. But soon finds that Adrien’s friendly and not a threat. It’s adorable and reminds me of the The Littles book series that I read when I was a kid!

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Caught In A Multimouse Trap by @a-flaming-idiot

Adrien was having a rather slow morning. That was until he discovered a tiny superhero trapped in his home and decides to be a bit of a hero even out of his suit.

This was adorable! Adrien does his best to care for the little miniature superhero caught in a mousetrap, bandaging her up as best as he can (thankfully only her tail got caught so it’s more of a phantom pain than an actual injury) and just… it’s really cute.

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do you think I have forgotten about you? by @roseinaugust

Based on the song ‘About You’ by The 1975. Memory Loss. Told in alternating time lines, one leading up to and one dealing with the aftermath of Marinette relinquishing the Miracle Box and the guardianship. Marinette struggles with her life after losing her memory, though there is a persistent voice that calls to her that always seems just out of reach in her memory.

Beautiful memory loss fic here, with seeing Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s relationship before she gave up the Miracle box, juxtaposed with the present day, when Adrien is only a stranger to her. I could really feel how Marinette was struggling with navigating these new circumstances, with her friends seeming to expect her to remember, to be who she was to them, to Adrien especially, before, and her just… not knowing whether she can do that. It’s got a happy ending though, for those who are concerned about that.

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How Marinette Learned to Stop Worrying And Love The Ball by @rosie-b

Hidden from the crowds thronging around the busy fairy portal in Paris’s town square, a fae gate sits at the edge of the forest, locked, rusty, and full of ancient magic. Marinette thinks that this abandoned gate must not work anymore… but one day, a fairy disguised as a black cat steps through it.

Ah, Fantasy Soulmate AUs, my beloved XD. This ain’t the only one of this fic type I’m gonna be recommending. This is just a cute fluff fic without much strife. I love Marinette and Chat Noir being able to be childhood friends via his visits, even if he has to pretend to be her cat whenever he comes over, and I ESPECIALLY adore Alya being his chaperone and quickly becoming friends with Marinette in her own right. It ain’t a complicated plot, but it is a nice and warm fic.

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Stay Weird, Ladybug by @diadraws

Ladybug receives an invitation at the end of a patrol! Contains some of my own headcanons, most notably: MIRACULOUS HOLDERS ARE CREATURES!!! They get actual animal traits when transformed instead of just a costume. My tumblr is diadraws where I elaborate some more on my headcanons which may add some additional context to this fic if you are interested! CONTENT WARNINGS: *major* depictions of panic attacks, discussion of child neglect/abuse, and a minor emetophobia (vomiting) warning towards the end.

I’ve loved the comics and fanart I’ve seen dia create for this AU, with Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s more animalistic designs, so reading a fic set in that AU was a real treat! It’s mostly just a Ladrien sleepover at Adrien’s house, but it’s very nice and cozy, with some good character development of Adrien helping Ladybug with panic attacks she keeps having.

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Our Tales Are Endless (That’s Why I Tell Them) by @joonapeach

Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It’s a life she thinks she has always fit in. And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can’t help but wonder if there’s something else she’s missing.

This was a truly gorgeous story. It’s the classic “Marinette gives up the Miracle Box and loses her memories” storyline, exploring her life two years later. Even though she’s had time to heal and recover, she still feels like she’s missing something, something big. At least Adrien’s stopping by regularly to tell her stories about Ladybug and Chat Noir, even if she doesn’t understand why they resonate with her so well.

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a winter so warm by @rosekasa

winters were hard for even the best of vampires, but at least adrien had marinette to keep him warm with her cuddles. december was going to suck without her. so it was only to be expected to get extra cuddles in before she left, right? (well, not really, considering those heating supplements he was taking, but she didn’t need to know about that).

This one’s mostly just cute cuddly adorableness! It’s basically like all those “Marinette gets the Ladybug trait of needing to cuddle up to someone for warmth”, but with Adrien instead. And of course featuring Marinette being a very talented witch who just wants to help Adrien stay warm when she isn’t there XD.

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The Power of Love by @nedjsmlfavs

In which Ladybug announces that she’s pregnant via her long term boyfriend and Chat Noir is a supportive partner. After all, he can hardly be upset when he’s been dating his Princess for years!

A different take on the show’s tagline (“The Power of Love Always so Strong”) written for Valentine’s day 2023.

This is just a sweet, fluffy fic about Ladybug and Chat Noir finding out they’re having a baby, revealing to each other, getting married, and becoming parents. Gabriel actually tries to do better here, as he does actually care about getting to know his grandchild, and realizes that he can’t undo this timeline without undoing his granddaughter’s existence as well. 

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Villainous Matchmaking by @nedjsmlfavs

When Chat Noir is tragically unable to attend an event with Ladybug, the mayor calls in a favor from a designer ‘friend’. Now she’s attending in style, on the arm of the hottest male model in Paris. Which would be fine if it weren’t for one, tiny issue: Paris’ favorite domestic terrorist now knows how Ladybug feels about his son. This leads him to his greatest plan yet, using Ladybug’s extremely obvious crush on Adrien Agreste to akumatize Chat Noir.

A Ladrien/“platonic” Ladynoir fic

This is adorable and hilarious. Gabriel keeps on “accidentally” releasing things which makes it looks like Adrien and Ladybug are a couple in an effort to make Chat Noir jealous, while Adrien and Ladybug ae just over-the-moon about getting to spend time together and finding out that the other person loves them XD.

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Fate, Destiny... A Hamster by @mostmagical

After finally moving into his very first apartment per Ladybug’s suggestion, Adrien discovers something no movie or TV show could have ever prepared him for: someone else's hamster.

Marinette was so excited to have her first pet. If only it would stop escaping!

At least now there’s an excuse to talk to the new neighbor.

(Adrienette Never Met AU)

Funnily enough, this is based on a true story. Specifically, the author’s own experience of having her hamster run out and be found by a neighbor.

Anyway, this is adorable! Marinette and Adrien become smitten with each other extremely quickly, with Marinette’s hamster keeping giving them reasons to talk. Very effective wing-hamster, that one XD. 

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Through the Looking Glass by @jheqiawrites

Adrien is a lonely child, cut off from the outside world by his parent's strict rules. But when he discovers a window in his closet and sees a young girl looking back at him like his reflection, maybe he has hope for friendship after all.

Poor Adrien here, he makes a long-time friend (who everyone thinks is an imaginary friend), and has several great years interacting with her as his parents grow more concerned with him not growing out of it... and then Emilie dies, Gabriel orders the window destroyed, Adrien’s put on medication to suppress his “hallucinations” (which also makes him forget Marinette) and he’s just kind of left like that for the next several years, until he’s an adult.

Luckily, while Adrien forgot Marinette, Marinette never forgot him, and he’s not too difficult to track down...

This is some really cute Adrienette, if you want a “forgotten childhood friends-to lovers” Adrienette story, you should check this out!

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Miraculous Conception series by @ladynoirfanao3

Summary of the first story, The Power Of Creation:

Everyone knows that Ladybug's cure fixes everything after the destruction wrought by Shadow Moth's akumatized villains. After an akuma with an unfortunate power leaves Ladybug and Adrien in an awkward position, Marinette has never been happier to simply forget. However, she soon discovers that her miraculous ladybugs have a limitation on their curing ability, a limitation that puts her in a situation she never expected to be in.

So basically, Ladybug and Adrien run into each other just as an akuma makes everyone in the vicinity extremely horny, and when they both start remembering things again, they’re in a pretty... compromising position. But it’s just an akuma so they put it out of their heads, until Marinette discovers she’s pregnant and has to decide what to do about it, whether to keep the pregnancy, tell Adrien she’s Ladybug and is having his baby, what to do with the earrings when she’s too pregnant to be Ladybug, etc.

I really enjoyed it! Just watching Ladybug and Adrien try and navigate the situation, especially with secret identities thrown into the mix.

The main fics in the series are basically the same story, it’s just that the first one is from Marinette’s perspective, while the second one is from Adrien’s. The Power of Creation is rated M while the Power of Destruction is rated E, but for both fics it’s just rated that for a single sex scene that occurs in the fic (with it being the same sex scene in both fics, just told from two different perspectives).

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you made me a hero - reverse crush short stories series by @non-fantasy

This series is just plain fun! Like the title says, it’s a reverse crush AU, so Adrien’s head-over-heels for Marinette, while Ladybug’s smitten with Chat Noir. Which means that Adrien’s constantly trying to woo Marinette while Ladybug’s attempting to have normal conversations with Chat Noir (and failing), and both of them are oblivious to each other’s feelings. 

I love the way non-fantasy executes it, with Alya literally carrying around a spray bottle because of how eager Adrien is, and Ladybug being VERY SCARY if you ever lay a finger on Chat Noir (seriously akumas will literally beg for their akumatized object to be broken just to escape her wrath). 

Oh, also, Ladybug regularly stops by Adrien’s room so they can both lament how difficult of a time they’re having wooing their crushes, and just have fun together.

There’s a lot of entries in this series - 29 of them in fact - but most of them are pretty short, making it great if you want to devour some quick, cute, hilarious romcom action! 

Some stuff does actually change over the course of the series, it’s not just slice-of-life. Like identity reveals, dating, and even Hawkmoth’s defeat, so there’s clear progression and changes in circumstances as well.

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Dreams of You by @chocoluckchipz

Dreams had long been his only escape. Dreams of Ladybug, the girl who had always been there for him.

If only in his dreams. And only while she was also sleeping.

Because with the first rays of sunshine gliding over her skin, with the first fluttering of her eyelashes, from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, memories of Adrien would vanish from her mind.

She would go on living her life.

He would always be the only one who remembered.

At least until they meet in the real world and fall in love all over again, something that would’ve been easier to do if Adrien wasn't a prisoner in his own home.

Chocoluckchipz has some of the most beautifully executed lovesquare fics I’ve read, and this is no exception. Most of the fic is dedicated to Adrien wooing Marinette, spending time with her, with her own dream self acting as his wingman, giving her tips on how to get her to fall for him, all the while frustrated that she can’t share memories with her waking self, and that she and Adrien can’t share as much information as they’d like while asleep, due to limitations of the “curse” that allows Adrien to share dreams with his soulmate. 

It’s not all cute Adrienette fluff though. There’s a threat in the background waiting to erupt, as the weirdness of Gabriel’s ultimatum to Adrien about finding Ladybug or else being forced to marry Lila keeps on gnawing at him - and with good reason. This is a world with magic and kwamis still, and that fact makes itself very relevant in the last third of the story. 

It’s a well-written tale and very much worth a read!

[boltedfruit]

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Steve's attempt at a record-breaking gangbang ends up with him flying back to Hawkins to track down number one-ninety-eight. The mystery man who left an impression. - A thumb swipes his lower lip. Breath ghosts along the bite mark on his shoulder. It stings. Steve hopes he drew blood. “I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.”

Thank you to @cowboythighs for giving me permission to write this fic based on their super fun prompt, which you can read here~

Read the full fic below:

What’s in his fridge?

There’s at least one bag of broccoli, half a container left of that nice parmesan he splurged on…maybe the chicken wings in his freezer are still okay. Hopefully? He still has some of that decadent hickory barbeque sauce. There’s no reason he can’t cover a bit of freezer burn with a healthy dousing of the stuff. He didn’t do the dishes last night, but that’s fine. Has time to run the dishwasher before–

Something vibrates. Loudly.

Someone’s phone is going off in the middle of the shoot.

Steve lifts his head, annoyed that the director hasn’t called cut yet. The man on top of him is dripping sweat, a bead of which narrowly misses landing in his eye. Steve casts a look sideways, hoping to catch the director raising his walkie.

Nope. Still posted up behind his wall of cameras. Stoic as ever, the man watches Steve work.

Steve lets the moment drag, his expectant silence punctuated only by the grunting and groaning of the muscled man pumping away between his spread legs.

More loud vibrations.

He cranes his neck to see over the man’s shoulder, sees the clock over the huddled producers and decides himself it’s time for a break.

Steve presses a hand against the massive chest above him and pushes lightly. The man’s movement falters, stops. Steve meets his eyes with an easy air of I’m the star, get off me, and it does the trick. The behemoth withdraws from Steve’s body with a mutter and wipes the sweat from his red brow as Steve swings his legs over the platform and sits up. He tests his weight, but finds he can still place pressure where he needs to without any pain.

The director shouts something Steve doesn’t hear. Calls back, “Somebody’s phone is going off! It’s ruining the vibe.”

“What phone? I don’t hear a phone,” the director says in his heavy German accent, shrugging in a way that rankles Steve. “We’re almost at two-hundred, surely it can—”

“No, it can’t wait. I need five anyway.” His own assistant appears by his side with a robe.

Steve shrugs it on and heads toward the source of the vibrations. Around him, production comes to a standstill while fluffers and PAs run around tending to the talent.

Steve tracks the phone down in a bag near craft services, but a producer beats him to it. She sheepishly digs out her phone and shuts it off, muttering an apology.

Steve sighs, grabs another cracker and decides to take a much needed bathroom break. On his way, he grabs his own phone and sees a text from Robin.

still good for eight?

I’m only at 197, might be closer to 9 or 10.

big ew, but congrats. should I pick up dessert?

Coffee double dutch choco cake pls?

obvi, my very spoiled friend. have fun you little award winning superslut!

Thx, lov u!

Robin sends back a string of emojis. He finishes up in the bathroom, thinking of all the times he’s been nominated for an AVN but never won. And it’s not like it’s terribly hard. He chooses interesting projects. He works with skilled teams. He stays clear of scandals and keeps his nose figuratively and literally clean of all the seedy underground bullshit that comes with the job.

But best actor still eludes him.

It grinds his gears, or at least the ones he used to have back in high school. The ones driving him to be a better player than everyone else at basketball practice, the ones that pushed him to state championship games three of his four years at Hawkins High. The ones that crowned him prom king and made him a bullshit name for a bullshit time in his life.

It’s his inner machinery, and even though he’s grown up a lot in the last five years, he’s still yet to replace some old rusted parts.

As he returns to set, Steve runs his hands through his hair, pinches both cheeks a little to bring a fresh blush back to the surface. His assistant applies lip gloss as he situates himself back on the black and white platform where he’s been fucked for the last three hours by one-hundred-and-ninety-six men.

He’s aiming for three hundred before dinner. Three-fifty if more than a good chunk of the men left are two-pump chumps. It’s about scheduling.

Steve shifts his weight from one asscheek to another, feels a brief twinge in his lower back. He flips over, stomach pressing against the slim pleather cushion.

It’s almost five.

The director claps his hands, and once Steve is in position, everyone resumes their roles. He gets comfortable on his elbows, cock limp between his legs and showing for the camera. He hears the next guy shuffle up behind him, can hear the shaky breath leave him.

Everyone knows their part to play in this circus, and Steve knows his best of all. He’s front and center, surrounded by a seemingly endless line of men of all ages, shapes and sizes. He’s taken more dick and strap today alone than he probably has in the last few years combined.

He’s going to win best actor, and he’s going to win best gangbang.

The thing about sex work is that it’s like any other job, really. There are good days, long days, fun days, days that drive him up the fucking wall. There are times he’s excited, nervous, bored out of his skull. Most shoots he books last a day or two, and hardly ever does one last more than a week, tops. This isn’t his first gangbang scene, but it is a record breaker for him, and several others in the industry as far as he’s researched.

But so far it’s been a lot of the same. Almost two hundred men and he hasn’t held a steady erection since an hour in and now he’s been daydreaming while giving tried and true sultry looks to the camera, fake moans of practiced pleasure leaving his throat.

Steve’s good at his job.

He’s been doing it since his parents cut him off and kicked him out at eighteen. He moved to LA and lived in his car until Robin graduated and followed him to the big city. It was exhilarating at first, fun. These days, at twenty-three, he’s mostly just bored.

And he knows better than to ignore an ache. If he holds one position for too long, he’ll be wrecked for a week. He’s big enough of a name now he can negotiate a lot of his contracts, and so he always gets control over how he’s positioned. The cameras can figure it out from there.

“And…action!”

Steve pouts for the camera in front of him, parts his freshly glossed lips and crosses his eyes a little. He never got the cross-eyed thing, but it’s apparently a huge kink for some.

Fingertips tickle over his ass, lead to palms lightly petting his hips. Steve wiggles for the man he can’t see, encouraging and coaxing as he goes to his knees and leans back. Wants to be grabbed, manhandled. Add the potential for a little healthy bruising and the audience eats it up.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, he hears a breathy sigh from behind him, and then the sound of spit a second before he feels it hitting his hole. It drips down slowly, painting him wet, and Steve keens for the lens trained on his face.

The thing about this shoot is that it’s been a nightmare to plan. A year to put together a schedule, another six months to find the talent. There’s been cancellations, reschedules, a few deaths even, more casting, issues with health insurance and testing dates. Steve’s been along for it all, because this is his project. His idea, his brainchild.

All for one day.

One day to break some records. Prove to himself he can do this. That what he does can win awards and not only nominations.

After that he can take a very, very long break.

The hand rubs up and down his spine, firm and sure. Applies a little pressure at the lumbar and Steve actually lets out a small moan. It’s nice. He might set up a massage for tomorrow.

The camera swings wide, leaves Steve’s face and gives him some breathing room. The hand on his back remains while the other presses two fingers to his hole. He’s stretched, lubed beyond the meaning of the word even before the spit. There’s no need to finger him open.

But he receives a gentle probing with two fingers, a few deep, slow strokes that press in search with what seems to be a practiced touch. Steve rolls his hips back. Takes a few tries, but when the extra finds his prostate, he gasps, drives back to meet that zing of electricity again and again.

“God, just look at you,” the extra whispers. “Can’t wait to feel you. I’m so lucky.”

Steve moans. Not so fake this time. He drops his head, catches sight of lightly haired thighs covered in scribbly tattoos. He doesn’t even take into account the size of the man behind him, too focused on his own swiftly filling erection.

Huh.

It’s not like it’s a requirement or anything, by contract or personal preference of his scene partners. A lot of the time the bottom isn’t hard. Not exactly fair, but a limp bottom does not a film break, or whatever. More than a few of the men who have been inside him today have paid him plenty of attention, even tried for longer than Steve felt necessary. But they were all here to do a job, and that was to film a gangbang scene with Steve as the gangbangee. Hard or limp, he just wanted them to finish in him so they could get the shot and all go home to a nice hot shower.

“You’re gorgeous, y’know that?”

Though dirty talk was common, it wasn’t in the script for this shoot. And it wasn’t the usual lead-in of fuck yeah, look at your puffy hole, you take it so well, you’re like a bitch in heat, take that shit, take it like a whore.

“That’s it, baby, relax for me.”

It’s sweet…it’s kind. Things a lover would say.

Another strike of lightning burns him from the inside out, and Steve lets out a breath he’d been holding.

The hand at his back glides down, calloused fingers smoothing over his skin, until the director calls for penetration.

Steve wants to snap at him to shut the hell up. This is fine. More than fine, even. His prostate hasn’t exactly been the star of the show today, and a little pleasure makes his job that more enjoyable.

The fingers leave, and in their place frustration grows. That is, until the blunt head of another cock is pressing against him–no, dragging. The man is rubbing himself over Steve’s hole. Isn’t shoving in and taking like all the others.

More spit hits his rim , makes him startle. The hand on his back draws circles to settle him like a spooked horse.

This isn’t lovemaking. This is a scene. Steve huffs at himself, thinks just stick it in already, dude.

The extra’s hands slide from his back to his hip, his other hand joining in and pulling Steve’s weight, using Steve’s own body to slide inside. Steve groans. The guy’s big, thick. Should have paid better attention while he had his head down.

“Knew you could take it, Harrington,” he says softly, and Steve almost misses it when the man whines as he bottoms out. Fingers dig into his sides, tight but not bruising. “Pictured it a little different, but a guy can’t complain.”

So the guy’s got a fantasy, that’s fine. A lot of the talent cast for this production expressed a desire to work with Steve. Came with the territory, and the long filmography.

But something about this man hits him a little different. His words have him melting enough to feel warmth build, begin to spread.

His legs are tingling, insides burning with the stretch and latent pleasure. He wants more.

He grinds his hips back, trying to put his weight into it. The man moans low and finally, finally, starts moving his hips. Drags Steve back on every thrust.

“Jesus, you’re so–so–” Another drawn-out moan and the man collapses along Steve’s back. He’s slim, but his arms are strong as they wind around Steve’s waist. More tattoos. Bats in flight, stretched faces with sharp teeth. Long hair tickles over his shoulder as the man noses along the back of his neck “You feel like a dream.”

It’s quiet. Quiet enough Steve knows the cameras won’t pick it up. It’s just for Steve, and that sends his blood rushing, dick kicking as tension builds in his belly.

“Shit,” he grinds out, feels drool slip from his open mouth to pool on the black pleather underneath. “Oh, God.”

“That’s it. Wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. Come on. You deserve to feel good.”

He’s so hard he’s aching. Feels the weight of himself slap his stomach on each ever harder, deeper thrust.

Steve’s going to come. He’s actually going to come.

“Just knew you’d be so good for me. Could tell the first day I ever saw you. Wanted you forever. And look what you’ve accomplished,” he babbles, Steve’s heart growing three sizes, “You’ve changed the industry. You showed LA who’s king.” A particularly deep thrust has his elbows giving out. The man effortlessly braces his abrupt fall, a calloused hand snaking up to pillow his jaw. Steve is vaguely aware of the camera in front of them both, but he couldn’t care less if he tried right now. It feels too good. Feels better than anything all day, all month, all year. To the cameras, it must look like Steve’s being choked, but it’s the farthest thing from it. He’s being held, kept safe. “Always knew you’d go places. Get everything you wanted and more. I was actually jealous, and look at us now. Can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Steve’s cursing, praying, something as he’s pressed into the pleather. Now, his cock is trapped, facing backward so every time the man draws out and pushes back in, their cocks drag for a brief moment of bliss. The cherry on top. Neat trick.

“Never thought I–never even dreamed–”

A gasp, a flash of teeth in skin and Steve is coming with a shout, flexing his ass to get more, more.

He feels warmth spread hot and wet inside him and knows this will only last another moment or two. He needs to turn around. To see the man that just took him apart without touching his cock. Needs to–

A thumb swipes his lower lip. Breath ghosts along the bite mark on his shoulder. It stings.

Steve hopes he drew blood.

“I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.”

The director shouts something Steve doesn’t hear. Can’t comprehend past the pleasant hum buzzing inside him.

But then the weight on his back is gone, the cock inside him slips free and with it a spurt of come. Cameras circle back around to catch the aftermath, hears a muttered nice from some crewmember when they see the twin puddle beneath himself.

He rolls his eyes, safe to do with no coverage on his face.

He feels so empty. Cold begins to creep in.

Steve blinks quickly. Why is his throat suddenly so tight?

Then another man approaches, is lifting his hips up, is pushing in with absolutely zero patience or attention paid to Steve at all. And that’s fine. It is.

They’re on a schedule, after all.

-

“Yippee!” Steve claps when Robin sets the plate of cake before him.

She joins him on the couch, a forkful of her own piece of cake already in her mouth. “I don’t know how you’re even sitting right now.”

“It’s honestly not that bad.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Look who’s literally talking.”

Robin pulls her own fork free and sticks her tongue out. “Seriously though, you sure you don’t need anything? A heating pad? Ointment? Therapy?”

“Ha ha. I already took care of what I needed to–stop making that face, oh my God. I’m just dandy, Robs, don’t worry. I want to veg out and watch tv for the next six months and gain like twenty pounds.”

“You are too skinny.”

“My point exactly.”

“But, still like. Wow.”

“I know.”

“Three-hundred sixty-eight guys. Whole ass men were inside you today. That has to be a health issue for the community or something, right? How are your insides not melting out of you right now? I should have laid down a towel to protect your precious piece of shit couch.”

“You’re so funny, and it’s our precious piece of shit couch.” But even so, Steve preens a little. He did it. He broke his goal and then some. “I’m gonna win that goddamn award if it kills me.”

He looks over when she doesn’t answer. Robin is looking down at her plate.

They’ve had this argument before.

“I’m taking a break,” he says, reaching for her hand. She squeezes, and he squeezes back. “Promise.”

Robin nods. “So,” she says, shaking herself from the momentary tension, “you mentioned one guy was unique. I’m almost afraid to ask.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“I mean, was he like eighty or something? Was he dressed all in latex with one of those gas masks? Did he have two dicks or what?”

Steve laughs, drops her hand to grab a pillow, and throws it at her instead.

Then he tells her.

In as much detail as she can handle, anyway.

“Did you get his number?” Robin asks, and frowns when Steve shakes his head no. “What about a name?”

“It was kind of a rush, an in the moment kind of thing. Wasn’t really time for a lot of talking.”

“Oh my God, Steve.”

And then, his best friend in the entire world has an absolutely batshit idea.

-

He gets the call sheet from his favorite producer, an easy going older man with decades of experience in the industry. He doesn’t ask questions.

Three days later, Steve's got a list of three-hundred-and-sixty-eight names, including himself and the crew. Beneath the call sheet is a packet of numbers and addresses.

It might be a crazy idea…but Steve’s one of the world’s leading gay adult film stars. He can afford to be a little crazy.

So when his sabbatical officially begins, Steve starts calling.

-

The first thing he tries is going down to number one-ninety-eight. That makes sense, and even Robin had agreed.

But the man who answered was a fifty with a slightly higher voice than he remembers. He quickly thanked Steve for the experience, and the paycheck, but explained he didn’t have any tattoos. He was afraid of needles.

Steve huffs, crossing the name and number off.

His guy was definitely younger than that, had a deep, smooth voice. Had ink that looked homemade from a glance.

The list he has is in no discernible order. It’s neither numerical nor alphabetical. He checks the first few addresses and finds it has nothing to do with location, either.

So he calls each and every single person. Actually blocks out time to do it around breaks and lunch, time spent with Robin which they both agree is long overdue.

After a week and a half of calls, Robin drags him to the beach for an afternoon of sunbathing and people watching.

“I don’t know, Robin. I already crossed off the guys I know, the ones I’ve seen in other projects. But I’ve still got over a hundred people left.”

“Says the guy who wanted to bang over three hundred guys. This is your own fault.”

“I know,” he agrees, swirling his fingers through the sand. “I’m just…I don’t know. Worried, I guess.”

“Why?”

“What if he thinks I’m a freak for tracking him down? What if he wants nothing to do with me?”

Robin snorts. He looks her way, sees her nose and cheeks are red from the sun despite her large sunhat. Her toes are dug into the sand, and the book she’d been reading lays forgotten on her stomach.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Steve. From what you told me, it sounded like he had a little crush.”

“Yeah, but that could have been my filmography talking. Lot of guys say I’m on their shortlist of dream lays. It’s like a fantasy thing for them.”

“Disgusting. Absolutely abhorrent,” she says easily. “But you said your guy was different. You think it was just an act?”

“I couldn’t tell. He seemed…sweet. If that makes sense?” Steve shrugs, hands her the bottle of sunscreen. “You need another layer. You’re turning into a tomato, birdie.”

She cups her hands, and he squeezes a dollop out. As she rubs the lotion into her skin, she seems to consider what he’s said.

“How sweet can an actor in a gangbang be?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Then you have to keep at it. You have to keep calling until you find him. You may strike out more often than not when it comes to dating, but you have, like, a good good people radar.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you naturally attract decent people,” Robin says, smiling. “Take me, for example! I’m the best person you know.”

Heat climbs his face, settling at the tips of his ears. He sinks further into the beach foldout, embarrassed for a reason he can’t name. Robin’s smile turns knowing before softening into something closer to friendly pity.

Robin drops her book in the sand and stands, grabs Steve’s hand and starts pulling him toward the water’s edge.

“Come on, sourpuss, let’s go swim!”

-

He’s down to five people.

The phone numbers they gave were either disconnected or, more likely, fake. So he has no choice, really.

He decides to fully embrace his apparent new level of creepy stalker and physically visits their listed address.

The first three people are surprised but happy to see him, and he ends up sharing beers with two of them, but all three are very clearly not the person he’s looking for. The fourth is nice enough, if wary, but is in his forties and is trans. Is all too happy to show Steve the strap he used on the day. So that rules him out.

There’s one address left, and honestly Steve had been hoping it was a fluke. A mistake.

Because the address is in Hawkins, Indiana. His hometown.

He never chose a stage name, a mistake that many a producer and actor used to lecture him on in the first couple of years he was in the business. But he made it his own. It worked. His parents haven’t contacted him since he was kicked out, so if they know about his career choice, Steve isn’t aware. He prefers it that way.

He always imagined he’d send them a photo of him smiling with his AVN award when he finally won. A final, brief fuck you and career announcement all in one.

Needless to say he hasn’t been back to Hawkins once since he moved to LA. And though he isn’t shy about his legal name, Steve has never discussed his past, his childhood. Nobody in the industry that is legally allowed to discuss his association with Hawkins never has, because they simply don’t know.

Steve’s honestly a bit surprised nobody he used to know has reached out in the last five years. He knows Tommy at least frequented the sites his agency posts to. Nowadays, gay and straight films can be found in the same tags, same pages. Even if someone didn’t go looking for gay porn, they still might have come across Steve in something. An ad, even.

But no, nothing.

He’s not ashamed of what he does. He hasn’t actively avoided his past or anything. If anything, he’s simply strived to not care about it. It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t seen a Hawkins address in years.

Until now.

It’s weird. Could be some kind of underhanded prank. Maybe he should call his lawyer and tell him to expect some sort of blackmail soon.

The last four have led him to the neighboring cities around Los Angeles, but he’s not had to leave California yet. And being back in Indiana has him off his feet. Wrongfooted in some small way that leaves him feeling like a stranger. An impersonator.

He left small town life behind and made it big in a way that would have had every gossiping homebody’s heads turning if they knew.

Half expects to burst into flame the second he steps foot within city bounds.

But nothing happens. His rental car keeps driving. The turn off the highway is familiar, second nature.

He pulls into Hawkins and follows the directions parroted to him by his GPS. He notices several new fast-food places, the old mall has been redone, some houses seem bigger–but it’s still the same small, old town.

He comes to a crossroads. Left to Forest Hills Trailer Park where he’s never been, or right to what would eventually lead to Loch Nora and his childhood home.

He takes a left.

The trailer park isn’t huge, but each home has a small yard. He drives through a winding road that’s half gravel until he finds number fifty-three.

He parks, gets out and stands. Butterflies swarm his stomach, his palms sweating.

Steve gives himself a silent pep talk and walks up the short drive to the front door.

He knocks twice and waits.

It’s getting colder in Indiana. A few more weeks and there might be the first fall of snow. Back in California it was eighty-six degrees when he boarded the plane. He shivers.

Steve jumps a little when the door opens, the screen between him and an older man who frowns down at him.

“And who are you?”

“Hi! Hello. My name is Steve. I, um. Is there a Wayne Munson here by any chance?”

Steve steadies himself, tries to calm his rising nerves. He steps back to make room as the man opens the screen door and steps out into the early afternoon light.

“That would be me, son. Can I help you? You look a little lost.”

It’s not him.

Not his guy.

Steve’s stomach drops. Feels a little sick to his stomach.

The voice isn’t the same. It’s low, sure, but rougher with age. And Steve remembers the tickle of long hair along his skin. This man, Wayne Munson, is balding.

Unless he wore a wig…then, maybe…

He rechecks that this trailer is indeed number fifty-three.

“No, I uh. This is the place. This is going to sound strange, but I don’t suppose you have any tattoos?”

Wayne huffs. He pulls up his sleeve and shows Steve a faded old tattoo, a blue cross with blown out edges.

“Just the one.”

Steve nods, disheartened. “I see. Okay. I, uh, thanks for your time. I’ll just go–”

He turns, feeling foolish.

“Kid, wait a minute. Come on inside and warm up. You drink coffee?”

Steve debates. He’s cold, sure, but that’s an issue fixed by turning around and driving back to the airport to hop on a plane back to California.

Staying could turn out badly. Hawkins was never friendly to outsiders, and the rumor mill sprinted when it came to talk of things like sin and violating the good word of the Lord.

Steve’s pretty sure being a porn star is hidden somewhere in there.

And it was never a secret in backwoods like these people tended to dole out their own justice. Some kids were killed in Indy for being gay and working corners. Why not here, in the home of a man Steve doesn’t know?

He puts on his best smile. “That would be great, sir.”

The man drops his eyes to the ground, waves a hand at him. “Please, enough of that. I’m just Wayne. Always have been, always will be. Come on in, it’s not getting any warmer out here.”

Steve shuffles inside, thanking him. “Looks ready to snow soon.”

“Ah, another week or two I think. You from around here?”

“Used to be,” Steve says as Wayne gestures for him to sit on a stool at the kitchen counter. “I moved to California a few years back.”

“Hm.” Wayne starts a fresh pot of coffee, old-fashioned kettle on the stove. Steve’s grown used to his Keurig. “Big place compared to here. How d’you like it?”

“It’s busy. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I imagine there’s always something for doing.”

Steve nods. “You’re right.”

“What d’you do for work out there? I’ve heard it’s all tech companies and wannabe actors.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Well, actually…I’m an actor.”

“Ah, geez. Don’t mind me, it’s the stereotype.”

“No offense taken,” Steve says. “It’s kind of the reason I’m here.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing. I had this big, uh. Film. Scene. A big scene. It required a lot of background actors. Extras, you know?” Wayne nods. Steve is flubbing this big time, Christ. “I kind of hit it off with one of the–one of them. Fell a little in love if I’m being honest. My best friend, she had this crazy idea to get the call sheet and go down the list to see if I could find him.”

Wayne’s eyes go a little wide and it’s only when the kettle starts whistling that Steve realizes his slip up.

But Wayne beats him to it. He takes the kettle off the burner and starts fixing two cups of coffee. Says, “Young love’s hard to come by, kid. I’ve been telling my boy for years now, if ya find somebody worth chasing, you run. Doesn’t matter the obstacles, if they’re a boy or girl. Just run to em.”

“That’s…that’s really good advice,” Steve mutters, surprised and relieved when Wayne doesn’t seem to have a problem with him. “Means a lot, being from here.”

“Me, I’m from back south, but Hawkins is home. Strange as it is to hear, this town’s actually progressive compared to where I grew up. But there’s still work to do, that’s for damn sure.”

Wayne reaches into a cabinet and brings down a bottle of liquor Steve recognizes all too well. Good quality bourbon. Steve doesn’t miss the healthy pour that goes into each mug.

“Good for warmin’ up,” Wayne says as he passes one mug to Steve. He goes for the fridge next and pulls out a half eaten chocolate cake. “You fancy a piece? My boy whipped it up, but I told him like hell he expects me to finish it on my own.”

“Oh, I don’t want to take up your time–”

“You’d be doing me a favor,” Wayne cuts in, smiling in a way his parents never did. Kind, warm. Real.

Steve relaxes the rest of the way, the tension leaving him all at once. Wayne Munson’s a good guy.

“I’d love one.”

-

“...and I told my boy, I said, if music is what you wanna do, you go and do it. Convinced him to get his GED and get out of dodge. School was never much of a Munson family pastime, anyway.”

“God, yeah. I hated school. I barely graduated, and that was still a few months after I got kicked out.”

Wayne shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. They’re sitting on the front porch, watching the sun begin its slow descent. Steve almost forgot how pretty Indiana skies could be.

“I knew your folks, y’know. Back in high school. Forgive me for saying it, but your father was a real piece of work.”

Steve can’t help the bitter sound that leaves him. “Trust me, I know.”

“Can’t stand a parent dumping their kid on the world like that. More like dumping the world on their kid. Real life is tough shit. If you love your children, you don’t just abandon them to figure it out for themselves.”

Steve hums. Takes a chance. “It sounds like you’re talking from experience?”

Wayne scowls out into the distance. “It was just me and Al for a long time. Our parents weren’t around much, and when they were they weren’t the best. We all did what we could.” He shakes his head again, meets Steve’s eyes. “Just a shame Al turned out exactly like our old man. Couldn’t spot respectable if it bit him on the balls.”

Steve laughs again.

Wayne lifts his beer and points out to the gravel road. “‘Bout time!”

Steve looks out and watches an old beat-up van wind down the road, music getting louder the closer it gets.

“You’ve got company! You should have said. You’ve been so kind, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Wayne tells him good-naturedly. “That’s just my boy. Owes me dinner since I’ve cooked the last few.” Adds when the van is parking behind Steve’s rental, “You should stick around for supper. He makes a mean lasagna.”

“I really should…”

Then Steve sees him.

Wayne’s boy, who he’d assumed at first was his son but learned was the nephew he took in after his brother fucked up somewhere along the way.

Steve’s throat goes dry.

The music cuts off as the van door opens and out hops a man with wild black curls tied up into a mess of a bun. He’s not even looking their way as he hip checks the door closed and walks back to the double doors. He swings them open, grabs a duffle, many bags of groceries baring the local Krogers logo, and a large glass casserole dish that looks far too fragile to be balancing the way it is. Before he closes the doors again, a large orange tabby hops out and winds around his legs, rubbing and trotting after its owner as he heads up the drive.

“Sorry I’m late, old man. Store was packed, and then Garfield here didn’t want to…Oh.”

He slows when he sees his uncle has company. Stops completely when his eyes land on Steve.

The guy’s young, could be a few years on either side of Steve’s age. He’s wearing all black denim, complete with chains and large belt buckle. His knuckles are tattooed and Steve wonders where else he has them.

And he’s familiar is the thing.

And isn’t that funny?

Because back in school. Steve would play reckless and brash. He’d skip school, get in plenty of fights he always lost. Made friends with the wrong crowd and got into enough trouble. And he would wonder, in the way only a closeted bisexual boy could in the Midwestern US, what it would be like to run away with someone a little older, a little rougher, a little more mean. Someone who knew more about the world. Who didn’t give a shit about kid stuff like Steve used to, like reputation and dating and getting into girls’ pants as much as possible. On being the best all-American athlete he could so others would think, wow, that Steve Harrington sure is going places.

He would wonder, in profound secrecy and silence and repression, what it would be like to kiss someone like the man stood before him under the shade of a tall tree in the woods behind his house. What it might be like to touch another boy and not have to be afraid to death of the idea.

The large cat, Garfield, rubs up along Steve’s legs then. Walks a figure eight between them and yowls to be paid attention to. Steve reaches down to pet between his ears, is vaguely aware of the two other men talking to one another, of Wayne explaining why Steve is here, who Steve even is.

And Steve knows this guy. He does.

He’s got long hair. Tattoos, maybe more hidden away. Has plush lips and flushed cheeks from standing in the cold with arms weighed down by too many things, and, and–

“You’re–”

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, straightens back up and holds out his hand. “Steve Harrington.”

The other man gawks. A bag slips from his fingers and a tub of cream cheese goes rolling right back down the small incline.

“Jesus, boy,” Wayne’s muttering, walking down to help with the groceries. He grabs the serving dish first, then heads for the runaway cream cheese. “Where’d your manners go? Introduce yourself!”

Wayne grumbles as he heads after the thing.

Steve’s hand is grasped, shaken, held. Steve smiles. Wants to roll up the long sleeves to see if he’s covered in the bats he saw during filming.

“I’m Eddie,” Eddie says, breathes really.

And oh wow. Wow.

Steve doesn’t let go, and neither does Eddie.

“I heard you make a mean lasagna.”

A smile splits Eddie’s pretty mouth. “That so? I wonder who said that.”

“Somebody who loves his nephew a whole lot.”

“Huh, no idea. Could you clue me in?”

Steve steps closer. “Think a little harder? Maybe you forgot.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says, and though it’s soft, it’s undeniable. “Always forgetting things, that’s me.”

It’s him.

Wayne passes them by again, taking another bag from Eddie’s hands. Eddie sets the rest down at their feet, sparkling, dark eyes never leaving Steve’s.

“Steve here’s an actor. Eddie, weren’t you telling me you had a gig down in LA with the band a few weeks back? What a coincidence, that.” He keeps walking.

Steve watches him go inside, Garfield hopping happily after him.

When he turns back around, Eddie’s close enough he can feel his breath.

Steve glances at his lips. Sees them bend with amusement.

“It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“King Steve, here in my uncle’s humble abode. What a surprise.”

King Steve is as close a moniker he’s ever received working in the industry. An irony that’s followed him from high school into adulthood, even though the two weren’t connected.

And something inside Steve breaks apart, blooms, shines.

It’s him.

Eddie reaches up, traces a thumb along his bottom lip.

“I think we’ve met.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Care to stay for some homemade cooking, your liege? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

The thumb at his lip dips, goes inside his mouth, briefly makes contact with Steve’s tongue. He wants to suck on it, wants to do a whole lot more.

“We definitely do.”

Eddie’s hand falls away. He picks up a few bags and lets Steve take the others.

And as Steve follows Eddie Munson, his mystery guy, inside it hits him all at once. A punch to the solar plexus.

Just knew you’d be so good for me. Could tell the first day I ever saw you.

He knows him.

You showed LA who’s king.

Not just from the shoot.

“Oh my God, I know you! We know each other!”

Eddie Munson, the guy who walked over lunch tables and caused a scene. The guy Tommy shoved into lockers. The guy who dealt at every party. The guy who wore denim and leather and was in a band. The guy Steve watched, who watched him right back.

Wanted you forever.

I was actually jealous, and look at us now.

Can’t believe how lucky I am.

I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.

And Steve hurries in after him as Eddie’s knowing, familiar laughter leads the way.

[starlingflight]

Ginniversary Drabble 3

Prompt - O72 - sorry, its just that i get nervous when someone else is driving.

AO3 or read below:

“So,” Ginny drew the word out until it was almost a breathy sigh that she knew would carry to Harry's ears on the faint spring breeze. Sunlight glinted brightly off the sleek chrome surface as she stroked her finger languidly down it. She looked at him over her shoulder, letting her hair fall back and pushing her lips out into the smallest of pouts. “Were you ever planning on taking me for a ride?” 

She leaned back against Sirius’ old motorbike, half-perched on the leather seat, as Harry laughed. “Your mum will kill me.” 

“I’m of age,” she reminded him, quite unnecessarily; he was definitely aware. “I don’t need my mother’s permission.” 

“No, but I do!” Harry protested, leaning against the wall of her father’s shed; showing no intention of moving, despite Ginny’s best efforts. “She has to love you unconditionally, I’m already on thin ice.” 

“Oh please, she’ll disown me before she disowns you!” 

“She already gave me a lecture about how you’re her responsibility until you finish Hogwarts,” Harry continued, a slight tremor in his voice she knew he was trying to battle into submission. “It took a lot of the enjoyment out of my treacle tart.” 

“That is not true!”

They shared a look and Ginny thought the same image that was filling her mind might be in his too; a taunting smile, a jet of light from her mother’s wand, the corpse of Bellatrix Lestrange dropping sickeningly to the ground. Suddenly, the balmy spring day felt unseasonably chilly. 

Ginny’s laughter was weak, but she forced it out anyway. Ghosts could only haunt you if you dwelled long enough to let them; she had become experienced in outrunning them. 

“I’m practically done, only one term left to go.” 

“Ninety-six days.” Harry agreed. His eyes went wide. She suspected the words wouldn’t have slipped from his lips at all if not for the unsteadiness of the moment. 

Ginny quirked an eyebrow; the smile spreading across her face was genuine. “Keeping count, are you?” 

“No,” Harry’s grin made it clear that this was a lie. “I know for reasons totally unrelated to you.” 

“Oh? What reasons might those be?” Ginny settled herself more firmly onto the motorbike’s seat, legs dangling over the side, looking at him expectantly. 

His smile remained in place, but something in his eyes turned earnest. “I’m keeping count.” 

Her head fell back in laughter. The motorbike remained stationary on the ground but Ginny felt the familiar soaring in her stomach that she’d grown accustomed to accompanying a moment of complete happiness in the face of the demons that were always lurking beneath the surface. 

“So, in ninety-six days I can take this thing for a spin?” 

“I can take you for a spin on it,” Harry corrected. 

“And what if I want to go solo?” 

She didn’t. She had a very specific vision of how this was going to play out, one that involved her arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, and her face tucked against his back while the wind blew through her hair. 

“No.” 

Still, the speed with which he shot down the suggestion had her eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, eyes shining with a vulnerability Ginny was beginning to understand was for her eyes only. “It’s just that I get nervous when someone else is driving it… it was…” 

“Sirius,’” She finished for him. 

This time, it was Harry who didn’t allow them to linger in the shadow of a grief too big to face on a peaceful Spring afternoon. “Anyway, is that really what you want to do the minute you finish Hogwarts?” 

“Maybe,” Ginny shrugged, allowing the change of topic. “It feels fitting, doesn’t it? To finish school and do something a bit reckless and dangerous?” 

Harry shook his head. “It’s not that dangerous – your dad put loads of safety charms on it when he was rebuilding it.”

Ginny refrained from pointing out that if that was the case, there was no reason for her mother to protest her going out on it now. 

Instead, she slid from the seat and swiftly crossed the untidy patch of grass that separated them. “You’re playing this all wrong…” Her hand found his; Harry immediately used the contact to pull her closer. “you’re supposed to tell me how risky it is…” She rose onto her toes, letting her lips brush against the shell of his ear. “Entice me with tales of your thrilling adventures...” 

When she pulled back, Harry was smirking at her, and his eyes were focused intently on her lips. “I did get this when I went round a corner too fast the other day, if that’s dangerous enough for you?” 

He held up his free arm, the one not currently wrapped around her waist, revealing what she’d thought was a long, red burn across his forearm.

She’d seen it already, her eyes had been drawn to it the minute she’d got off the train, but she’d assumed it was from work, and hadn’t asked for any further explanation. The scenarios she dreamed up in her head while she was at school, and he was maddeningly out of sight, of things that could happen to him were hard enough to deal with, without adding more details to flesh them out further. 

Ninety-six days. Ginny had a feeling the number was about to become something of a mantra. Ninety-six days and she’d be able to see for herself that he was alright at the end of each day. 

“That looks terrible,” she said, pretending to look more closely at the minor abrasion. “I think you might be in need of a mediwitch.” 

Harry’s voice lowered in response to her tone. “If you think that’s necessary…” 

Ginny was already reaching behind her, nodding, as she unlatched the door to the shed. “I’ve really expanded my healing capabilities this term… if you’ll just step into my office, I think I should probably examine you, just to be on the safe side.”