#here ya go mist!

[bonebreakjack]

Art for my girlfriends fic

[cranberrv]

thunder

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which dallas winston loses his temper

( a/n : HIII im sorry if this wasnt ur vision but i dont think dallas is one for big apologies so i kinda focused on the arguement more than the apology hope that’s ok… also toxic dallas alert sorry if that isnt ur scene!! also not proofread but hope u cuties enjoy )

it was a late night in mid-summer, and you and dallas were on the porch on the curtis brothers house. he wanted to go out for a smoke, and dragged you along. you were wearing his leather jacket, it was a windy night and you were getting chilly. dallas had goosebumps along his arms.

“are you sure you don’t want it back, dal?” you ask him, insisting on giving him his jacket back.

“nah, sugar, don’t want ya freezin’ to death out here,” he answers, taking a drag of his cigarette as he looks out at the empty street.

“i’ll just go inside, though, so you don’t get hypothermia or something..” you insist, but he grabs your hand and stops you.

“you’re fine, baby, stay with me.” you look up at him and nod, squeezing his hand a bit tighter.

you stand outside for a little while longer. it feels so peaceful standing there with him. his hand that’s rough and dangerous from the punches it throws is enveloping yours in a sweet gentleness shown only with you. his cigarette smoke becoming a mock mist that calms you both down. his deep breathes that are only heard because of how quiet it is.

nothing could ruin this moment.

you felt it was a good time to say the three words. not like you hadn’t said them before — it’s been a year since you’ve started dating, and you’ve both adored each other from the very start. but dallas got funny when you told him what he already knew. tonight would be different, you thought.

“.. i love ya, dal,” you say softly after a few moments of quiet. it felt casual — exactly what he would have wanted. but maybe not casual enough, because there was a short silence following your words.

eventually, he speaks. “i know ya do, sugar.”

you sigh. why is it that he could never stand to say it back?

he catches your sigh. of course he knows what you’re sighing about — he knows you all too well. he chooses not to act on it, not to apologize, not to say anything. he doesn’t want to fight with you. he just takes a drag of his cigarette and plays innocent.

“it would be nice to know that you loved me too, dallas,” you eventually say.

“oh c’mon,” another drag of his cigarette. “you ain’t an idiot, you know i do.”

“do i? i can’t remember one time you’ve said ‘i love you’ to me,” you cross your arms and look up at him.

“this isn’t somethin’ to get pressed on, y/n, the boys are inside and the windows are open,” he puts a hand on your shoulder, trying to get you to stop talking, to pretend like you’re okay. all because he doesn’t want his friends to hear. “and i have said it, baby, you’re just forgetting or somethin’.”

“you have not, i would remember if you have,” you counter, shoving his hand off of you. “i don’t want to argue, dallas, i really don’t—“

“too damn bad, y/n, because you’re sayin’ that i don’t love you, and we both know that ain’t true,”

“then say it.”

“..what?”

“you heard me,” you say. “it has been a whole year of us dating, and you’re never ready to say that you love me,” you raise your voice to get your point across.

“christ, y/n, you’re difficult, huh?” he groans. “it ain’t a big deal, don’t go throwing a tantrum.”

“i’m difficult? dallas, i don’t know if you get how a relationship works, but at this point, you either love me, or you’re done with me. there is no middle ground after this long together.”

“you’re fuckin’ crazy, i know how a relationship works, and i ain’t done with you. don’t go stickin’ words in my mouth,” his voice is raising, too.

“if you’re not done with me, then you love me.” you say, in a desperate attempt to get him to say the three words. you almost want to beg. “it hurts, dallas, that i don’t get that reassurance, that i leave our dates with my words hanging in the air, waiting for a reply,”

he groans. “you know that i do, so what’s the fuckin’ point?”

“you’re unbelievable.”

he scoffs, his voice raising. not quite yelling, but definitely not talking. “holy fuck, you know that i love you, man, so quit bein’ such a bitch!”

the crease in your eyebrow drops as he says that. “don’t call me that,”

“c’mon, man, you’re acting like a fuckin’ lunatic trying to get me to admit somethin’ that i’ve already admitted,” he says, voice still raised. “take a deep breath, maybe get a glass of water, and come back to me once you’re normal again.”

you scoff. “because i’m expressing my feelings, suddenly i’m a lunatic? because i’m not like your old girls, and i actually strive for a healthy relationship, i’m not normal?”

“you’re freakin’ out because i didn’t say it back once, of course i think you’re going crazy.”

“i’m ‘freaking out’ because it’s been a year of ‘thank you’ and ‘i know’ whenever i tell you i love you,”

“you’re being a dumbass, y/n, you know i—“ he cuts himself off, sighing and taking a step back. “fine, man, whatever, you win. go inside and call bucks when you’ve cooled off, i’m goin’ home,”

when he walks past you, the air is thick and unwelcoming. you don’t even bother getting the last word, dreading the fact that he might turn back and lose his shit if you do. he mutters something incoherent under his breath, and walks down the creeky front porch steps, into the dead of night.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

of course, you don’t call bucks. why would you? just so buck can tell you that dallas isn’t there, when in reality he just doesn’t want to talk to you? just so suddenly you’re bending to his will, and he’s getting his way once again? you don’t think so.

dallas does this a lot — whenver you two fight, even if it’s a small one, he needs time to cool off. sometimes it’s a couple hours, sometimes it’s a day. it’s never stretched longer, until now. it’s been three torturous days of waiting for a grand gesture, an apology, anything.

the next day at school, you’re walking through the parking lot during your lunch break, talking to cherry valance and marcia about what happened between you and dallas. they say a lot of “told you so” and “that’s dallas for you”, and you can’t say they’re wrong. they warned you about him, and his reputation for being so short-tempered and stubborn.

the sound of an engine roars behind you, and you and your friends turn your heads to see who is making the noise. it’s a 1957 red thunderbird, you recognize it as buck merrill’s.

“that must be dal’s friend, buck,” you whisper to your friends. “but why would buck be here?”

“he’s a greaser, he’s probably like, 5 grades behind and coming here begging for another shot at graduation,” randy, marcia’s boyfriend, teases. you shoot him a glare, and he shuts up.

“i’ll go see whats up,” you say softly, walking over to the now-parked car.

as you walk over and the window rolls down. it is not buck merrill, like you expected, but it’s dallas winston.

“hi,” you say softly, your walls starting to go up but hesitating, wondering if you’re even still fighting.

“hey, sweetie,” he says, not explaining what he’s doing here.

“what’re doing?” you ask him.

he shrugs. “wanted to see you, i dunno.”

“oh,” you say softly. you hoped for an apology, you hoped for flowers, you hoped for chocolate, you hoped for a hug, you hoped for—

“i shouldn’t of gotten all heated when we talked, it wasn’t cool,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. “and you ain’t a bitch.”

“..thanks.” you say after a few seconds of silence. what a shit apology, you think.

he’s staring out into the parking lot instead of you. “and i’m crazy about you, man,” he looks up at you. “you gotta know that, sugar.”

“thank you,” you repeat again, unsure of what to say.

another beat of silence as he swallows in his throat, before speaking and finally looking over at you. “i love ya, doll,”

you should’ve stayed mad, you should’ve not accepted his awful apology, but you cannot hide the smile tugging at your lips. this is all you’ve asked for from him, and he finally has the courage to admit it.

“i love you too, dallas.” you say softly, leaning into the window and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “thank you,”

“you gotta stop sayin’ that, y/n,” he teases, playfully pushing you away. “go hang out with your stupid friends, man. i’ll come over tonight and hang.”

you nod, and walk away, looking back at him and seeing a small smile on his face. nothing could ruin this moment.

[tfmerc]

farmhand!Simon Riley and famersdaughter!Reader…

she’s all country and soft, heavy southern accent and rosy cheeks — Simon’s all dirty with a washed out english accent and scarred, pale skin : (

possible set up for an AU series??

masterlist - rules for requests

read more bellow cut :3

The afternoon breeze was colder than usual, sun setting earlier as winter began its course over the mountains of your daddy’s ranch. Wrapping a worn, patched flannel close to yourself; wanting to keep any warmth your body was providing tight to your skin as you descended downhill towards the barn.

You could see Simon’s large form, axe held lazily in his left hand while he huddled a stack of cut wood under his right arm; huffs of his steamy breath turning into mist as it fades into the air.

Tight compression shirt clinging to the softening muscles in his shoulders and back, the same heavy denim jeans he always wore; covered in patches of old fabrics, an attempt of your Mama’s to avoid Simon having to buy new pants.

The sound of your mud-caked boots crunching against the gravel drew the man’s attention. A soft huff, almost grunt, passed the man’s lips; nodding your way as an acknowledgement to your presence, “How ya’ doin’ sweet’eart?”

“Chirpy as always,” Your head tilted gently, bouncing on the balls off your feet as you spoke; cheeks rosy from the cold as you took a second to truly admire the Britt’s body. Eyes fixated on the way Simon’s arms rippled under his clothing as he slowly stacked the freshly cut wood by the back doors.

It was hard not to stare, lost in a daze as you daydreamed; lashes fluttering as your eyes wandered in such an obvious way. Fingers fumbling with the thermos you’d been carrying, a large portion of pumpkin soup you’d made stored away - waiting to be gifted to the large veteran.

A small scoff of amusement escaped Simon's lips as he approached you. Dirt and sweat marked his skin as he dropped the fresh cut maple on the growing pile, pausing for a moment to slide a cigarette between his lips, "You warm enough?"

“Don’t plan to be out for long,” You shake your head softly as you wave a hand dismissively, eyes shining with such puppy-like enthusiasm as you take a step closer towards Simon; arms extending out as you cradle the thermos as if it were a cup of hot cocoa, “‘ere ya’ go, made it myse’f...”

Simon hummed, calloused hands reaching out to accept the offering; fingers brushing against yours . He’d grown more than accustomed to your little acts of service, though it was still… confusing at times. “You ever gonna let me pay you back for all this coddlin’, lassie?”

“Well… it is my daddy that’s got you out here choppin’ wood,” There was an almost teasing tone hidden amongst your words, eyes soft and half lidded as they tracked the movements of Simon — watching as he slowly unscrewed the thermos, “Just making sure you stay fed, Mr. Riley.”

“And that ya’ do…” Streams of steam escaped and mixed into the cool air. The large blond raised the cylinder towards his nose, eyes never leaving your soft body. A soft rumbling sound of pleasure echoed from his chest, blond lashes fluttering as the smell of pumpkin soup filled the air around him, “A’right, go flying little birdie.”

[brittle-doughie]

Britttlleeee

Since your hc for Y/N Cookie is that they lost a partner long ago in the storyline's you create. Which I love btw. Do you think the Beasts would exploit this or use this in some way to try and sway Y/N Cookie to join/be with them? They've been through a lot and appear to have little to no therapy. So I could see the Beasts taking advantage of this vulnerability.

The Fool (Shadow Milk Cookie)

Oof, the decease spouse multiplier?

It’s going to be Shadow Milk’s doing, he’s the one most suited for trickery and striking you while you’re at your most vulnerable state of mind.

The mist envelopes you, the shouts of PV and WL calling out to you slowly fade away as you look all around, trying to answer them but never seeming to get a response back. You ready your weapon, you were not letting anything this Beast says or does get to you.

???: “Hello…?”

You gasped as your pupils shrunk, heading perking up as you looked around the place.

That voice, it couldn’t be….

???: “My beloved, are you there…?”

No way…she/he was dead….

???: “Oh, how I missed you so much…”

SVTFOE, anyone? Feels bad about the finale though. Just picture it being a puppet of the spouse cookie, you get the idea.

You saw her/him, a puppet of your lost flame, alive and well….all the fight in you suddenly extinguishes as you drop your weapon, your hand shaking as emotions rise.

You: “H-hey….”

Spouse Cookie: “Bless the witches that you’re here with me at last….”

You: “I thought I’d never see you again…but what are you doing here? It’s not safe, let me take you somewhere safe first!”

Spouse Cookie: “It’s okay. We are with each other again, that’s all that matters now…”

You: “B-but, I…”

Spouse Cookie: “Isn’t this why you pulled through for so many years? To be with me again…?”

You: “I…I never gave up on you. So many times, I thought if I had just let you go, it would’ve been for the best. But that little part of me j-just couldn’t. A p-part of me w-wanted to maintain hope that y-you…*sniffle*”

Spouse Cookie: “My cherished, please do not cry. Why are you crying? I’m here now, please come into my arms…”

You didn’t hesitate and ran into his/her arms as you weeped silently. All the memories, the trading words of love to one another, you missed it. All of it.

You: “I-I love you…..”

Spouse Cookie: “It’s okay, I love you too, my sweetest cookie….”

You kept hugging her, unaware that her the puppet’s hold was getting tighter around you, her hands gripping your form more firmly, almost in a death grip….

You kept hugging…though, you furrow your eyebrows when you hear something distant in the mist, it sounded like…voices..?

???: “….Y/N….don’t….trust….!”

You listen more intently, was that…Pure Vanilla Cookie?

Pure Vanilla Cookie: “Shadow…Milk….tricks…your head…!”

You pieced together his words and gasped, but by then, it was already too late….

Spouse Cookie: “My dearest lover, what is the problem? Always know that I will take care of it…”

That last part was a malicious croak as you hesitantly look up to face your love(?)

The strings, the segmented limbs, hollow eyes and grin that harbor many blue colored eyes staring right back at you….

This was NOT your love….

It was a bastardization of him/her….

By the Beast….Shadow Milk Cookie…

False Spouse Cookie: “I love you, Y/N Cookie. And I’m never LETTING YOU GO!”

The puppet held onto you even tighter and started to rapidly drag you into the corrupted forest as you cry out in fear and despair!

False Spouse Cookie: “Don’t be so scared, ya silly willy! Just think about how happy you’ll be full of deceit and chaos! How happy you and him/her will be! Well, as best as I can imitate him/her at least!”

Shadow Milk Cookie wasn’t even trying to keep up the facade anymore, his voice coming through the puppet instead.

False Spouse Cookie: “THIS IS IT! LET ME INTO YOUR MIND AND DROWN IN DECEIT-WHAT?!”

You were suddenly dropped to the ground, rolling forward a bit before coming to a stop. You hastily get up to see the puppet dangling on only one string, the rest of the body limp.

False Spouse Cookie: “Hey, watch the puppet! Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it right?!”

Gingerbrave: “Y/N Cookie, are you okay?! That was quite the fall.”

Yeah, you told him you were alright. You soon see that he didn’t come alone as Pure Vanilla and White Lily Cookie had come to you, White Lily tending to your side.

Pure Vanilla Cookie: “We have made it just in time. I am glad you are alright, Y/N Cookie.”

White Lily Cookie: “They’re shaking. They’ve been..disturbed….”

Shadow Milk’s puppet was soon replaced by the Beast himself, who was anything but happy.

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Why do you PESTS always meddle in my script?! It was simple enough, I win Y/N’s mind over and I get to taint them with deceit to become a deliverer of deceit and lies! This was not how this was supposed to go!”

White Lily Cookie: “Leave them alone! You’ve already done too much damage to them! You’ll have to go through us to get them first!”

Pure Vanilla Cookie: “So true. We won’t let you bring further torment to them!”

Gingerbrave: “Yeah, Y/N Cookie is our friend and if you mess with them, you mess with all of us!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Fine! Have it your way! I’ll get my hands on them in the end! Just you wait!”

You were curled up near a tree as the cookies fought, shaking with a thousand yard stare.

Was it..all a lie? He talked just like your partner, behaved just like them….

What was even true about that anymore….

[silentium-symphony]

Autumn-disiac (Link x Reader) SMUT

a/n: sorry i've been gone for awhile! here's some ~fun stuff~ to make up for lost time ;) i haven't really written anything in awhile, so please bear with me as i get back into the swing of things!

cw: minors dni, afab!reader, link going FERAL over his meal :), reader is just a sobbing horny mess LOL, praising, cunnilingus, overstimulation, porn w/o plot, christ what the hell did i write

wc: 595

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The return of autumn heralded many things. Those sick of summer's swelter happily traded in sweat-yellowed tank tops for cozy, chunky knit cardigans. Fur-lined pants and leaf-patterned smocks replaced rustic shorts, and other summer apparel was shelved for the next growing season. Mothers' calls for their children chime earlier and earlier, paralleling the harvest darkness that encroached sooner in the day. Heroic epics crafted from the day's play are often discarded at the door, forgotten, as children are embraced by their mothers first and the smells of her cooking second.

Beyond the intimate comforts of home lie the wilds, which have since been shadowed with deep magenta. A thin spray of mist rolled down the hills, carrying with it the softest hint of moved air. The breeze, chilled by the beginnings of the harvest season, lapped at a set of blurry windows fogged from within.

A tongue, moistened with your sweetness and honeyed with sinful whispers, dragged the edge of ecstatic muscle up and down your abused folds. A brittle sob erupted from your chest as you tossed sweat-pressed locks from your forehead.

"L-Link, we've been at this for hours..."

"I know, baby, I know. You're doing so well. Just one more round, okay? You know how much I need this sweet pussy."

Your beloved's sultry purr rumbled through your core, sending bolts of electricity through pleasure-numbed nerves. Calloused palms sunk into your soft, supple thighs as he urged you forward and back with a gentle sway.

"Mm... Rock your hips for me... That's it, that's it, love..."

The sounds of desperate suckling and pussy-drunk groans brimmed the air with sickeningly sweet depravity. The musk of hours-long sex perfumed your senses into a mindless, blissed-out mush, electrified only by the occasional flick of your clit or the teasing teething from the man below. Leaning back slightly, you rested your shaky arms atop Link's thighs, doing little to still his erratic and involuntary pistoning--a futile attempt to fuck the hole he was currently feasting.

"That's it, hun, lean on me. I'll take care of ya, promise."

That all-too familiar tension was mounting deep in your gut, threatening to spill over and drown the man underneath. Honed in on your tells, Link initiated a dangerous combo of tongue and finger, alternating between fucking and rubbing until your vision blurred with more tears and your throat burned with more pleas.

"Mm... You want it, yeah? Does my beautiful, perfect girl wanna cum for me? Hm? Wanna cum, baby?"

"P-Please...! Link, I'm so close, please let me cum! Please let me cum! Plea--!"

A burning white throbbed through your core, snapping the thread that dangled your last bits of sanity over the velvety abyss. A searing light, hot and addicting, temporarily blinded you as you felt yourself fall back onto a sticky body.

A loud cry buzzed through your subconscious as something hot and wet squirted all over your front, painting your tits and stomach with thick threads of white. Pleasure-stricken convulsions rocked his body as more heat spilled onto you.

No energy could be expended to bask in the final afterglow, your eyelids weighted by an exhaustion you had never known. Some shuffling, and soon, the hot stickiness on your back and front was cooled by a wet rag. What could vaguely be recognized as fingers combed through the undoubtedly sweaty, tangled bird's nest formed atop your head. Soft, lovestruck murmurs coming from your beloved hastened you quicker into slumber.

You could only hope he understood your gurgled hum as an 'I love you.'

(Don't worry, he did).

[carolmunson]

wake up slow | barista!steve harrington

entry for my fall frenzy requests this request comes in from @superblysubpar: 'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.

tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.

That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain. Now the damn key.

"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.

"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.

"Easy morning?"

"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December. "What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.

"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?" "I know," he nods, "Gimme one second." Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?" "Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too." "You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.

"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"

You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.

You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.

You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes. You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.

You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass. "We aren't open yet!" you call out.

"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes. "For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in. "Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip. "Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.

"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.

You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.

"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go. "No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it." He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."

"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."

"What?"

"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome. You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.

"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."

"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."

You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks. "I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."

You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."

Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!

You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.

When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.

"What do you drink?" he asks.

"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip. He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that. "I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.

"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"

"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.

"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.

"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."

"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.

"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."

"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"

"Getting my MBA."

Of course.

"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."

You try not to let that compliment change your mind.

He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.

But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.

Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.

A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.

"Rough morning?"

You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.

"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.

"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule." "Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.

"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"

"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"

"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"And th--"

"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.

"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."

He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."

"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."

"Skulk, huh?"

"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"

"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.

"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.

The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.

Even his signature was handsome.

After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.

"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."

"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"

"Excuse me?" you bite back.

"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."

"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.

"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."

You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.

"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.

You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.

"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"

"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow. He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.

His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."

"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."

"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."

You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.

"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you. "Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."

You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.

The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.

"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.

"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's Pride and Prejudice."

"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.

"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."

"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"

"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."

"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."

"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something." "Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.

"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.

"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."

"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.

"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."

"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.

"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."

"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."

"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.

"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.

You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.

"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.

"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.

"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."

"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.

"I did good?" he quirks a brow.

"You did good," you nod.

"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."

"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.

Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."

November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.

You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.

"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.

Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.

The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.

You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.

At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.

Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.

For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.

Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.

Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.

Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.

You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.

Anyway.

As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.

"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."

You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.

"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.

"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"

"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."

"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.

"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"

"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."

"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"

"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.

"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."

"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."

"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."

"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.

"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.

"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."

"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.

"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.

Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."

You smile back, unable to stop it this time.

"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.

"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"

He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."

The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.

You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.

You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.

"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.

"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."

"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.

You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.

After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.

After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.

You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."

You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.

"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.

"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.

"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.

You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.

The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.

It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.

"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."

"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.

"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."

"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."

"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."

"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"

"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.

"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.

"Well don't look so upset about it."

"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.

"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."

"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."

You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.

"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."

"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."

He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.

"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."

Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.

"You -- no -- you read it?"

"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.

"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.

"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.

He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."

"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it. "Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.

"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.

"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.

"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."

"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.

"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."

"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.

"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours. "Mayb--"

The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.

His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.

Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin. You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.

He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.

You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.

"I didn't read it," he confesses. "Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.

"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."

"I love that one," you say back.

"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."

"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"

You of course start closing together every single Saturday.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

[hyperfixationgoddess]

Inspired by the fanfiction link above; kind of an aftermath scenario. I love the idea of Wayne being extra protective of Steve after Steve saved Eddie's life, and getting even more protective of him after he and Eddie start dating. What can I say, I'm a Wayne Munson simp. Also, while I might not have a lot of respect for him anymore, see if you can find the John Mulaney quote I slipped in here! @artiststarme I hope you like it!

Finally Protected

Wayne Munson was a lot of things. A salty grump, a loner, an uncle, a father.

But most of all, he was loyal.

Once someone earned his loyalty, it lasted for life. He would stick with them through thick and thin, and defend them against anyone. And against all odds, Steve Harrington had earned his loyalty.

Anyone with eyes could see that Steve was head over heels in love with Wayne's boy. Which was why he could not comprehend why it was Steve who was on the receiving end of all these goddamn shovel talks.

Found family, my ass, he thought to himself. Even that Buckley girl had given Steve a talk. Were they all stupid? They'd known Steve, really known him, for much longer than Wayne or Eddie had. How could they still think that Steve would hurt anyone, much less Eddie?

The worst thing about it was, Wayne knew that Steve would forgive them. It didn't matter how many times the Party hurt him, Steve would just shrug it off, like his feelings didn't matter. And considering Steve had already earned the loyalty of the Munsons, Wayne had a problem with that.

A big problem.

The day after Eddie apologized and the two boys made up, Wayne dropped by to talk to Steve. Even as he settled on the couch in the living room, he could see the tension in Steve's shoulders.

"You can relax, kiddo," he said. "I'm not mad at ya. Not here to give you another goddamn shovel talk, either."

Steve's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

Wayne nodded. "Eddie's an adult now, and he knows how to take care of himself. No, I'm here to talk about the rest of the Party."

Steve looked confused. "What do you mean?"

Wayne sighed. "Boy, you need to set some boundaries with these people."

"Boundaries?"

"Steve, I know this ain't the first time these folks have hurt you. Lord knows Eddie has gone on many rants about how the kids keep calling you an idiot, or how the Wheeler girl cheated on you after 'she ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it.' Eddie's words, by the way."

Steve looked uncomfortable, now. "Well, the kids are just messing around. And I shouldn't have tried to hold on to Nancy the way I did."

"The kids are old enough now to learn how to mess around without being disrespectful. And Nancy should have been honest with you instead of leading you on," Wayne countered.

Steve still looked apprehensive. Wayne sighed (again-he'd been doing that a lot lately).

"Look, Steve, I'm not saying you have to cut them out of your life. I know that'd be devastating for ya. But just letting them hurt you, and not saying a word about it... You deserve better than that."

Steve's eyes misted over. "No, I don't," he choked out. When Wayne opened his mouth to protest, the kid shook his head rapidly. "You don't understand, Mr. Munson, I was a really bad person in high school. The things I said about people... I'd tear them down without a second thought. I-"

Sensing that Steve was about to go on a self deprecating tangent, Wayne cut him off.

"Did you know that Eddie used to rant about you?"

This seemed to startle the kid. "Um... What?"

Wayne chuckled. "Yeah, I won't go into details, but he was very vocal about how much you bugged him... But then, out of nowhere, in 1984, he stopped. I asked him why, because I was curious. Do you know what he said?"

Steve gulped. "What?"

"He said, and I quote, 'he hasn't actually been an asshole in a while, and now that everyone else is trying to kick him down, I don't want to contribute to that.' You made a change, Steve. Not many people are willing to do that. Hell, most ain't even willing to believe that there's something wrong with em. But you were. I'll keep telling you, as many times as I have to for it to sink in. You don't deserve to be hurt."

The tears Steve had been holding back this whole time finally seemed to overwhelm him. Wayne scooched over to him and wrapped him in a hug.

"You've had to be strong for so long, kid. Let me look after you, yeah? Lord knows you deserve protection just as much as Eddie does."

Steve didn't answer, but he nodded. That was enough for now.

--0--

Wayne had been pacing around Steve's living room for about ten minutes when he finally heard the doorbell ring. It would appear that this group traveled as a pack, because every single member of the party was there.

That is, every member but two.

"Mr. Munson?" Dustin asked confusedly. "What's going on? Where's Steve?"

Wayne grunted. "All of ya just come in. I'll explain once you get settled. And I'm sayin this now, I expect you all to listen."

When everyone was sitting around the living room, Hopper was the first to speak up. "So Wayne, what's going on? Where's the kid?"

Wayne scowled. "If you mean Steve, he's at my trailer with Eddie. If that were big enough, we'd be there instead, but there's too many of you, and I need you all to hear this."

The Buckley girl looked extremely confused. "Why would you want us here if Steve isn't?"

Wayne took a deep breath in an attempt to control his anger. "Because it would seem to me that you lot forget just how much that boy does for all of you."

Joyce furrowed her brow. "Um... What?"

"You folks got a lot of nerve, acting like Steve is the one who's gonna hurt Eddie. He ain't a ticking time bomb, and you gotta stop treating him like it. After everything he's done for you lot, it astounds me how you can still treat him like crap. Found family, my ass."

Nancy Wheeler opened her mouth with an angry expression, but Wayne cut her off. "Don't go acting so high and mighty, Wheeler. Did you even realize that Steve still flinches when anyone uses the word bullshit? You tore his heart out of his chest and stomped on it, and then slept with another guy before you even broke up with Steve properly."

That seemed to shut her up. Good.

"And as for you kids, how many times has Steve taken a beating for you? The only ones that I've seen being respectful to him are Will and El. The rest of you... You've all been the victims of bullies, according to Steve. So explain to me, how in the hell can you justify the way you all treat him on a daily basis? Insulting his intelligence, bossing him around, disregarding the work he's done to change, all of that has to stop."

The kids tried to protest, but Wayne was on a roll. He rounded on Joyce, Hopper, and Robin. "Hopper, Joyce, Eddie is my kid. He ain't your responsibility. You had no right to give Steve that goddamn shovel talk as if he were still the guy he was in high school. And you, Miss Buckley? You call yourself Steve's best friend. You might wanna try acting like it.

"Now, I know that Steve sees you all as family. That's the only reason I ain't told him to cut you folks out of his life. But Steve has got no standard for how he should be treated as a human being. Whether you lot realize it or not, you've all taken advantage of that. He thinks that he deserves it, but I've seen the effort he makes every day to be better than he was. Most won't even accept that they need to be better, and it would seem that you folks are a part of that majority. I know that he deserves better, and I ain't even known him a whole year. That says something about you, don't it?

"Now, you are going to give Steve as much space as he needs. You won't ask him to babysit, you won't ask him to chauffeur you around, you won't ask him for money. You'll take some time to think about how you've treated him. And when you feel you're ready to apologize-not because of guilt or obligation, but because you mean it-you tell me. I'll let Steve know. But only when Steve is ready to see you all again, and not a second more, will I let you talk to him."

Wayne shared a vicious smile with El and Will, and then looked at the rest of them with a raised eyebrow.

"Now get the hell out of my future son-in-law's house."

Fin

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 9

part 1 | part 8 | ao3

cw: medical emergency

He ditches his car at the top of the street, runs the rest of the way because there are too many people standing around — a small crowd of onlookers clustered at the bottom of the lane, gawking in their sleep shirts and flannels like the world isn’t trying to end for a fourth time. Fifth? He can’t keep track. He can’t even think, numb to everything but the pounding of his shoes against the pavement, the sirens wailing in his ears, the steady prayer in his pulse not her not now not both—

“Mom?” he shouts, voice cracking and raw. “Mom!!”

“It’s not for her.”

There’s a hand against his chest then, heel of a palm pressed to his sternum, and he slams into it like a brick wall. The air burns in his lungs; he can’t focus his eyes. “Wh-what?” he gets out, voice shaking, throat thick. Cold terror drools down his sweaty neck like the breath of a hungry monster. He’s a little kid again, swept up in the mayhem of a crowded mall. Where’s his mom; where’s his mom?

“Your mom’s in my house.” The voice is deep and slow, the hand flexing against his shirt. Fingers splayed. Heavy rings.

“…E-Eddie?” Steve’s vision swims, going yellow and purple then tunneling down to black, deep water filling his ears. Nothing makes any sense. “Munson, what—?”

“Your mom’s in my house,” he repeats like a mantra. Like a lighthouse in the fog, voice rumbling and sure. “She’s safe. She’s fine. You’re hyperventilating; take a breath.”

His breath is still catching quick and high in his throat, little puffs of cold mist. Can you drown in cold air? Can it condense inside your chest?

Eddie grips his shoulder, snaps his fingers in Steve’s face. “Hey. Hey, Steve? Come on, man, look at me. Steve. Look at me.”

Steve meets his gaze like the tide drawn to the moon.

“Deep breath,” he demonstrates, sucking air through an invisible straw, letting his chest and belly swell. Steve copies him until his vision starts to clear, until his heartbeat starts to calm. "That's it," Eddie tells him. "Good. Yeah, there we go."

Some hysterical part in the back of his brain wants to laugh. To start and never stop, just laugh and laugh and laugh until his fucking head explodes.

When he can breathe again, he pants weakly, “What is going on?”

Eddie guides him to a picnic table on the outskirts of the crowd, and they perch on top of it with their feet planted on the bench. The air feels calmer here.

Steve takes another breath.

Eddie points to the single-wide right next to Steve’s. “The wagon’s for your neighbor,” he grimaces in sympathy, one eye squinting shut as he cocks his head at Steve. “Ernie. You know him?”

“Mm.” Ernie Gerwitz. Late 60s, a widower with liver spots and arthritis in both hands. Bad heart, worse drinking habit. Fucking hates Steve’s mom because she backed over his begonias. “Not well.”

They didn’t interact much beyond an occasional neighborly nod, although Steve did once earn the guy’s good graces by yelling at Misty while shooing her off with a rake. (‘Little bitch left me a whole damn weasel last year,’ he’d grumbled as he stooped to pick up the newspaper. ‘Can't shoot her, though, 'cause she scares away the possums.’) And now…

Steve can’t make out much from here, just the shape of a four-man stretcher being carried out the door, strobe light streaks in his vision as the EMTs load up the van.

“Is he…” Steve gulps, clasping his hands between his knees. He doesn’t want to ask this question. The words taste moldy in his mouth. “Is he dead?”

Eddie’s hand shakes a little when he drags it down his cheek. His answer comes on a wobbly sigh, an almost melodic quality to the tension in his voice. “No-o idea, man. Your, uh, your mom, ya know, she— She found him. In, um. In the yard." "Jesus." "Said he was just, like... lying there. In the grass.” Eddie stares off into the distance like he’s seeing it right now; makes a wet clucking sound as his bottom lip quivers. “Thinks it was, a- a heart thing, or something? Shit, I don’t know. She was pretty freaked out when she knocked on my door.”

Steve can't picture it. He hasn’t seen her express a single true emotion since July.

A hesitant hitch of breath, and Eddie chews on his next words, tapping a hand against his thigh. “She’s, uh... she’s… calmer now. Or. At least-”

Steve rolls his eyes, knows exactly where this is going. Eddie tries again: “I mean, she seemed like-”

“Like a fucking zombie?” Steve supplies.

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, a nervous laugh of relief. You said it, man, not me. There’s something serious in his gaze, something curious and searching.

Something almost kind. Steve shrinks away from it like a vampire in the sun. Go on, he wants to say, ask about the fucking pills. Wants to goad him into a fight, some mean, sharp thing inside him itching to see someone else bleed.

Steve bites his tongue until he tastes metallic tang. Copper covering mildew; fresh bloom coating decay. He swallows hard, lets them both slide down his throat — blood and ghosts, life and death. The River Styx must taste like pennies.

The siren starts again, and Eddie groans and hangs his head. “Christ," he murmurs to the dirt, “Wayne’s gonna be so bummed.”

They both watch in silence as the ambulance goes by.

—

part 10

okay same deal tagging whoever commented yesterday (if your settings will let me) you’re all delightful tysm 😘 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @thefreakandthehair @slutforcoffein @manda-panda-monium @munsonfamilybandalso @aliea82 @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @lololol-1234 @hotluncheddie @pennyplainknits @disrespectedgoatman @carolinachickadee @insideiscold @acedorerryn @anne-bennett-cosplayer @violetsteve my actual wife blessings upon your house @lighthousebeams @steves-strapcollection @sirsnacksalot @stevesbipanic @slowandsteddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @so-get-this-sammy @annabanannabeth @runninriot @cuips-not-cute @a-little-unsteddie @envyadams-vs-me @ppunkpuppyy if i forgot anyone i’m sorry i am very sleep deprived

[noosayog]

[my first task!] ft. miya atsumu

synopsis: inspired by the series, Old Enough? basically, in Japan, it's common practice to entrust a toddler an errand to perform all by themselves, such as fetching something from the store. sometimes, in a small village or closely knit neighborhood, all the shopkeepers and neighborhood residents are aware of when the toddler will be out and all work together to watch over them and guide them.

wc: 2.6k

“Are ya sure she has to do this today?”

“‘Tsumu, we’ve already done all the preparation. Let’s just let her try, hm?” 

He grumbles, but moves to his assigned location at the dining table, where your daughter is already sitting, swinging her legs in anticipation of her favorite Omurice lunch. 

You bring the plates of food over to the table and set one down at each of your seats. You give Atsumu a pointed look which he ignores. You clear your throat and give him a hard nudge. 

“Ow,” he complains. He gives you one last pleading look which you leave unanswered. 

He sighs and recites his scripted lines. “Oh honey, what about the ketchup drawings?” he asks you in monotone. 

You tap a finger at your chin, looking up at the ceiling to feign deep thought. “Oh no! I think we ran out of ketchup!” You bring a palm up to cover your mouth, gaping open in dismay. 

“No ketchup drawing? How can I possibly eat Omurice without the ketchup drawing?” 

“Oh no,” you turn to your daughter. “We can’t have Omurice without ketchup can we?” 

“No, we can’t!” your daughter exclaims. 

“Well baby, do you think you can go to the store and get some ketchup for us? Just like how you do it when you go with Mommy.” 

Her eyes sparkle with excitement at the prospect of going out. “Me?” 

“Yep, Daddy and I are so busy, we can’t go. Can we rely on you?” 

“Sure!” she chirps. 

So a few short moments later, you and Atsumu have strapped her little purse on her torso, containing just enough coins to purchase a bottle of ketchup and a card with your phone number on it, just in case. Atsumu laces her shoes up and gives her a kiss on the cheek. You think you see his eyes misting over. 

You speak up. “Just to the store we always go to, okay? Mommy’s counting on you!” This was supposed to have been Atsumu’s line, but you can tell that the dam is about to burst so you help him out.

“You’ll do great,” he chokes out. “I’ll see you when you come home with ketchup so Daddy can have his Omurice. Okay?” 

She nods, enthusiastic and completely unaware of Atsumu’s turmoil. With that, she’s out the door and Atsumu barely waits one minute before he’s following, sticking to his own plan to trail her on her first errand. 

~

The route has been prepped ahead of time. All the neighbors and the local store owners have been informed of your daughter’s first errand to ensure her success. In addition, all of Atsumu’s teammates, old and new, showed up to guide her along. 

So as Atsumu trails behind her toddling figure, hiding comically behind fences and walls, there’s really no need for him to intervene. 

She first passess the local cafe, where Bokuto, Hinata, and Sakusa sit at a table strategically located by the open window facing the sidewalk. As she walks by, she recognizes them instantly, straying from her path to the store. Bokuto sits her on his lap while Hinata listens to her babble and Sakusa buys her an apple juice. After a couple minutes of chatting, Sakusa gently pats her and asks, “so why are you out here by yourself?” 

“Oh!” she clammors out of Bokuto’s arms, suddenly remembering that she was supposed to be out on a mission. “I’m going to the store to buy ketchup for Mommy and Daddy. They’re counting on me.” 

Hinata nods profusely. “You better be off then!”

“You should finish your juice first, though. Adults don’t waste food,” Sakusa tells her. 

She nods, happy to sip the remaining juice from the cup, then sets on her way afoot. 

The trio at the cafe watch her go, shaking their heads when they notice their setter conspicuously following close behind. 

~

Next is Onigiri Miya. 

Well, technically, next was supposed to be the florist on the main street, but the little Miya had seen the street that Onigiri Miya is on and took the turn out of habit. But no matter – you and Atsumu had foreseen this, so a team is at the ready there too. 

Suna sits at the counter seat closest to the door to keep watch. When he sees her rounding the corner, he signals Osamu who comes out from behind the counter to greet her at the door. 

“Heya, baby,” picking up her easily when she runs into her Uncle’s arms. 

“Hi Uncle ‘Samu! Hi Rin-chan!” She greets Suna over Osamu’s shoulder. 

Suna grins, “hey stink.” 

“‘M not stinky!” 

Osamu carries her into the restaurant and deposits her on the counter seat next to Suna’s. He rounds back into the kitchen where he begins shaping a miniature version of her favorite onigiri. She kicks her feet, completely at ease in the restaurant and blissfully forgetful of her task at hand. When the plate is deposited in front of her, she chirps out a quick thank you before digging in. 

After chatting Suna up for a bit, Osamu finally cuts in. 

“So, what are ya doing out here all by yourself?” 

“Dunno!” she giggles. 

Suna coughs a bit, giving Osamu a look which Osamu returns pointedly. 

“Soooo… you decided to have lunch here without your dad and mom?” 

She ponders this for a bit, before lighting up. “Oh yeah! Mommy made Omurice but Daddy forgot to buy the ketchup so I’m here to get it.” 

Osamu’s eyes widen comically. “All by yourself?” 

She nods sagely. “‘M a big girl now. Mommy is countin’ on me.” 

“Well, ya better get going then. Yer silly dad will be waitin’ for ya.” 

She agrees, hopping her to her feet. The two follow her to the door to see her off, holding the door open for her walk through. She gets halfway back the way she came when she turns around and grins toothily at the two. 

“Thanks for the onigiri, uncle! Love ya!” 

Osamu smiles and waves her off. Behind him, Suna holds out his phone, pointing the camera at the little girl’s retreating back, making sure to focus on the suspicious figure donning sunglasses, a mask, and MSBY jackals baseball cap tailing her. He sends it to the group chat warning the next team to watch out for a stalker. 

~ 

Your daughter finds her way back to the intersection on the main road. She needs to take a left to continue her route to the supermarket. As she stands at the crossroads, she frowns, not quite remembering where she needs to go. She takes a right. 

There, she bumps into the legs of Kageyama and Hoshiumi who are stationed at the intersection. 

“Sorry,” she starts, craning her neck to get a better look at her obstacles. 

“No worries,” Kageyama says, taking a step back. 

Hoshiumi then strikes up a conversation with Kageyama, reading out the practiced lines. 

“Hey, we need to go to the supermarket right?”

Your daughter’s ears perk up at that.

“Yeah. It’s that – ” Kageyama points dramatically “– way.” 

“Ohhhh, I see,” Hoshiumi puts a hand up to theatrically mimic covering his eyes from the sun and squints the way Kageyama is pointing. 

Your daughter nods to herself at that and turns around to walk in the correct direction this time. 

When she gets far enough away, Hoshiumi shows Kageyama the text in the group chat. 

“Stalker?” Kageyama reads, scrunching his face. “Should we –”

“Nah,” Hoshiumi cuts him off and points at the stalker in question, going the same way the little girl just went.

“Ah.” Tobio understands, noticing the peek of dyed blond hair from under the baseball cap. 

~

At last, she arrives at the grocery store. This is familiar ground, so she wanders into the store and meanders the aisles, getting distracted by the array of colors in the snack section. She’s running her hands along all the biscuit options, contemplating how she can fit all the items she wants in her two hands when she hears someone clear their throat from above her. 

This time, it’s Aran who waves a gentle hello to her. 

“Aran-kun!” she exclaims, forgetting about the snacks and running up to hug his legs. 

He chuckles and pats her head. 

“Hi there. Are ya looking for something in particular?” 

Once again, she thinks. She’s sure there must be a reason she’s in the store but can’t quite remember. 

“I think so?” 

“Hm, okay. Wanna go shopping with me until you remember what yer looking for?” 

“M’kay!”

She grabs Aran’s hand and swings them as he guides her to the aisle with the condiments. There, she inspects the colorful array of sauces, eyes sparkling. Aran pretends to look for his own items, hovering a hand over the ketchup bottles and waving his fingers in the general area until she remembers. Her eyes hone in on the red bottle and she remembers her poor father, still unable to eat his lunch without ketchup. 

“Aran-kun! I’m here for ketchup!” 

“‘That so? Well, here ya go, then.” He picks up the bottle of the brand he knows you use and plops it right into her hands. 

“Not this one,” she shakes her head. “Mommy wants that one.” 

She points at the bottle next to the one Aran grabbed. They’re identical. 

Unbothered, Aran switches out the bottle in her hands with the one she wants. “Sorry ‘bout that. All good now?” 

“Yep!” 

“Ready to go check out, then?” 

She nods. He continues to walk her to the registers. Once the lines are in sight, she lets go of his fingers and darts over to the nearest line. But not before bowing a polite thank you to Aran. 

At the register, she greets the attendant watching him scan the bottle and showing her the total amount owed. 

“That’ll be 200 yen.” 

She reaches into her purse and pours out all the coins onto the counter, not entirely sure what she needs to offer. The cashier picks out a few coins and deposits the rest back into her coin purse, allowing her to tuck the coin purse back into her bag and zip the purse securely before asking if she wants a bag. 

“Yes, please!” 

With a plastic baggie in hand, she makes her way to the exit. Aran catches her before and tucks a small box of pocky into her bag, pushing a finger to his lips and winking at her. “Keep it a secret from yer mom. Get home safe!” 

She mimics his gesture and nods. With one last bear hug to Aran’s legs, she’s off. 

~

Outside the store, Kita waits for her. She spots his white hair easily. Of all her uncles (excluding Osamu, of course), Kita is her favorite. She runs over to him, bag swinging carelessly behind her. Kita catches her and gives her a little spin before setting her back on the ground. 

“Hiya, Uncle Shin!” 

“Hey there. What’cha got in there?” he asks, pointing at the bag. 

“Ketchup! Daddy forgot to buy more and he can’t eat Omurice without it, so Mommy’s countin’ on me to get it.” 

Kita rests a hand on her head. “That’s real impressive of ya, to come to the store to get it all by yourself.” 

She glows in his praise, rare but genuine. 

“Going home now, Uncle Shin.” 

“Alright,” he responds. “I need something from that way, so I’ll walk ya part ways.” 

She beams and follows Kita in the direction of your home. 

“Uncle Shin?”

“Yeah, bug?” 

“Can I eat my pocky? Aran-kun bought it for me.” 

He crouches down to her eye level. “Can I have some?” he asks seriously. 

“Yeah!” 

“Then, alright. But let’s go sit down at that bench over there, okay? It’s rude to eat and walk.” 

“Okay!” 

So the two take a detour, sitting at the bench to watch the birds hobble by while sharing the box of strawberry pocky. A certain stalker watches in envy from behind the trees. 

Once the box is depleted, Kita wipes her fingers down with some wet wipes he keeps in his pocket and tosses out the trash. They continue on their way, Kita sticking with her until they pass the confusing intersection (where Kageyama and Hoshiumi bow slightly at the sight of Kita) and the cafe (where the MSBY trio nod in acknowledgement). 

When the house is only a couple more feet away, Kita once again crouches down. “Alright, I gotta go my own way from here. Do ya think ya can make it home all by yourself?” 

“Yep, thanks Uncle Shin!”

“Sure. I’m proud of ya, bug.” 

She squirms a bit, overwhelmed by the praise she gets from her favorite uncle. The ketchup bounces in its bag by her side as she skips all the way back home. 

~

After fishing out her own key and unlocking the front door, Atsumu is there to greet her at the genkan, scoping her up and squeezing her tight, the ketchup bag forgotten on the floor.

“There’s my girl!” 

“Daddy!” she laughs. 

“Welcome home,” you greet, tummy warming at the sight of your two Miyas. 

“Mommy!” she squirms in Atsumu’s arms signaling for him to let her down. He obliges and she picks up the plastic bag to wave in your face. “I got the ketchup! Now daddy can eat his lunch!” 

“Wow, great job! And all by yourself!” 

You usher her over to the table as she babbles about her day. 

“I saw Shoyo-chan, Bokkun, Omi-chan, Uncle ‘Samu, Rin-chan, Aran-kun, and Uncle Shin too!”

“Wow, sounds like you had a great day. Did you have fun?” 

“Yep!” 

Atsumu, who has since changed out of his stalker gear, slumps into his seat at the table, back to grumbling about his cold omurice and how it would’ve still been hot if he had quickly gone with his daughter to get it. 

You throw him a bone by asking your daughter, “Did you miss Daddy on your trip?”

“What do you mean?”

You almost choke out a laugh; kids are ruthless sometimes.

“Why would I miss Daddy? He was there the whole time.” 

Atsumu sputters. “What do ya mean? I was at home waiting for ya the whole time.” 

“Daddy’s a liar,” she whispers in your ear. “I saw him, but he was wearin’ some weird clothes. Like covering his face.” 

You break into a fit of giggles. “Your daddy’s really silly, isn’t he?”

Atsumu can hear everything. “Hey!”

“Daddy was following you because he was just a bit worried about you going by yourself. But he’s really proud of you. Right?” 

Atsumu rounds the table to crouch besides your daughter’s seat. “Yeah. But you did so well. I’m so proud of ya.” 

Her eyes light up at the praise. She throws her arms around his neck and wiggles in her seat a bit. 

“Well, great job and since you got the ketchup for us, all your favorite uncles can now join us for lunch too.” 

At that, each of today’s helpers emerge from the kitchen holding their own plates of Omurice, all undecorated. You figure it might be a good time to introduce her to Kageyama and Hoshiumi too, but she’s distracted by Kita and Osamu offering their omelets to her to decorate with the ketchup.

As she goes around the table and draws ketchup hearts and stars on each omelet, you wander over to Atsumu’s side whose eyes are getting watery again, watching her brag to each of them that the ketchup they’re about to eat is her ketchup. 

“What’s wrong, ‘Tsumu?” 

“Nothin,” he hastily swipes at his eyes. “‘M not crying.”

“I never said you were,” you say gently. You wind your arm around his waist and lean into him, rubbing circles into his back. His body closes around you instinctively. 

“She’s just growing up so fast, ya know.” 

“I know.” 

“Soon, she won’t need me – us – anymore.” 

“Aww, ‘Tsumu. Yeah, she’ll grow up but…” 

He looks at you when you trail off. 

You reach up to whisper in his ears. “We could always just make another one.”

[inevesgf]

Please, I starving for some Lance prompts😭 can you do 34+46 (if it's okay to do two combined prompts)? I will be so happy and even cry if you could do that

Thank you in advance, have a wonderful day! <3

"it's so cold" "come here, idiot"⠀ + ⠀lance stroll ⠀༉ ‧₊˚. ⠀prompts.

despite lance's knowledge that you weren't the best at ice skating, he thought taking you to the rink would be a wonderful idea for a date.

content + warnings: lance stroll + female reader, mentions of small injury. word count 900+.

hope this feeds the lance girls! writing this made me more excited to go skating again. if you would like to find other works from this special or read my other works, click the link here ⋆·˚ ༘ * notes + reblogs are heavily appreciated and don't forget to tell me your thoughts via comment, reblog or ask.

the air was crisp and invigorating, each breath a cloud of mist that danced in the fading light. the outdoor ice rink was a hub of activity, surrounded by towering evergreen trees dusted with fresh snow, their branches glimmering under the soft glow of lanterns. a light breeze carried the cheerful sounds of holiday music, the merry jingles of the tune blending seamlessly with the chatter and laughter that filled the air.

you stood at the entrance to the rink, your heart racing as you watched the smooth, glassy surface shimmer beneath the golden glow of the overhead lights. couples and families filled the ice, most of the crowd skating effortlessly without any help or assistance, dancing across the ice with such ease.

you stared out into the rink like a deer in headlights, a cloud of smoke puffing from your cold lips as you exhaled. an ice skating date with your boyfriend with blissfully romantic, and you would have came to enjoy it more if it wasn’t for one thing: you didn’t know how to skate. 

“can’t we just go inside? sit down for a bit before we do this?” you tried to plead with lance who was already out on the ice, his balance perfect as he looked over at you, a small chuckle falling from his lips. 

being canadian, lance was perfect at skating. with hockey being god’s great gift to the country, the ability to play hockey or even ice skate was practically a skill you were ordained with at birth if you were born there. lance was skilful in many sports, and in your luck, hockey just had to be one.

growing up, you recalled going ice skating with friends and family once or twice. pained memories of slipping on the ice or embarrassing yourself infront of your crush because you were unable to balance was something that haunted you into your adult years. the activity was something you were never gifted at, so you swore to never step foot on the ice again until lance came begging with puppy dog eyes. you just couldn’t say no to him when he looked like that.

“i promised you hot chocolate if you skate for at least a bit. you can do it,” lance smiled, another chuckle falling past his mouth at your nervous stance, your widened eyes making it all the more ridiculous to him. gently, lance reached out his gloved hand, holding it out for you to take a hold of.

you took a shaky breath, shaking your head as if to protest, “it’s so cold, can we please go warm up for a bit? then i’ll do it, i promise.” lance knew you were trying to stall, a sarcastic roll of his eyes letting you know there was no way you were escaping back to the shack without trying.

grumbling under your breath, you took a hold of lance’s hand, shakily stepping onto the ice. “there ya go,” lance hummed, satisfied at your ounce of bravery as he held out his other hand, ready to hold onto you as he pulled you out onto the ice.

your legs wobbled like a baby deer, a small woah escaping from your cold lips as you tried to maintain your balance. “‘m gonna let go of you, okay? i’ll be right here if you need my help,” lance cooed calmly, and despite the persistent shake of your head, he let go.

skating backwards a few feet away, lance beckoned you to follow, treating you as if you were a baby learning to walk for the first time. you grumbled, knowing lance’s patience would be the only way you survived this date as you tried to move forward, scraping the blades of your skates across the glistening ice.

as you ventured further onto the rink, you focused on lance, his hand held out with a sense of gentle reassurance. the world around you faded away — shouts from kids skating across the ice, the warmth of a nearby fire crackling and the aroma of hot chocolate in the air dissipating as you remained focused. all that mattered in that moment was the soft scrape of blades on ice and lance’s encouraging smile that gleamed like a beacon of support.

you almost had it – lance nodding with happiness as you slowly glided your wobbly legs across the ice, your arms extended to keep you balanced. a glimmer of hope washed over you as a smile decorated your face, you were finally doing it.

just as you started to find your groove, another skater zipped by, your body instinctively flinching. with a squeak of surprise, your foot slipped, and before you could react, you found your body making contact with the ice.

a small mumble of ouch escaped your mouth, but was quickly replaced by a laugh as lance came to your rescue, slowly skating over before holding out both of his hands. “you okay, baby?” he asked softly, yet a hint of a smile grew on his lips. once you nodded, lance began to laugh, grabbing onto your hands.

“come here, idiot,” he chuckled, pulling you to your feet. lance helped dust the small grains of snow off your coat, coming to place his gloved hand on your cold cheek as a smile grew on his face. “don’t worry,” he teased, “you’ll be a professional ice skater in no time.”

with renewed determination, you took a deep breath as the two of you resumed your slow, awkward dance across the ice. through every fall, every laugh, and every moment of shared joy, you felt the magic of the evening enveloping the two of you, turning your stumbles into memories both you and lance would come to cherish.

© inevesgf do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or claim any of my works as your own. notes + reblogs are heavily appreciated! ⋆·˚ ༘ * find my other works here.

[captainwinterrsoldierr]

Could you do an Apollo x reader and the reader is insecure over his past relationships and affairs and is like scared he’s gonna leave her? Bonus points if he’s her first boyfriend and she’s a daughter of poseidon. Btw I really love your writing!!

Absolutely and Ty for the req!!🫶🏽 this is a semi long one!

Title: Am I Enough?

Apollo x Fem!Reader

You paced around your cabin. Anxiety and Fear is what you felt in this moment. You should’ve felt so happy. But apart of you felt selfish. Apart of you wanted Apollo to stay as Lester. But he was back to Apollo. The great and mighty Apollo. The one known to be sworn to staying single so he can go from person to person. Ugh why did you have to fall in love with him why? Apollo just left the camp and he had promised you he’d be back tomorrow. He had other people to visit now that he was a god again

You bit your lip and felt your heart ache. Why wasn’t Percy here? You needed him more than anything. You grabbed a coin from the fountain in your Poseidon cabin. You sat on your bed and decided to Iris Message your brother. You grabbed your glass prism and created the rainbow and used your water bending to spew mist.

You giggled half heartedly at the scene. Percy was running around with cardboard boxes in his dorm. “Hi brother.” You said.

“Gah!” He yelled he dropped his box and slipped on a notebook on the ground. You winced, “sorry!”

He got up and finally saw the iris message, “seriously not used to seeing a floating face of my sister in my room,” he muttered. You smiled, “sorry sorry.” He scratched his head and smiled his troublemaker smile at you, “what’s up sis you ok?”

You nodded with no confidence, “yea yea just ya know checking up on ya.” He raised his eyebrows at you, “I know you and I know you’re lying what’s up?”

You teared up at the question, “I just- you know Apollo is back and I’m just feeling insecure I guess. I know he claims he loves me and wants to be with me but… I feel sad knowing his past. I’m scared he’ll go back to that.”

Percy pursed his lips, “listen I can threaten him for you, I mean listen sister he’s not the one if he does that to you ok. If it means anything I can sense he’s changed. He seems better than he was 7 months ago. You can ask him to subdue any bad feelings or if you want I can threaten him.”

You smiled and shook your head, “no no it’s fine just needed to let that out. You’re right. thank you Percy I’ll ask him tomorrow how he feels now.”

Percy nodded, “of course sister but if he makes a wrong step let me know and I’ll have blackjack knock him on the side of the head ya know for entertainment purposes.”

You smacked your forehead, “I love you loser have fun unpacking and tell Annabeth I said hello!” You waved goodbye and the message dissolved.

‘Everything will be ok’ You thought.

-

The next morning you were eating at the pavilion when he landed. He landed gracefully in his sun chariot. Gorgeous as ever. You nervously got up and walked over to him.

“There she is my beautiful girl!” He proudly said. You smiled weakly as he gave you a kiss on your cheek.

“Can we talk?” You asked. His eyebrows raised in immediate concern.

“Of- of course darling where shall we go?” You waved over and walked to the beach. You paced the shallow end. Water always calmed you. It always made you feel collected and at ease.

You heard Apollo gulp, “is something the matter my love?” You grimaced at the word love. You rubbed your hand on the back of your neck. You felt the words choking to come out. “Do you actually love me Apollo?”

He looked offended by the question and you felt your heart ache. “Am I the sun god? Of course I love you y/n! I love you so much my heart aches. Why do you ask such a thing did I do something wrong?”

You turned and gazed towards the water, “I know it may seem like I am confident in relationships. People always tell me ‘wow you’re so beautiful you must have a lot of people fawning over you’ but the truth is Apollo. You’re my first boyfriend. A god is my first boyfriend. It’s crazy isn’t it? And well I just know your history and you’re a god again and”-

Apollo grabbed you gently by your shoulders and pulled you into a hug. You felt yourself crying into him. He rubbed his hand on top of your head. He pulled you away and caressed your face. He wiped away your tears with his thumb. His blue eyes stared into your and you felt your worries melt away. “I promise you until the ends of this earth that I am yours and all yours. I will never look at any person the way I look at you darling.”

Your lip quivered, “really?”

He nodded and smiled, “you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried you’re stuck with me my love.”

You smiled. And threw your arms around his neck. He lifted you so effortlessly and your legs wrapped around his waist. “Gods I love you,” he whispered. He kissed you with so much want. It was everything and more. He was yours and you were his. The water behind you stirred as you two kissed. You felt it move as the kiss went longer. Your emotions had that affect on water. And you were feeling really in love in this moment. He peppered kisses on your neck, your cheeks even your forehead.

You pulled away and smiled, “I will say though if you ever hurt me I will get my brother on you.”

Apollo laughed and kissed your neck, “fully noted.”

You two continued to laugh and kiss feeling blissful.

[eddiernunson]

Really Drives Me Mad | Bfs Dad!Eddie Munson x Reader | 18+

Previous Part | Master List | Next Part

With his faded tats

Sings in a cover band

Yeah he's super hot with his ripped dad bod

Oh my, oh my god

I like Dylan a lot

But oh god I love Dylan's dad

Word Count: 6k

y'all loved part 1 so I cooked this up for ya <3

Summary: You just fucked your boyfriend's dad...now what?

Warnings: voyeurism, slight confrontation, light fluff, but lotsa dirt

“Sweetheart. Wake up. Wake up.” Strong hands grip your shoulders, you feel light kisses decorate your shoulder into your neck tickling your skin and you find yourself giggling awake. “Wake up.”

Eddie’s face comes into view, and his worry lines are accentuated, and hairs standing on your arms tell you something was off. “Hmm?”

Before Eddie could even tell you what was going on Dylan bursts through his bedroom door. “Dad, have you seen—” he stops mid sentence, scanning the room quickly, you naked in Eddie’s sheets, same as his dad, and you can see the moment it clicks, his face moving from concerned to angry in a split second. “What the fuck—”

Eddie interrupts him, the white sheet around his hips he had held together by one fist completely unhelpful to his case. “Dylan—”

“No, what the fuck, guys?” He switches his glance to you, and the anger melts as the hurt seeps through. “Seriously. I-I really cared about you. I mean I knew you were too good for me, but my dad? You fucked? My dad?”

Still on Eddie’s bed, still naked, you open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

His eyes flicker back to Eddie, the anger coming back to the surface. “Seriously? Hooking up with my girlfriend? Yeah sure, she cheated but you’re supposed to be my fucking father!” His teeth grits together, a mist appearing behind his eyes. “Fuck you both. I’m out of here.”

He storms out of the room, and you wrap a sheet around you to follow him. Eddie lets his sheet drop to stop you. “Move.” You tell him, staring at him dead in the eyes.

“No.” You roll your eyes, wrapping yourself tighter in the sheet, feeling self conscious now.

“I need to go talk to him…I-I have to apologize.” You look around hopelessly, wondering where the silk pajamas you were so eager to take off were now hiding, and tears threaten to escape your eyes and the sniffles are not too far behind.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He holds your face, catching a tear that falls. You refuse to look him in the eye, knowing just one look will make you melt. “Let him settle down.”

“Did you see the look on his face?” You whisper, finally reaching Eddie’s eyes.

He gulps, placing a solid kiss onto your forehead. “I did.” He hums and tugs you into a hug and you realize it’s the first physical touch he’s given you that wasn’t remotely sexual. His chin rests on your head and you tuck yourself into him, and it was hard to stop the tears from coming in from the guilt.

He leans back again, hushing you softly. “Sweetheart…” he started, catching your attention with the intention behind his tone. “Even if we didn’t do anything this morning, do you think you could’ve held back for very much longer?” Your head shakes no in the grip he held your chin in. “I would’ve given us another week, maybe, tops.” He leans in to steal your lips in a sweet kiss, one that sent butterflies invading your tummy.

“So, we would’ve ended up hurting him anyway?” You ask, the idea sour in your mind.

“I’m saying I wish you didn’t go to that mixer. Wish I could’ve met you at a bar, or a coffee shop…maybe things wouldn’t be so messy.” His fingers are lightly resting on the back of your neck, thumbs framing your face. You smile at the idea, thinking in some alternate universe Dylan didn’t have to end up in the crossfires.

Your eyes start to scan the floor looking for clothes, anyway. “I still want to apologize.” You sit on his bed, reaching down for the floor to find where the hell you tossed the two-piece off to.

Eddie sits next to you, now in a pair of boxer shorts. “Sweetheart.” He calls for your attention, you grunt, annoyed. “Baby.” You start to get frustrated, the pajamas no where near in sight. “Y/N.” You freeze at the use of your name, leaning up to see what he had wanted. “Give him time. He won’t be ready for apologies. He probably doesn’t want to see your face right now.”

Eddie gently takes some hair sitting on your shoulder, and a shudder ripples through you as it tickles as it glides across behind your back. “You know who does want to see your face?” He leans in to kiss your shoulder, his tongue feeling tempting in your skin as he moved up your neck. “To see it all bent back as I make you feel good?”

You moan lightly, warning Eddie this was not the best time for that. He grabs hold of your chin, turning it towards him swiftly before capturing your lips in a dirty, wet kiss. His hand rested heavily at the top of your thigh, you were still wrapped in his sheet, so it wasn’t really touching your skin but the weight of it earned a meek whimper out of you.

Eddie pulls away, and your eyes are clouded in lust as you stare with your mouth half open at him. The sheet drops from one of your shoulders, grabbing onto his face to pull him again. You’d already forgotten how delicious of a kisser he was. Your tongue swipes at this bottom lip, asking for access, to which he moans and grants immediately.

He reaches around you, yanking off the sheet with zest. “Lemme see that gorgeous body of yours.” He mutters, continuing to kiss you, his callused hands sweeping over. They worked like magic, as they moved along it was like he transformed goosebumps onto you. One hand lands on one of your tits, and he pulls apart just so he can watch the way your nipple perks up at the touch of him playing with it. He watches as your breathing grows shallower.

A crooked smile slowly inches across his face, watching your eyes close as he experiments with just the smallest of touches making you fall apart. He leans in, delicately placing his tongue on it, the touch sending a ripple straight to your core. As he watches he just can’t help himself, his teeth grazing the peak and you let out a small wine as you start to lay on your back.

It only encourages him, sucking on the bead and the surrounding areola through his teeth, and as he pulls back to watch his work, he sees the forming of a mark. His brown eyes overblown with lust, an idea forming in his head. He licked the distance from your mound to your neck, the touch of it exuding pure pleasure through your body and your legs shake from it. “Mine.” He whispers, and suddenly the same motion he used on your tit is on your neck, and he worked his teeth and tongue on you, the pain and pleasure mixed together earning more involuntary mewls out of you. “All mine.” He makes his way across your neck, spending time making sure each spot gets its own mark.

By the time he’s on the other side of your neck your thighs are squeezed together, wanting some relief to the heat that has pooled in your cunt. He finally pulls back, and the beginnings of the hickeys that are forming give him a sense of satisfaction he couldn’t possibly describe. “There. All marked and claimed.”

The sentence drives you wild, and you reach up for him. “Kiss me again.”

A guff of laughter escapes his mouth from the desperation in your voice, but he does as you plead, anyway, the sound of your breathless, fucked out voice just from his tongue and teeth across your neck going straight to his cock. As his tongue his yours again the want to touch him spreads through you like wildfire and you reach out to palm him, and your mouth muffles the choked-out moan.

Your hand moves up and into his boxers, fisting him and the weight of his cock in your hand makes you suddenly desperate for more.

“Need you inside me.” You gasp, letting go and pulling the boxers down to reveal his pretty cock. Your legs automatically find their way around his hips, and he stutters as the force of you pulling him in startles him.

“Fuck, baby.” He stutters out, the desperation in you too hot to handle. He leans into your ear, his chest against your own and the skin-on-skin contact makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. He finally places his two fingers on your clit, massaging lightly but enough to finally give you some release. “You want me to fuck you again? Pound you?”

You nod desperately, and Ed keeps massaging your clit, making sure you were prepared for him to fuck you senseless like he had planned. Your legs fall from his hips desperately, his expert fingers only moving enough to give you a hint of what you wanted but still giving some relief. Eventually he scoops of some of the slick gathered around your entrance and coats his cock in it, the glisten of it reminding Eddie of pure sin. Fuck, he couldn’t go another fucking second without being in you.

He guides his cock into your entrance, and the guttural moan that involuntarily escapes your lips is the best sound in the world. Maybe next time he could record it and make it his text tone.

Your legs wrap around his hips again, nuzzling your nose to inhale the scent you’ve already memorized but couldn’t get enough of. “Your cock…fuck. So good.” You whisper, and the words can’t seem to come out at how fucking full he made you feel.

“Your tight pussy, baby.” He grunts out, his voice gruff in your ear. “God, I could make a religion for it.” You giggle at this, and the way your pussy pulsed with your laughter it just pulls another moan straight out of him. He pulls back, hooking his palm to frame your face and there’s this shine in his eyes as they bore into yours. He pulls his hips out, his mouth opening, but focusing on your face as he does so, watching your reaction mimic his own.

His hips snap against yours, pleasure bubbling up in your tummy as your eyes remain on his darkened gaze. His pace picks up, and your breathing matches, and it was like neither of you blinked as a bubble of pleasure circled around the two of you. A smile breaks on his face, his dimples prominent through the authenticity of it. You reach up blindly for his hand on your face, interlocking your fingers. He places them over your head, and a smile breaks across your face, nodding as you watch each other just get closer and closer. His grip tightens around your own, and your thumb starts absentmindedly rubbing his.

Your smile ends up molding back into an open mouth, Eddie letting go of your hand to use it under your knee and hike it up, using the angle to fuck you even deeper. He can see the immediate difference it makes for you, a shift in your face as your eyes glaze over, still watching him. Your breaths turn slowly into whimpers, and as his hips moved faster you found it harder to keep your eyes open.

“Keep watching.” Eddie whispers, and you listen, though his face is blurring as it gets harder to. “That’s a good girl, keep your eyes on me.”

Your face lights up at the praise, his hand hooked around your knee digging into the delicate skin of your thighs as he holds your leg open. A shudder runs through you, something Eddie hears loud and clear as the feeling of almost there starts to invade your senses.

“That’s it, baby, keep watching.” He whispers, and he leans in to kiss where your jaw meets your skull, little kitten licks causing a whimper out of you. He leans back up to pull your eyes back on him, and the other hand framing your face he puts two fingers into his mouth, licking delicately before making a show of putting the two on your clit.

Your mouth falls open, and your chest stutters at it expands. “Almost there?” You nod, and his fingers move a bit faster and the orgasm waves over you, his fingers working you through it as your pussy fluttered around his length.

He fights to keep watching you but his hips stutter through his own orgasm washing over him, but his eyes remain on yours, the flush of his cheeks and the sweat starting to glisten his forehead making him hotter when you didn’t think that was even possible.

He still rubs your clit as your orgasm finishes, and he stops gently, slowly moving his hips to a stop as well. His body weight collapses on yours, but his forehead clashes on your own, blown out eyes still on yours. “Holy shit, baby.” He whispers, a soft smile lighting up his features.

You smile back, tilting your head. You lean into kiss him, and it starts of delicate, his tongue barely grazing yours, but it’s not enough for you. “Ed.” You mumble, and it feels like he’s purposely pulling back to not give you the hot messy kisses you had started to crave. “Kiss me.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “I am, baby.”

“Kiss me harder.”

“Just had one of the best orgasms of my life, sweetheart, and you want more?” You just nod, and Eddie gives you a look of utter perplexity. Fucking youth.

“Please? I want more. Your cock feels so good.”  You take advantage of his stunned inclination and lean in for a harder kiss, dirtily moving your tongue along his own and he moans into it, his hips stuttering in yours.

You sneakily bend the leg that he didn’t hook, getting a solid feel of your foot against his bed and quickly push off, effectively putting Eddie onto his back. You smile at the success, and a giggle bursts out of you as Eddie stares up at you in complete awe. “Wanna ride you.” You giggle out.

Eddie nods slowly. “Got that.” He sits up though, needing to feel your tits up against his chest again.

You lift your hips up, hooking both arms around his neck. His arms hook around your back nails digging into your back as you slam down, and his eyes roll into the back of his head. You start to roll your hips, the smell of sex exuding from the both of you. “Fuck, you use those hips so goddamn well.”

These words only encourage you, of course, your hips moving a little faster as the movement goes from circles to actual hip thrusts. You lean into his neck, licking a long stripe from the crook of his neck to his ear, making him shudder in response. “Fucking Christ.” He exclaims and you feel a sense of pride from it.

You nip at his jawline, the day-old stubble scratching at your face but you didn’t mind. You lean back, and your legs start to ache as you bounced on his cock, but you don’t mind, throwing your head back. Eddie scooches forward on his bed, eventually getting to the edge. He presses his feet solidly onto the ground and uses the traction to assist you, snapping his hips harder.

The extra assistance hits deeper, and involuntary high-pitched whines leave your throat at each thrust. He responds by tugging on your hair and it only makes your heat squeeze tighter around him. Eventually you slowed down, out of breath and overwhelmed, your hips still slowly thrusting.

You didn’t even need to tell him; he follows your cue. “Get on all fours.” He whispered, and you nodded, whining as you climbed off his cock.

You crawled forward so he could climb on the bed behind you, but he grabs you and pulls you back to him. He lines up his cock with you again and thrusts right into you. Within only four thrusts you find yourself unable to stay on your hands, falling to your chest.

He stops. “Stay on those hands, sweetheart. If you’re gonna be greedy better act like the slut you are.”

You put slowly move back onto your hands, and your arms are weak but only when they’re fully expanded does Eddie start to continue. His hips snap even harder now, and your arms are so weak you find yourself focusing on staying on your hands. A whimper escapes, your arms buckling from the pleasure alone. “What, baby can’t follow simple instructions?”

You whimper, feeling pathetic. He fucks into you about three more times as he takes pleasure watching how much your arms shake beneath you. “Alright, you can let go.”

You sigh in relief as you fall forward, and Eddie lets out a dark chuckle. His hips remain bucking into you at the rate they were, and all the energy you focused onto your upper strength can now be used in your throat as you let Eddie know just how much you loved this position with him.

The sounds that left your throat were borderline animalistic, all rough as you choke out, “Fuck, fuck, so good.”

He stops for a second, kissing down your back as his hand wraps around your neck. Your eyes roll back at this and his hips continue their journey. Your pussy tightens, not a sound coming from you, but Eddie can feel your legs tense up around his own, signalling just how close you were. “Gonna cum in this pussy again.”

Your vision is somewhat blurred when he lets go of your neck, and you fall back forward when the same hand wraps itself around in your hair, grabbing a good chunk. “Oh my good fucking slut. All mine.”

“Yours.” You manage out, the beginning of the orgasm starting to overtake you. “All yours.”

These words alone bring Eddie to another high, as his hips stutter, filling you up and from the cum in you this morning to the first round, it just ended up dripping down your leg. Eddie watches, bending over to watch obscenity of the white glistened substance dripping down your leg. He can’t help it, leaning in to take a long lick up it to clean it all up.

He takes his finger against the other thigh to scoop some up and when you turn around in question to ask, he holds up his own cum, and without any hesitation you put your mouth around the finger, enjoying the salt with a slight metallic taste of your own pussy. The taste of you two together. Fuck.

Your lips leave his finger with a pop, and Eddie lets out a sigh of disbelief, his mouth upturned into a smile. “Fuck.” He walks to his drawer, pulling out the pink two-piece you spent so much time looking for.

“You sneaky little bastard.” You laugh, grabbing them from him. “I needa shower. And my overnight bag.”

“Let me grab it.” Eddie mutters, putting on a pair of sweats and leaving his room. You can hear him knock on Dylan’s door, and Dylan answers.

“What?”

“She needs her stuff.”

Dylan doesn’t answer, put the sound of your bag being thrust in Eddies face is heard followed by a door slamming. Eddie is back in the room within seconds, a look on his face you can’t quite decipher off the bat.

“He’ll forgive you. One day.” You tell him, though you’re not sure you believed it.

“Hm.” Eddie mutters, placing your bag in front of you. “Took him a long time to forgive his mom.”

You knew nothing about their divorce, a subject Dylan liked to avoid. From the look on your face, Eddie knew you were clueless.

“She had an affair, which is why we divorced.” He explained, and he says it with such indifference you could tell he had already closed the wound. “He was only ten, and that woman was his world. He was so mad he wanted to live with me instead.” He sighed, sitting on the bed next to you. “I don’t know how long he’ll take to get over this...or if he will.”

“He’s still here. That should be a good sign.”

“Maybe.”

You lean into kiss him, petting his face in comfort. “Wanna join me?” You ask him, mostly to cheer him up, but also because the water droplets running down his tattoos is a concept that made you drool.

“Oh, sweetheart. Just the pick me up I need.”

-

Luckily, unlike the shower in the main bathroom, Eddie’s was big enough to hold the two of you. You stood underneath the water, basking in the feeling as the water soaked your hair. Eddie grabbed the shampoo you brought in, and before you knew it his elbows raise, and he starts massaging it gently into your scalp. Your eyes close in response, humming as his rough fingers were so gentle and intentional about their touch. He kisses your cheek as he finishes, assisting you backwards into the spray and helping wash all the soap out. He guides the hot water away from your face, scratching lightly at the scalp to make sure all the bubbles are gone. He repeats with conditioner, working it into the ends and a lighter scalp massage with the excess, and you’re a pile of goo when you open your eyes as he finishes.

He smiles lightly, and you lean forward to kiss him fiercely. You look around, seeing the curly hair shampoo on the shelf next to you. “Lemme.”

He melts into it, and you pour some shampoo into your hand. You work it into his hair, slowly massaging and watching as his face loses all the tension. Each wrinkle smooths out, a sigh of content leaving him. You get all his hair coated in the shampoo, making sure it was good and prepped. You maneuver your bodies so he’s under the water, and soon you find yourself reaching on your tip toes to see if the bubbles are gone. He takes pity, chuckling and he moves onto his knees. You thank him graciously, now able to work the water so it washed out all the shampoo.

You moved for his conditioner, right across from you and his arms wrap around you as you do so, lips reaching your abdomen right underneath your tits. He looks up at you, and it takes you aback momentarily. You weren’t sure what you did to deserve his shining eyes and parted lips, but it wasn’t enough.

“Need you back on your feet.” You tell him, and he slowly moves back onto them, hands framing your face. You place the conditioner on his ends, watching as his eyes closed again. All the excess conditioner on your hands you moved into his scalp, not quite as deeply as he did for you, but he leans into it anyway.

His hands find their way onto your hips, moving you back under the water to rinse the conditioner that has been soaking. He gives you the same care as before, working with such intentionality. “Done.” He mutters, and you grab his arms to silently instruct him back onto his knees so you could do the same.

As the conditioner leaves his hair, that same unguarded look on his face as you helped him, he glances around you for your body wash.

Before you knew it he’s back on his feet, pumping too much liquid in his hands and working the soap along your body. He smiles as the soap on your tits are a sight to see, but he doesn’t focus on it too much, working the soap everywhere, putting focus on each part. Each arm, your tummy, your neck, your ass, each leg, until you’re nice and lathered. He pushes you lightly back into the now lukewarm stream and from your goosebumps alone he turns up the hot water a bit more.

The soap cascades down your body, and you watch as he gathers a scoop of the water by itself. You were about to ask when he soaks your pussy in it, giving it a quick rinse. Your eyebrows furrow at him. “Not supposed to use soap on that. Water is fine, it’s self cleaning.”

You knew that. You were just surprised he knew that. He hands you his soap with a smirk on his face, presenting himself for you to lather up.

You do so, and you take your time with it, noting each freckle, each dip, each straggly hair with more and more awe. The bubbles on him showing a wet shine and glisten was borderline erotic but like him you appreciated the visuals and continued to take care of him. When he was all lathered, including his dick, you turned him under the now lukewarm wash. You almost move to turn up the heat, but he stops you. You watch as all the bubbles away, him enjoying the last spray under the water. He turns it off and holds your hand as you both climb out of the tub. He grabs one of the towels hanging on his racks, putting it around his hips.

You expect for him to give the other one to you to dry off, but he yanks it from out of reach, and moves it up and down your body, drying you off. He finally hands it to you, and he walks away before you could extend the same offer.

As he got himself dressed in a pair of sweats and an old band t shirt you grab a pair of looser shorts and a plain sweater from your bag, and as you’re finally dressed with your hair situated but damp you watch the door anxiously, knowing it was time to face the music, as you could hear the tv downstairs.

Eddie comes behind you, wrapping his arms over your shoulder. “When you said apologize earlier…”

“Apologize that I didn’t have the decency to break up with him before making a move with you.” You answer.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Eddie lets out a sigh of relief, kissing the top of your head.

“What did you think I meant?” You asked turning to face him.

“Small part of me was worried you were going back to him.”

“What?” Your eyes widen, and your face expresses the exasperation you felt in the very idea of it. “Why would I have slept with you again if I wanted to go back to him?”

“I dunno, you think I’m hot?”

“Well, duh.” You roll your eyes and cup his face in your hands. “Truth is, the moment I realized just picturing you got me off more than being with him did I should’ve called it off.” You tell him, and Eddie’s eyebrows tilted in a wee bit of pride. “I came over for that sleepover knowing you were here. I fucked him on that couch and in his bedroom knowing you could hear me.” Eddie’s pupils dilated and you giggle at the response. You lean in to kiss him, fierce and emotional. “I’m going to apologize for how it happened and how I treated him. But I won’t apologize for us.”

He smiles and wraps you in a hug, allowing you only a few more moments in bliss before you walked down together.

-

The first attempt at the apology could’ve gone better. “Hey, Dylan?” You called, halfway down the stairs as he scrolled through his phone while watching White Collar. Fuck. That was his comfort show.

“Yeah?”

“Hey. I just wanted to come down to apologize.”

Dylan looks over, sees Eddie on the stairs, you by the couch, and his face twists in anger. “Fuck, did you shower together?”

Your eyes widen, and it didn’t occur to you that this might’ve been a bad idea, rubbing your new relationship in his face. It was an accident, but in hindsight in considering his feelings this should’ve been a given.

“Sorry. I just wanted to apologize for how I ended it.”

He looks up at you, and then looks back to his show. “Really? Not for sleeping with my dad?”

“I should’ve broken up with you, first.”

“Fuck, really? You’re telling me you’re sorry that you cheated on me? And that’s all you’re sorry for?”

You nod because it was true. “I stayed with you for the convenience. That was shitty of me, I’m sorry I used you.”

“Wow.” He switches his glance back to the tv, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “This apology might seem a bit more genuine if your neck wasn’t fucking purple.”

Your hands fly up to the hickeys Eddie gave you, and you had forgotten all about them.

“Dad? Nothing to say?”

“I think we should talk about this when she’s not here.” Eddie says, and it seemed like a good idea to you.

“And when will that be?” He shoots up at you, giving you an angry look he’s never once directed at you before. Fuck, this was going to be weird getting used to.

“When she’s ready.” Eddie tells him, and there’s a bit of parental tone in that.

“Sorry. My bad.” He sarcastically bites out. “Sorry dad.” He looks at you. “Sorry, y/n.” He runs up two stairs. “Oh sorry, I mean, sorry step-mom.”

His door slams, and Eddie’s laughter he is holding back barks out.

“Was that supposed to be a burn?” You ask Eddie, side-eyeing him.

“Welcome to parenthood, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs, passing you on his way to the kitchen.

Oh. Fuck. Your ex-boyfriend was your new boyfriend’s son.

Shit.

-

As you remain cooped up at the Munsons, Dylan did his best to avoid you. Not that you blamed him, you did sort of break his heart. You had some incoming texts but it felt weird to address the world for the moment, one thing for Dylan to know, another for your best friend and mom to know.

And everyone else after you soft launched your relationship on Instagram two weeks ago.

Would they be able to tell if you just started using Eddie’s hands?

After another mind-blowing round with Eddie in his bed, the door opens to Dylan, his eyebrows raised perplexed. “Can you guys stop fucking for like a day? Jesus Christ, man.” The door slams and you hear him down the hall and down the stairs, “All fucking day!”

You both burst into giggles, getting dressed together and the two of you finding it hard for the laughter not to leave your mouths.

Hours later, laying together watching a movie of his choice, Eddie starts slowly petting his thumb along the exposed strip of your skin along your waistline. Somehow, the moment you were horny he picked up on it every time. You lightly pushed his thumb off, leaving goosebumps behind but the heat already gathering at your center.

“You know he’s just giving you a hard time.” He whispers, his soft deep voice sending chills down your spine.

“Still.” You mutter, doing your best to pay attention to the movie.

Eddie leans back and his legs begin to shake for a few seconds until he sits up. “Ok, what if we give him a bit of space?”

Your eyes squint at the gleam in his eye. “Space?”

“My truck?”

You smirk and take his hands he offers to help you off his bed with glee.

“Going for a drive.” Eddie calls on his way out the door with you following behind him.

“Whatever.” Dylan calls back.

Eddie runs to his driver’s seat, attempting to open it. He pats himself and leans back exasperated. “Fuck. Forgot my keys.”

“I can go get them.” You offer, turning back to the house.

“Or…” Eddie smirks, leaning towards Dylan’s truck.

“Ed…” Eddie reaches for the door, and it opens, and he opens his mouth in mock surprise.

“I can just go get your keys.”

“I taught that little shit to lock up his truck.” He says, shaking his head. “C’mon. Be my dirty girl.”

He climbs in the back seat, his smile radiating a mischievous energy. He knew how much his smile let your guard down. “He did want space...”

“Now we’re talking.”

You climb into his back seat and straddle his hips, leaning in for a wet kiss. Immediately you feel the boner poking through his sweats, and you couldn’t help yourself, you grind down on it eagerly. “Oh, I can already feel how wet you are.” He chuckles, grinning at you with a wild look in his eye.

A laugh huffs out of you, the dimples melting you. He leans in and kisses at your neck, rutting against your heat which radiated against his cock. Eddie sits up, shimmying against the seat to get the sweats off. You move to get your shorts off, but he shakes his head. “Leave ‘em on.”

You tilt your head, and he scoops around the middle of them, putting his dick in and inserting himself into you. You open your mouth as he does, Eddie soaking in your darkened expression. You grind yourself, Eddie grabbing onto your ass as you do so. You lean in for an open and dirty kiss, and he chuckles into it, and suddenly the kiss is dirtier, all teeth and tongue as he ends it with tugging onto your bottom lip.

You gasp onto him in response, and he kisses it to make it feel better. You push your fingers into his hair, nails digging in as you tug at the roots. Eddie lets out a whine, something you haven’t heard yet and your hips start bouncing harder out of sheer pride as you two grab onto each other harder.

Eddie moves you onto your back along Dylan’s back seat and fucks you harder, his sweats barely off and his shirt still on while you’re still clothed. “Fucking whore just always ready for my cock, huh?”

You nodded, the feeling in your stomach already tightening up. “Always wet for you.”

“You take it so fucking well, too.” Eddie keeps rutting into you, his hot breath breathing heavy against your neck as the heat in the car rises. Your hands find their way up his shirt, clawing down his back as he fucks so hard against you. “Fucking slut just loves being whored out. Gonna fuck you everywhere.”

You nod, and he can feel the idea turn you on, you tightening around him in response. “Oh, my little slut likes that idea, huh?” You nod again, whimpering in response. “You love the idea of being found with my cock down your throat in a dressing room or back of a movie theatre.”

Eddie didn’t know how it was possible that you tightened around him even more.

You felt so close to the edge, the orgasm just there.

Chirp, chirp.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

About five minutes later, Dylan gets in and drives away in Eddie’s truck.

You stare up at Eddie with wide eyes and move your hips a little to indicate you still wanted to finish. In fact, Dylan finding you just turned you on.

Eddie chuckles darkly, leaning into your neck. “Oh, you fucking slut.”

-

About 8 hours later, you get home, tossing your keys on the counter.

“How was the sleepover?” Your roommate calls out from the couch, cross legged as she rewatches Buffy for the millionth time.

You hesitate in your answer and turn around to start making yourself some ramen noodles.

“What happened?” She asks, watching your face slowly.

“Uh…” you’re cut off by your phone ringing. It was your best friend. “One sec. Hey, Bethany.”

“Oh my god. You’ve been dead silent for days. I need to hear about it.”

“One sec.” You mute yourself and look up at your roommate. “You wanna hear about my weekend? Here.” You unmute yourself. “So…I fucked his dad.”

“YOU WHAT?”

-

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read comments and replies and tags and as always reblogging is the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you

Those who specifically requested for part 2: @yunnie-f1 @hollster88 @corrodedcoffincumslut @daisyridleyyyy

[daddy-deathslinger]

I have returned

If it's cool, could I get something for the knight, maybe a little Slow burn-y? I'm not sure what the term for it would be but something where he keeps trying to deny his growing affection for his future s/o, but it's getting increasingly harder for him. And his faithful 3 notice and start to make comments about how hes being sweet on them (at least sweet for him) and..he does eventually admit to himself he does have feelings for them. SNENWKKW SOMETHING CUTE

Haha

I'm so normal about him

👹

Hey there, loyal Knight admirer! Here's yer written thingy, hope ya like! ❤️👹

“I’m your man” - The Knight/Tarhos Kovács x GN!Reader

“This is the fifth time you’ve given them hatch, Tarhos!”

“Yeah, just admit that you’re-”

“Silence!” Tarhos bellowed, and his faithful three were quiet at last.

Finally, sweet silence. Tarhos grunted and turned around to walk away to his thinking corner of the Borgo. Unbeknownst to him, his faithful three snickered a bit behind his back. Tarhos was not a merciful man, far from it, but even he knew when to appreciate a good opponent. And you certainly were a worthy opponent. During trials, he always noticed how you showed true companionship to your allies by saving them, taking hits for them and even dying for them. You fought back bravely against all killers, not making the trial easy for anyone who tried to hurt you or your allies. Tarhos appreciated that. Appreciated it, that’s all! He had no idea where his faithful three had gotten the stupid idea from, the idea that he somehow favoured you. He didn’t, how could he favour a survivor? His loyalty was with the killers. 

The next trial commenced, and Tarhos was as ready as ever. The Entity had granted him good fortune in this trial, he had many abilities that would come in handy. He felt good about this. And yet, the survivors seemed to be on their best game as well. They worked together, and that was always a nail in the coffin for killers. And then there was you. You seemed to shine even brighter than usual, never shivering in front of Tarhos or showing the slightest amount of fear in the face of death. He hooked you once, and you barely screamed as the meat hook pierced through your flesh. Tarhos almost forgot to leave the hook you hung on, he wanted to see what you were going to do next. But he left, obviously, to go hunt for other survivors. He noticed that during the whole trial, his attention seemed to be somewhere else. It was annoying, even infuriating, to notice he fell for silly tricks by the survivors and lost many chases due to his wandering mind. He just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Gods, this torment! The trial was at its end, the exit gates were opened and the other survivors had escaped already. You remained, though, and Tarhos could not for the love of the Gods find you. He searched, sent out his faithful three but they all came back empty handed. 

“A skillful one”, Alejandro said, but quickly got quiet as Tarhos stared at him.

Where were you? Tarhos ventured alone into the mist, searching. Suddenly, a sound. Someone greeted him? He looked around, and there you were. Standing next to a finished generator, eyes on him. Why had you made your appearance known to him? He was going to sacrifice you now. Or was he? Tarhos stood in front of you, staring you down. Then, he saw you place your medkit on the ground in front of you. An offering. For mercy? No, you let out your arms to your side, baring your unguarded body to him. You wanted to be sacrificed. Tarhos was confused, but also very impressed. You had evaded him, and here you were, offering yourself up to the Entity. Tarhos knew better than to take the offering, he knew how hard you had fought the whole trial. No one deserved the escape more than you. So, without a thought, he dropped his sword to the ground, taking a step back from you.

“Go”, he said.

You looked him dead in the eye. Tarhos was wondering what was going on behind those eyes as you seemed to think hard. The silence was deafening, only the ticking of the Entity playing in Tarhos head. Time was running out. Then, you slowly turned around and walked towards the exit gate. Tarhos was proud, you took your victory like a true champion. As he watched you walk out those gates, a strange feeling took a hold of his insides. A pressing feeling, right where his heart was. He tried shaking it off, but seeing you disappear into the mist, he knew he was lost. Not lost to the cruel torment in this place, not even lost to the Entity. He was lost to you. Your eyes, your courage, your confident walk. Tarhos let out a heaving sigh as his faithful three approached him. 

“Well…?” Durkos said.

Tarhos gave them a look of annoyance, but eventually nodded. He was in love, and there was nothing that could be done about it. He was yours, and he prayed to the Gods that you were his.

[dairy-farmer]

Aaw D:> tumbr ate my first draft of this. But I persist!

Because? Consider! Ra's being a GENUINELY charismatic, manipulative Threat! Oh shit!

He can read you at a glance. Offer you your hearts desires. Money, power, vengeance, purpose. Don't you YEARN? Haven't they WRONGED you? The world is... so very UNFAIR, isn't it?

Don't you want to feel safe again?

Be strong?

Poisoned honey, spoken in a pleasing voice. Any mask for any job. Mentorly, seductive, fatherly, concern, whatever breaks your walls. Makes you TRUST him. He's been doing this for years. Centuries.

Bruce calls it a cult for a reason.

Never let him get into your head. Let him talk. Give no quarter or it's DONE. Bruce drilled it in to all of them. If you give even a sliver of the smallest scrap... he will take you for all you are worth and destroy you. Mould what remains however he pleases. Bruce himself, BARELY had the mental and emotional strength to escape.

And he's the most stubborn bastard alive.

But... but Bruce is GONE. Lost to the time stream. And no one believe Tim. Will listen. Yeah, he's not explaining himself that great. But he's upset, his brain has always moved faster then his mouth, it's... it's kinda a terrible combination. But that doesn't mean he's CRAZY!

Of all the shit they've seen! THIS is where you think things become impossible!? THIS is when you won't even check?! Fine. He'll go on his own.

Except he's not on his own.

Because Ra's either believes him... or has spotted his chance to strike.

Murmurs and drawling and croons in his ears. Like the devil whispering temptation as it leads him farther and farther from home. Tim's TRYING. Remembers what Bruce told him. Give him nothing. But... but every snapped reply, every short answer, is met with such... predatory amusement.

He's making a mistake.

He KNOWS he's making a mistake.

But Bruce is out there. He... he has to get him home. He can do this.

Then Tamara Fox is sent after him by her dad. He gets stabbed and loses an organ, nearly dies in the desert. Now there's a hostage and fucking spider assassins hunting Ra's cult of killers.

Ra's, who no longer seems amused.

He can't-... he HAS to do this. For Bruce. For Tam. For the people they've killed.

He manages. They invade. The stuff of nightmares. Honestly, fffffuck Ra's, he can handle himself. He's getting Tam and Pru out of here and blowing everything to kingdom come. Except... except... shit, the leader. Touch of death. He's so tired. Reflexes not what the should be, torso still too stiff from being TORN OPEN.

Weeks of jet lag, poor sleep, worse diet, and just generally spotty meal times, have taken their toll. His reaction time is off. Not by much. But enough to die by. And... and this is it. He IS going too...

THWUMP!

Staff. With the sort of deadly precision even weapon master's would consider unachievable. The sort that take lifetimes to achieve. So close, if he blinked, his eyelashes would sweep the weapon that just saved his life. The force behind that strike would shatter bone. The follow up, clearly meant to kill.

Ra's Al Ghul.

Tim is already jerking back and toward Tam. No time to observe. But... oh. Oh. He must look so... so CLUNKY with a staff in his hands, in Ra's eyes. The man moves like a rolling storm. All dark untouchable mist and deadly flashing light. Dances have been less elegant.

But that doesn't matter. It CAN'T.

He has to get out of here.

Tim leaves Ra's to either win or die. Flees with Tam and Pru. Pulls up his "fuck you, Ra's" program. And tries to get it going...

Shit.

Only half the bases blew.

A blow, yes. But not the "get fucked, now and forever" like he intended. At least the alarms behind him are sounding. So THIS one is gonna go. Rip in burning peices, ya spider fucks! (No one tell Bruce. It's been a long year okay?)

Except when has life EVER been kind or fair to Tim? Even once? ESPECIALLY this year? Ra's. Barely sweaty from his death match and ready for round two, just kicked open the hanger door behind them. Still in full armor. Still fully armed.

Tim doesn't even bother to calculate in his head.

They're fucked.

He slaps the evidence Bruce NEEDS to be rescued into Tam's arms. Tells her to get it to her father. Begs Pru to get her there. Tells them... to run.

Stands his ground.

He gets his ass beat like a drum. It's not even CLOSE. He's wounded, exhausted, and down to one weapon. Less trained then Ra's. And Ra's? Already warmed up, well rested, armed to the teeth and IN ARMOUR. Also probably pretty mad, what with Tim blowing up his bases.

He... he doesn't expect to wake up.

But he does.

Fancy guest room. The sort of guest not allowed to LEAVE, but still. Rich woods, fine fabrics, tasteful design. Ra's in an ornate, silken, open robe and loose low hanging lounge pants, sprawled out like a tiger as he casually sharpens a sword.

Subtle.

Captured then. He would have expected a dungeon after, you know, the whole "fuck you" base exploding. And Ra's? Doesn't even pause in his weapon maintenance as he calmly, in an almost musing voice, informs him that there's no NEED for THAT.

"Bases can be rebuilt. Rabble recollected."

"But you, Detective?"

What a glorious last stand~. Why, Tamara was it? He's quite sure Tamara is TEARFULLY recounting "your valiant final moments, even as we speak. You've done all the work to kill yourself, FOR me, Detective. I would be a fool not to take advantage of that."

He finally pauses, testing the edge of the blade. Pleased with it's sharpness.

Tim let's himself flop back down on the bed, refusing to wait for eye contact with those gemstone green eyes. So... what now? Torture? Brainwashing? Lectures on how awesome you are and how Tim should totally join you?

Of course not. Why would Ra's do THAT, when he has Tim right where he wants him? Tired, hurting, isolated. Mentally and emotionally exhausted. In other words... broken down. The world has done his job FOR him. Not, of course, that he'd ever SAY that. Why show your hand, after all?

So, no, no~

Now? You rest. Ra's brings you food. And if you want something? You'll have to trade for it.

Theeeere it is! Time called it. And WHAT, you creep, EXACTLY will he be expected to "trade"?

So suspicious! But, of course, he understands. Their's has hardly been a pleasant relationship, so far. Riddled with conflict. He simply wishes for conversation. For Tim to take care of himself. Allow RA'S to take care of him. After all, Ra's knows he would never allow him to help, otherwise.

.....right. "help".

Tim knows that's bullshit. He is trapped and this is a trap. Some form of conditioning. A fostering of dependence, maybe. He refuses to fall for it. Ignores Ra's, turns over, and pretends to go back to bed.

Ra's just hums, amused.

Because... sure enough? For all that Ra's oh so helpfully furnished "his" room with books and art supplies? Non-technological amusements? He can only ignore the only other person in the room for some many days. Can only stew in his "what ifs" and not knows for so long.

Damn it.

So he trades. Cagey and suspicious, looking for traps in every bit of wording and every action. Just as Ra's knew he would. Slowly exhausting himself. Just as Ra's knew he would. Hyper-vigilance taking it's brutal, chipping toll.

Just as Ra's knew it would~.

He asks only you eat this lovely snack you will enjoy. Take a nap, as look so tired. Allow him to massage those worn, long abused muscles. Wash the unmanageable curls of your hair. A conversation, perhaps, on that topic you love so much. You are quite knowledgeable.

And... and damn it. The body? Straight out refuses to stay vigilante forever. Especially when there appears to be no threat. When things are soft and soothing. It starts to slip through his fingers like sand. He keeps catching himself. Forgetting. Catching himself again.

Ra's has such... such a soothing voice, when he wishes too. Like rich cologne on a winter's coat, wrapping you in a masculine warmth against the cold. Strong, deadly hands. Unfairly good as they gently cradle his head, run fancy soaps and scented oils through his hair. Untwist the mess his muscles have become.

Like... like he's on some sort of high end vacation.

Or some pampered pet.

He's actually back to a healthy weight. He doesn't look like a disaster survivor.. and he just... just...

He has to get out of here. Soon. I-It's so comfortable. Soothing. Like sinking into warm honey, it clings. He just... there's this growing part of him that wants... because... because, yeah. Yeah, maybe he IS tired. Maybe it WOULD be nice. To stay. To be taken care off. Pampered.

But he CAN'T.

He has to get out.

So he confronts Ra's. What's it gonna take? Hopefully. This will blow up. A fight maybe. Something to give him some ANGER. Anything but this damn comfort and softness. It's sapping his will to fight. But of course not. Ra's has got him read like a learning letters pamphlet.

Of COURSE Ra's will let him go~!

...if Tim does... one little thing for him...

Those fucking TRADES. And this is it, he can feel it. Trap already sprung and now comes the moment to either gnaw off his own leg or be captured. Ra's looks so unbearably pleased. Victorious in his machinations and now reaping his reward. Tim wants to break his stupid smug face. But that will get him nowhere.

What.

What is the God damned trade.

Oh~ Just a moment of your time. Allow Ra's a taste of the feast you so vigilantly gaurd against him. He spreads his arms, elegant, white teeth flashing like a damn shark. The very picture of a wealthy, powerful, scoundrel. Promises in a low purr to behave.

The part of his brain that lights up when he's about to do something stupid, practically explodes from his head just to beat him to death. Sings the song of ten thousand klaxons. Oh... oh this is so PROFOUNDLY stupid there are are no words. Is possibly THE WORST idea.

He still... agrees.

Watchs Ra's not so much stand, as rise to his feet. Fluid and controlled. Letting his robe slide from his shoulders in an easy roll, to fall into a pool on the ground. The sword is set aside. Ra's focus on him. Undivided. It... it should not be MORE terrifying, unarmed and in just pants, then armed and in full armor. And yet...

Tim's mouth feels bone dry. Mistake. Mistaaaake....

He feels hunted. There aren't even that many steps, to cross the room. Yet he's shifted, distinctly, from a stride to a prowl. Tim feels absolutely no shame in backing up. Trying to gather his thoughts.

Ra's doesn't give him the chance.

Before Tim can even full register more then "too close!", a powerful hand is sliding through his hair to cradle is head, an arm like steel wrapping around his waist. He's pulled into an overwhelming kiss.

He brain stops.

The taste of Chai and a commanding mouth, overwhelm him. Steal his air. Tease and focus his attention. He's manhandled back onto the bed. A hand trails down Tim's body, another reaching up to wrench one of the pillows free of the pile. A possessive mouth slowly meanders down his body.

Kisses, sucked marks, teeth lined tastes of skin.

His hands grip like they want to imprint themselves. Leave permanent marks. Are trying, very, very hard not too. Not yet at least.

Not even divine intervention could save his shorts, Ra's rips them. Guides a pillow under his lower back. Tim has all of a second to be confused before everything Iights up. He chokes on a squeak.

The rumbling laugh Ra's makes does NOT help. Powerful hands holding him in place, keeping him from escaping the... the hot and wet! Tim writhes. It not the first time someone's eaten him out. But... but! It didn't feel like this! Was teammates and just fooling around. Not practiced seduction and centuries of skill.

His legs are already shaking. He's gasping for air. Trying to buck his hips closer to that magnificent feeling, trying to get away from how overwhelming it feels. Clenching his fists in the sheets. Whining like he's wounded.

It's PERFECT. Ra's KNEW he'd be weak to pleasure.

Knew his Detective was worth the wait.

Rolls and teases his tounge down, just a bit. Brings calloused fingers into play. To drive his Detective mad. Tease his sensitive little gem, while he plunders deep and cruelly with his tounge.

It's delightful. Watching him come apart. Again and again. First on his tounge alone, then joined by his fingers. Finding the places he KNOWS his Detective his most sensitive, and rubbing, stroking, teasing without mercy or relent.

Until even that magnificently stubborn boy, is a teary, drooling, red faced mess. Thighs painted with his pleasure. Limbs weak and trembling. So BEAUTIFULLY compliant and needy. Reliant on Ra's for everything. Craving his warmth. His care.

Head empty of those ever rushing thoughts.

He, of course, keeps his word. Let's Tim go. Back to the real world. Too the cruelties man does to man. Too being unappreciated. Tired and overworked. Too an empty, uncomfortable bed. A poor diet. The judgments of so called friends.

Hmmm~ Ra's wonders~ how long will it take?

Before the world does his job for him? Again. Before his Detective is tired. Sore. Lonely. Worn down and in need of care. Of a little... pleasure. A warm body to hold him in the night. Companionship IS vital to a healthy human mind and body, after all. Ra's can be a "friend". A lover. Whatever works, really.

He has time.

And Tim? Tim made the mistake of letting him in.

-🐼🐼🐼

ra's being MASSIVELY charismatic, having an effect that just lulls people into wanting to follow and obey him makes a lot of sense honestly! especially since for the most part the situtation given is that people follow ra's more out of admiration for his power/control of the lazarus pits and that's really it. ra's being incredibly charismatic and inspriring the fanatical loyalty that cults exhibit is soo good!

[historicity-was-already-taken]

Do you have any historical fiction book recs?

I don’t read a lot of historical fiction, so the majority of this list will compromise YA histfic from the late 90s/early 00s.

The early Dear America and Royal Diaries books were pretty foundational for me, and I still go back to reread them. Carolyn Meyer(s?) wrote some great histfic along the lines of Royal Diaries. Jane Yolen’s The Queen’s Own Fool is excellent, and of course, we stan Number the Stars. And none for Philippa Gregory byeeeee.

As for contemporary titles, the Maisie Dobbs books are 💯💯. They take place between the 1920s and 1940s, brilliant lady detective, excellent period detail. Also, the book that’s made like, the biggest impression on me since 2016 is Jerusalem by Alan Moore. It’s kind of hard to even describe what that book is about, but it’s MAGNIFICENT and has several long sections that deal with English class and racial history, and also Oliver Cromwell. I also enjoyed the first three books of the Outlander series.

Oh, and I love The Red Tent, (it gives Mists of Avalon but Genesis instead of Arthurian) tho that might be Hebrew Bible fanfic* as opposed to histfic.

Anyway, there are a lot of folks here who I’m sure will chime in with more current and diverse recs, so don’t forget to check the notes 🙂

ETA: When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit

*id actually argue that all histfic is fanfic, but im not hating.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

*slams hands on table*

HELLO FELLOW MEDWHUMP/SICKFIC ENJOYER.

Got a prompt for ya. Apologies if it's something you've already done. ^^;

Intubated whumpee waking up from either a coma or surgery, fighting the breathing tube, and caretaker attempting to calm them down.

GO. 💜

Caretaker sits at Whumpee's bedside, brow furrowed with unease as they stroke Whumpee's sweat damp hair. A few days ago now, Whumpee underwent major surgery, and since then they've been here, in the ICU, intubated and sedated. Caretaker wonders whether they're even aware of anything that's happened.

For a while, Caretaker watches the regular condensation misting the inside of the breathing tube, every so often glancing over at the monitor denoting Whumpee's condition. The even peaks and troughs of the EKG are reassuring to a certain extent, as are the waveforms that show Whumpee's breathing pattern, but when paired with how lifeless Whumpee looks in the bed, hooked up to so many wires and tubes, it's hard to feel comforted.

As Caretaker brushes back a strand of hair from Whumpee's forehead, though, something changes. Whumpee's brow knits in discomfort, and when Caretaker reaches for Whumpee's hand, they feel their fingers twitching beneath the weight of the sedation. It was only a matter of time. They started lowering the sedation this morning.

"Whumpee? Hey, it's only me. You're okay. Just relax, sweetheart."

The peaks and troughs on the EKG grow more frequent, a few alarms blaring every so often. Whumpee shifts, weakly lifting a trembling hand as if to move it towards their throat, but Caretaker takes it instead, lowering it gently back towards the sheets and shushing Whumpee softly.

"Easy... easy, Whumpee. I'm here. I'm here."

At last, Whumpee fights hard enough to open their eyes, albeit half-mast. The expression within them is dulled by the cocktail of medications they're on, but even so, the fear shines through the exhaustion. Their eyes track across Caretaker's face, searching desperately for explanation.

Caretaker shuffles forward in their chair, gripping Whumpee's hand, thumb drifting across the back of it, while their other hand continues to stroke Whumpee's hair in what they hope is a reassuring motion.

"Hey, it's okay. You've had surgery, alright? Pretty major surgery. You've been asleep for a couple of days while they monitored you, but you're waking up now, and you're doing so well."

Whumpee's throat bobs, and as they blink, wincing slightly, Caretaker can tell they're uncomfortable. It's no surprise when they weakly try to lift that isn't restrained to their throat yet again, heart rate still elevated.

The alarming of the monitor, though, seems to have attracted the attention of a nurse. She approaches, smiling faintly, and watches the screen for a few seconds before moving to Whumpee's side, squeezing their shoulder.

"Whumpee? I'm one of your nurses, okay? I'm here to make sure you're as comfortable as possible. Right now, the tube is helping you breathe properly, because you've been quite sick and weren't able to manage your airway well. I promise we'll take it out as soon as possible."

Whumpee closes their eyes, nostrils flaring.

Caretaker turns to the nurse.

"Is everything okay?"

"It's all as expected- they're bucking the tube a little, but that's normal when they're just starting to wake up. We can give them some muscle relaxants to make things easier in the meantime, and hopefully soon we'll be able to extubate- to take the tube out."

Caretaker sighs with relief as the nurse gives them a small smile, moving from the room to fetch the medications. They move closer to Whumpee again, still rhythmically stroking their hair.

"Hear that, Whumpee? Everything's going as expected. You're doing so well. I know you must be uncomfortable right now, but things'll feel better soon, I promise. Just try to relax."

Whumpee nods ever so slightly, a small tear escaping from beneath closed eyelids and snaking its way down their cheek. Caretaker wipes it away, careful not to disturb the sticky patches holding the tube in place.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." They squeeze Whumpee's hand, tears welling in their own eyes when Whumpee squeezes back. "I'm right here with you. You're okay."

And slowly but surely, the rapid beeping of the monitors begins to slow again.