#hey guys remember pipes??

[sweetrainbowcandy]

part 2 to my logan x chubby!reader fic which you can find here <3

a/n: I'm sorry this took so long! i've been really busy recently getting ready to move into uni, so my minds been on other things :( this was super fun to write, tho!

tags: 18+, MDNI, smut, chubby!reader, worst wolverine!logan, wade and logan are neighbors with reader, age gap, some angst (maybe?), logan gets jealous, daddy kink, logan makes you squirt

wc: ~4k

“So, Peanut, you gonna tell me about your rendezvous with little-miss-gumdrop across the hall?”

Logan pauses, setting down the weight he was curling and slowly turning to look at Wade. It had been a day since Logan went over to help fix your sink, and unfortunately his self proclaimed ‘wingman’ had been giving him an overly knowing look ever since.

“Nothin’ to tell,” he turns back around, his bicep flexing as he curls the weight, “Fixed her sink ‘n left.”

“Thats it?” Wade asked, taken aback, “You didn’t even hit her with the ol, ‘How bout you let me get up in your pipes next, bub?’” Wade’s voice drops to a deep rumble as he imitates Logan, and he drops the weight with a thud,

“Do you ever shut your damn trap?” Logan snaps, whipping around and shoving a finger at Wade’s chest. Wade gasps in mock offense, daintily slapping away Logan’s hand and placing the back of his hand over his forehead,

“I knew it, you are seeing her!” He says, forcing out a choked sob, “And I thought what we had was special, honey badger!” Logan rolls his eyes, walking over to the door and slipping on his jacket, boots brushing against the doormat.

“I’m going for a smoke,” he growls, grabbing a cigar out of the container on the stand next to the door, feeling around for the zippo in his pocket.

“Oh yeah, storm out the second you know you’re in the wrong!” Wade calls, holding up Mary Puppins and hugging her to his chest, “At least remember to pay child support!” Wade manages to shove in before the door shuts behind Logan. He ran a hand down his face and shook his head. Wade was insufferable, but he was a good guy. Sometimes.

“Oh, Logan!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, blinking as he turned to face you. You were just stepping out of your apartment, hair and makeup done immaculately, adorned in a skimpy silk dress that showed off each delectably pudgy curve. You smiled up at him shyly, fidgeting with the strap of your purse slung over your shoulder.

Fuck.

Logan gulped, his fists clenching in the pockets of his leather jacket, “Hey,” he greets with a nod, quickly looking you up and down before clearing his throat and nodding to your outfit, “You, uh,” he pauses, his mouth feeling dry, “You goin’ out?”

You giggled softly, nodding and reaching down to tug at the scandalously short hem of your dress. Shit, what Logan wouldn’t give to tear through it with his claws, leave it in shreds on the floor and take you right here in the hall for everyone to hear—

“Yeah! I’ve, uhm, just got a little date to go to,” you said, struggling to keep eye contact with the large, intimidating man.

A what?

Logan felt hot anger flare up inside of him, his jaw clenching as his brow furrowed, “A date?” He growls, his voice sounding more predatory then he intended. Your eyelashes fluttered against your chubby cheeks in confusion, a bit surprised by his reaction.

“Y-Yeah, a date,” you stammer, shrinking a bit in on yourself. You couldn’t read his expression beyond the frustration, and a small part of you wondered if he was… jealous. But that wouldn’t make sense, right? You barely knew each other!

But Logan was irrationally upset, and he wasn’t known for his self soothing. What the fuck did some chump have that he couldn’t give you? He bet it was some geeky dude who weighed less than one-fifty with twig arms and a pimple-scarred face. Some fucking dweeb who didn’t know how to handle a woman like you.

But Logan didn’t have any claim over you. Just because he fixed your sink didn’t give him the right to be possessive. He was just acting like an animal again.

“…That’s… nice,” Logan grunts, turning towards the stairs, shooting you another look over his shoulder and nodding, “Good luck. Make sure he treats you right,” he says, before retreating down the stairs. He was oblivious to the way that you watched him leave, the way you gulped and looked down at your feet as you considered following him. But you didn’t. You took a deep breath and turned to head down the opposite stairwell. You had a date to meet.

It was later when the door to Logan and Wade’s apartment slammed shut, Logan’s leather jacket meeting the floor as he stormed into the kitchen.

“Woah there, Koolaid Man! Come through the fucking wall next time, why don’t you?” Wade calls from the living room, his words muffled by the sandwich he was macking on.

“Shut your fucking trap,” Logan snaps, rifling through the fridge before pulling out a beer, unsheathing his claws and using one to pop off the cap. Wade raises his free hand in self defense,

“Jesus Christ, did your cigar finally bite back? What the hell crawled up your tight bubble butt and died? Because I’ll tell you, whatever it was, I’m jealous,” Wade says, pointing to Logan before taking another bite of his sandwich.

Logan tilted back the beer, his throat bobbing with each gulp. He heard Wade whistle as he watched him down the whole bottle before throwing it to the ground and reaching to grab another, not even bothering with the shattered glass. His jaw clenched as he struggled to open the next bottle, before he let out a snarl and hit the cap off of the edge of the counter, causing it to fly off. His hand shook as he threw back the next beer.

Wade watched with a raised eyebrow, lowering the sandwich to where Mary Puppins was sitting next to him on the floor, her little nose twitching as she sniffed at it before awkwardly shoving it in her mouth, “…Did you run into gumdrop?” Wade asks, taking a shot in the dark why his roommate would be so pissed.

Logan braced his hands against the counter, shoulder’s rising and falling with each ragged breath. Before he knew what he was doing, he lowered his head and nodded, “Yeah,” he says, swallowing before speaking up again, his voice a deep rumble that barely reached Wade’s ears, “She said she had a date.”

Wade’s nonexistent eyebrows raised, and for once, he was quiet for a second. He thought about Vanessa, how he’d felt when she said she started seeing a guy from work. Sure, him and Vanessa had known each other for much longer than Logan had known you, but Wade knew how strongly Logan felt emotions.

Wade snaps his fingers and lets out an ‘ah-hah!’, moving to stand up and walk into the kitchen, “I’ve got it— you find the guy, challenge him to a gladiator-style naked mud wrestling match, invite her to watch, spear him from his tip to his gooch, then rip out his testicles and feed them to her like grapes. See the way you won her over? Very mindful, very demure.”

Logan’s brow just furrows, and he shoots Wade a frustrated and confused look, “Jesus Christ, you little shit, could you not run your mouth for one second?” He says through clenched teeth, turning to throw back more of his drink as Wade just shrugs,

“Okay, honey-b, I’m just trying to help,” he says, turning to walk back to the living room, “But if you wanna be the pussy who’s standing here drinking his frustrations away instead of confessing to the girl he’s obviously interested before she’s taken away, be my guest,” Wade says as he gestures dismissively at him.

Logan paused, moving to place his beer back on the counter with a click. As much as he hated to admit it, Wade had a point. What kind of pathetic loser just sat and drank his jealousy and sadness away instead of proving himself to her that he was better?

Wade flinched as he heard the sound of another bottle breaking against the floor, sitting up and watching as Logan stormed towards the door, “Fuck, another one? You’re cleaning this up when you get back, young man!” Wade calls as Logan tugs on his jacket before opening the door, slamming it behind him. Wade sighs, leaning back into the couch, “Go get ‘em, peanut.”

Logan’s at your door in a second. His large fist slamming against the heavy wood a good four—five times before he steps back, silently cursing that he didn’t check his appearance before he stepped out of the apartment.

Shit, what was he doing? You were too young and sweet for him, too much of a little angel to want anything to do with some old jaded fuck like him. He should just turn around, go back and have Wade rub it in his face how—

“Logan?”

And there it was again, you catching him off-guard by calling his name. You stood there, dressed in just a nightgown with your hair down around your shoulders, and fuck, you smelt good. It must be that same vanilla body butter he smelt when he was last this close to you. It was only now Logan realized how fucking late it was.

“Sorry, I—“ he began, cutting himself off and gulping, “…I can come back later if it’s too late,” he says, his voice deep and uncharacteristically soft. To his surprise, you smile, shaking your head and gesturing inside after stepping back.

“Not at all,” you say as you shut the door behind him. The lights in your apartment are dim, and Logan tries not to think about how fucking intimate it is, how too big and lumbering he feels in your space. “So what’s up?”

Logan blinks, snapping himself out of his thoughts as he realizes he didn’t just come into your apartment to awkwardly stand around. Shit, he didn’t prepare for this part.

“…How’s your sink?”

You’re both quiet before you let out a snort, round cheeks tinting as you giggle, placing a hand over your mouth. Logan feels a rare but hot flush of selfconsciousness spread down his neck, looking off to the side and nervously shifting his weight between his feet,

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer between giggles, shaking your head and sighing, “I just— you looked so serious, I thought something was wrong,” you say as you pad over to your fridge, pulling it open and taking out a water bottle, “Drink?”

“…’M alright,” Logan watches as you nod, uncapping it and tilting it back to take a sip. He watches how your throat bobs with each gulp, his cock twitching in his jeans. Shit, he wasn’t ready for this. But he didn’t have a choice— he had to.

You place the bottle down on the sink, smiling as you recap it, “It’s working just fine thanks to you,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Logan nods, feigning a leisurely look around to try and come off as more casual.

“How was your date?” Logan asks after a second, and you pause, your smile faltering. Logan feels himself begin to panic— shit, was he crossing a line? His lips part, no words coming out for a minute before he chokes out, “If you don’t wanna talk about it-“

“No, no,” you cut him off gently, forcing a small smile as you cross your soft arms under your chest, almost hugging yourself. You just shook your head, sighing before speaking, “He just… we didn’t really get along.”

Logan felt bad for the fireworks that went off inside of him, quickly shoving down the celebratory thoughts and clearing his throat, nodding apologetically, “‘M sorry to hear that,” he says, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.

You shake your head, forcing a soft laugh, “It’s alright, can’t expect every guy to have what I’m looking for, you know?” You say, which catches Logan’s attention. You watch the muscles in his jaw shift,

“…And what are you looking for?” He asks, taking a step forward, and you feel the energy between you shift. Your breath catches, and your hand comes up to rest against your chest,

“Uhm,” you stammer out softly, biting your bottom lip. Fuck, it drives Logan insane. Wanting to replace your teeth with his, tug that lip between his teeth while he envelopes your mouth with his, “Someone… reliable,” you begin, watching as he steps closer to you. Your breath catches, but you force yourself to keep talking even as your voice began to wobble, “strong…” you blink up at him, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks, “…older.”

Logan sucks in a sharp breath, the both of you practically standing toe-to-toe now. You have to crane your neck to look up at him, his hand raising to gently cradle your face. You shakily exhale as his thumb runs over your bottom lip, and you can’t stop yourself as your tongue pokes out to coax the finger into your mouth.

“Fuck,” Logan growls, letting you suck on his thumb before he presses and slides it against your tongue, “You need someone to take care of you, ain’t that right, doll?” You whimper around his thumb, and he softly clicks his tongue, “You gotta ask me properly, bub.”

You pull your lips off his thumb with a soft ‘pop’, slightly panting as your glazed over eyes lock with his fiercer ones, “Please take care of me, Logan,” you plead, your voice a breathy whine. Logan’s gaze darkens,

“I will, pretty girl,” his knuckles caress the side of your face, his other hand moving to splay out on your lower back, “Let me give you what these little boys can’t.”

He leans in, and before you know it, his rough lips are on yours. He immediately groans at the feeling of just how soft your lips are, evidently just like the rest of you. His hand moves from your face to tangle in the hair at the base of your scalp, tugging slightly and causing you to whimper. The sound just makes his cock twitch, his inhibitions already escaping him.

He curses against your lips, pushing you back against the counter, tongue probing into your mouth and dancing with your own. The wet, slick noises of your mouths moving against each other echo in the kitchen of your apartment, complimented by his feral growls and your whimpers. He pulls back, his lip pulled back slightly in a snarl,

“I’m gonna treat you right, doll,” he says as his hands trail down to grope at your fat ass over your nightgown, causing you to gasp and whine softly, arching back into his touch,

“Logan,” you whimper needily, looking back up at him and squirming in his hold. He curses, reaching down to pick you up, your eyes widening, “Wait, Logan, I’m too—!“ you cut yourself off with a gasp as he effortlessly lifts you, walking over to the couch in your living room and laying you down on it.

“Shut up,” he growls as he leans back down to connect your lips again, his big, rough hands sliding down your body as your back lifts off the cushions below you. He pulls back, shifting to lean his weight onto one arm as the other goes lower until he’s hiking up the skirt of your nightgown, causing you to gasp.

“Can fuckin’ smell you,” he says against your ear, his tongue poking out to lick his lips, “Cunt’s all nice and wet for me, huh?” You nod eagerly, spreading your chubby thighs and hearing Logan groan at the sight of the wet spot spreading on your lacy panties. He sits back on his haunches, reaching down to grab the crotch of your panties and tearing them, the fabric ripping like tissue paper under his grip. You gasp, watching him discard them off the side of the couch.

“Perfect fuckin’ pussy,” his hands lower, gaze hungry and dark as his thumbs part your lips. Your stuttered breaths cause your tits to jiggle, and Logan pulls his hands away from your cunt to grab the neckline of your nightgown. He tugs it down, tucking it under your tits which spill out into the cool air of your apartment.

You yelp and whimper as he slaps and gropes one, his other hand returning to your cunt. He looks down and groans as his thumb finds the hood of your clit, pulling it back over the little nub and smirking, “There she is,” he whispers, “Don’t even need to spit or anything, huh? Pussy’s already so fuckin’ messy,” he says as he begins to roll his thumb in tight circles over your clit.

You let out a cry as your hips buck into his hand, his bigger one shooting down from your breast to pin down your chubby stomach and keep you from moving, “Take it,” he snarls, and you can do nothing but kick your trembling legs and whimper as you claw at his arm, tears welling in your eyes. He shifts his weight, sliding his fingers down before slipping two of them inside of you.

He covers your mouth with his as you squeal, swallowing your cries and moans as he begins to jerk his thick, rough, long fingers up and down against the anterior walls of your pussy, hammering right up against that sensitive, spongy spot inside you. Your vision begins to go hazy, drool spilling out from between your lips and down your chin as you whimper. Your thighs quiver and he pulls back, lips pressed right up against your ear,

“Come on, bub, know you wanna cum real nice all over my fuckin’ hand,” he whispers, nipping your earlobe and secretly praying that your neighbors can hear the wavering cries escaping from your glistening lips as he pummels your pussy with his fingers. You sob, choking out his name, and before you know it you’re squirting and spraying all over his hand. He groans, “That’s it, just like that,” he coaxes, fingering you through it until you’re laid back and gasping for air like it’s a commodity.

He sits up, lifting your plump legs over his hips as he reaches to slide your nightgown up and off your body, dropping it carelessly next to your torn panties on the floor. He finds his hands softly running down your plump body, admiring that glazed over and drunken look in your eyes. He leans down, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss against your cheek,

“This alright?” He asks, and you can feel the bass of his voice against your chest as yours and his pressed together. Your cheeks warm up at the sentiment, that he still cared to check in despite the heat of the moment. You nod, reaching up to softly run your fingers through his hair,

“Yeah,” you whisper, not realizing just how whiny and high-pitched your voice had gotten, “Please,” your hands trail down from his hair to gently claw down his back, legs locking behind his hips. He grunts, hovering over you and reaching down to unbuckle his belt, sliding it off and barely registering it clattering against the floor.

“Say it again, baby,” he growls as he shucks off his jacket and tank top, his chest glistening with sweat. You watched as he reached to unbutton and tug down his jeans, reaching down and fishing his cock out of his boxers. You gasp at the sheer size and thickness of it, not to mention his heavy, fat balls that hung below it. He must have been pent up.

“Please,” you repeat, this time more desperately. Your hand reaches down shakily for his cock, breath speeding up as he doesn’t move to stop you. Your soft fingers wrap around him and he groans, bucking into your touch, “Shit,” you curse, “your cock is so fucking big.”

“Yeah?” He asks, and you can hear the subtle cocky smirk in his voice, “Bigger than whatever asshole you went on a date with, I bet.” And there it was, the admission of jealousy.

But you can only nod eagerly, fingers tracing the veins running along his length, “Yes,” you whimper as you angle his cock down towards your pussy, shivering and biting your lip as he takes himself in his own hand and slides the tip through your puffy, fat pussy lips, “Please, daddy?”

Holy shit.

Logan didn’t even know what came over him. One second he was grinding his cock through your slit, then you called him that, and now he was thrusting balls deep into your cunt. You practically screamed, crying out and clawing at his arms as his split you open, legs quivering around his hips as he thrust into you like a man possessed.

“Say it again,” Logan demanded, his voice hot against your ear as he reached down, grabbing you by the rolls of your stomach for leverage as he pounded your cunt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

“Daddy!” You cried out again, moaning through your sobs as hot tears streamed down your pudgy cheeks. You mewled as Logan leaned down to lick them up, his lips reconnecting with yours as the sound of your kissing and the couch thumping against the floor echoed around the both of you.

His forehead pressed against yours, the two of you looking into each others eyes as you struggled to keep yours on him, “Keep those eyes on daddy, baby,” he grunts, reaching around to lift your hips and fuck you back into his thrusts, causing you to fight the urge to throw your head back in pleasure.

“I-It’s too much, daddy!” You whimpered through your cries, sniffling and hiccuping as your body jerked up and down the couch. Logan shifted so he was sitting back against it, maneuvering you onto his lap and reaching down under your thighs so he was holding you before beginning to buck up into you. You squealed, hitting at his chest with your fists softly as you sobbed, the pounding too much for you to handle. His hand flew down once again to find your clit, thumb flicking roughly over it.

“You can take it, bub,” He reassures, watching as your face warps as your orgasm begins to wash over you. You begin to babble nonsense, and he wraps his arms around you and holds you close to his chest as he increases his speed, feeling your cunt flutter around his cock. It’s not long before you’re cumming all over his lap, crying out his name as you claw down his shoulders. He follows not far behind you, leaning in to bite down hard on your shoulder before releasing inside of you.

He pulls back, the both of you panting as you try to catch your breaths. You let out a tired giggle, resting your forehead against his shoulder, his hands running slowly up and down your back,

“And to think I was gonna break my sink again to get you to come over,” You slur tiredly against him, causing him to freeze. You broke your sink the first time on purpose? He sighs, shaking his head and holding back a soft chuckle,

“Brat.”

[sweetteainthesummerx]

⋆·˚ ༘ * oh, my, my, my ⋆·˚ ༘ *

nhl masterlist !

pairings: quinn hughes x childhood friend!reader, jack hughes x platonic best friend!reader, quinn x artist!reader

warnings: angst and comfort, fluff

summary: you and quinn throughout the years, and how you fall in love <3

song: mary's song (oh my my my) by taylor swift

word count: 4.4 k

notes: I love lake quinn sm :)

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

our daddies used to joke about the two of us, growing up and falling in love, our mamas smiled, and rolled their eyes

"oh, she's so tiny!" ellen cooes, cradling the little bundle of pink, "and she has your eyes, birdie."

your mother smiles at the nickname her college friend had given her freshman year, when a bird had pooped on her head during a girl's night out.

it stuck (literally), and almost 10 years later, as her best friend holds her babygirl, she's reminded of everything they'd been through together.

"congrats, man. the first girl in the family!" jim slaps your dad on the shoulder, the two men smiling at their wives.

"oh, she's just precious." you yawn, and all of the adults are reduced to an awwing mess.

quinn toddles over, chubby toddler legs still unsure. he lands on his butt half a foot away from ellen, who lifts him up with the hand that wasn't holding you.

"look, quinny."

quinn reaches out a finger towards you, and jim is about to chide him when your tiny little fist locks around it. his wide eyes widen even more. you gurgle happily at him, and for the first time in a while, he goes completely still, enraptured by the baby in front of him.

"oh." your father whispers.

"well, that's your son-in-law now," jim laughs.

"hey, don't count out jack! they're closer in age, after all."

your mom rolls her eyes, as ellen snorts, "let's not pre-write our kid's futures before they're five, please."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

i was seven and you were nine, i looked at you like the stars that shine

"y'know, birdie," ellen starts, "the boys might be right."

"no, they cannot eat four pb and j's and then go to the carnival-"

"no, not the little ones!", ellen laughs, "our husbands. they might be right."

"oh, that? the whole son-in-law thing?" your mom grins, as she watches luke chase after you with a worm.

the two women are silent and thoughtful as you - screaming at the top of your lungs - duck behind quinn, who sternly tells off his little brother. your sticky hands lace with his, naturally, albeit a bit awkward the way only kids can be.

you absolutely adore quinn. he's your protector, the one you turn to more often than not. jack is your best friend, and you remind her of that often. luke is your baby brother, the one you coddle and fuss over.

and the boys adore you just as much; jack plays pirates with you all day, Luke follows you like a puppy, and quinn...

he's staked a claim on you that makes your mom laugh, but worry a little when your older and you inevitably find someone who isn't him.

it never occurred to her that he might be the one.

"oh my god." your mom says as your dad walks in with jim.

"ha! see? I know I put money on my son for good reason." jim says gleefully, and quickly pipes down at ellen's dirty look.

"jack is also your son, man." your dad shakes his head.

"seriously? you guys made bets on the future love lives of your prepubescent kids?"

"birdie, it's just a joke!"

he eats his words as quinn leads you through the door. you're in tears, a nasty scrape on your knee. he's got your hand cradled in his.

ellen and your mom fawn over it, how brave you were, but all you could remember is how quinn held your hand the whole time.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back when our world was one block wide, i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried

when you're ten, you almost have your first kiss.

you're going through a phase, really, when all you would wear were your overall jean shorts, a big t-shirt and your red converses. you have little pen drawings all over your shoes and shorts.

now, when you look at the photos from back then, you cringe a little at how lanky and young you look.

you're with the boys at one of the neighbouring lake houses, a couple of other girls and a few guys too.

everyone there lived on the same block, so it was odd that you hadn't all hung out together before.

quinn can tell you're uncomfortable around the other guys, who are loud and frankly very obnoxious. even his 12-year-old self can tell.

he tells you that you can all leave and go get ice cream near the boardwalk, but you refuse. you're 10 already, you can handle a few new strangers.

somehow, spin the bottle is brought up and you find yourself sitting cross-legged as one of the older girls - who's kind and much more grown than you - tellsdyou how to spin the bottle.

your hands shake and the backs of your knees are slick with sweat, but you spin anyways. you want to seem cool and older too.

you watch the root beer bottled patter as it turns, the ting, ting sound dissonant with your thumping heart.

it lands on quinn.

your quinn who knows all of the words to the spider man movies, who gives the last popsicle to you and lets you tuck your feet under his thighs when you get cold.

this is a disaster, you think, because you don't know how to kiss! are you supposed to use your tongue? you almost gag at the thought.

quinn can see your very apparent panic, and the only thing on his mind was to make it of away.

he wants to hold your hand, but when you turned nine you had decided that boys had cooties, so you refused to touch him or his brothers.

"...we don't have to," he offers, scratching his neck. one of the boys boo, and you flush.

you shook your head, "i want to."

he smiles, shy and boyish and your heart goes into overdrive.

his face matches yours in colour as he scoots forward awkwardly, cupping your face the way he'd seen his dad do to his mom.

as he leans forward, you burst into tears. if you kiss him, and he's disgusted by your kissing skills - or lack thereof - he wouldn't be your quinn anymore.

you run out embarrassed, leaving quinn's hand outstretched and the older girl from earlier confused and worried.

you think that you had ruined it all, but later that night when quinn offers to take you to get ice cream and lets you get two scoops, you know nothing can tear the two of you apart.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back to the creek beds we turned up, two A.M. riding in your truck and all I need is you next to me

the year quinn turned 16, he gets his boating and drivers license.

when the first real day of summer - he doesn't count the days until he sees you and the lake house again - starts and he finds you making eggs and bacon in the kitchen, he gives you an offer.

"hey, chickie." he tugs playfully at the string of your apron. jim had given you that nickname because of your mom's. chickie, like a baby bird. jack liked to call you chicklet, and Luke followed suit.

the adults think you've outgrown that name, and only call you chickie sporadically.

it's become special for you and quinn, sacred even,

"hi, quinny." you answer in the same tone, swatting him with the spatula in your hand.

"give me a piece of bacon and i'll take you out onto the water. i'll even let you drive a bit when we're far out." he murmurs as you turn the stove off.

"really?" you squeal, and he winces jokingly.

"yes, yes! finally!" you throw yourself at him, letting the older boy catch you around the waist. he grins into your hair, his cheek muscles unused by the seasons without you.

"okay, kid. pipe down. where's my bacon?" he grumbles, but he smiles when you turn around to fix him a whole plate.

you forget in all of your excitement that he doesn't even like bacon.

it's pathetic, really, but he missed you. he still does even though you're less than a foot away from him, salting your scrambled eggs.

he finishes his food faster than you do, and leaves to set up the boat with your promises that you would hurry.

he's excited; he hasn't seen you since christmas, and then, he had to share you with jack and luke and his parents too.

that year, you and jack had become decidedly closer, and quinn knows he has to establish that boat time was for you and him only.

so when jack and luke both follow you onto the boat, whooping and screaming, he's pissed.

and on top of that, he has to drive the boat while you and jack banter and threaten to shove each other off of the moving vessel.

it wasn't fair: you're his person. you guys did gas station runs together, you always looked at him with sad puppy eyes when you were cold.

he'd always grumbled and give you his sweatshirt when you refused to bring a jacket and ended up shivering. you always begged to braid his hair when the sun was at it's highest and there was nothing to do.

so yeah, excuse him if he was mad that your time together was interrupted by jack and luke of all people.

so when you walk up to him, hair messy and wearing nothing but your bathing suit and one of his old hockey jerseys, he tries his best to ignore you.

"quinny!" you exclaim, nudging his shoulder, and once more when he doesn't answer.

he glances quickly at you, but one look is enough to make his chest squeeze in that way that it started to do since last summer.

you had always been beautiful, but you were starting to be seriously gorgeous.

your hair is windblown, skin tanned and freckled with eyes bright from the sheer novelty of it being summer again.

you'd started to fill out more; the tiny bikinis you - and he - loved made something hot tug in his lower stomach.

tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow in the way that always makes him soften like butter, "I thought you were gonna let me drive!"

"ask jack to teach you," he snarks, and regrets it immediately at the hurt on your face.

his chest tightens, like someone has taken the hurt on your features and shoved it between his rib cage so he couldn't breathe.

the two of you don't talk for the rest of the day.

quinn feels like an asshole, and he really doesn't like how you refuse to sit in your normal spot next to him during movie night, instead opting to tuck yourself between the edge of the couch and luke.

and the salt on the wound was when you don't laugh at the stupid jokes he makes for you, especially.

his mom asks him what he had done when he goes to get more popcorn in the kitchen.

"what? why did you automatically assume I didn't something?" he asked, offended.

"because, that girl sticks to you like a magnet," ellen smooths his temple, "and because no one makes you smile and talk like she does. you've been silent all day."

the next night, he shows up at the door of your room in the lake house your two families shared.

he knocks, and pokes his head in, "chickie?

you're at your table, drawing again like you always were.

he keeps the little sketch of him you made last summer in his wallet, tucked under the picture of all of the hughes boys and you.

you ignore him, and he flops on your bed. the floral sheets your mom bought when you were 11 smells like you. he tries not to be creepy and inhale - at least too noticeably.

"gas station run?" he asks.

you finally spare him a glance, "quinny, it's past one o'clock, and it'll take at least 20 minuted to get there."

"please? I really want chips."

you sigh, ever the martyr, and agree. neither of you mention how the hughes stock up enough snacks to last at least 2 months the beginning of every summer.

the battle of who cracks first kept on, until finally, on the way back from the gas station, quinn sighs, "I'm sorry.

you frown, clearly not impressed, "I don't even know why you're sorry."

"god, this is embarrassing-"

"quintin, i swear-"

"i wanted the boat ride to be just us two!" he exclaims loudly.

there was a beat of silence, only the chirp of crickets that crept in the tall grass you could hear through the open windows of jim's truck.

the light on the radio shined, 1:59 AM.

"what?" you ask, a little confused and very much flustered.

"i missed you, chickie, and jack is always monopolizing your time! you're my person and-"

"are you jealous?"

"what?"

"oh my god, you are! you're jealous!"

"no!" he splutters, grateful that it's pitch black outside, because he can feel his ears heating up.

you laugh, tugging at one of his curls, as he grumbles something about not letting you eat any of his salt and vinegar chips.

"quinny?" you ask a little while later, when he's pulling back into the drive way, "y'know that you're my person too, right?"

you look soft and sleepy, under the light of the car, in one of his hoodies and sleep shorts.

he swears he turns into liquid in the drivers seat.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

well, i was sixteen when suddenly, i wasn't that little girl you used to see

"I wouldn't worry about that, chicklet." jack throws his arm around you, and you roll your eyes at the many girls starting to glare at you.

"I don't know what you're talking about." except you do.

there's a girl flirting with quinn, and she's pretty. she's got tattoos on her arms, and she's tall, almost tall at him.

you take a break from the self-deprecating comparison between yourself and her to admire quinn for one second.

he's gotten so tall and broad, all the signs of boyhood gone, except when he smiles that special smile for you. the one when his eyes get all squinty and he bares all of his pretty teeth.

your heart twists, because he hasn't smiled at you like that all summer.

you don't know what you did wrong. maybe he's outgrowing you. he'll be a college man next fall, and you're still in high school.

he's got the whole world in front of him, and well, you couldn't blame him if he didn't want to settle for you.

you realize your feelings for him the beginning of the summer.

or you uncover them, because if you're honest, they've always been there.

and right now, you're wearing your heart on your sleeve, because he looks so handsome in a tight black t-shirt and shorts, a backwards cap on his curls.

his biceps look huge, and between the teenage hormones and the two shots in your system, you want to climb him like a tree.

the more romantic side of you wished you had your charcoal and parchment, so you can copy down his likeness for when your old and greying and you can't remember how he looks illuminated by the moon and bonfire.

"yeah, sure. you're clueless." jack snorts, and he makes his way to the drink table at the party you're at.

you pass by Luke, who's preoccupied by a girl way too old for him, and go sit closer to the fire.

you're mad.

you're mad because you've dressed up real cute, in a tiny black tube top and denim shorts.

you're mad because your hair is curled the way quinn likes it.

you know that for a fact because every time it looks like that, he comes up behind you to wind his fingers through a strand. it was a hassle, and he won't even look at you.

"what's a pretty girl like you doing alone?"

it's a boy with mussed, brown hair and a nice smile.

he's cute. peter, or pierre, he introduces himself. he reminds you a bit of the boyfriend you had first semester of sophomore year.

you've had boyfriends, and quinn has had his relationships, but summer was sacred.

that's why you felt ill when you flirted with him, not because quinn was a mere 20 feet away, starting to glance over and frown.

quinn has always been a jealous motherfucker; you'd give it 5 minutes before he comes over.

you try not to gloat when he comes over in 2.

"hey, chickie. time to go." he tells you, taking you cup and winding an arm around your waist.

you roll your eyes, pushing him off, "no, I'm good here,"

quinn crosses his arms and puffs out his chest, biceps flexing in front of you.

the boy smiles - you've already forgotten his name, something p - and shrugs at quinn.

he's mad now, you can tell, but you wrap you're fingers around the other boy's elbow to egg him on.

"oh, for- that's it. c'mon."

suddenly, your feet are swept out from under you, and you're thrown over his shoulder.

you frown, realizing that you're in the air.

"hey!" you protest weakly as people turn to look at you. quinn continues his trudge all the way to where he's parked his dad's truck and dumps you on the hood like you weigh nothing.

"what are you doing?" he asks, eyes dark, "that guy is no good-"

"no! what are you doing?" all of your frustration pools in your throat, and embarrassing tears are starting to prick at your eyes.

"you won't even look at me all summer, you're flirting with some girl and you get mad at me? you're being such-"

he shakes his head, looking as exasperated as you feel.

"do you know how hard it is-" he breathes out shakily, "how difficult it is to control myself around you?"

"what?" you ask, heart beating in your ears, "what?"

"i have been in love with you since i was 12, chickie." his tone is begging, and so are his eyes.

he looks pained, and you want to relieve it so, so badly. but he still won't touch you. he's hovering away from you, like he has for the past month.

"i love you, and you see me nothing more than a brother, like how you see jack. and it hurts, here," he rubs the heel of his palm between his ribs, "to know that you'll never want me the same way."

"quinn-"

"no, let me talk. I've spent the past 6 years pining after you. I've tried to move on, but all...nothing compares to you. I want you so bad, chickie, but..." he turns from you, head in his hands.

now, if you weren't like 3 beers and 2 shots deep, you would realize that he can't really go anywhere because you're quite literally on the top of his car.

but drunk you is clearly a dumbass, because you think he's trying to leave. so you tell him what's actually on your mind.

"i love you!" you blurt out.

he turns slowly, "what?"

"i love you too. i thought you didn't want me because you're leaving for college, but i want you so bad, please-"

the next thing you know, he's between your legs, so warm and solid, pulling you in by your cheek like during that spin the bottle game 6 years ago.

you let him kiss you for real this time, you let him push up your shorts to feel more of your skin, you let him lick into your mouth.

he pulls away, and you whine, tugging him in again.

he laughs, which makes you laugh in turn, and you slide down the hood as you giggle. he catches you, because he always does.

"i love you." you tell him, and he flushes, nuzzling into your neck.

"say it again," he demands, just because he can.

"i love you, my quinny." you coo, and he wants to crawl into your skin and settle there forever.

"i love you too, chickie."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

oh, my, my, my

"told you so." Jim tells the rest of the parents.

the four of them - the weirdos - are on the second floor, leaning on the bannister as you make breakfast with quinn.

well, you make breakfast and he's distracting you.

he's got his arms wrapped around your shoulders from the back, and the two of you waddle like a pair of penguins around the kitchen gathering ingredients for pancakes.

you're giggling, and he's got a half-smile on his face.

you look so happy together than ellen and your mom are ignoring jim's gloating.

they are even kind enough to ignore the exchange of money between the two men, after all, your dad had bet on jack and lost.

"i can't wait for their wedding."

"hold on, now!"

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

a few years had gone and come around, we were sitting at our favorite spot in town and you looked at me, got down on one knee

you're on Quinn's lap, content and warm. the two of you had gotten up to watch the sunrise, first day of the summer at the lake house.

it's nice to have everyone in one place again, the two of you coming from vancouver, the boys from new jersey.

the past couple of years had been hard; a year or two long distance, until you went to study architecture at UBC after quinn had been drafted.

this year, 24 and 22, you finally get some rest and the promise of settling down more.

quinn's captain, and you have a good job that lets you work remote and do what you love.

and more importantly, the two of you are always together.

"babe?" quinn asks, running a hand down your arms, "c'mon, let's go to the dock?"

you don't protest, just happy to be at your childhood lake house.

he leads you there, like he always does.

"pretty." you stare out at the water, orange and pink sky meeting in the still horizon.

"yeah." quinn gives you a smile, rare for anyone else.

but he has always smiled for you, and you greedily hoard them in your memories.

"got something to show you," he pulls his wallet out, the two pictures in the clear flaps catch your eye.

one is a polaroid of you and your boys. quinn is 15, jack is 14, you're 13 and luke is 11. all of you are lanky and awkward, wrapped around each other and grinning ear to ear.

the other is also a polaroid, taken by ellen a year or two ago, when all of your parents came to visit your Vancouver apartment.

quinn's arm is around your shoulders and you're clinging to his side, one hand curled around his waist and the other on his chest. you're smiling at the camera, and quinn is smiling at you.

"cute," you tell him, but he digs a finger into the little pocket.

"fuck," he swears when whatever he's looking for doesn't come out.

"here, let me," you offer. you retrieve a piece of thick parchment with your smaller hands.

it's a sketch of quinn you did when you were in your early teens.

it's not great, you have to admit. the lines aren't smooth like how you sketch now, but the ink and paper is in pristine condition.

"quinn...you kept this?" you ask softly, oddly emotional.

when you look at him, he has a weird look on his face. he scratches his neck.

you stare at each other for a moment, the familiarity of your love almost stifling in the cool morning air.

and then he drops down on one knee.

you start crying, immediately.

that sets him off, and the two of you are blubbering as he tries to get through the speech he wrote in his notes 7 months ago after he got the ring and you were in the shower.

he tells you he loves you, how he's never going to leave you, that you're going to build a life together, just like how you've done everything together since you were kids.

you believe him, because your quinn is nothing if not earnest and steady.

you let him slip the simple ring onto your finger, and he lifts you up into strong arms to kiss you.

you're so deliriously happy that your teeth clash with his in a smiling kiss.

your families cheers from the porch, and you laugh, watery and heart full.

jack runs up first, swinging you around and clapping his hand down on quinn's shoulder.

Luke kisses your cheek and hugs his older brother, as ellen and your mom hug you together.

jim wraps his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead, "thanks for helping me win the bet, chickie." you chuckle, reaching for your dad next.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle, our whole town came and our mamas cried, you said I do and I did too

the wedding takes place a year later, in a small winery near the house, because ellen and your mom refused to let you have the wedding on the dock.

this was your compromise, because it's a small affair.

your dad walks you down the aisle to quinn. you're smiling, like there's a hanger in your mouth because you're just so happy.

he cries when he sees you, and so do the other hughes boys.

you hear your mom and ellen, tears meeting shaky smiles on their faces.

your own college friend, your birdie, fixes your veil and holds your bouquet.

sweet promises are exchanged in your vows, and when you have your first kiss as mr. and mrs. hughes, all of your loved ones cheer.

quinn sweeps you off your feet and bridal carries you to a change room so you can switch into your reception dress.

he sees you later as jack, who volunteered to be the mc, announces you guys as mr. and mrs. hughes.

quinn's eyes are hot and dark as he sees your smooth skin under white lace, and whispers something into the shell of your ear that makes you pink.

you dance together, with his brothers and his dad, with your own too.

but the last dance is saved for the two of you.

"i can't wait to grow old with you, chickie." he whispers romantically.

"you'd make such a cute old man," you tell him, and he rolls his eyes.

you laugh, and so does he.

forever sounds real good to you.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[fum1ku]

LOVE TROPES - HQ BOYS

ft. osamu miya, daichi sawamura, kei tsukishima, keishin ukai, atsumu miya

should i be working on the highly requested pt. 2 to my recent works that’s currently sitting in my drafts? yes. should i also probably be working on the few requests i’ve got in my inbox? also yes. am i still over here writing whatever this is instead of doing those things? absolutely. at least i’m writing something!

OSAMU: friends to lovers.

you had been friends with the miya twins since high school. you had always butt heads with atsumu; bickering back and forth about anything and everything. but it was different with osamu. it felt like you both understood each other, in a way. plus the mutual dislike you both had for atsumu definitely helped. and now, nearly 8 years later, your friendship was still going strong.

well past 8pm, you stood over the front counter at onigiri miya with samu cleaning behind the counter for closing, and atsumu sitting at a stool next to you.

“i don’t know what his problem is! we go out for drinks one night, wind up at his place, and then the next day he can’t even be bothered to send me a single fucking text. seriously. i’m done!” you were going on about your.. most recent boyfriend.

“why don’tcha just dump him then?” atsumu offered, his mouth full of the onigiri osamu had made for him.

“atsumu, you’re disgusting! and i can’t because we aren’t even a thing! which is good—i don’t want us to be.”

osamu laughed at you two from behind the counter.

“okay well then what’s the problem! i don’t understand you women,” atsumu exclaimed, licking off the last bits of onigiri form his fingertips and shoving his plate behind the counter. “i’ve got practice tomorrow. so i’m gone. some of us actually have real problems that aren’t centered around one night stands with guys!”

“oh right, atsumu, like your sex life is any better,” you muttered. the door slammed shut behind him as the bell above the door exhibierst through the building.

you sighed, sinking further into your chair.

“here,” osamu slid a plate towards you. “might make ‘ya feel better. plus i need feedback to see if it’s worth addin’ to the menu.”

you smiled. “thanks, osamu. and yeah, i’ll give good feedback, promise!”

osamu smiled to himself as he wiped down the back counter. yeah, sure, after 8 years of pining he was no closer to asking you out. but, no matter what, he’d always be here to make you food whenever another boy made you cry.

DAICHI: love at first sight.

it had been a long practice and daichi had decided to treat everyone to a snack down at sakanoshita. daichi stood with suga and asahi waiting for the 1st and 2nd years to finish grabbing their fill. tanaka and noya had seen daichi paying as an opportunity to grab whatever they wanted.

“c’mon you guys!” suga yelled from across the store. “we don’t have all day!”

it has been a long day of classes for you, so it wasn’t even an option in your mind whether you should stop at the convenience store or not. only now you had found yourself in your own little debate.

“milk tea.. or coffee?” you mumbled to yourself. you were bent down over the drinks section taking your sweet time.

daichi turned around to see you and knew he was gone right then and there.

suga scoffed at the two 2nd years taking their time, only to turn back and find daichi’s gaze focused on you.

“hey, daichi, maybe we should—” he started, but stopped as soon as he noticed daichi staring. he whispered to asahi and they both began berating their poor captain.

“c’mon, dude! why don’t you just go talk to them? we obviously have the time!” suga nudged at his arm.

daichi denied anything. “hey, i don’t even now what you’re talking about, suga! we’re here for snack for the team, just go focus on that.”

“hey, don’t we go to school with them? y/n l/n. class 2, i think,” asahi piped up. he couldn’t remember where exactly he knew you from, though.

daichi was sure if he had gone to school with you, he’d remember.

“they’re in photography club! that’s how i know them! they asked me to join after i dropped out of volleyball,” asahi recalled, loud enough to grab your attention.

you looked up to find the set of 3rd years staring in your direction. your drink in hand, you made your way up to them.

“azumane, right? nice to see you again!” you beamed.

“y-yeah, right! good to see you too, l/n,” he smiled, nervously.

“are you guys in line?” you questioned.

“no—no we’re not! sorry about that!” daichi apologized, moving to the side to allow you to get to the register.

you placed your drink on the counter, making small talk with the guy at the front register.

“c’mon, daichi! if you don’t ask them before they leave you might not get to again!” suga whispered.

“suga, let it go. it’s too strange—they don’t even know me.”

suga shoved daichi forward just as you turned around to make your way towards the door.

“oh! hi!” you mused.

“s-sorry. hi.. again.”

“sawamura, right? you’re the captains of the volleyball team!” you smiled.

“yeah, i am. and you’re l/n, right? asahi was telling me about you. you’re in photography.

“i am, actually! and please, just call me y/n!”

“then just call me daichi!”

first name basis after 10 minutes? way to go daichi!

“actually..” you started. “i was wondering if it’d be possible for me to take some action shots of the volleyball team? i was going to use them for an upcoming project of mine. of course if not, that’s okay too! you probably need to talk it over with the team.”

“yeah—absolutely! i’ll have to talk it over with everyone, but i don’t see it being a problem at all,” he said, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “what class are you in? i can talk to you some time next week to figure out what day would work best.”

“here,” you said, turning around to the man behind the counter. “excuse me, do you have a pen i could borrow?”

the man tossed you a pen, not giving a second look to you from behind his magazine. you pulled out daichi’s arm and started scribbling down numbers.

your.. phone number?

“now you can call me, that’ll be easier!” you smiled. “anyways, i gotta run. see you later, daichi. tell azumane i said bye too!”

he was speechless. did he really manage to get your number without even trying?

suga ran up behind him. “dude! how? you hardly said anything to them!”

“wow, daichi’s got skills with the ladies!” tanaka mused, noya trailing behind them. their arms were stacked full with all kinds of snacks.

he was definitely not paying for all of those.

KEI: academic rivals to lovers.

you worked at the library at the university you attended. tsukishima had seen you around campus a few times. yamaguchi would go as far as to describe you as tsukishima’s “campus crush”—which tsukki of course denied. he hardly even knew you.

but, this semester is when things finally got interesting. you had wound up taking the course tsukishima was the TA for.

you were currently bent down behind a bookshelf in the campus library, organizing the books that needed to be put away. you noticed a hand grab a book off your cart.

you stood up. “anything you need help finding?”

“no,” the man stated, blankly.

you examined the book in his hand. “wait. are you in psych 301? haven’t seen you in there before.”

“kei tsukishima. i’m the assistant in that class this semester.”

“oh! i’m y/n l/n. are you reading that book for fun then, or?”

“i know. i graded your last essay. something about the human consciousness or whatever,” he stated, pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose.

your face went hot. “oh? so you were the one that gave me a B- on that. that was the best paper i’ve written all semester!”

“yeah, only because you can’t write any better ones. and maybe actually read the syllabus before you join the class,” he deadpanned.

“okay, mr. know-it-all. and for what it’s worth, i did in fact read the syllabus.”

“well if you actually paid attention, then you’d know this book was meant to be read alongside the other materials.”

wait. what?

before you could say another word, he placed the book back down in the cart. “my email is on the syllabus if you’d actually care to read it. good luck actually passing the class.”

you were so going to find that syllabus. and you were definitely doing to pass that class.

KEISHIN: second chance.

stepping foot into sakanoshita after years felt like a dream. but seeing keishin, your high school boyfriend, sitting there behind the counter, was what really sent you back.

“keishin?”

ukai actually took the time to look up form his magazine, and he was glad he did. “y/n?”

“keishin!” you smiled. “i didn’t realize you family still owned the place!”

he stood up form his seat behind the counter. “yeah! work here part-time, coach volleyball the other half.

“you coach volleyball? does the old ukai not coach anyone then?”

“nah, old man retired last year. still coaches a few younger kids on the side. but, hey, how have you been? it’s been years since i last saw you in miyagi. 4? 5, maybe?”

“yeah,” you sighed. “it’s definitely been awhile. but life has been great in tokyo. my internship finally ended and so i’m back here for the next month or two!”

“really? you got to let me take you out sometime—drinks, to celebrate.”

you felt the slight rush of heat to your cheeks. “r-right! of course!”

“hey, if you wanted, we close in less than an hour. you could wait here till then, catch up, then let me take you out for drinks.”

“alright,” you smiled, taking a seat behind the counter next to ukai. “tell me about your team then. where do you coach? karasuno?”

you felt like you were 16 all over again. just him and you.

ATSUMU: opposites attract.

you were the promotional manager for the msby black jackals. everyone on the team loved you—yes, even sakusa. though he wouldn’t admit it. but, atsumu being the sly guy he is, took every opportunity to flirt with you. of course, keeping things professional, you shut him down every chance you got. plus, it would never work. ever. you knew that.

he was childish, you were mature—top of your office only a few months in. he was selfish half the time, and he’d always describe you as one of the most thoughtful people he’s ever met. he was confident and bold. you were quiet and reserved, at least time him. so when you find yourself alone with him at the gym one night late after practice, going through your binder of advertising ideas, you didn’t know what to make of it. the way you could feel he eyes focused on you and only you drove you insane.

you finally took a break form your rant about new promotional ideas for the team, leaving a heavy silence between the two of you.

“y/n?” he finally said, breaking for silence.

“yeah, atsumu?” you respond, not looking up form your binder.

“you should let me take ‘ya out. i mean it.”

you quietly gasped to yourself.

sure, atsumu had made pass after pass at you every day for the last few months since you started working with the team. but, this time, he sounded so.. genuine.

what’s even worse is you couldn’t help yourself from the words the escape your lips in the last moment.

“okay.”

© fum1ku 2024.

⁂ taglist: @chloiyoomi @eashn + let me know if you want to be added! 💌

[anaalnathrakhs]

anyway daydreaming about what T could do to me in an alternate universe where i’m not a massive weirdo about normal body stuff. depending on how it turns out i’d probably end up some kind of cliff burton/necrobutcher hybrid. in my later years i’d shave half my head and grow a goatee to match the battle jacket.

[apomaro-mellow]

steddie falls into porn cliches on accident

Steve was in the middle of washing the conditioner out of his hair, loving the silky smooth feeling and watching the water turn from cloudy to clear as it was all rinsed out. He was ready to start washing his body in earnest now, when he heard the doorbell ring.

For a second, he was ready to just ignore it, thinking it might be a delivery or someone trying to solicit. They could leave whatever they had on the doorstep or keep moving. Then the bell rang a second time and Steve remembered that he was in fact supposed to answer it.

Robin had hired a plumber to fix their sink. She told him they'd be coming between 8 am to noon. Steve had gotten in the shower exactly at eight, thinking surely he had enough time in that window. What kind of plumber showed up this promptly!?

Steve turned the shower off and grabbed the first robe off the hook. It wasn't his, he knew that. But in his defense, Robin wasn't home and he liked to air dry when he could. She could get mad at him later for snagging hers. He tied it hastily, rushing to the door before the plumber left.

-------------------

Eddie waited for the door to be answered, checking his watch while he did. Today was his only appointment, so he thought he was doing well by showing up on the early end of the window. He was ready to spout the rehearsed script when the door opened. Good morning, Munson and Son Plumbing. You got a problem with your drain pipe? Well I'm here to fix it. Fun fact, I'm a guitarist, so I'm pretty good with my hands. Anyone you know looking for lessons?

His uncle didn't always like him plugging his side gig, but putting up posters around neighborhoods wasn't quite as successful as actual face time. Then the door fully opened and he got an entire eyeful. A dripping wet god of a man, his modesty just barely preserved in a bath robe. It did nothing to hide his thick, hairy thighs or impressive chest.

"Hi I'm here to handle your pipe!", Eddie blurted out. "I'm mean I'm good with my hands! P...plumbing! I'm the plumber, I'm here for your plumbing."

"Oh, y-yeah, we've been expecting you", Steve tried to close the top of his robe more and that made Eddie self conscious about staring.

Steve introduced himself and Eddie did the same as he was let into the house, somehow not putting his foot in his mouth as he did. Steve took him to the problem sink and Eddie got to work while Steve excused himself.

He went into his room, looking for something presentable only to find it was mostly his stuff for the club. Definitely not appropriate for a plumber visit. Then he remembered why. He had started a load of laundry last night. And when he woke up this morning, putting it in the dryer so it'd be ready once he was done with his shower.

He went to the laundry room to do just that, emptying the contents of the dryer into his hamper, bending over to do so. Once he was done, he'd be able to put together an outfit that didn't make him look like a desperate housewife.

Eddie had just finished tangling with the pipe. It didn't take as long as he had expected but his shirt was drenched now. He listened out for Steve, hoping he was nearby so that he didn't have to call for him, only to hear something...odd.

He followed the sound until he came to an open door and realized what the sounds were - little grunts of effort. Eddie bit his lip, letting logic and reason work themselves out. Steve knew he had someone in the house and the door was wide open so he couldn't be-

Eddie walked through the door and there was Steve, bent over, top half in the dryer, bottom half sticking out. His robe had began to hitch up, revealing just the bottom of that perfect ass.

"Holy shit", Eddie squeaked out.

"Hey? Plumber guy? I know this is awkward but would you mind helping me out? My robe got caught on something and I can't-I can't free myself."

"Um, okay? So should I just...should I just?", Eddie got behind Steve, hands fumbling. Should he adjust the robe or would that be rude?

"Just grab me and pull", Steve said, wriggling around more and stopping when he heard a rip.

"Yeah, okay, yeah I'll just", Eddie grabbed Steve's hips and pulled, to no avail.

"Gonna have to do it a bit harder than that", Steve said. "Here I'll, I'll try and push too."

Eddie swallowed as he pulled again, Steve's hips coming flush with his own and eliciting a gasp from the other man.

"A...again."

Eddie pulled again, harder this time. He had kind of been working with a half chub. The kind Steve had to feel right between his cheeks every time Eddie pulled on him.

Steve gasped with each time their hips came together and it was getting hard to pretend his asshole didn't flutter with each movement.

"Fuck, just fuck me already", Steve whined.

Eddie wasted no time in dropping his pants and rubbing his cock against Steve's ass, precum dripping and Steve still wet from the shower. The tip slipped in with ease and then the rest of him and Steve's hips wouldn't stay still and then he was fucking him oh shit he was fucking him he was fucking a client while on the clock.

Steve's voice sounded goddamn ethereal, echoing inside the tub of the dryer. He was giving as good as he got, pushing back with each thrust and Eddie got to watch his dotted cheeks jiggle with each impact.

Eddie pushed the robe up more, licking his lips as he was rewarded with the sluttiest back arch that he'd ever seen. He wasn't going to last and this Steve guy wasn't either. Eddie came first, one hand on Steve's hip and the other bracing itself on the dryer so that he didn't fall over. Steve's cock spilled into the floor, a mess to be dealt with later.

"Fuck...you really are good at handling pipes", Steve laughed through his panting.

When Eddie left that day, he didn't get Steve's number. But a week later their company got a call about a clogged toilet and specifically requested that Eddie come over, that they only trusted his expertise. This time, Eddie wouldn't let it slip through his fingers. And this time when Steve greeted him in a half open robe, it was on purpose.

[blushweddinggowns]

“And that’s why I don’t mess with girls who still live with their parents,” Jeff said, finishing his story off with a flourish, “Never again. I was almost shot.”

“Oh don’t say that!” Freak laughed, “We all got a secret weakness. What was yours again? Girls with Daddy issues?”

“Hey, that was Eddie!” Gareth jumped, not seeing the way Eddie immediately tensed up, “Jeff was into the lingerie thing. You don’t remember the catalogs under his bed?”

“Oh my god the catalogs!” Freak cackled, “So many catalogs.”

“Hey, don’t laugh at me, Mr. Foot Fetish,” Jeff pointed out, giggling himself at his friend’s scandalized gasp, “Oh yeah, I remember! We all do!”

“Well I stand it’s better than girl’s with Daddy issues-”

“Daddy kink,” Eddie emphasized, using everything in his power not to look at Steve. This kind of thing was normal for them to talk about, sure, but he had never gone there with Steve.

“Oh potato, potatoe,” Garthe joked as he poked at him, “Same shit.”

“I think there’s a little bit of a difference,” Steve piped up next to them, casual enough for Eddie to chance a look at him. He looked normal, sipping at his beer with a small smile as everyone drunkenly snickered.

“Oh, you do huh?” Gareth challenged, “Do you got the same predilection?”

“Not exactly,” Steve said, “I’m more vanilla than anything else.”

Eddie highly fucking doubted that not with the way he’s heard Steve beg. There was nothing fucking vanilla about the sounds that boy could make. Nothing at all. But he kept that thought to himself.

“King Steve really never got freaky?” Jeff asked, a brow raised, “Come on now, we’re all guys here.”

“We can’t all have libraries of women’s underwear dude,” Steve said instead of answering. He was met with a round of laughs. Enough for no one to even notice when he stood to leave the room, all of them too busy back to poking fun at each other. Everyone but Eddie.

Eddie, who got right up and followed him into the kitchen.

“Sorry about them,” Eddie said the second he was out of earshot, watching Steve with eagle eyes as he grabbed another beer. He leaned up on the counter across from him, apologetic, “They’re a lot. We’re a lot.”

Steve shrugged with a light laugh, turning to face him, “It’s fine. They’re fine. I just didn’t know what to say.”

“You don’t gotta say anything. We’re a little too comfortable with each other,” Eddie said with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That’s what friends are for,” Steve said with a small smile. Bordering on sad, “If anything I’m a little jealous.”

Eddie blinked at him, “Jealous?”

“A little,” Steve said, not meeting Eddie’s eyes, “We never talk about stuff like that.”

“I kind of thought I was sparing you from my gross shit,” Eddie said quickly, “I just- I didn’t think you wanted to know-”

“It's not gross,” Steve interrupted, with a furrowed brow, “When did I say it was gross?”

“You sure about that?” Eddie asked, raising his brow, “The Daddy thing kind of had you running.”

“I wasn’t running!” Steve said, giving Eddie a slightly tipsy pout, “I was… embarrassed. That’s all.”

“That you aren’t into it?” Eddie asked, confused, “It’s definitely not everyone’s thing, Stevie. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well…” Steve said, his voice going quiet the longer he talked. His cheeks getting redder, “I never said I wasn’t into it.”

From the newest chapter of this fic

[moonstruckme]

ok ok, so you said you wanted some ideas for a camp counselor James, so I am here to supply one! What if reader was teaching the kids lashings and knots, and when cutting the rope with a pocket knife, their hand slips and they cut themselves, so reader tells one of the kids to get the nurse (because their hand is bleeding and they can't stand from the grass) but the kid comes back with James instead (because the kid panicked and James is the first person she saw) and James helps reader get to the nurse while fretting over their hand

Thank you for requesting angel!

cw: blood

camp counselor!James x fem!reader ♡ 827 words

A hiss escapes you as the knife slices across your hand. You drop it and your fist clenches closed on instinct, but not before the kids watching you see. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Did you cut yourself?” 

“Do we call 999?”

“No, it’s okay,” you say, keeping the pain out of your voice. “Accidents happen. This is why I’m the only one who gets to use the knife, see?” You take a second to pray it’s not bad, but when you open your hand blood spills onto the grass beneath. 

You squeeze it shut again, breathing through the wave of dizziness that nearly takes you under. The only thing worse than scaring your kids by bleeding all over the place would be traumatizing them by passing out on your way to the nurse. 

“Mia.” You look to the most responsible girl in your cabin with the most reassuring smile you can piece together. “Can you go get the nurse for me, please?” 

She nods, eyes wide, and sets off. You spend the next couple of minutes trying to distract your kids and yourself, but when an adult-sized shadow falls over you and you look up in relief you very nearly swoon for different reasons. 

“Hey.” James’ brow is puckered. It doesn’t suit him, you think, but he looks lovely anyways. He probably can’t help that. “I heard we’ve had an accident.” 

“Sorry,” Mia pipes up, “I couldn’t remember where the nurse’s office was, and I—” 

“It’s okay,” you tell her, making your voice slow and soothing to combat her squeakish one. “You did your best, and I appreciate it.” 

James flashes her a smile about ten times more effective than your own. “You have good instincts. Really, no one’s more equipped to help your fearless leader than me.” He sets a hand on your shoulder, softening his voice as he leans down close to you. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m worried I’m gonna pass out,” you admit. 

“Can I have a look?” 

“It’s bleeding a lot, James. I don’t want to open it.” 

“Alright, you’re okay. Let’s get up.” James uses his grasp on your shoulder to pull you to his chest, holding your elbow with his other hand as he stands the both of you up. The change in altitude makes you immediately woozy, and a quick sigh escapes you as he scrambles to get a better grip, one arm banding around your waist. “Do you need me to carry you?” 

“No, sorry. I think I just…sorry.” 

You expect him to tease you, but maybe you should have thought better of him. “What’re you sorry for? You’re alright, lovely, just let me know if you change your mind. Or just collapse on me, and I’ll get the point.” 

He starts walking you towards the nurse’s office, your unsturdy legs following behind you. James’ body is warm and solid. You can feel the flex of his bicep pressed tight to your back, and the material of his shirt is softly worn. You don’t realize you’ve dropped your cheek onto it until you register the chatter you’re leaving behind and pick your head up. 

“The kids,” you murmur, making to turn around. James keeps you held to him, but stops. 

“Hey, guys,” he calls back to them, “my cabin’s in arts and crafts with Charlie, do you wanna go down there and tell her I sent you?” 

There’s a few excited calls of agreement, and James waits until your campers start heading in that direction before you both continue. 

“You cut yourself with your knife?” he asks, peering over your head to see where you’ve tucked your injured hand tight to your chest. It’s still dripping blood as you walk, though you think slower than before. “Is it deep?” 

“A little.” You sigh. The sun feels hotter than it did a few minutes ago, and yet James’ touch has the beginnings of a shiver curled up at the base of your spine. “I think I probably scarred my kids for life.” 

You can feel James’ chuckle reverberate through his chest. “Don’t worry, they’ll be fine. Kids are hardy, especially these ones. One of my boys put hot sauce in another’s coke yesterday and the kid barely even flinched. Drank the whole thing.” 

You feel your lips tugging upwards. “Well, my girls are better than your boys.” 

He huffs a laugh. “I could so prove you wrong, but I don’t make a habit of arguing with the wounded.” 

James gets you to the nurse’s office in one piece. You expect him to go then, but he insists on staying to make sure you’re okay. He keeps you tucked into his side, scrubbing his hand up and down your arm intermittently and kissing your hair when the nurse has to clean your cut. He lets you leave your cheek resting on his chest, and you still feel dizzy for a myriad of reasons, but your injury is no longer one of them.

[luveline]

hey pookie bear❤️❤️ i was wondering if u could do james x reader but enemies to lovers/one bed troupe, i can’t find enemies to lovers with james very often and my mind is craving it. thank you ily❤️❤️

hey!! ily tysm for requesting!!! —you and co-worker!james share a hotel room for the night. fem!reader, 1.5k

James Potter is the most insufferable, arrogant, suffocating boy you've ever met in your entire life, so when you hear you'll be sharing a room with him tonight, you shut down. Total icy silence. If he wants conversation, he can ring one of his irritating mates. 

It feels borderline illegal to have your workplace make you share a room considering, but you're adults, and the trip was supposedly all inclusive. Not even the most luxurious per diem could make this worth it, though. 

James lays in the middle of the bed, arms behind his head, skin awash by lamplight and hair a dark halo against the crisp white linens. He grins at you and you despise how handsome he is. Handsome, and such a fucking prick of a man. 

"Won't you join me?" he teases. 

You've kept your vow to ignore him until that point. "Please don't lie on my side of the bed." 

He moves over, looking startlingly apologetic. You'd believe he was repentant, but he asks, "What's the point? You'll be in my arms sooner or later." 

You nibble the inside of your lip. He agitates you, he irks you, but you know James is a good guy. His irritating mates are the same. When you joined the office, he made sure they all remembered to celebrate your birthday though it'd only been a few weeks. When you fell up the icy steps on the way in one morning, James didn't take the piss. He helped you up into the doorway and frowned at your bloody knees and ripped tights like they physically pained him.  

"Do you want to shower first?" you ask. 

"I shower in the mornings. Thank you. But I can strip down now if you'd like." 

"James, please," you say, rubbing your eyes. You'd usually have something much more biting to say, but you're tired. At the last second, you summon the energy. "No one wants to see that." 

He glares at you like he's remembered he doesn't like you. 

"Cruel." 

He leans over the edge of the bed and pulls a book out of his suitcase where it lays in arm's reach. 

"I didn't know you could read," you add. 

"Points off for awfulness. Put your jammies on, shortcake, I wanna see what you packed." 

He's being a creep to annoy you. It's working. You grab your pyjamas and a change of underwear and leave his presence to the small bathroom for a quick shower. You take your time to dry off. It's too big a wish to have him be sleeping when you emerge, and sure enough, he's wide awake but changed into his own pyjamas, plaid bottoms and a white t-shirt. 

"Now I know you're obsessed with me," he says, raising his eyebrows over the pages of his book. 

You cross your arms self consciously over your near identical pyjamas, the bathroom door closing behind you. 

James waits for you to put your dirty clothes in your suitcase before piping up again. "You look adorable." 

"Fuck off, please." 

He snorts and kicks the sheets down the length of the bed. Stretching with a groan that makes your stomach hurt, he puts his novel tented down on the nightstand. His glasses are next. He looks different without them but no less handsome. If anything, the eagle shape of his nose is more pronounced without them, as is the little pink scar on his cheek, stark against his brown skin. 

"You're an awful roommate," he says decisively, "you use all the hot water, you leave the windows open, as now you're ogling me. I feel rather objectified." 

You avert your eyes guiltily. "You might want to take your temperature. You likely have a fever, considering how delusional you're acting."

"Ooh, burn." 

Face hot with spite, you push back the sheets on your side of the bed and turn off your lamp. After a second, James turns off his. 

"You're not brushing your teeth?" you ask. Your voice lacks a specific bite, fatigue kicking in. 

"Did while you were in the bathroom." 

"What'd you do with the toothpaste spit?" 

"Swallowed it." 

You laugh. It sounds much too friendly, and you hate it. "You're disgusting," you mutter. 

You slide down flat on your back and pull the sheets over your legs and stomach, more than aware of his nearness and the heat of his body already waiting for you under the thin quilt. He smells nice, this close. Like deodorant, mint, but something else that snags your attention. 

You hate him so much sometimes —he steals your pens constantly from your desk, he never offers you a cup of coffee even when he's making them for everyone else, and he's lazy. He doesn't do his third of the finances on time. He nudges his desk into yours to make your small figurines fall over and calls it 'earthquake training'. They're fucking plastic. James Potter drives you up the goddamn wall, and being close to someone like this couldn't be more awkward. You're stiff as a board. 

"I was only kidding earlier," James says. He's quiet, but so is the room. He might as well yell. "I wouldn't lay a finger on you if you didn't want me to." 

"You gave me a snakebite three days ago." 

"I thought you had a bug on you," he says furiously, having had this argument already. "That's not the point. If you want me to sleep on the floor, I'll do that. I have no intention of making you uncomfortable." 

"You've already failed, then." 

He sighs. "I can go sleep on the floor in Sirius and Remus' room." 

"They wouldn't have you in the bed?" you joke lightly. They have a close friendship. It's nice, even though you might pretend they're a throuple whenever single girls visit the office to ruin his chances. 

"Oh, they probably would." 

"It's fine. Don't… don't bother. It's not a big deal for me if it isn't for you. I know you wouldn't try anything." 

"Yeah?" 

"Of course. You're a bitch, but I don't believe you're that kind." 

James laughs loudly, his chuckles shaking the mattress. You swear you can feel his eyes on your face, though the room is bathed in darkness and the strings of scarce red light blinking from the alarm clock. 

"Good. I'm not that kind of bitch," he agrees. 

"Well. Goodnight." 

"Yeah, goodnight, shortcake." 

You roll your eyes at his nickname. Whether your short or tall isn't his concern, James calls you shortcake because he's very tall, and he holds that against you often like a schoolyard tease, papers held out of reach, your figurines hidden in alcoves or on top of cabinets.

You turn onto your favoured side and try not to care that you're facing him. James falls asleep first, his breath slowing until a snore emerges, his weight dipping the cheap mattress. Combined with your own, you start to slide toward one another. 

Fucks sake, you think, edging back. 

Space reestablished between you, you close your eyes and try not to think about what he looks like when he sleeps. As you nod off, you feel the soft skin of a hand curling around your forearm. A quarter circle rubbed into your pulse. 

— 

James wakes first, and he is Oh so thankful. He isn't a pervert, he swears, he has no idea why he's curled around you like this. Hugging your arm to his chest like a teddy, his face curved downward, his nose pressed to your forehead, he wakes and he panics hard. 

You aren't touching him back. Sunlight filters in through shitty translucent blinds and kisses your unassuming face, your lashes lightened, your lips pointed down in sleep. He worries something's upsetting you while you doze. He bites his tongue. 

It's none of his business. None of his business why you're having a restless morning. 

James twists and lets your arm fall naturally back onto the sheets, squinting in the sun at the alarm clock. It's barely five AM. You needn't wake for another two hours but you will, if you keep frowning. 

James holds his breath. Carefully, he settles back onto his side facing you and cups your face. It feels too intimate, too much. He pulls his hand away after half of a second, opting to take your hand again instead. 

He's seen you cry before. Bloody hands and knees, humiliated and cold, you'd sniffled on the steps leading into the office and asked him not to tell anyone. Remus and Sirius know everything there is to know about James. His genuine but waning dislike for you, his budding crush. And yet, after pretty much a lifetime telling them every secret he'd ever come into contact with, James didn't tell them about that. He gave you the packet of tissues from his pocket, and he told you a lie about falling in the exact same place a year before you started working with them. 

The expression you gave him then is the same you wear now as he rubs the palm of your hand with his index fingers. You're comforted. Your unseen unhappiness abates.

James falls asleep like that, drawing shapes into your hand. 

—

i love him i want him to be my office frenemy. ty for reading!! pls reblog if u enjoyed it means so much to me!

[loveinhawkins]

Barely ten minutes into the hike from Skull Rock to Lover’s Lake, Dustin heaves a sigh like he’s the most long suffering person in the world to ever exist. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Henderson, what?”

“I’m bored.”

“God, you’re such a whiner. No, you—you’re like a little kid on a road trip, like, are we there yet?”

Behind them, Max and Lucas snort in almost perfect unison.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Eddie’s lips twitch into the faint semblance of a smile. It’s very quick, blink and you miss it, before he turns sombre again, looking down at the forest floor. Steve can’t blame the guy; he can’t imagine that he has all that much to smile about.

“I just meant,” Dustin says, “that we could use some entertainment.” He jerks his head meaningfully at Eddie—who thankfully still has his head down so he can’t witness this tremendous lack of subtlety—and mouths, You know, a distraction.

“And I’m the entertainment guy,” Steve says flatly.

“Well, we’ve gotta keep you around for some reason,” Lucas pipes up.

Steve turns around, walks backwards so he can point warningly at him. “Thin ice, Sinclair.”

But it’s all for show, and he keeps walking backwards, pretends to trip on a tree root and narrowly avoid a pratfall. Max actually giggles at that, which is a victory in and of itself, but Eddie’s looking down at his feet.

Hmm.

“If I wanted slapstick, I would’ve called Charlie Chaplin,” Dustin says.

“He’s dead,” Max points out.

Dustin quickly draws a hand over his neck, Cut it out. Which—yeah, that’s fair. Don’t want the conversation straying into stuff that’s too close to… everything.

“So you want education instead?” Steve says. “I think I can remember how to identify, like, some trees and shit from—”

“Forget Lover’s Lake,” Dustin says, “I’m walking you straight into a retirement home.”

Steve opens his mouth, ready to play up his outrage, and then he hears a very soft chuckle from the side. Eddie.

Steve catches Dustin’s eye, winks briefly in reassurance. Nice work.

“Oh, sorry, is that not entertaining enough for you?” Steve turns so he’s front facing again, kicking a few stray twigs as he thinks. “Uh… ooh, did I tell you about the affair? At work?”

“Someone’s having an affair at Family Video?” Lucas says, sounding disgusted.

Max cackles. “The scandal! At a family establishment, no less.”

Dustin points at her. “See, this is why you should play D&D!” he says, annoyingly sing-song. “You’ve got a flair for words.”

“How about I stick my flair right up your—”

“Uh, okay,” Eddie interrupts suddenly. “I need details.”

Aha, Steve thinks, smug. Got you.

“Fire away, Munson.”

“Did someone, like, confess to you while you were ringing them up?”

Steve scoffs. “No, it was—” He cups his mouth, calls, “Hey, Rob?”

Up ahead, Robin and Nancy turn.

“What?”

“The affair shift.”

“Oh!” Robin whacks Nancy on the arm in her enthusiasm. “This is such a good one. Okay, so am I gonna be her or—?”

“No!” Steve says. “You’ve gotta be me, you can’t do her voice right.”

“Ugh, fine, fine. Wait, I need to get into character.”

Robin makes a show of ruffling her hair, and Steve doesn’t even roll his eyes, can only grin as he hears Eddie cough a much stronger laugh into his elbow.

“Nance, count us in,” Robin says.

Nancy looks a mixture of surprised and amused. It only takes a moment of hesitance before she mimes holding a slate, mouths counting down. “Action!”

And they’re off.

It’s probably so stupid, Steve thinks, to be this loud right now, but he can’t bring himself to care—not when he can hear raucous laughter from all directions: Robin captures his flustered, wide-eyed look, while he dramatically re-enacts a woman storming into the store, demanding to see her husband’s account.

And he thinks Eddie actually laughs the loudest when he gets to the reveal: that said account was full of romantic movies the married couple had never seen together.

“Not one,” Steve echoes—and not to brag, but with this delivery? Juilliard, eat your heart out. “Not. One!”

The kids dissolve into more giggles; Robin fights to stay in character as Nancy jokingly calls, “And, scene!”

And Eddie throws back his head, and laughs and laughs.

Happiness is a good look on him, Steve thinks.

They all quieten eventually, but a lightness in mood still remains, as the kids huddle off together—“Hey, shitheads, not too far!” Steve says, far from the first time—and Eddie sidles up, fleetingly knocks their shoulders together.

“Steve Harrington. Who would’ve thought it, huh?”

“Thought what?”

Steve glances over at him, suddenly struck by the fact that the sun will go down soon; and he doesn’t really need to know what Mordor is to know that he’d rather not get there. That he’d rather freeze time, so they could all just walk in the woods forever.

Eddie shrugs. “You’re a good storyteller.” His eyes are soft, like that isn’t all that he’s saying. Like he’s saying Thank you.

Steve shrugs back. “I’m a man of many talents,” he says.

Eddie chuckles, and this time his smile doesn’t fade away.

Steve allows himself a moment or two to admire the scenery, and if that means looking less at the way the sun still shines through the gaps in the branches, and more the way that it illuminates Eddie’s lingering smile, well…

Well, so what?

Right now, we’re happy, Steve finds himself thinking.

They can stay in the Shire for a little while longer.

[dear-ao3]

well good day to all of you. i have a tale. a classified, certified absolute god tier disaster of a tale.

at the ripe hour of 6:45 am i was awoken from my slumber by a Noise. what sort of noise? you might be asking.

the sort of noise that usually accompanies my father getting up at the ass crack of dawn and trying not to turn on the tap loudly so that he doesnt wake us up.

for one blissful moment i thought that i was at home, in my bed, and all was right with the world.

and then i remembered that i live approximately four hours away from my parents and all is not right with the world.

so i did what any person would do. waited for the noise to go away.

but it did not.

so i investigated. in all my bleary eyed glory.

and found that my bathroom ceiling light was pissing.

not just a little either.

a severe, unauthorized amount of water was streaming out of my bathroom light fixture.

so after banging on katyas door and finding a bucket and throwing on a sweatshirt i dragged my tired ass down to the front desk and reported the tea as it were.

now one thing you need to know about our building is that it is old. the second thing you need to know about our building is that the maitenance guys (we call them the boys) are absolutely incredible, like tumblr funny guy posts but irl, however they take for fucking ever to respond to any situation.

this time though, nothing was in clear danger of exploding or lighting on fire. so we made some breakfast. drank some coffee. watched the bucket that we had put in the bathroom fill up with water. and we waited.

and waited.

and waited some more.

then i noticed that if you stepped on some of our kitchen floor tiles they started squelching.

so back downstairs i went and explained the tea as it were once again.

and let it be known, that i worked for two very solid and very miserable years as a resident assistant in college. i know all about the woes of people complaining to you to fix things that you cannot fix and you cannot tell them when it will be fixed because the person who needs to do the fixing is otherwise indisposed. so my general attitude towards this whole situation was "hey man you can't make this better for me and im really not pressed about it as long as someone eventually comes and sorts out my pissing ceiling." which is a great attitude to have in this general situation. and especially so because it was about to get even more strange.

at approximately 9:30am our apartment was graced by the presence of one of the boys. the maintenance man. we will call him james.

we have encountered james before. he delt with our fuse box nearly exploding. that situation was not nearly as chill as this one was.

hes also incredible.

so he comes in and he goes "hey how's it going" and i say "well you know things are just leaking!"

he proceeds to tell us that the fridge in the apartment above us had a connection pipe that froze and exploded some how and that managed to leak all into our apartment. not nearly what i was expecting but hey! at least they know what's going on!

we tell him about the squelching tiles and he says that he will bring us a dehumidifier after he turns off the water and deals with the mess of the fridge above us. we say ok great! this is wonderful!

and he goes to leave the apartment. out of habit i had locked the door when he entered. he goes "aw man did you lock me in?"

and i say

"oh sorry!"

and he pauses.

and he looks at our door in disbelief. perhaps even utter horror.

and this, my lovely audience, is what he was looking at:

surprisingly. he was not staring at the entertainment for man and horse plaque that katya and i found while thrifting. nay. he was staring at the unfortunate combination of the printed photo of lando norris and max verstappens face.

now why are lando norris and ax verstappen on the back of my door? you might be asking. you might even be asking who they are.

and if youve been following the lore of this blog, you might recognize them as formula 1 drivers. lando norris of course being a mclaren driver and max verstappen being the reigning world champion of team red bull.

and how did they wind up on my door? well at christmas katya thought it would be funny to put a picture of lando norris on top of our christmas tree and so we got one printed at cvs but when you get wallet sized photos printed they print you four of them so we ended up with four of the same photo of lando. one went on the tree, one went to my sister, one is in our bathroom and now one is on the back of our door.

as for max. well. katyas partner drinks red bull and he was on the red bull box so we cut him out and stuck him there. neither of us are particularly big max fans, it was just funny.

but anyway. i digress.

james is standing there staring at this array of perplexing stuff and goes.

"really? him??"

and i go

"yeah..." not knowing what else to say.

and james turns. and he looks at us. and he goes. and i shit you the absolute fuck not.

"now what's wrong with lewis hamilton???"

(sir lewis hamilton being the mercedes f1 driver, 7 time world champion and absolute icon)

and katya and i go

"oh no no! we love lewis hamilton! we just respect him too much to put him on the door!"

which is true

and james goes "now what did you think of him going to ferrari?"

and i say "i thought it was an interesting choice"

and katya says "i was surprised."

and james says "you and me both" and then he shuts the door behind him.

katya and i look at eachother. and we both fall to the floor in fits of laughter.

let it be known that james has come face to face with a giant tapestry of mr worldwide mr 305 pitbull himself that is in our bathroom, on several occasions, and yet, he chooses to comment on our choice of formula 1 driver that is taped to the back of our door.

im still in a state of disbelief. my ceiling is still pissing. my floor is still squelching. and my maintenance man felt the need to call our my choice of formula 1 driver at 9:30 on a saturday morning.

[shotmrmiller]

im ngl i've been driving myself insane with the thought of harboring Ghost in your home. Like in the 09 mission The Hornet's Nest where Roach falls off the one roof?

Yeah, make that Ghost and there's no other choice but for the guys to leave him behind. The LZ is too hot, the enemies are swarming like moths to a flame.

The floor comes to him.

He grits his teeth at the agony, choking back a scream. Ghost just fell off a height that should've broken at least a couple ribs; maybe they did, he doesn't know, there's too much adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He's seeing duplicates, the buildings in front of him blurred. There's buzzing in his head, loud like bees. His chest aches, it burns with the lack of oxygen. His throat feels swollen as he wheezes; each breath feels like shards of glass in his lungs.

The white noise dissipates slowly. His vision realigns, lines and details sharpening. The unseen force that squeezed his throat finally lets go, setting him free from its deadly hold., his chest expanding to the point of discomfort— deep inhale, loud exhale.

Breathe. Focus.

There's radio chatter in his ear— Price snarling at Nikolai to fucking wait, that they can't leave him there in the hornet's nest but even with his vision blurred, Ghost can see that they're getting lit up, and he's not gonna have the entire team blow to bits in the helo over him.

He's just one man, and there's a whole world to save.

There's a searing pain in his arm when he shifts, he can't remember the last time his eyes welled up with tears, but fuckin' hell does it hurt.

His hand trembles violently, and it takes him a couple of tries to finally get his thumb to firmly press down on the button of the radio in the front of his tac vest.

"Leave me! Just go!" he roars.

Price argues back that no man is to be left behind, but Ghost can hear far too many voices in a different language get louder. They'll be killed hovering in the air like that.

"Price! Go!"

The voices in his ear are deafening. He rips off his headset, letting it sit around his neck.

The helicopter above him disappears.

Good.

The avalanche of footsteps gets closer and with a strangled noise that scrapes the back of his throat, he moves. Move to safety, get away from them, hide.

Ghost pushes forward until he stumbles, falling onto one knee— using his injured arm to stabilize. White hot pain licks from the wrist up, flames threatening to consume him whole.

A few stray tears escape the corners of his eyes.

He's too blinded by the throbbing in his body to realize that someone is grabbing his other arm.

"Can you hear me?"

Ghost thinks he might be hallucinating your voice. His agony is transcendent.

"Hey! We don't have much time!"

He turns his head to his left, and there you are. A civilian, by the looks of it. And you're trying to lead him away. Where? Are you leading him to a trap?

"Quickly! They're almost here! I can hide you, but you need to get on your feet!" you piped.

Ghost gets up without a fight, decision-making dulled by everything he's feeling.

"Come on, this way!" Your hand grabs his forearm tightly as you drag him away. He trudges behind you, breathing ragged.

Clarity comes and goes, but then he feels your small palms push him forward, into your tiny home.

His eyes drag as he takes in his surroundings. A tiny television in the living room to his left, and an ugly brown couch placed in front of it. To this right is your kitchen, food still steaming on the stove, and a scratched teak dinner table with just two chairs sits by a dirty window.

Quaint.

"Okay, okay. They shouldn't come in here, but if they do, I want you to go to the bathroom and sit in the tub with the curtain closed. Understand?"

His chin tips forward unbidden.

"Good. Uhm, I saw that your right arm is injured. A makeshift splint will have to do, alright?" You briskly walk away, opening the cabinet underneath the kitchen sink.

Ghost stiffens, swallowing thickly. If you pull anything underhanded, he's going to have to kill you.

The tension melts from his shoulders when he sees that you're simply pulling out a first aid kit, and some other stuff to wrap his most likely broken arm up.

You pull out a chair before opening the kit. "Sit. I'm not standing while I do this."

He huffs but complies. "Yes, ma'am." Unafraid to order a stranger around. How peculiar.

The minutes drag on, each one more agonizing than the last. It's a relentless cycle of pain... until it finally stops. The residual pain makes him dry heave.

"Whoa there, please don't puke."

Ghost gives a pained chuckle. "I'll try."

Your fingers tighten the knot in the fabric. "Can't say it's pristine, but it's better than having your arm dangle uselessly, I think." You stare at your handiwork for a second longer, before rising from your seat.

"I'm not sure who you are, but you look like actual military and not a thug with a gun. Did you have a team?" you quietly ask as you put away the medical supplies.

He cuts his eyes to you and doesn't answer.

"Yeah, I suppose it wouldn't be smart of you to blindly give information I don't need to know."

He shakes his head imperceptibly.

"Right. Well, I'm sure you know that we need to lay low, so unfortunately, that means no tv. Sorry." How cheeky.

Ghost simply hums in response.

He looks down at his injured arm. It's wrapped tightly, enough to keep it from moving but not enough to cut off his blood flow.

Not the work of a regular civilian.

You must've noticed him scrutinizing your work because you speak up. "I've worked in the medical field before. Nothing spectacular, but I can deal with a broken bone or two."

He closes his eyes, feeling the exhaustion of the day creep up on him.

So bloody tired.

Ghost takes a breath and opens his eyes. No rest for the wicked, he thinks.

He puts his headset back on, as well as he can with his one arm.

There's a crackling sound in his ear.

[theabigailthorn]

An Off-Brand Post About the Kim Petras Concert

this post isn't about acting or youtube stuff I just want to say I had a really fun time at the Kim Petras concert last night :)

I saw her four years ago and wow, she's really gotten better - like she was a good singer before but now she's really got the pipes! Great outfits, great backup dancers, also shout out the guy who mopped the stage before she came on: I see you working hard to make it safe and enjoyable for everyone, thanks buddy!

Thank you so much to all the people who recognised me and came up and say hello: I'm really touched by how much you enjoy my work? I often feel that what I make is silly or not good enough but it makes me so happy when people get something out of it. I'm also so happy you're excited for Dracula's Ex-Girlfriend!

Shout out to the cute girl who hit on me as we were leaving and gave me her number. You might have googled me by now, perhaps you found this post - hello! I'll text you when I get back from LA; I think you might be a bit young for me 'cause you mentioned you're a final year student, but hey maybe we can just go for a friendly coffee and chat about the concert :) I need to get a burner phone first (I've had problems in the past with stalkers pretending not to know who I am) so I may not give you my actual number until we've gotten to know each other properly - sorry, my life is strange sometimes, being a public figure makes it hard to meet people but I'm flattered you approached me

Also, the opening act - Georgia - WOW, she was so good! What a talent! I'm gonna check out her music, she was so heartfelt and it was amazing how she played the drums and keyboard and sang all at once! I gave her a big thumbs up and she smiled at me!

I was the only person in the venue wearing a mask? Made me feel slightly odd but I have to film a movie next week and I didn't want to get sick, so. (I took it off to snap a quick selfie, which was perhaps a little cheeky but I wanted to remember how much I was smiling)

Wild that the last time I saw Kim I was still in the closet! How times change!

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 38

part 1 | part 37 | ao3

"Sure thing."

"Can you go say hey to everyone, too? Please?" he adds. "I need a second."

He expects Eddie to tease him for being bossy, but Eddie just winks and says, "Do you one better than that, sugar," smiling playfully with his tongue out like a dog before he bounds outside and tackles one of the kids into a pile of snow.

Steve uses the distraction to clean himself up; towel the sweat from his face and hair and clean the blood off of his knuckles, and when he steps outside a moment later Eddie's shouting "no wedgies no wedgies!!" while Dustin tries to shove a snowball down the back of his pants.

"Steve!" Eddie calls out when he spots him. "Steve, help!"

"No, help me!" Dustin counters with a strained grunt as Eddie grapples him into a chokehold. Mike yells "Get him, Eddie!" and Lucas rolls his eyes and mutters, "This is what we get for not bringing any girls."

The trip is pure chaos right from the jump, which Steve anticipated the second he suggested packing five dudes into a van for a run to the hardware store (he had to sit through ten minutes of Mike, Dustin, and Lucas arguing over everything from girls to books to whether The Cure objectively sucks or not until Eddie finally hollered "shut the fuck up!" and drowned them all out with 'real music'), but it feels good to be in charge. To have a project to manage, even if he's the reason there's a project in the first place.

He bosses the boys around the aisles when they get to the store, gathering up supplies — tarps and tools and vinyl, a few sheets of plywood to repair the damaged subfloor, disinfectant spray and gloves; safety shit, too, just in case they need it — and it reminds him of that day in the junkyard. Hey, dickheads! How come the only one helping me out is this random girl?

"You talk to Max lately?" he asks Lucas when they get a minute alone.

Lucas dips his head and kicks at the wheel of their shopping cart, looking so much like a kid, even though he's almost taller than Steve now. "No," he says with a frustrated sigh. "I don't— it's like she's there, but she's not there. You know? I don't know how to reach her."

"Mm." Steve gets that. Felt it just this morning. He claps a hand to Lucas' shoulder. "Just give her time," he suggests, bending to grab a sanding block off a shelf and drop it in the cart.

In his periphery, he sees Eddie skipping at the far end of the aisle while Mike and Dustin chase after him. "Is she still with Eddie's friend?"

Lucas glares at the back of Eddie's head at Steve's reminder, voice sullen when he answers, "Shit, man. I don't know."

"Is he being cool to you?"

"Who, Gareth?"

"No, Eddie," Steve clarifies, remembering Erica's threat-request to look out for her brother.

"Oh." Lucas scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, he treats basketball like it's the Dark Side, but-"

He breaks off with a little laugh, and Steve laughs with him. "Yeah. He's kind of dramatic. I'll talk to him about it."

"You will?"

"Sure. Jock solidarity and all that." He gives Lucas a fist bump, and Lucas gives him a long, thoughtful look, chewing his lip.

"So you guys are, like... friends now?"

Steve's heart gives an unhelpful flutter at the question. They are like friends now, he guesses, if friends kiss each other with tongue.

He clears his throat at that thought and looks away to hide his blush; sees Eddie using a cut of PVC pipe as a sword, lunging at Mike in a fencer's pose and shouting 'en garde!' "...Unfortunately, yeah."

—

part 39

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXIV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... PHYSICAL!! THERAPY!! LET'S GET TO IT!! *80s aerobics music is piped in from nowhere* Also Flash numbero two was there.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Green one,” the quickfast one says. The masked teenager groans.

Danny looks down at his cards. He’s got a green eight. He drops the card onto the pile, and waits, perfectly aware that the girl is only down to her last two cards. The card flutters vaguely toward the pile on Danny’s bed cot.

He’s sitting with his legs crossed now, he admires. Holy crap. This is what dreams are made of.

“Bruce two,” the teen in the leather jacket demands, slapping down a—Oh, it’s a green 2+ card. It’s take two. Right.

The blonde girl scoffs, but her two cards bloat back up to four. Quickly though, with a little shuffling, the four become three with a green three slapped down on top of the deck.

Everyone is down to only a three or four cards. Danny is sweating through his medical issue tee and shorts.

Danny has not won a single game yet.

Danny really wants to win.

The masked teen (why is he wearing a face mask?? Like…over his eyes?? Not even his mouth??) opens with a new complication: a red three.

The red-haired quick-kid flicks a wild card plus four down with a smirk, pleased to make this Danny’s problem. “Blue, cnytte four!”

Okay, so what is cnytte?? Danny just got used to ‘take’. What is this new synonym. Why is everyone determined to hurt him like this. Why couldn’t these people just use Esperanto.

Whatever. Danny bites his lip and pulls the trigger: wild card plus four. He quickly points to the leather-jacket teen. “R-red. Br-take eight.”

The kid splutters. “Hey! That’s not the riht!!”

That is for sure how he and Jazz used to play it in after-school. The other kids never complained. “Is.”

“No, it’s not??”

Danny sticks his tongue out. The leather-jacket wearer squawks theatrically; it takes the mask-wearing kid thirty seconds to find the official pdf of the rules of UNO, and a new argument is off to the races.

“Atredde!!” the teen demands, snatching the phone out of the masked teen’s hands to show Danny the screen. “Þær, there!!”

“I can’t read,” Danny points out cheerfully. He can read some things, sure, but not when he refuses to look at the phone.

The phone gets closer and closer to Danny’s face, and Danny looks anywhere else—at the ceiling, the floor, and his bed, all without letting the guy point it out to him.

“Atredde,” the guy demands, the glass of his screen mashed against Danny’s cheek. Danny struggles not to laugh. “Atredde, atreddeatreddelooklooklook, you wearg—“

“No aðs, no aðs!!” the only girl of the group yelps, grabbing the spare pillow from underneath herself to start beating him with. Danny’s assailant shrieks. “Do you want to get in trouble with Wonder Woman?!”

“Wonder Woman wolde take my sid!” the teen hollers. Danny ponders if biting him would solve anything for all of two seconds before the doors smack open.

Everyone looks at Diana. Diana looks at everyone.

“I win!” Danny cheerfully announces, and sets off more yelling.

Danny does not, in fact, win anything other than a late lunch. Still, it is enough that he won, even if he has to sit through a gentle, brow-raised scolding as the nurse cleans his port and replaces his stomach-hole bag.

Lunch is a smoothie with powered vitamins and some pain medication mixed in. Life goes on.

For the first time, though, Danny doesn’t eat lunch alone; since he can, like, keep his bed relatively clean now that he isn’t constantly leaking ectoplasm everywhere, there are four teenagers crammed onto his bed with sandwiches, wraps, and sodas of their own. Danny can phonetically pronounce the brands on the side of the can, he notices. He has no idea what they mean, but sometimes the girl in the blonde bob and the too-fast teen will ask him to pronounce them, and they only snicker sometimes.

The teen in the mask makes a noise. “I want a lið. Wha want anything?”

“Nah,” No,” “Na þancs,” all echo.

Danny sucks on his smoothie straw. It tastes like bananas today. Ew; potassium. “What is… lið?”

The teen holds up a can of soda in his ungloved hand. Danny makes a face. He’d love a Mountainous Dunk right now, but gas in his bag…eugh. More trouble than it’s worth.

“No.”

The teen shoots him a pair of finger guns and darts out the door, leaving the rest of them behind to argue over UNO rules in at least two languages and without any expectation of resolving the issue.

Danny peaceably polishes off his smoothie. He’ll have to get the back done again, but eh. As long as no one’s directly looking at the process while it’s going on, he doesn’t super care whether or not anyone’s in the room, per se? Is that weird? Is this weird??

It’s probably weird. But also. Danny has fuzzy memories of roaming the building and leaking goo the entire time he was out and about, so… Suck it, he can do what he wants! He’s sick!! And maybe even dying??

“What is þæt andwlita??” the blonde girl asks, only for the quick-fast teen to poke Danny in what can be assumed to be a grumpy expression. Danny feigns a bite just to be mean. The other teens don’t even pretend to think it’s a threat—the blonde even laughs.

The teenager comes back and sits on Danny’s bed again, mattress barely bouncing as he makes himself comfy. It takes Danny a second to realize that he didn’t come back empty-handed, though—but instead of sodas, the guy brought back a tablet and a weird expression under his mask.

“…Look,” the teen finally says, and flips the tablet onto his lap so that the screen is visible. The teen clicks on a browser, and types in a word Danny isn’t familiar with, and pulls up a stock photo straight out of a photo frame Danny could buy at the craft store. He points to the smiling woman, the man, and the kid in the picture. “Moder. Fæder. Dohtor.”

Danny glances at the photo, and then at the teen. …Okay…?

The teenager bites his lip, and picks a new photo. This one has two men and a child, but it was basically the same. He points to each person as he named them: “Fæder and fæder, and sunu.”

Danny looks at the photo. He looks at the teenager. He looks at the photo again, and the masked teen backs out of the photo he onscreen to pick another one—with a woman and a man crouched around three kids and a dog.

“Moder. Father. Daughter. Daughter. Son.”

Realization breaks over Danny—oh. These are supposed to be families. These are family titles. Huh.

Danny scrutinizes the image. They…you know. They look happy. Danny used to…

…Mom, and…

It hurts too much to look at the photo for long. He knows that it’s fake, and he knows that models just get hired for show, but even the imaginary families hurt. Happy, loving people exist out there in the world.

Danny was in a box. Danny was in a box.

Danny—

The teen makes another noise, and Danny drags his focus out of his melancholy doom spiral with every tooth and claw. He manages. Barely. The masked teenager switches over to a drawing app and pops a tablet pen out of—nowhere, actually? Where did that come from??

The teen hems and he haws and he fills out a stick figure with some red and black clothing details—and a mask, and a bowl cut, which is how Danny figures out it’s a scrappy little self-portrait. It doesn’t look at all like the oversized tee tucked into the teen’s short shorts, but you know, whatever.

Next to him, the dude draws a giant, brick-wall-broad, no-eyed, man-shaped blob with upright pointed ears.

It’s. Uh. It’s sure…something.

“Son,” the teen labels himself, and then draws an arrow to the giant, colorless blob. “Father.”

…Danny squints. Is that normal? To have a huge hulking entity-dad, and then have a short, shrimpy-looking teen waif?

Like you, imaginary Jazz interrupts, since he was thinking about her.

He carefully bats the thought away before it can make him cry.

“My father,” the teenager adds, since Danny probably looks like he’s mostly paying attention. “Stincende.” And then the guy draws a bunch of stink lines coming off of him, just to prove a point.

Danny chokes more than he laughs. The teen’s friends laugh outright, teasing with words that are a little too quick for Danny to parse and snickering under their breath. The masked teen smiles quietly.

“So mean,” the teen in the leather jacket declares, cackling mercilessly. The orange-haired teenager wheezes breathlessly.

“Stincende hlaford of the trask,” the teenager adds mildly, cheerfully without mercy. “Very boring. Very stif. Very grimm.”

Okay, so some of those words were definitely straight-up cognates. Mr. Lancer gave Danny a C in English last semester, but Danny’s going to guess that, based on how their language is pretty much entirely similar, that the stink lines are more of a metaphor than anything.

“Gross,” Danny decides. He’s not sure if the word actually means gross or if it’s more of a medical-trash-and-waste-disposal sort of word, but his audience of four snicker and bump his shoulder and that’s good enough.

“Mmhmm,” the masked teen agrees. He clicks on an eraser tool, enlarges it, and wipes himself clean off the image. In his place, he puts a little white-haired figure in a white medical gown.

…Oh.

Between them, the artist puts speech bubbles, giving both the drawn Danny equal part in the imaginary conversation.

“Talking,” the teenager says without looking at Danny. Eventually, when the speech bubbles are done, he lifts his head. “Yes? No?”

…Is this a request? Is this a demand? Danny fists the sheets between shaking fingers. Nowadays, they always shake at least a little. There are no perfectly still days.

“Have to?” Danny asks, hesitant. It’s a common enough clarifier to use when he doesn’t want to do something. They try to explain what they can to him here, but the language barrier is thick and impenetrable in many places.

“No. He just wants to.”

“…Why?”

The masked teen frowns. He takes the tablet back from his lap and begins to draw something way more complex.

Everyone else slowly works on their food, but the masked teen doesn’t return until he has, from what Danny can tell, a thickly complicated organizational tree chart.

He recognizes a few headshot photos in the middle. The green guy. The human-looking guy in red that Danny does PT with sometimes.

Towards the bottom are the teenagers—both ones Danny does and doesn’t recognize, and some of the teens around him are photographed in different hats and outfits and masks. The quick-fast-red-haired teenager Danny’s come to recognize used to have shorter hair, apparently? Now it’s down to the teen’s neck. Meanwhile, the blonde girl’s got a haircut; her new look has a shaved undercut and a body too short to prop back up into her photographed pigtails.

The guy in the leather jacket looks the same.

…Danny holds up the tablet to compare to the teenager himself, who kindly poses the same way as he does in the picture in the same way: suns out, guns out. Yep. That’s him alright.

At the top of the organizational tree are three people—a dark-haired guy who Danny’s seen in passing, Diana, who is both a superhero and a super-minder, and some scary lookin’ dude who looks exactly like the doodle Danny just saw absolutely smothered in stink lines.

The tablet falls out of Danny’s hands. He’s not mad or anything, but he tends to drop stuff when holding it becomes too much of a burden.

So.

The masked teen’s dad, is, like…one of several bosses. One boss is the person watching Danny at all times, which is…weird. Danny isn’t sure he warrants, like, constant security from a high-ranking super-someone. He mostly just sits around all day. Sometimes he gets his stretches in. Sometimes he gets wheeled out to look at the stars, and then he just…sits some more.

Danny shifts in his seat. So maybe he. Maybe…

…Okay, so even if talking isn’t good, per se, at least maybe he’ll figure something out? Maybe?

Like. Maybe he’ll be able to figure out, like…why he’s here. Why he’s in space. Why they’re taking care of him.

Danny doesn’t look forward to talking. But it’s. Fine.

Probably.

He nods.

“…Yes?” the teen asks again, double confirming that this is what Danny wants. Danny doesn’t want this, but he wants answers, so he nods again, more firmly. But still. Staring. At the sheets underneath him.

“Okay.” The teen opens up a messaging app, and types something into the address bar. “Now? Or later?”

“Later.” Danny’s got to rest and digest lunch first.

“Okay.” The teen types into the tablet with the little pencil. Danny sees verbatim what the masked teen wrote when he turns it around: very literally, “Yes,” and “Later.”

There’s a little spot for Danny to sign his name. The teenager gives Danny his pen.

…Danny just hits the send button and is done with it.

[bussyslayer333]

Candy

summary: bob falls for a beautiful barista over the course of a few encounters.

pairing: robert floyd x hotbarista!reader

word count: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, jake being an asshat, bob having some self doubt but he gets over it, smutty smut smut at the end, sort of mentions of an age gap??

MDNI this is an 18+ fic

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The first time Bob saw you was a Monday morning, he was meeting Phoenix and Rooster on his day off for coffee at a new place in town. It was a cute cafe, full of pastels and pastries and a little bell that jingled when he stepped in. The interior was larger than what he had expected, there were many booths, and a few tables by the front window. Phoenix and Rooster had managed to snag a cosy booth towards the corner of the room. He approached them with a smile on his face, happy to see his friends.

“Hey guys-”

“Bob, move!” Phoenix seethes slightly.

“Nice to see you too.” Bob rolls his eyes, sliding into the booth next to Bradley.

Bradley offers Bob an explanation, “There’s a super hot barista making our drinks right now.”

“Oh, fair enough.” Bob smiles, craning his neck around and trying to see who his friends were talking about.

Phoenix pipes up, “and when he says hot, we’re talking a total smoke show, like i’m pretty sure Rooster is still sporting a semi from when she asked if he wanted cream or not.”

“I am not!” Bradley whines, the tips of his ears tinged pink.

Bob was about to put his two cents on the situation, when suddenly his two friends were silenced from their bickering by a presence he felt over his shoulder.

“One double espresso and one peppermint latte?”

Phoenix beats Bradley for speaking first and Bob recognises her best flirtiest smile.

“Yeah, that’s us.” She says coolly.

“How could I forget?” The voice behind him teases as she places the drinks down, Bob watches Bradley’s cheeks flush again.

Finally, Bob turns to look at the alluring voice, only he hasn’t given you enough time to pull back from placing the drinks down and he finds his face hitting your cleavage. You make a shocked noise, and pull back giggling.

“That’s one way to make me take your order.”

Bob wished the earth would swallow him whole in that moment.

“God, I’m so sorry!” Bob pushes the words out of his mouth frantically.

Phoenix was never wrong, you were totally hot, but not just that, Bob thought. You were beautiful, and clearly funny, probably clever as well, kind (and he wouldn’t have ever said it but you had a great rack).

Phoenix butts in before Bob can ramble more apologies, “He’ll have a cappuccino.”

Bob watches you scribble down his order, in a little notepad you pulled from a pocket in the front of your pink half apron, tied neatly around your waist.

“Perfect.”

You smile down at him, and saunter off. Presumably, to make his drink. He wonders how you don’t notice the three pairs of eyes that watch as you walk away. You’re wearing tight black jeans and a tight cream long sleeve top, the pink apron creating a sweet contrast in your outfit. Once you’re out of earshot, Bradley and Nat finally allow themselves to cackle at Bob’s misfortune.

“I can’t believe you did that!” Bradley snorts.

Nat chokes slightly on her espresso before speaking up as well, “Sorry, I just remembered the panicked look on your face again.”

Bob groans, placing his head into his hands. He knew more often than not that girls like you didn’t go for guys like him, but now he had definitely fucked it. He watches as you make his drink, giggling with one of your coworkers as you work the machines. He imagines you’re telling him about the dork who just accidentally motorboated you trying to stutter out a one word order and groans again.

Bradley takes sympathy on Bob’s groaning and stifles his chuckles, “It’s not that bad! At least you got boobs in your face!”

Bob watches as Nat flicks Bradley in the head, mumbling something about him being a caveman.

“One cappuccino for the cute glasses guy who is now well acquainted with my boobs?” He can hear you giggle as you place the coffee down in front of him.

“That’s me.” Bob says with a hint of awkwardness, pointing his thumbs at himself. Was that an embarrassing thing to do? Probably. But you’re laughing and all Bob can think about his how much he wants to see you do it again.

“Is there anything else I can get you guys?” You ask with a smile on your face.

“We’re good, thank you.” Bradley gets there before Nat this time and pumps his fist under the table.

“I’ll be over here if you need me.” You reply and wander off again, hips swaying.

Bob is reminded of a saying he hears Jake using far too often to girls in the Hard Deck, it usually makes him mildly nauseous but now seems fitting. He does hate to see you go but love to watch you leave.

Nat pipes up again but this time in complaint, “How do you do it, Floyd?”

Bob cocks his head to the side, silently asking her to elaborate.

“She called you ‘cute glasses guy’, you’re so in there.”

Bob’s eyebrows raise so high he’s pretty sure they’re at his hairline. Did you actually call him cute?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The second time Bob has the pleasure of seeing you, he’s collecting caffeine for the team with Jake during a break after a particularly early start on the Friday of that same week. He’d been thinking about you for the past few days non stop, so when Phoenix suggested a coffee run, he knew exactly where to go.

What he should have bet on, was Jake also deciding you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Jesus Christ.” Jake drawled out.

Bob knew Jake had spotted you. Lo and behold, you were behind the counter, bent over trying to reach one of the syrup pumps. Same tight black jeans hugging your hips, this time paired with an old band t-shirt. You spin on your heel after hearing Jake’s exclamation, and start to recite your company’s spiel when a spark of recognition flashes across your face.

“Cute glasses guy!” You say almost excitedly.

Bob feels the heat rising in his cheeks as he watches Jake spin around and try and assess the area to see if there were any other dudes wearing glasses in the vicinity. There weren’t.

“Hi.” Bob smiles bashfully.

Jake, who can seemingly never keep his mouth shut decided to pipe up, “I’m feeling a little left out here Bobby, do you two know each other?”

Jake knew damn well how you knew each other, Nat had told everyone as soon as they got back to work. You watched as Bob stumbled over the beginning of a sentence, unsure of how to explain what had happened. You save him from himself and speak up,

“He gave me a very memorable shift on Monday.” You wink at Bob as you say it.

You figured that if this guy was close to Bob, then his other friends had already told him what had happened and he was just trying to rile Bob up.

“It would be my pleasure to give you a memorable shift darlin’.”

Bob rolls his eyes at Jake’s simpering drawl, texan accent heavy on his tongue. Luckily for Bob, you’re just as unimpressed. Usually you like your men a little more… reserved.

“I’m sure it would. What can I get for you today boys?” You ask, directed more towards Bob now.

He whips his phone out and starts reciting the the orders of the team, it’s a tad lengthy but watching you whisper all of his words to yourself again as you use a perfectly manicured hand to tap the drinks into the till makes it worth all the while.

You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you give him the total, “Will that be with military discount as well?” You gesture towards the two men in uniform. They both nod and you tap in an extra code, bringing the total down significantly.

“I didn’t realise you were military?” You question as you turn around to start making the drinks in the lengthy order, calling another girl out from the back to man the till.

“Naval aviators, sweetheart.” Jake supplies for you. “We’ll I’m a pilot, Bob’s a backseater.”

Bob can’t help but feel like Jake is trying to undermine him slightly. You don’t pick up on it.

“Backseater?” You ask your question directly towards Bob this time.

Bob clears his throat, “Uh yeah, basically I’m a Weapons System Officer, I sit in the back of the plane and man weapons and other stuff.” He didn’t want to bore you.

You smile, “Sounds important, is he your pilot?”You gesture towards Jake.

“No, the woman I was here with on Monday is.”

Your face lights up in recognition, “Oh yeah she was gorgeous! And the guy with the moustache?”

“Yeah he’s a pilot too.” Bob smiles, watching a scowl etch its way onto Jake’s face at the mention of Rooster. He makes a mental note to tell Phoenix what you had said about her.

You’re placing the final drinks down in their holders when Jake finally pipes up again, “You really are beautiful sweetheart.”

His eyes rake all over you, making Bob seethe. You don’t notice the anger radiating off Bob, but flush slightly under the compliment.

“Thanks, flyboy.”

Bob is cursing his lack of confidence, wishing he was the one being labelled with a nickname. He knew you were beautiful, he’d known way before Jake! He looks back up in time for you to hand him a bag with half the drinks inside, the other bag going to Jake.

“It was nice seeing you again Bob.” You preen at him, and add quickly on, “and meeting you, Jake!”

“Anytime, beautiful.” Jake thinks he’s got this one in the bag as he turns around to leave, he’s sure your number is gonna be scrawled on his cup when he opens the bag.

Bob doesn’t miss the way you roll your eyes when your hear the pet name, slyly winking at him once you realise he saw.

Once they’re all back on base handing out the coffees, Jake fully emptied out both the bags of the napkins. He makes a little “aha” noise as he finds what he’s looking for. A napkin with sharpie scrawled over it. His grin is quickly squashed as he throws the napkin in Bob’s direction. It lands on Phoenix’s lap and she reads what the sharpie note says.

cute glasses guy/bob

call me :)

***-***-***

Your name is signed with a little heart next to it at the bottom and Bob can’t help but break out into a wide smile.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The night before Bob next sees you was the Friday of the next week and you had been texting non stop since you had given him your number. You had even followed each other on instagram. Bob had spent the night scrolling through your posts with Phoenix, careful not to like any, so she had been holding the phone.

Every so often, she would stop and zoom in on one. Like the one of you at your most recent birthday, you were a good few years younger than him, he noted your star sign as well. The next few Phoenix stopped and zoomed in on had Bob wishing for an ice cold shower. The first was a few slides of you on vacation with your friends. A few standard group photos (you stood out from them by a mile), and one particularly gorgeous photo of you stood on the terrace of your hotel room; slightly sun kissed wearing a flimsy summer dress and your hair flipped to one side. The sun was setting in the background and Bob was pretty sure he was having some type of angina, but the last picture on the slide is what had him truly breathless. You were on the beach with your hair tied up messily, wearing a pathetic excuse for a bikini, your back was facing the camera but you were looking back at it squinting slightly over your shoulder. Bob didn’t want to seem too creepy, but Nat had thrown all caution to the wind. Immediately zooming in on your ass.

“Damn.” She muttered.

Bob discreetly tried to move the pillow from behind him over his lap. Nat, the ever perceptible noticed immediately and cackled.

“Same.” She patted him on the shoulder.

“Maybe we should stop stalking for the night.” Bob started.

Nat whined like a child being denied candy, “Cmonnnn just one more? Then I’ll never bother you again.”

Bob rolled his eyes and let her continue when she gasped far too theatrically.

“She just posted on her story!”

“Don’t click it-”

He had been far too slow in stopping his nimbled fingered friend.

“Holy shit.”

It was a mirror selfie, your room was lit up only by a warm lamp seen in the corner of the picture. You were posed on your knees wearing only a black high waisted body suit.

“Dude, she’s totally posting thirst traps for you!” Nat squealed.

Bob rolled his eyes, sure it was crazy that you posted something like that just when he was on your account, but how on earth would you know that he would be the first one to see it? There were a number of guys in your comments who you could be trying to impress. Or you could just be posting a photo that you liked.

What Bob and Nat didn’t know, was that you were sat in your room with your best friend Marley. You had been showing her photos from Bob’s instagram account when you received a notification that he had liked your post. It was from a little over a month ago and was slides full of your vacation photos. Marley shrieked.

“Oh my God, he was so stalking you!”

You giggle in realisation, “I hope he comments.”

Marley rolls her eyes, “Sure, Mr ‘I post pictures of cute dogs I see in the street’ is gonna comment on your blatant ass pics.”

You shove her playfully, “You said you liked those pics!”

She smiles, “Of course I do, and so does he clearly. I just don’t know if he’s brave enough to tell you so.”

You cock your head to the side, which eggs her on.

“You should post something, make him comment.”

That’s how you found yourself in the skimpiest piece of clothing you own, being positioned by your friend. Once you hit post, you felt a wave of nausea come over you. Marley noticed as the ever attentive friend she was and took your phone from you. She refreshed it a few times and screamed.

“He’s already viewed it!”

“WHAT?” You shriek far too loudly considering you had downstairs neighbours.

You grab your phone out of her hands to see for yourself. He was there in the viewers, along with your usual people. Then you hear the ping to notify someone has sent you a dm.

“Open it!” Marley says with the most urgency you’ve ever heard.

It’s from Bob.

_rfloyd93

replied to your story

damn 😍

Back in the barracks, Bob is trying to wrestle his phone from Natasha.

“DAMN?! I would never say that! You made me sound like Jake!”

They stop their huffing and puffing so Phoenix can explain. “And when has it ever not worked for him?”

Bob rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply, he knows she’s right.

“Look she’s typing!”

Phoenix shoves his phone back into his hands.

you

like what you see?

Bob shows the message to Phoenix,

“What do i say?!”

Phoenix is much more nonchalant about the situation, she understands now that you definitely like Bob. She’s never seen someone so taken by her shy backseater.

“Just say the truth.” Nat shrugs

Bob types and untypes for a second before sending his message.

_rfloyd93

i’d like it more in person

You shriek once again, showing your phone to Marley who shrieks as well. You can hear your downstairs neighbour Mrs Bellman smacking her broom against the ceiling in hopes that you’ll shut up.

you

my shift ends at 6 tomorrow?

_rfloyd93

i’ll be there

You like his message and flop back on your bed with a dreamy sigh.

Marley laughs, “girl, you have got it bad.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The third time Bob sees you, is the next day when you’ve finished your shift. He’s waiting for you sat in one of the booths near the front, fiddling with his phone. Your coworker Julian points him out to you.

“Boobs guy is sat over there, babe.”

You giggle at him, untying your apron and folding it to put in your tote bag.

“I know, I’m meeting him.”

Julian gasps loudly and you shush him, pushing your finger to his lips. You slowly, pull your finger away and let him speak in a hushed tone.

“Oh my Goddddddd! Tell me everything on Monday please!”

You roll your eyes at him, “You know I will.”

With that you kiss his cheek and wander over to Bob.

“Hey.” You say slightly breathlessly.

He smiles up at you, “Hey.”

He takes in your appearance, signature tight black jeans and he recognises the black body suit, now he knows what it looks like underneath your jeans he flushes slightly. You look down at yourself slightly, placing a hand on your cocked hip.

“Like what you see?” You repeat your words from last night.

Bob flushes further, memories of what he had done after Nat had left last night leaving his cheeks hot to touch.

“You look gorgeous.” He says earnestly, looking up into your eyes.

You cup his cheeks with a hand and smile, “Thanks, Baby. Not too bad yourself.”

Bob feels his jeans tighten and wills himself to think of Grandma Floyd. He finally gets himself to speak, “I was thinking we could go for a walk, maybe get some drinks?”

You pull him up from his seat and link your arm through his, “Sounds perfect.”

Bob knew taking you to the Hard Deck was a risk, but it wasn’t a far walk from the cafe and the service was impeccable.

Pushing through the door he made eye contact with Phoenix first, she gave him a little thumbs. He was already feeling good but that gave him an extra boost of confidence.

During the 10 minute walk to the Hard Deck, you had talked about everything and nothing. Bob found out that your favourite colour was green, you had a pet dog back home called Frank and you had just finished college with a degree in business.

“Not to sound rude, but with a degree in business why do you work in a coffee shop?”

You smile, not taking offense and appreciating his curiosity, “I’m saving up, I want to open a coffee shop of my own, My dad said he could give me money for a deposit but I’m quite close myself now.”

Bob looks at you, wanting you to continue.

“I’ve been saving up since I got my first job in high school.”

Bob notices your confident demeanour has slipped and you seem bashful.

“That’s really cool.” He smiles and you can tell he’s being truthful. “When I was in high school I was a total drama geek.”

His attempt to to make you laugh works and your confidence is back, “I can definitely imagine you as a little Romeo.”

By the time you reach the Hard Deck you’ve both swapped enough embarrassing high school stories for a life time. Now Bob just hopes he can get through the night.

You and Bob are sat at a somewhat secluded table towards the corner of the room near the jukebox. You’re sipping on a vodka cranberry whilst Bob has a stella in a bottle with a label that he’s playing with. Bob decides it’s time to rid himself of the large sweater he was wearing to combat the night time chill that came with early winter in San Diego. You’re trying not to visibly swoon as you watch his biceps strain under the tight black top he’s wearing. His hair flops slightly without its gel to hold it in place so now looks slightly mussed. You reach over the table to fix it, Bob gets an eyeful down your top, he can’t complain.

Once you pull back you’ve got a cheeky smile on your face, Bob quirks an eyebrow,

“Who knew Bobby was hiding these guns under those chunky sweaters?” You giggle somewhat coyly.

You love watching the pink flush rise from his neck to his ear tips so you tease him further.

“Any other surprises you want to warn me about?”

“No, ma’am.” Bob doesn’t catch your drift fully, but his southern twang makes all up for it.

You feel your thighs clench slightly at the name he drops. You decide to move the conversation forward, thinking it’s best for your underwear.

“So what brings us here?” You gesture to the large amounts of navy memorabilia that surround the walls and ceilings of the Hard Deck.

“Me and my friends come here a lot, very navy friendly.” Bob smiles.

“Are they here? Your friends?” You question.

“Yeah, around here somewhere. They always are.”

“Can I meet them?”

That’s not what Bob had expected you to ask, but there was no way in hell he was gonna miss out on rubbing this in Bagman’s face.

“Definitely.”

You recognise three of Bob’s friends immediately. They’re all stood or sat around the pool table, taking turns and sipping beers. You learn their names properly this time. Phoenix is the beautiful woman who is Bob’s pilot (and also his only competition), Rooster is his moustachioed friend and Hangman is the tall blonde who had tried it on you.

“It’s nice to see you guys again!” You say hugging Phoenix and Rooster with an arm.

Another man with a moustache stood next to them pipes up, “Sorry, have we met before? I’m Payback, but you can call me Reuben.”

His smile is sweet, and you reach out to shake his extended hand. Another slightly shorter man stood next to him speaks,

“I would remember that face if we had met,” He’s charming as well, but no Bob. “I’m Fanboy.”

Phoenix comes to your rescue and explains the situation before retreating back to Rooster. Another tall man stood next to Jake laughs, “Oh my God, you’re the hot barista that Bob motorboated!”

Bob tenses slightly from his position beside you, you’re not sure if it’s because of the remembrance of the embarrassing action or if it’s the fact that you now know that him and all his friends had been referring to you as “the hot barista”.

You giggle at the man who had exclaimed (you think his name is Coyote),

“That’s me.”

Bob can only breathe a sigh of relief at your constant collectedness of anything cringeworthy that came your way.

Phoenix and Rooster had been watching all the interactions from a bit further back.

“She’s perfect for him, don’t you think?” Bradley nudges Phoenix. “They really balance each other out.”

Phoenix finally sighs out, “If they don’t work out do you think I’d still have a shot?”

Bradley snorts until he realises his friend is being serious, “Hey, let’s not go praying on anybody’s downfall.”

Phoenix rolls her eyes and walks off to get another beer. She cant help but smile as she catches you giggling at something Bob has said to Jake, you’re squeezing Bob’s bicep as you calm down and his arm is wrapped lowly around your waist. You really were perfect for each other.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The next time you see Bob is a week later when he’s picking you up from your apartment for your first “proper date.”

Bob had insisted on taking you out to dinner (as the gentleman he is). You had texted him about what to wear and he had simply told you that you’d look good in anything (and nothing, but he was too afraid to say that part). It was sweet, but ultimately unhelpful, so you were frantically sending Marley photos of dresses you were thinking of wearing.

The first one was a tight minidress, it was red and didn’t leave much to the imagination.

marls <3

hot, maybe too slutty for a first date?

you

ur right, hang on

The second was a floral sundress, it had a wrap part around the cleavage.

marls <3

adorable, too casual for dinner tho

you

ugh

i have nothing to wear

marls <3

i’m sure he’d love that

you

shush

WAIT

i’ve got it

The last dress you try on is a black maxi dress, it’s tight but tasteful. With a low enough neckline to be teasing but not indecent.

You send the photo to Marley and await her response.

marls <3

💦💦😩😩🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🤤🤤🤤

you

ur an idiot

this the one?

marls <3

u love me

and def

You spritz your makeup with setting spray and spray extra perfume on your pulse points. You then hook your hoops into your ears and check the time on your phone. 19:20. You had ten minutes before Bob said he would arrive, you check back through your texts to make sure you got the timing right. Not that you could forget, you’d been looking forward to seeing him again all week.

Before you knew it you had been daydreaming about Bob’s strong arms for the past five minutes, when your phone chimes.

bobby ❤️

i’m here

do u want me to come up?

you

dw!

i’ll be down in a sec

You pull on your wedges and make your way to your door, taking one final look at yourself in the mirror before grabbing you clutch.

You make light conversation in the elevator with the teen girl who lives with her mother in the apartment across from you.

“You look beautiful, are you meeting someone?”

You smile bashfully at her, “Yeah he’s really sweet!”

You had given her the odd piece of boy advice when her mother had asked you to check in on her when she was working nights.

“Don’t tell on me if you see me coming back with him tonight.”

She giggles as if you’ve let her in on a big secret, and exits the elevator with you as it hits the ground floor. She peeks round to see who you’re meeting and whispers in your ear before she turns to go the vending machines.

“He’s hot!”

You chuckle at her, “I know right!”

Bob looks handsome as ever, he’s pushed his hair back and is wearing a tight black button up shirt with black slacks and smart shoes. You realise you look quite the matching couple.

As you reach him, both his hands come to rest on your hips, yours on his chest.

“Hey, handsome.”

That makes a smirk come to rest on Bob’s lips, your thighs squeeze together involuntarily at the action.

“You look fucking incredible.” He charms.

He takes your hand in his and holds you out to do a little twirl for him. As you spin around he sucks a deep breath in.

“How did I get so lucky?”

You peck him on the cheek, “I could ask myself the same thing.”

You love him like this, breezy. Like there’s nothing in the world that could weigh him down.

He helps you into the passenger seat of his jeep, before going around to sit in the drivers side.

“I’ve booked us a table at Fucina, I forgot to ask if Italian was okay with you?” Bob asks, nerves taking over him partly.

You rest your hand on his thigh to comfort him, “It’s perfect.”

As it turns out, it was more than perfect. The food was incredible, as well as the wine.

“Bob, this is the best food I’ve ever eaten.”

He smiles at that and watches as you moan after swallowing another mouthful of pasta, trying to ignore how his slacks tighten.

“Do you want to try some of mine?” Bob offers, he’s slyly trying to feed you.

“Sure!”

Bob twirls the tagliatelle around his fork and leans over to pop it in your mouth. You wrap your mouth around the fork and pull off of it with a pop, leaving a small amount of the creamy sauce on the side of your lip. Bob watches in awe as you chew and swallow the pasta, your tongue peeks out to swipe at the sauce left on your lip.

“How have you made pasta sexy?”

You laugh at his expression, “I would argue pasta has always been sexy.”

You both finish your meals and polish off the bottle of white that the waiter had recommended, it had gotten pretty late but there was still flocks of well dressed couples eating at the restaurant. You were finally able to flag down a waiter,

“Can we get the cheque please, Daniel?” You smile, looking down at the waiters name tag politely.

The waiter flushes, “Of course, miss.” And scurries off.

Before you can speak, Bob butts in, “There is no way on earth you’re paying.”

You roll your eyes and reach for your clutch, “Shush, handsome.”

Bob is faster than you and your clutch is tucked under his armpit before your fingertips can grasp it. You pout and Bob has half a mind to listen to every command you ever make for the rest of his life, but his mother would be bitterly disappointed if he allowed (who he thought to be) the most beautiful girl in the world to pay for her food.

“Don’t give me that Southern gentleman crap.”

Bob’s cheeks flush as he realises you knew exactly what he was going to say.

“You’re not paying for anything.”

You give him your best doe eyes, squeeze your cleavage together and pout, “Halvesies?”

Bob looks away and says something he never thought he would to you.

“No, darlin’ please, let me do this.” He drawls.

You relent, the pet name sending heat to your cheeks.

“Fine, but i’m paying next time.”

Bob chuckles, but his heart leaps hearing you sound so certain about a ‘next time’. The waiter returns with the cheque and Bob doesn’t even allow you the courtesy of seeing the bill. He knows you’d be angry at how much it was, but he thought it was so worth it, just for you.

Leaving the restaurant, the air has much more of a chill to it than before you left. You try to stifle a shiver as the breeze hits you but Bob has already noticed and is shedding himself of his jacket. Draping it over your shoulders. It’s a tad big on you, but smells incredibly like him. You try to discreetly stick your nose into the neckline and inhale deeply. Bob giggles at your action,

“Smell good?”

“Heavenly.”

It’s a short walk to Bob’s car and he’s rushing around to open the door for you immediately. He gives you your clutch that he had been graciously holding for you before walking round back to the drivers side.

The radio hums peacefully between you two playing 80s r&b hits on the slow drive back to your apartment. The sky is a dusky blue, and the city lights blur with the stars the darker it gets. You hum along as the song switches to one you recognise, singing quietly as you watch Bob drive. He looks so incredibly handsome lit up by the streetlights.

The song reaches its crescendo and now your full on singing at Bob whilst he giggles at your theatrics, “It’s like candy!”

You’re shimmying in your seat and Bob watches with practically hearts for eyes. You laugh heartily and Bob thinks it’s probably the best thing he’ll ever hear.

“Eyes on the road, handsome.”

Who is he to deny you anything? Bob reluctantly pulls his eyes from you and realises he’s much closer to your apartment than he thought. He goes right at the next turning and spots your building at the end of the road. Just as he’s about to start sighing you open your mouth, “Will you come up to my apartment with me?”

Bob swears his heart is beating out of his chest, “Of course.”

Once he’s parked, Bob once again rushes round to open the door for you and help you out. You stumble slightly, landing on the side of your wedge and steady yourself on Bob’s strong arms. Before he can ask if you’re okay your lips are on his. Bob swears he’s in heaven right now. You lips are soft on his, plump and tasting of the remnants of the wine you finished off as well as the tang of the lipgloss you had reapplied in the car. You pull away from him and Bob could have cried from the loss of contact,

“Sorry, I didn’t even ask if I could kiss you.” You mumble slightly.

Bob sighs, “Please shush, and do it again.”

You giggle and immediately reunite your lips. This time there’s a little more passion with the confirmation that he wants it fully. His tongue slides into your mouth, meeting your own making you let out a whimper. You guide his hands from politely at your waist down to your ass, he groans into your mouth, dampening your underwear. You pull away and a string of saliva connects your lips. You want to be disgusted but your pretty sure your core just clenched with more want than you’ve ever felt.

“Come on.” You grab Bob’s hand with a coy smile and drag him into your building and towards the elevator.

The ride up to your floor feels painstakingly long to Bob, when it finally dings and the doors open he lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

He follows your footsteps as you walk tantalisingly slowly towards your apartment door. You shuffle through your clutch to retrieve your keys before pushing them in the lock and walking through the door. Bob is quick on your heels. You stop abruptly and bend over to undo your wedges. The meat of your ass bumps against Bob’s crotch and he holds in a deep groan.

“Minx.” You hear him mutter as you wander over to your kitchen to grab two glasses and a bottle of red.

You return back to where Bob is now sat on your couch. You place the two glasses on the coffee table along with the bottle.

“Pour us a glass and meet me in my room.”

Bob nods in understanding and blatantly watches your behind as you saunter over to your bedroom. After finishing off pouring the second glass he hears you call out his name. He picks up the glasses and follows your pathway towards your bedroom door which is cracked open slightly.

You’re stood fully naked in front of the full length mirror on your wardrobe door, trying to undo the clasp on the back of your necklace.

Bob’s grip tightens on the two glasses as he tries not to allow them to tumble to the floor. His hard cock is pressing shamelessly against the front of his slacks now.

“Could you help me with my necklace?” You turn your head slightly to ask Bob.

He’s at a loss for words but nods dumbly, placing the two glasses on your dresser closest to the door. He takes the few short steps to close the distance between you and stands behind you cautiously. You look up at him from the mirror,

“You can touch me.” You smile comfortingly at him.

Bob releases a shaky breath and reaches to help hold your hair up. You can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck and it sends a shiver down your spine. The gold pendant which dangles between your breasts shakes slightly and Bob lets his gaze wander down towards them. You finally unclasp your necklace and Bob lets your hair down so you can step away and place the necklace on your jewellery plate.

“Thank you, baby.”

Bob let’s out a low moan. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

He reaches for your hand and drags it towards his hard cock. You both moan upon making contact and you palm him slightly over his trousers just enough to work him up. You reach up to connect your lips again as Bob’s hands find your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples making you arch up into his touch. Your hand leaves his crotch in favour of undoing the buttons on his dress shirt hurriedly. His hands join yours so he can finally shed himself of his shirt, suddenly feeling like he was on fire.

Once his shirt has been discarded on the floor, your able to run your hands all over his muscular chest. You whine against his lips as your hands dip lower, tracing his happy trail.

“Why have you been hiding this from me?”

Bob smirks against your lips and deepens the kiss further, licking into your mouth. His hands dip from your waist to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

“Can I?” He whispers.

“Fuck, please.”

Bob lifts you in his strong arms and plops you down onto your bed, you spread your legs as he crawls up to meet you. He lowers his head to the bed and stares at your pussy, glistening with arousal for him. It’s already started to coat the tops of your thighs. You shy slightly under his gaze and try to close your legs, he raises a strong hand to your thigh, stopping you.

“Baby, please do something.” You whine, high pitched.

Bob was never one to decline you and reaches his other hand forward. His middle finger slides between your slit, gathering your wetness. He bumps against your clit a few times before pulling his finger away to lick at the wetness now on his finger. You buck your hips up to where he’s looking down at you. He reaches his hand down again and parts your lips. He spits down onto your pussy, it hits your clit and rolls down to mix with your juices.

“Fucking christ.” He whimpers, “I need to fuck you.”

You moan loudly at his proclamation and sit up to help him rid himself of his trousers. You slip off of your bed as he sits up on the edge. Staring down at you with lust blown pupils as you pull the zipper down and begin to pull his trousers down as well. He lifts his hips and you’re able to tear them down the rest of the way pretty quickly since he discarded his shoes near the door along with yours. You’re now face to face with his cock straining against the fabric of his black boxers. The sight makes you lick your lips, maybe another day. You pull his boxers down the rest of the way as well and watch as his cock slaps against his abdomen. The tip is pink and there’s a few beads of precum threatening to fall down the side of him, there’s one large vein that runs across the bottom of it.

“Shit, you’re big.” You chuckle slightly looking up at him. Bob is pretty sure he’s in love with you.

Bob pulls you up by your hands and you land on his lap. You push at his chest and he gets the hint to lay back. His head hits your pillows and you reach forward to peck his lips, before grabbing his cock in you right hand and stroking it a few times. He whimpers against your lips making your giggle. You move your pussy towards his cock, guiding the tip between your folds, gathering wetness. You both moan out as he hits your clit.

“Stop teasing darlin’.” Bob groans as his tip moves over your clit again.

You groan breathlessly but agree, “Only for you handsome.”

With that, you begin to slowly sink down onto his length. Your arousal makes it an easy glide down, but he’s still thick. He struggles not to buck up into you until your finally fully seated. The dusting of hair above his dick hits your clit making your whimper shyly. Bob is 100% sure he’s dead and in heaven right now, and he praises himself for whatever good deed he did which allowed him to feel your velvety walls squeezing him at this very second.

You set a pace on top of him, moving up and down on him and swirling your hips as you go. Bob’s hands are groping at your ass as he bucks up into you, meeting your thrusts. Your bedroom is filled with your joint breathy moans and the sounds of skin slapping as your ride Bob. One of his hands snakes round from your ass to toy with your clit. It makes you jolt and whine out loudly.

“Fuck. Babe I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.” You giggle down at Bob.

He smirks up at you, “That’s the whole point.” He punctuates his sentence with a thrust up into you. He’s been close since the moment you sank down onto him, but wants you to cum first. He rubs circles on your clit, he can feel you tightening around him the more he does. You quicken your pace, chasing your high.

“I’m close, please.” You moan out, rolling your hips down to meet another sharp thrust from Bob. He switches the way he’s circling your clit abruptly and looks up at you, begging,

“Cum for me please, gorgeous.”

You wail slightly on top of him as your peak hits, clenching down on him as you buck up erratically. Your pulsing pushes Bob over the edge and you can feel as he spurts his seed into you with a few jerks of his hips.

You slump down onto his chest as the white hot pleasure starts to fade away. You listen to his beating heart calm with a lazy smirk on your face. Bob is staring down at you with so much adoration in his eyes it’s hard to comprehend.

“You’re amazing, sweetheart.” He whispers.

You look up at him from where your chin is resting on his pec.

“That’s all you, handsome.”

Bob has never been so sure that you’re all he wants to see for the rest of his life.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: HWJDUEUWJW finally finished this and omfg,,, my fave thing i’ve written to date!!!

sorry that it’s kind of long but i promise it worth itttt

defo will be doing some more w these two bc they are adorbs

pls reblog, comment or send me an ask and tell me what you think !!!!

as always thank u for readingggg :)))

- honey <333

[bubbleddisasters]

(Can’t believe I’m writing my first ever x reader (kind of) this but the Self Aware Au is so interesting to me)

Code Escaping: Heartstabyl Edition.

(All Students (can be viewed as platonic or romantic, Orthos is strictly platonic though)

Gender Neutral Reader!

——-

After several attempts, and failures, they finally succeeded.

They got through

To your world.

What next? Try and Find you, Rush to your side first thing and try to casually explain that a video game character broke out of their code to see them?

Maybe set things up first? Comfy living, then an easy way to find you? Or go off clues from things you used to say or areas he saw behind you? Or did he get lucky and he’s two feet away?

Man, He should have checked the code for your location…..No time to lose!

------------------

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒍

-----------------

𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 🌹

——

Truth be told, he got quite lucky.

A library is where he arrived, one he recognized as your hiding spot to study, or simply relax.

So, he found every tome he thought relevant on what he needed to know of the basics of your world, aswell as the one he last witnessed you study, and sat himself in the seat next to where you usually did, awaiting your arrival.

Was it timely? Perhaps, Perhaps not.

You’d been slightly (Very) annoyed that for some reason, none of your Riddle cards would show his appearance. The Chibi was no where to be seen, and your homescreen vacant of him.

So as you made your way to your spot, you nearly shrieked because either thats a damn good cosplay or Riddle Rosehearts was very casually reading the history textbook your teacher assigned while sitting four feet away from your usual spot.

Steel blue eyes scoped to check the noise, and sat up instantly.

“Just as I expected, you’d arrive here sooner or later. You certainly took your time, however.”

Before you could process the fact he sounded suspiciously like Ciel Phantomhive, he quite literally summoned a tea set. Out of thin air.

And was just staring. Most definitely waiting for you to sit down casually like he didn’t summon an entire china set with piping hot tea in a magicless world.

This was the real deal. Mommy Issues Supreme was now officially your problem. Good Luck.

————————

𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒚♣

——

He remembered the name of the bakery down the street you visited.

As a joke, when you’d finished book one, you’d ordered a Strawberry Tart. He couldn’t exactly remember if you actually ate it, or gave it away, but it was funny, regardless.

Using Paint the Roses, he altered a napkin into a very nice resume, and he got a job there.

When Trey up and vanished from your homescreen, you’d gone to get a pastry to cheer yourself up. Not the best coping skill, but hey, it works.

It was pretty late, and it seemed they were closing up, so you planned to just be in and out, not wanting to make their job any harder.

The little bell rung as you entered, and the little alarms in your head went off when you arrived at the counter, and a-wait, why would someone cosplay at their job? Trey and working at a Bakery fit together, but…wait a second. Thats not a wig, and thats not contacts either.

If Ingame Trey was missing, and this guy looked exactly like him…..Nope, Not Possible.

Trying to play it casual , you ordered the usual and once you had it, sat down as you normally would.

But when you took a bite of your treat, it tasted like….Strawberry. Then Chestnut. What the hell.

You unintentionally had an odd staring contest with the current cashier, who then held out a scarily familiar pen, chuckling a bit as he placed it on the counter.

“Surprise.”

After making his way around the counter, he sat down on the other side of the table, doing his best to not freak you out too much.

“Yea, I know this might be a bit confusing, and It’s probably not easy to process all this, so take your time, and I’ll answer any questions you have.”

Great, because you had several.

——————-

𝑪𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓♦

——

Social Media Stalking but not Stalking was his forte.

The first thing he did was make pretty much every account he could on medias he knew you had. Like Tumblr.

He decided it would be way too freaky to just pop up out of nowhere, so as he was thinking and exploring, he took a few selfies and photoshoots here are there.

And WOW. They blew up. At first he thought it was the general math of Attractive Guy + Good Photos of him = Alot of Views. He had sorta kinda forgot other people knew about Twist until he noticed the flood of “Cater IRL” and “THE Cater Cosplay” comments. Which gave him an idea.

After the annoyance of all your Caters being lost in the code sauce, you messed around online until you accidentally pulled up a page with the greatest Cater Cosplay you had ever witnessed.

You had to do a double take when the follow button said “Follow Back”. You complied with the buttons wishes and followed them back.

After a while, you somehow ended up dming back and forth with him, and his strangely Cater coded texts. You also discovered that it apparently wasn’t a cosplay, and just his natural appearance was scarily similar to Caters..and his name was Cater, which was accidentally revealed by a Starbucks barista calling out after finishing making his drink while you were calling.

Part of you suspected that this could be the real Cater, with all the math adding up, and the other half of you called you a fucking idiot for that.

Little did you know the first one was exactly what Cater was hoping for.

With that, he managed to do some kinda social media stalking ( but not like, Rook Levels, DW) and found your general area based on area matching (TY Google Maps!) and nearly jumped for joy when he realized it was where he was too.

He subtly managed to sneak that in conversation, and set up a meetup between you two, a brunch and phone shopping. Weird Pick on the last one, but you decided not to judge.

The first thing he said when you arrived confused you, alot.

With a bright smile, he waved you over.

“Hey! Long Time no see!”

Ignoring the aggressive red flag in that statement with a simple “Maybe he meant since we called” as if you didn’t call him last night to plan this out, either way, you scooted in.

You two got so distracted chatting, at one point making up a game of fake gossiping the craziest things to see if anyone reacted, and for your own entertainment.

Because of that, your drink went warm, and as soon as you mentioned it, you got your answer to the “Where did my Caters go.” question.

Why? Because, as if this had happened before, he simply refroze it. Magically.

As you stared in pure awe and confusion, he grimaced upon the realization his cover was pretty much blown.

“Whoops…Lets just pretend that didn’t happen, and I’ll explain later, ‘Kay?”

You just had to pray nobody witnessed that, as Area 51 did definitely did not sound like Cay-Cays ideal Vacay.

——

𝑨𝒄𝒆♥

—

He thought it would be fucking HILARIOUS to prank you, as, unfortunately for you, he ended up in your house, only to find out you were asleep, which gave him the opportunity to PUA (Prank Upon Arrival)

For the next several hours of your waking life, Ace of Hearts playing cards of varying sizes would be infesting your house, or when you’d put something down and look away, there was either a card on it or it had been replaced by a card.

You were also robbed of leftovers you’d been saving, and a few snacks by this card demon.

After you left the house vacant (you fool), the Knave struck again, this time sneaking out and guessing your next move, heading off to a cafe because you needed caffeine after the card madness, until you had already ordered, and you had turned on Twist while waiting for your drink.

Quietly, he slid into the chair infront of you as you grumbled.

“He’s not on the homescreen either—Where the hell are all my Ace cards?”

Hehe, Infront of you. This is the best setup ever.

Leaning back on the chair, he couldn’t contain a grin as he faked obliviousness.

“I dunno. Maybe try looking around a lil’ more?”

Not paying much attention to who was talking to you in your moment of despair , you sighed, swiping back to the home screen.

“They’re not those kinds of cards.”

“Aren’t like, five of them card themed?”

“Four right now, since Ace has seemingly gone and fucked off to another dimension:”

“Yeaaa, about that. It was not as easy to do as you’re making it sound. Just saying.”

You looked up for a split second, then did a double take and nearly skyrocketed out of your chair, making indecipherable confusion noises while he laughed his ass off, totally soaking in the success of his perfect surprise you had unintentionally enabled.

While you stood frozen in shock, he simply grabbed your things, put them in your hand, S̶t̶o̶l̶e̶ grabbed your coffee, and whisked you out the door.

I pray for you, good luck dealing with him.

——

𝑫𝒆𝒖𝒄𝒆♠

——

Woke up in either your garage or kitchen, and was confused. Rightfully so.

Since he couldn’t really find you around, but at least recognized this as your house, he just waddled around more or less, fixing random things here and cleaning up there while trying to find clues to where you might be, or if he should just wait here.

He finally found a grocery list, which you had forgotten, and spent the next 10 minutes trying to find the nearest grocery store while unintentionally locking himself out of the house in the process, so made the genius decision to hope you were still at the grocery store and dashed over.

You’re doing great, dude.

Anywho, he got lucky, because in the middle of carrying off your shopping bags, your notification that your AP was full went off, and as you went to use it, you noticed a severe lack of Deuce on your homescreen.

This lead to sitting on a bench and getting distracted trying to figure out why the hell this glitch had only affected your Deuce cards, so you weren’t paying much attention when you heard a voice somewhat far off but close.

“Oh hey! There you are!”

Assuming it was for someone else, you continued trying to fix the “glitch”, then paused when you heard the voice from before right infront of you.

“Do you need help with carrying those bags?”

The words “I’m good, thanks.” died on your tongue when you looked up, only to be face to face with the guy you’d been suffering trying to figure out where he went for 20 minutes. Ingame. In a VIDEO GAME.

Internally, you practically short-circuited, after you panicked, he started panicking, and you both ended up in a weird confusion panic that had the energy of the spidermans pointing at eachother meme.

Great job! You have now acquired a German Shepard Golden Retriever mix in human form.

————

Bonus :

——

𝑪𝒉𝒆'𝒏𝒚𝒂⤵➟

——

Unlike most of them, he had absolutely zero trouble hopping into your world.

However, instead of revealing himself right away, he decided to be the ghost of good deeds and mischief. And a random black cat you’d suspiciously find on your window sill demanding pets or cuddles.

Luckily transforming, flying, invisibility, and the rest of his magic ability seemed to work just fine.

Sometimes, you’d randomly find things placed in unusual places, spoons on the ceiling, for example, the paintings or pictures sometimes randomly taking on very funny faces, teacups and plates floating around at 2am, leaving you to assume it was a sleepy hallucination.

Other times you’d be aggravatingly trying to fix something, look away for one moment, and not only was it fixed, it looked almost brand new. Or you’d open the fridge or pantry, and notice the lack of food, then open it again, and i’d be filled to the brim.

You never noticed anything too strange on Twist itself however until you got bored one day, and decided to replay Heartstabyls chapters, only to realize Che’nya was…completely missing.

Out of sheer curiosity, you checked his Pomfieore Chapter appearance. Nothing. Gone.

Trying to see if it was just the WIFI connection, you moved rooms, only to see a blink of purple in the corner of your eye.

Lounging in the air by the window, tail swaying lazily, he peeked over, then grinned his signature grin.

“Nya-ice to meet you~”

———

Yay! Thats all!!

Holy shit I can’t believe I wrote this, feel free to take me out (Date or Assassination I really don’t care)

Alright! I might do more but they might not be in dorm order, see ya!