#i just learned how to use the espresso machine

[ironic-bread]

this drink is stupid, im having something apparently called a "redeye" and its literally just black coffee with a shot of espresso in it. i am going to ascend to heights of caffeination i only previously dreamed of.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

On the Edge of Innocence

Corrupted!Wanda Maximoff x innocent!fem!reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon, power impalance, edge play, memory alteration, manipulation, gaslighting, Mommy kink, magic-induced immobilization, magic used like a drug

Authors notes: Sorry it's a little late everyone!

The atmosphere between you and Wanda had been easygoing from the start. After Natasha introduced you to her at the coffee shop, you felt an instant connection, unaware of the storm brewing beneath Wanda’s calm surface.

She found you refreshing—a break from the usual chaos that surrounded her. You had a certain innocence that drew her in, a softness that made her feel powerful in ways she couldn’t resist. It didn’t take long for Wanda to learn just how easy it was to make you blush, to see that flash of bashfulness in your gaze when she gave a playful tease or brushed her hand against yours.

But that innocence awakened something else in her. Darker desires stirred as she realized how little you understood the effect you had on her. And she had power. Her magic allowed her to erase the memories of those moments where she’d let that hunger slip, when she’d let her hands wander or leaned close enough to breathe in the sweetness of your innocence.

Each time, Wanda would reset you, erasing the moments when her magic had coaxed you to the edge, leaving only traces of warmth and longing you didn’t understand. You thought it was natural—the flutter of nerves whenever she looked at you too long, the way her fingers lingered when she brushed them along your arm. And, each time, she’d bring you right back to the start.

Only Wanda knew how many times she’d used her powers to draw you in, to unravel that innocence bit by bit, savoring every innocent smile and lingering gaze. And she’d keep it that way—your best friend, the only one you really trusted, the one who held every secret, every forgotten moment, in the palm of her hand.

It was a quiet evening, with only the sound of the espresso machine humming in the background. You were about to close up when Wanda walked in, her eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist—part nervousness, part thrill. She smiled as she stepped closer, her presence warm and intoxicating.

"Hey, thought I'd keep you company while you close up," she said smoothly, her voice low, a little too soft. You nodded, always grateful for her company, though the way she looked at you sometimes made you shy.

As you went about cleaning, you could feel her eyes on you, watching closely, like she was studying every move. You turned to face her, your cheeks pinking as you noticed how close she was.

"Wanda… do you, um, want some coffee?" you offered, trying to steady yourself.

Her lips curled into a knowing smile, and she shook her head. "Not coffee," she murmured, her hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I was thinking something a bit sweeter." Her fingers trailed slowly down the side of your face, grazing your jaw, making your breath hitch.

There it was again—that feeling, warm and heady, making you forget the world outside of Wanda’s gaze. You wanted to pull away, the intensity overwhelming, yet you couldn’t move, held by the softness of her touch and the way her voice wove around you.

“You’re so cute when you’re shy,” she teased, her fingers now tracing lightly over your collarbone. “All that blushing… like you’ve never been touched before.”

Her words sent a flush through you, and you dropped your gaze, feeling both flattered and utterly vulnerable. You never understood why her words hit so deeply, why they made you feel both embarrassed and needy in a way you’d never experienced before.

Unseen to you, Wanda's eyes glowed faintly as she reached into your mind, blurring your memories, pushing a wave of calm over you to cloud any hesitations. The moment she was ready, she murmured, "You can trust me, right?"

You nodded, unable to resist the soft spell of her voice. "Of course, Wanda."

She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your skin as her fingers grazed along your waist, her magic keeping you still. Each touch was electric, sending a shiver through you, but her hold kept your thoughts fuzzy, soft. Her mouth was so close to yours, just barely hovering over your lips, leaving you gasping for air and yet unable to move.

“Just let go for me,” she whispered, and her magic pulsed in time with her words, melting away any remnants of resistance. She guided you, leaning you back against the counter as her hands settled firmly on your hips, her eyes dark with desire.

For a fleeting moment, you felt something shift, something that told you this was more than it seemed, that there was a different intent behind Wanda’s warmth. But before the thought could form fully, Wanda’s magic washed over you again, taking away your doubts and leaving only her touch, her scent, and her quiet commands.

A wave of her hand and you look down when you feel something hit your thigh. A red strap with her magic swirling around it. 

“W-Wands…I–” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Shhhh just be Mommy's good girl like always and take it.” She says and you don't have a chance to respond as your words turn into choked moans. She's pushed herself fully inside of you and started pistoning her hips. 

“Fuck Y/N you're always so tight for me. You always feel so fucking good.” Wanda growls by your ear as you cling to her moaning. 

You don't know what she's talking about when she says ‘always’. This is your first time. Maybe she's fantasized about this? Yeah that has to be it. 

You feel yourself building up fast, you've never experienced pleasure like this, but just as you're teetering on the edge she stops and pulls out. A whine escapes your lips as you try to pull her back to you. 

“Oh no moya dorogaya. You aren't allowed to cum just yet. Mommy is going to savor you like she always does. We aren't over until I say we are and when I'm finally finished you won't remember a thing.” Wanda whispers by your ear, sending a chill through you. 

Tomorrow, like she'd said, you’d remember none of this—the press of her body, the whispered promises, the way her hands had claimed you. You’d remember only the warmth you felt, the lingering shyness, and how, in Wanda’s presence, you always felt so safe, so completely hers.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Bad Guy x Reader

I am currently in my Natural Born Killers nostalgia, and so I'm borrowing its vibes and bringing you this: a bad-to-the-bone, rock-and-roll attitude yandere who constantly makes you question your own morality. Featuring an old OC!

Content: gender neutral reader, violence, murder, male yandere

He fell in love with you at first sight. A goody two shoes, quiet and obedient. Shy. Oh, terribly shy. You couldn't even meet his eyes. He knew you were the kind others would step on, take advantage of. But there was more to it, much more to uncover.

Who was it? A relative, a friend, a coworker? You know, that person holding you back, keeping you in your place. The one who'd always make you feel small and insignificant. The one who would always find something to criticize. How did it feel when you found them on the ground, bashed in and bloodied up? He was standing above the lifeless body, catching his breath, a cocky smile plastered on his face. His way of courting you.

He looked so tall in that moment, towering above your hesitant self, his gaze of a confidence and intensity you'd never known before. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get in", he said, gesturing towards a convertible he most likely stole earlier that day. What possessed you in that moment to join him without delay? Was it his charisma? Or did you know in the depth of your soul that he wouldn't take no for an answer?

You see, he's known it from the beginning. Someone like you needs someone like him. You’re a sweet little lamb lost among the wolves. The world would eat you right up if you were left by yourself. But now you have him. And he won't let his precious prey get away. Oh, dear, no. If he wants something, he gets it. And he's never wanted anything more than you.

"You didn't...even tell me your name", you sheepishly spoke up from the passenger seat, trying to keep your mind away from the crime you'd just witnessed. "Just call me Tig", he said casually with a yawn, speeding away. "Won't you be in trouble, Tig? Why would you even kill-" you tried to reason. "What kinda question is that? They treated you like shit and it pissed me off." He glanced at you with a frown, taking another drag off his cigarette. "You're mine now, so whatever happens to you is my business. Got it?" You just stared. Was that his way of asking you out?

Tig lives by his own rules, as you quickly learned from becoming his companion. Always on the run, indifferent to the world. For the most part, to your surprise, he's well-behaved. If people don't mess with him, he doesn't mess with them. Simple as that.

Anything involving you, however, sets him off terribly. Like a rabid, ferocious guard dog, he's ready to pounce on whoever approaches you the wrong way. Last week you stopped at a highway diner for coffee, and on your way back to your table, you jokingly pulled a clumsy dance move to the song playing from the speakers. Tig observed you with an amused smile, sipping from his cup. A passerby joined you, resting his arm on your waist flirtatiously. Tig's smile dropped in an instant, and next thing you knew, the whole place was splattered in blood. No one made it out.

"I didn't even finish my coffee", you whined, already used to the occasional massacre. The man hopped behind the counter and threw on a bloodied cap. "What will it be, sir/ma'am?" he pretended, dangling a takeaway cup and starting the espresso machine. "I never told you, but I used to be a barista", he declared proudly. An entirely different person from the unhinged killer you witnessed minutes ago. "What? You said you were a mechanic", you questioned with raised brows. "That's also true. I'm a jack of all trades, I suppose. You know what I'm best at, though?" He lowered himself until his forehead touched yours. "Pleasing you."

The man is romantic in his own way. He twists the key, and the engine stops. You follow him out of the car in confusion. "Why did we stop here?" He briefly lifts himself up onto the tall fence securing the bridge, and inhales deeply. "Isn't it a nice view?" he says, nodding ahead. It is a scenic sight, sure. The river slithers along the lush valley, and the setting sun gives everything a dramatic tint. "Give me your hand", he suddenly demands as he goes to grab it himself. Before you can ask for an explanation, he quickly drags a blade across your palm, and you wince in pain. He repeats the gesture with his own hand, locking his fingers with yours over the rail. You watch as fresh blood trails along your skin, eventually falling into droplets and vanishing into the river. "Now we're going to be everywhere", he remarks playfully. "Okay, but what was the point?" you insist, a little baffled.

"Isn't it obvious? Maybe this will help", he continues, procuring a ring from his pocket. "I'm saying I want to marry you, (Y/N)."

You open your mouth to answer, but he already slides it up your finger, eyes glimmering in excitement.

"You're never getting away from me, love."

[lumosinlove]

Write Me In

Part Four

Leo was surprised that he slept at all, but when he woke up the next morning, the light was bright through the gauzy curtains and he sat up feeling like he was forgetting something. It was a trade off he’d learned to deal with. Either his insomnia kept him up all night, or he crashed hard and woke up wondering if he’d been asleep for a week. Or maybe it was just this place. He’d left a window open and the smell of the ocean was so heavenly that Leo nearly fell back into his pillows and basked in it. Until he remembered. Then he fell back into his pillows and tried to figure out what had happened last night, and what might be waiting for him out there.

He listened.

Guitar. Soft, beautiful guitar.

Maybe it had even been what had woken him. That, or the smell of coffee. Leo had seen about five different ways of making coffee in that kitchen and he tried to calm himself by seeing if he could figure out what they were using. It was probably impossible—it was just coffee—but he tried anyway. French press. Espresso. Stove top. Coffee machine, like the one Finn had forgone all of the fancier equipment for back in New York. Maybe he preferred it. What did Logan prefer?

They had wanted to be with him last night. Even worse, Leo had wanted to be with them last night. He could have been waking up in that master bedroom he’d caught a glimpse of. Logan and Finn’s suitcases both disasters on the floor. Now, the bed would be unmade. Had they stayed up late by the fire or followed Leo inside soon after? Leo had forced himself not to listen. He’d counted sheep. He’d counted waves down below. He’d counted his own breaths and heartbeats and all but forced himself to sleep so he wouldn’t count the ways that conversation could have gone or how that night could have ended.

And now Finn O’Hara was playing guitar in the main room—it was Finn. Logan picked it up sometimes but he wasn’t as nimble with it as Finn. So, maybe Logan was making coffee. Or it was only Finn awake with coffee and music and Logan was sleeping in as usual. He clicked on his phone. Eight-thirty. If Logan had his choice, he would still be sleeping. Leo tried to fight the twinge that came with the warm feeling that he knew that.

Leo forced himself to get up. He went to the bathroom, ran wet fingers through his hair, and looked at himself in the mirror. This tedious, nervous feeling didn’t reflect in his face. He looked rested and like he’d gotten some sun. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and regarded himself. He didn’t workout much. He liked the classes he went to with Cassie. He was usually the only guy, but he didn’t mind. They laughed as much as they worked but Leo always left drenched in sweat so he figured it was worth it. He looked like he’d always looked to himself. Maybe not as defined as Finn and Logan with their drumming and back-stage push ups, but he’d always been tall and lean.

He went to his suitcase and looked at his options. They’d walk into town today? They’d go to Logan’s nice restaurant? Would they swim and he’d change before dinner?

Were they going to send him home after he’d refused them? He needed to write.

Finn’s voice, muffled, filtered to him through the door, and Logan’s replied. So, they were both up. At the thought that they were waiting on him, Leo threw on a pair of light wash jeans—cool enough, he supposed—and a white t-shirt.

Everything you want, then Logan had said. Leo ran his hands through his hair again and closed his eyes. He wanted quite a bit, and none of it had to do with clothes.

He opened his door slowly and the guitar got louder without the wood blocking it. Leo paused, trying to recognize the song.

“—open doors,” Logan was saying. “And…hm. And open doors…”

“And admit that we won,” Finn replied, talking in a meter that wasn’t quite singing. “Begun, won. Not quite a perfect rhyme, but that’s…”

“Non, that’s good. I like that. When you sing it, it’s a perfect one.”

Leo’s heart picked up.

They were writing a song.

He was tempted to stay hidden and listen, but that felt like a betrayal somehow. Rude. This was private.

Finn began to sing, actually sing, if not a little quietly for Leo’s benefit, just as Leo rounded the corner.

“We tried to fight it off with—oh, hey.” Finn was looking at him, a hesitant sort of smile on his face. “Hi, hi, good morning.”

“Hi,” Leo said.

There was a pause. An obvious one. One that made Leo panic, just a little. Finn’s eyes were a soft, worried brown and Leo didn’t know what to do with that. Logan saved him.

“Salut,” Logan said. He was standing by the stove in a white linen shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his chest and holding a stovetop espresso pot. He looked so tan against the white shirt, his hair wet and curlier than usual—from a swim in the ocean? It was pushed back from his face like Leo had seen it that first day at their apartment in New York. Leo glanced back at Finn, who was already looking at him. The expression on his face seemed to say I know, right?

Logan held up the silver pot and Leo made himself study that instead. It looked well-loved. Stained, the metal changed from the heat.

“Coffee?” Logan asked.

“Yes,” Leo said. “Yeah, please.”

“Did you sleep okay?” Finn asked.

“Was everything—” Logan began to ask, then registered what Finn said. “Oh, ouais, yeah, did you…yeah.”

Finn laughed and gave him a helpless sort of shrug and it made Leo relax a little. They didn’t seem upset. Or like they wanted him gone. They seemed nervous, too.

“I did,” Leo said. “Sleeping with the window open and hearing the waves is so great.”

“I know,” Finn said. “Soothing.”

“I put a little bit of sugar,” Logan said. He nudged an espresso cup across the counter. “Because it’s good.”

“How much is a ‘little bit’ of sugar in your world?” Leo asked—Because it seemed like it might crack some of this worry between them, brittle and crystalized as sugar itself.

Logan’s smile proved him right. “I guessed at what your 'little bit’ would be.” Logan tilted his head. “I think I did good.”

Logan wanted to take them into town for breakfast. Leo wondered if the same car was going to come and pick them up, but it turned out Logan had other plans. He led them through a door—Leo honestly, at this point, wasn’t even going to try to map the house. It sprawled in directions he couldn’t even clock. This time they ended up in a garage that had two cars covered in crisp white sheets.

“Pick a color,” Logan said. “Yellow or green.”

“Oh my God,” Finn said. “Logan.”

Logan just smiled and shrugged. “Yellow or green, Leo?"

“Green,” Leo said instantly and Finn gave him a smile.

Logan strode forward, took hold of the closer sheet, and yanked it off in one flourish. Beneath it sat a pristine, gleaming Porsche. It was an older model, vintage looking with a low roof and a bumper that looked like a smile. It’s velvety dark green color was sleek and spotless.

“Wow,” Leo said faintly. “I mean, yes. The obvious choice for a ride to breakfast.”

Finn laughed loudly and it echoed in the room. “I know, right?”

Logan took a pair of keys off of the wall and tossed the other to Finn. “You’re yellow, Coeur.”

Leo blinked and saw a flash of Finn’s lips on Logan’s skin last night. Logan had just called Finn heart.

It was perfect. He and Logan zipped along narrow, cliffside roads in their green car with the bright racer yellow of Finn’s behind them. Besides the colors, they were a perfect match. Leo felt like he was in a movie with the engine in his ears. They couldn’t talk over the roar, not to mention the wind. Logan rolled all the windows down—literally. The card had cranks not buttons. The salty wind whipped at their hair and Leo knew that he might look insane when he got out of the car, but he didn’t care, not with Logan’s strong hands to study. He had one easy on the steering wheel, and dropped the other periodically to change gears. It was a little like the way he drummed. Just a different sort of rhythm.

They didn’t speak until Logan had to slow down because they’d entered a small town. A market was in full swing and everyone seemed to know Logan’s cars—and Logan himself. He waved out the window at two small kids as he pulled into a parking spot. They were jumping up and down and each holding a peach that was dripping down their arms.

Oh, Leo wanted to shop here. He clicked his seatbelt off and looked at Logan.

“Hi,” Logan said. “Fun?”

Leo nodded. “Fun.”

As they walked around, it became clear to Leo that he was going to have to add an entire section to his article that was just about Logan being here. Even his body moved differently. Leo and Finn walked a few paces behind him as he was greeted by nearly every vendor. They all exchanged kisses on both cheeks. Leo sort of wanted to see Logan kiss Finn on both cheeks.

“Beautiful, right?” Finn leaned over and whispered to him. He was in a white t-shirt like Leo’s, and soft looking blue shorts. Exactly which part of the scene in front of them he was referring to, Leo didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. His yes applied to all of it.

Leo was about to buy a few of the peaches he’d seen the kids holding when Logan appeared at his side and dropped coins onto the vendor’s table.

Before Leo could even protest, Logan was guiding him away with a hand on his back and holding something out to him in a flat palm. It was a small pastry nestled in parchment. It looked lemony, or maybe it was an almond paste. On top were two perfect raspberries.

“It’s the best thing you’ll ever eat,” Logan said in French. “I promise.”

“Big promise,” Leo said.

Logan laughed. “It’s true. I dream of them. I could write a song about them.”

“Oh,” Leo said. “Well, in that case.” He picked up the square sweet and took a bite. He’d been right about the almond. It was a sweet, nutty burst in his mouth beside the raspberries. The pastry felt like a thousand thin layers of crisp and butter. Leo closed his eyes and nodded. “Ouais. Yeah, it’s perfect.”

When he opened his eyes again, Logan was still there, gazing up at him with a bright, satisfied grin.

“Let’s get another,” Leo said.

“They sell out fast,” Logan said. “This was their last.”

“Did you get one?”

Logan shrugged. “I wanted you to try it.”

Leo frowned at the half pastry remaining at his hand.

“It’s okay,” Logan said. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

But Leo held out the other half. “Non. Tu en rêves.”

It was maybe one of the best parts of being here, seeing Logan’s face when he spoke French to him.

“You like it,” Logan said. “I can tell.”

Leo mimicked Logan’s shrug. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

Logan bit the inside of his cheek, then smiled. Eyes on Leo, he leaned forward and took the rest of the pastry between his teeth right from Leo’s fingertips. Leo hadn’t been expecting that. He could feel color rise to his cheeks as sure as he felt the sun on his neck.

“Just like you remember?” Leo asked to try and draw attention away from his red face. It came in a double force, though, when Logan raised up a thumb and brushed a crumb from the corner of Leo’s mouth.

“Better,” Logan said. The French word’s soft double L sound gorgeous in his mouth.

Leo self consciously touched where Logan had touched his mouth. He sort of wanted him to do it again.

“Will you write about this?” Logan asked. “I hope you write about this.”

“Our week’s almost up,” Leo said. “Pretty good finale, I’d say.”

Logan’s face fell.

“Mais…the week we agreed on maybe,” Logan said softly. “Or that was agreed on. By others who didn’t know that we…”

Logan dropped his gaze and Leo was right back in last night, the heat of the fire on his face. Finn and Logan’s open expressions and hopeful eyes. Leo glanced around for Finn and found him talking animatedly to a man at a stall of books. Finn O’Hara, Leo thought. He didn’t look like the rock star, or the heart throb, or the dream talk show guest. He was this sweet boy trying his best to meet that man halfway with bad French and hand gestures. Who got called heart by his boyfriend, who had a boyfriend, who wanted Leo’s voice to help them tell the world about each other.

“Would you…” Logan huffed. He looked around and then took Leo by the hand and tugged him towards an old set of narrow steps in the shade of a sweet smelling tree. Leo let him maneuver them into sitting, squeezed next to each other.

Logan fixed him with his bright green eyes. “Would you want to stay?” Logan asked. “You just got here.”

“You…You want me to extend the story?”

“I want you to stay.”

There was a whole landslide of other halves to that sentence. Leo couldn’t have guessed at a single one.

Leo smiled a little. “You know, I didn’t think you liked me when we first met.”

“No one thinks I like them when we first meet.”

The paper bag of peaches was cool on his lap. Logan had a bag, too, and when he caught Leo looking at it, he uncurled the top. Croissants, chocolate and plain.

“I was nervous,” Logan said. “It wasn’t that I didn’t like you. I was worried about the story. Mostly, I was worried you wouldn’t like us.”

“You didn’t even know me.”

“I knew you in the way you knew us,” Logan said. “Through your writing. Non, we don’t know-knoweach other, but we know each other. You can’t write without some truth. Can you?”

He had him there. “That’s true. No, that’s true. Okay…”

“Leo,” Logan said more seriously. He pushed their thighs together harder where they were already touching. “Will you stay? Only if you want to, of course, but…please. We want you to stay.”

God, did he want to. He wanted months of whatever this was. Whatever they were dancing around—because it was something. God, it was something. Leo didn’t sleep much but he had already dreamed about it. He just wished there was a way to tell them that he wouldn’t say it first. He couldn’t say it first. Right now, he was in charge of the most important story of their careers. If something soured—and Leo knew better than most how quickly things could sour—he didn’t want any more tangles than necessary. They had each other. They already had each other.

“I’ve told you how much you’ve meant to me,” Leo began. “And for how long.”

Logan nodded.

“And I’ve told you that you’ve helped me through some bad people and experiences.”

“Ouais. But we got interrupted.”

“We did, yeah. Yeah…” Leo sighed. “Well, the bottom line is, you’re not the first, um…”

“Le sujet,” Logan offered, then winced.

“Subject. Sure. You’re not the first subject who’s wanted to…” There was no better way to say it, honestly. “Sleep with me. That is what was happening last night, wasn’t it?”

“First, we would have wanted to kiss you.”

They both looked up just as Finn sat down, sitting sideways on the step below them so they had to lift let their legs go over his. When he smiled and pushed his sunglasses up on his head, he was Finn O’Hara for a second. It looked like a Vogue cover shoot. And then he tipped Leo’s bag to poke inside and he was Finn again.

Kiss you. He’d surely walked into some far-fetched dream of his own making. But, no, there they were. They were both touching him somehow. Knee against knee. Finn’s knuckles kept brushing his ankle. It was comforting.

“You wanted it to go somewhere last night,” Leo repeated. “Kiss, more…but that’s what was going on. I’m not wrong?”

“You’re right,” Logan said. He was blushing. Sweating a little, pushing his hair back. The market was loud and oblivious around them, and Leo wasn’t sure why this conversation was happening here, but it was.

“We didn’t just want to sleep with you,” Logan said.

“Okay…” Leo shook his head and looked at Finn. “The kissing your boyfriend in front of me didn’t really give me any clues farther than fucking.”

“Yeah…” Finn was rubbing at one of his eyes. “I think maybe we’re a little rusty on the flirting side of things.”

“There is no way your flirting is rusty,” Leo said, laughing a little. “Believe me, I think I’d know. I’ve been watching you for a week, you flirt with everyone.”

“No,” Finn said. “Nu-uh. I make everyone think I’m flirting with them. I make whole crowds think I’m flirting with them.” He turned to face Leo. “I flirt…or try to…with you.”

“We weren’t just trying to—” Logan looked horrified. “Là, what, quoi, have sex then goodbye?”

Finn dropped his forehead on Leo’s knee. “We were trying…” He looked up at Logan. “We should have just asked him out to dinner, like, obviously!”

“I did ask him to dinner!” “No, like, ask-ask. That’s not the same thing!”

“Okay,” Leo held up a hand, heart wildly trying to beat against his ribs. Everything inside of him hurt. He couldn’t tell if this was real or not. Mostly, he couldn’t see the infatuation. The short lived lust. Not here. With Finn and Logan, he just couldn’t tell. They both seemed—well, a little nervous, actually. Leo didn’t think he’d seen them so flustered. Ever.

“My job is to make the people I’m writing about feel comfortable,” Leo said. “And it’s been mistaken for attraction before. That’s just…” Leo held up a hand. “I’m just putting that down.”

“You weren’t just making us feel comfortable,” Finn said firmly. “Do you know how many journalists we’ve been around? God, so many and a lot of them are awful. They call my brother behind my back hoping to get some dirt or jealousy. I’ll turn around and they’ve opened one of my fucking notebooks. Leo, you are so different, you are so…” Finn looked at Logan for a moment. “I’ve loved your writing for so long. I read it to Logan, even your pieces from that blog you used to run.”

Leo flushed. “Oh—oh my God, what?”

His blog. When he’d been desperately trying to get clips to big magazines. Finn O’Hara—Read it to—

“You slipped right into us,” Finn said. “You’re gorgeous and you’re so smart and articulate…I think I could talk to you for hours. Nothing felt like an interview, you felt like we’d known you forever.”

“Forever,” Logan agreed.

Leo wanted to shake them. “Finn, that’s my job. I’m really fucking good at my job.”

“Yeah, but how often do you forget you’re doing you’re job because you’re happy, too?” Finn fired back, but then his eyes softened. He put a hand on Leo’s knee. “You felt it, too. You can’t tell me I’m wrong about that.”

“Yes, I—” Leo closed his eyes briefly. “Yes. Yes, of course I did. I did.”

He really could have talked to them forever. Sometimes he’d even forgotten there was a show to perform when they’d been laughing and talking in their dressing room beforehand. He could have listened to them forever. Logan’s little French mumbles. The way he closed his eyes when he practiced a song. They way his fingers drummed on every surface—they were twitching on Leo’s other knee now. The songs Finn sang around hotel rooms and apartments—not his own songs. His favorite songs. Leo wanted to know all of Finn’s favorite songs and why. They way they watched him cook. The way they showed their appreciation. The way they kissed each other. He wanted to brush his teeth beside them and crawl into bed and talk after turning the lights off until they were too tired. What a fantasy.

“Look,” Leo said. “I’m not just protecting myself here. Do I think you’re both—God, so gorgeous I can’t breathe, and sweet, and funny, and talented, yes. But I thought that even before I knew you. I’m trying to separate my skills from myself for your sake, and I’m trying to separate your stardom and your selves for my sake. And yours. Guys, you don’t want someone who wants you because you’re famous.”

“You don’t,” Finn said. “I know what that looks like.”

“We both do,” Logan said.

“I—okay. Of course you would know. But even still.” Leo sighed, heart heavier by the moment. He didn’t know if he was wrong here or if they were just good at trying to prove him wrong. “You have each other. You are asking me to write about your love for the first time in public and that’s a big deal. You two are going to get so much attention, it’s insane. And you’re telling me you like me, and you feel something for me, but there is going to be literally zero room for me when not only does your album come out, but this article. If you even still want me then.”

Leo was so out of breath it made his heart pound and stars appear at the edges of his visions. Those last words had come out a whisper. He’d said it, though. All of it. He’d needed the words and the words had been right there for him to arrange. Even more, Leo and Finn were both completely silent, completely still, and listening.

“I’ve been the thing that someone keeps in the dark before,” Leo said, keeping his eyes down. He felt Logan’s hand tighten on his knee. “Literally. He wouldn’t even keep the lights on when we kissed.”

Logan’s other hand appeared. Or Finn’s? They were all but holding whatever part of him they could reach now. Leo couldn’t push them away. Maybe right now he could explain to them why he thought he should be saying no, but he didn’t want them to let go.

“Am I very attracted to you both? Yes. Was it very hard to say no last night?” Leo’s laugh was half groan. “God, yes. But am I going to be kept in any sort of darkness ever again?” Leo swallowed hard, throat tight, and shook his head. “No. I’m…I’m sorry, but no.”

No sooner had Leo finished that sentence than did one of the little kids that had been practically hanging off of Logan’s body earlier launch itself over Finn’s legs and straight into Logan’s lap. She started talking a mile a minute—even Leo couldn’t quite keep up. Logan just stared. He held the little girl, nodding, smiling, but in a daze. Leo didn’t know if Finn knew his hand was on Leo’s calf, tightening and loosening, maybe as he tried to think what to do. What to say.

Leo was just beginning to suspect maybe he had said too much when the girl’s mother called her away.

They were still quiet. Leo could pick out each of their breathing. He looked at Finn, because his silence meant he still wasn’t convinced. Leo didn’t really want him to be.

“Logan told me that he thinks about the way he used to miss you, and misses you sometimes even when you’re asleep right next to him.”

Finn looked at Logan, lips parting. He didn’t look surprised, exactly. Just like it hurt to hear it again.

Leo covered Finn’s hand with his, drawing his eyes back to him. “That’s love. That’s what you have.”

Finn didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe we have more to give.”

Leo stared at him. Again—what were they doing, tucked away from the crowds in this little set of steps, talking about this?

Logan was so quiet, had been so quiet the whole time, that Leo had to look at him. Logan Tremblay. In what world did Logan Tremblay look at him like this? Like he was about to sing the chorus of I See Red, or leave the stage for Rooftop. The expression on his face looked real enough. Leo had to admit that.

“I don’t trust people,” Logan said under Leo’s gaze. “But I trust you.” When Leo went to speak, Logan pressed a palm to his chest. “Don’t tell me what happened on the balcony was your job. It wasn’t.”

“No. That wasn’t,” Leo said softly.

“How about this,” Finn said. “Stay long enough to get everything for the piece.”

“And we haven’t played you any of the new album,” Logan cut in.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Finn said. “Hey, that’s in the contract for your piece.” He smiled. “You get to hear three songs.”

Leo couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Are you bribing me with your music?”

“Not bribing,” Finn said. “I want to know what you think. Always.”

“We.”

“We want to know what you think,” Finn said. “And we never said a word to your editors about this being more than just a music story, so…” Finn tilted his head. “Technically, we can all renegotiate and you…You can ask for more time with us?” He looked so, so hopeful. “And maybe, just maybe, we can show you that we’re not under some love-sick spell cast by your outstanding professionalism.”

Leo’s laugh was real this time, and so sudden that he covered his mouth. “Cast my by professionalism?”

Finn grinned and untangled himself enough to stand up. He offered them both a hand. “Come on. Let’s take our time.”

God. Finn O’Hara and all of his perfect words. “Time sounds good.”

~

It wasn’t a hard sell. The second Finn and Logan’s people told Leo’s people just how big this story would be, Leo was basically told to stay put for now, and Finn and Logan were told to only talk to Leo about this until the story was out and couldn’t be leaked. Essentially, they were told to talk, work, write, and not leave.

That had been five days ago. Leo was now thoroughly sunned, oceaned, and thinking a whole lot about Logan’s hand on his chest, Finn’s on his ankle, and kissing.

They went to the market nearly every morning. Leo had made a, if he could say so himself, perfect peach pie with the fruit he’d bought—Logan had bought. They’d been to Logan’s raved about restaurant and Leo had gotten his cheeks kissed by no less than six waiters. Logan had been right. He’d never tasted food like that.

They’d walked down Logan’s cliffs and spend hours lounging in the shade and sun and diving into deep, clear water. Leo had tried not to stare at Finn’s marble-pale chest in the sun. Logan’s tan-line that drew itself oh-so low on his hips. In his notebook lay the phrase couple of fucking mermaids that wouldn’t make it into any sort of writing but it was true.

Each night, Logan built a fire and Finn brought out a special wine—now Leo had seen him spend a good forty minutes with the man who owned the wine shop in town. Apparently it was a hobby of Finn’s. The other night, Finn had brought out a small bottle that was sweet and amber colored—and his guitar. Leo had gotten his first new song.

“Okay,” Finn had said. “So, this is called—wait, do you want your notebook or anything?”

Leo, feeling like Christmas morning, shook his head. “No. I just want to listen.”

“Cool.” Finn bit his lip. “Okay, cool. Cool. So it’s called…” He was looking at Leo, hand flexing on the neck of his guitar. “Um.”

“Rouge,” Logan said, sounding bewildered.

“Counting,” Finn burst out, laughing a little. “No, it’s called Counting. Sorry. Okay. Here we go. It’s about—” Finn waved his pick at Logan. “That one.”

Leo laughed. “That one?”

Finn shook his head, grinning down at his guitar as he gave the strings a small twist to make sure it was in tune. “That stupidly handsome person right there.”

Logan rolled his eyes and leaned towards Leo. “Imagine it with big drums. Sounds soft now, that’s how he wrote it, but on stage, on the album, I’m all in.” Logan grinned at Leo and he looked like he did on stage when Finn made him laugh into his mic.

“I think I can do that,” Leo said.

Finn began to sing.

One big game of hide and seek.

Count to ten and come find me.

I’m in here waiting patiently.

Tucked away and so ready.

Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.

We’re okay just still counting.

I’ll hold you and you hold me.

Strike a match so we can see.

Don’t worry baby, I would count it all for you.

I’d count the miles, the minutes, the ways tried and true.

Five and six and seventeen,

I’d count mountains, towns, and streams,

Sneaking cracks on dark ceilings,

Motes of dust in sunlight gleams,

I would count most anything.

Leo forgot about the glass he was holding. He had to set it down. He leaned forward, towards the warm fire. Finn was perfect in its light. His dark red hair, the orange glow, the tan, scuffed up wood of his guitar. Leo spared a glance at Logan, who was already watching him. He didn’t look nervous like Finn. He looked relieved. As Leo watched, he let out a breath and nodded, biting back a smile. Finn’s eyes were closed, fingers quick on the guitar, the heel of his palm standing in place for what would be Logan’s beat.

Days

And months

And years

Of him,

Skin

And laughs

And sinking

In,

There a first for everythin’,

Listen up, he’s mine.

He’s

The Sun

I’m basking in

Crash

Into

His waves and swim

Fills me up right to my brim

If I overflow it’s fine.

Listen up, he’s mine—

I could build a shrine

I would pour the wine

Worship till I die

The god I recognize.

Leo was more than used to feeling breathless at Finn’s music, but this song sucked all the air from his lungs. He knew that counting. He knew the feeling of striking that match. He didn’t know what it was to be with someone through it, but he certainly knew.

Finn settled his guitar carefully on the couch when he was finished. He was all nervous energy, rubbing his hands together and fidgeting. He rose briefly and poured Leo more wine before settling back on the couch.

“So, there’s—yeah. What do you…” Finn trailed off.

“It’s beautiful,” Leo said. “It’s…If I overflow, it’s fine. I love that. I really love that, you—and the counting, that’s just perfectly true. That’s so true…” Leo felt his throat closing up and took a slow breath. “God, Finn. Both of you…It’s—I’ve always thought you walk this perfect line between sweet and…”

“And?” Logan asked when Leo trailed of.

Leo had only done so because he’d realized what he had been about to say. He’d already written about it, though, which meant Finn had already read it, so he might as well. “Well. Just—epic. It’s an epic love, it’s—sexy. That’s how you write it.”

“Hm.” Logan looked pleased.

“I hoped you would understand,” Finn said. “I mean, I knew you would.”

“This is your first song using him,” Leo said. “No French girls met on tour, no room for misunderstanding.”

Logan grumbled something about French girls into his wine cup and Finn reached over and pulled him into a sloppy sort of kiss. Logan let his face be smushed into an equally joyful kiss on his cheek.

“None,” Finn said. “No more of all that. We want to be clear. On everything.”

Leo sat back against the cushions. “Everything.”

“Ouais,” Logan said. “Everything.”

~

Nearing the end of their second week, Leo and Finn were swimming. Finn kept diving down and bringing Leo little treasures from the bottom. He had this funny pair of goggles that he wore to do it. He’d push them down around his neck and show Leo shells and interesting rocks before tossing them back under. His body looked cool and pale under the surface.

Finn kept surprising him. Maybe that showed on his face because, as they tread water, talking, Finn tilted his head and asked.

“What?” Finn said, dipping his mouth low into the salt water before rising again. “What’s with the face?”

Leo brought his legs forward to float more on his back, laughing. “Oh. Nothing.”

Finn splashed him. “What?” He swam closer until Leo could pick out new freckles on his slightly sunburned nose. “What, what, what?”

They were near the rocky ledges and Finn pointed out a spot that he probably knew well, where two people could sit on a natural ledge just beneath the water. The stone was rough, but it put them in the shade and the calm waves lapped around their chests.

“You’re just…” Leo pressed his lips together, smiling.

“Okay, I’m gonna like, dunk you or something if you don’t—”

“You’re kind of a—” Leo shrugged. “A dork.”

Finn’s face was too good not to laugh at.

“I’m a what?”

“A dork,” Leo said. “Completely.”

“Excuse me.” Finn leaned closer. “I am not.”

“A dork,” Leo sighed. “Pop star dork.” Finn squinted at Leo in the sun, smiling. He still had the goggles around his neck and Leo reached forward and hooked a finger in them. “See?”

Finn hummed noncommittally. He’d let Leo’s hand nudge them closer together.

“Well, I guess that’s all right, then.”

Finn skipped his hand along the water’s surface. It was almost too bright to look at directly with the sun coming off it like that, and Leo leaned back against the rock and the shade, keeping his eyes on Finn instead.

“So—possible article question for you,” he said. “If it’s all right?”

“Go for it.”

Leo touched a sparkling vein of mineral in the rock, tracing his finger down it. “What’s it like when you first play Logan a song like that one you played me?”

“Like…what? A love song?”

“Well, yeah, to put it lightly. But…Listen up, he’s mine, I could build a shrine, I would pour the wine, worship till I die, the god I recognize. Love song…does that begin to cover those lyrics?”

Finn laughed. “Wow. I played that for you once.”

“You’re pretty unforgettable.”

“Shucks.”

Leo drew one knee up to his chest. “It’s…There’s something like I See Red to it.”

“Logan wrote that mostly.”

“I know. Exactly. The way you talk about each other. It is like…intense, I don’t know. I just mean—here. I’ll ask it this way first. What went through your mind when Logan played I See Red for you the first time?”

“Mm.” Finn smiled at the memory. “You mean what happened after he told me he wants me all over him?”

Leo tried not to show how hot his body flashed, burning, even in the cool ocean. He rested his chin on his knee, then his mouth, just to hide the wavering sort of inhale he took.

“If—whatever you want to tell me,” Leo managed.

Finn mirrored Leo’s position—knee up, hands locked around his ankle. “How would you feel if someone played a song like that for you? About you.”

“That’s my question.”

“You first.”

Leo rolled his eyes.

“That’s right,” Finn said, propping his chin on his knee like Leo with a sly sort of grin. “I’m a difficult little rock star.”

“Oh, are you writing an article?” Leo laughed.

Finn’s brown eyes stayed sincere and playful. “I don’t write articles.”

Leo stared at him. Finn was visibly holding himself back, even if he was leaning forward and kept looking at Leo’s mouth. Leo had to remind himself that he’d asked him to. Finn wanted him. Finn still wanted him, that was obvious. His brown eyes were a little bit of fall right there in the summer sun. Leo kind of wanted to be kissed on this ledge in the ocean.

I don’t write articles.

“What’s that mean?” Leo asked faintly.

Finn considered him for another moment. “You said you’ve had…clients fall for you before.” Finn looked especially handsome asking a question in his little melodramatic way. Leo didn’t know what it was, but he did. “Ever had a song written about you?”

Okayokayokay. “No…”

“Hm.”

“Not that I know of.” Leo swallowed. He tasted salt on his lips. “Now you. You have to answer.”

“You didn’t answer.”

Leo sighed, smiling. “I…” He tried to clear his head. A song. Lyrics that were so all-consuming. “I would feel…”

He didn’t know. It was almost unimaginable.

He hesitated for long enough, cheek pressed to his knee now, that Finn copied him in that, too, and helped him.

“Timeless,” Finn said.

That gave Leo a word. “Immortal.”

Finn nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly.

Leo watched the sunlight play on Finn’s freckles. He was the picture of a high noon sun, and he was looking between Leo’s eyes and his mouth.

Neither of them saw the wave.

They got a face full of water to splutter through as it’s gentle crest went nearly over their heads, lifting them from their seat.

“They say every tenth one is the biggest,” Finn laughed. He put his goggles back on, grinned at Leo, and held up two thumbs up. “Lunch?”

He felt tan, and cool from the water as they made it back to the house. He didn’t bother washing the salt off his skin, just threw on a fresh pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He only realized when he glanced at himself in the mirror that he and Finn must have swapped on accident at the water’s edge. Instead of his plain white t-shirt, this one was white with a faded NASA logo on it. Leo’s pulse kicked up. He’d seen Finn wear this. On stage. Many times. It was famous on Instagram and Twitter. Replicas had been made. Girls wore copies of this t-shirt to their concerts.

Leo was standing here, wearing the original.

He took a breath before going back out to the living room.

Finn went off to write somewhere with his guitar, but Leo fixed him and Logan sandwiches and they settled in the living room, all of the doors flung wide. Logan was doing a puzzle. Leo had his notebook on his lap with a little section dedicated to transcribing the little murmurs of French Logan said as he worked. Not for the story, just for him. No, not there. This stupid blue. Wrong color. Ah, yes, here. This fits.

Leo sighed and dropped his pen, flexing his cramping hand.

“Ça va?” Logan asked from where he’d been frowning over two puzzle pieces. Leo was still getting over the sheer sweetness of the intense-on-stage-Logan he had known sitting in front of him for an hour and putting a puzzle together. Leo wasn’t sure what the picture would end up being. Logan refused to look at the box lid for reference. It was face-down beside him. Again, Leo sort of wanted to laugh at how he’d thought it would be an all-night party every night. Nope. Late morning coffee, farmer’s markets, cocktails, and puzzles. Much more his speed.

“Yeah, good,” Leo said. “My hand just cramps up if I write for too long. Hand write, at least.”

“Hm.” Logan set the pieces he was holding down and pushed himself up onto his knees. He walked himself over to the couch that way and sank back on his heels at Leo’s feet. He held out his hands. “Give to me.”

“I—what?” Leo asked.

Logan just made an impatient sound and reached for the hand that Leo had been stretching out. He arranged Leo’s hand palm up with his fingers flat but relaxed. Then Logan’s strong thumbs began pressing into the heel of Leo’s palm, smoothing down towards the inside of his wrist. He pressed near his elbow too—Leo hadn’t even realized it hurt there.

“It’s all connected, the wrist, the fingers, it goes all the way to the shoulder,” Logan said. His accent got a little stronger here and Leo almost wanted to ask him to say all that again. But then Logan was kneading at Leo’s shoulder just below his collarbone and—

“Oh,” Leo said faintly. “That feels…”

Logan smiled. “Je sais. Finn is even better at it, I make him do it to me all the time.”

Leo thought about the way Finn liked to come up behind him or Logan, and the way he squeezed their shoulders. If he was putting effort and purpose behind that…Yeah, it would be heavenly.

“I like your shirt,” Logan said teasingly.

“I guess we swapped.”

“Mm. Guess so.”

Leo just tilted his head to the side and let himself relax in Logan’s hands as he worked out the soreness. He hadn’t realized his eyes had closed until he felt Logan’s fingers slowing. Finally, they stilled, both cradling Leo’s hand again. He opened his eyes to see green staring back. Logan had settled very close on the couch, but maybe Leo had drawn him there, too, unconsciously pulling him closer to where it hurt so that he could make it better.

Logan rested a hand on his chest, just as he had at the market. His eyes darted down to Leo’s mouth. Logan had a perfect cupid’s bow. So perfect. Leo wanted to take it in his mouth and feel its dip.

He’d wanted that in the ocean, too. Finn had a freckle on his lip, just at the border where pale skin met pink, and Leo just…God, he wanted it.

“Leo,” Logan whispered.

“Yes,” Leo said, hearing the question Logan hadn’t yet asked.

“Just one,” Logan said. “Please. Is it okay?”

What else would Leo do other than nod. He was running out of willpower. These boys. These shell-diving, wine-enthusiast, puzzle-doing, grumpy in the morning boys. He worried he was smiling a little too much and tried to take a breath. Tried to steady himself. Logan pushed himself up onto the couch, kneeling with on knee down so that Leo’s body angled towards him. One of his hands went to Leo’s thigh, bunching the fabric of his shorts.

It was the softest kiss Leo had ever been given. Logan lingered in it, though. A soft, giddy intake of breath and the lightest of tugs at Leo’s bottom lip.

Leo’s hand went to his waist, to the very spot he had been dying to touch. Near the tattoo. And the cupid’s bow, he could feel it. And the way Logan held himself perfectly still, as if letting Leo control the whole thing. The problem was, Leo’s mind was forgetting almost everything he’d said just a few days ago.

Here, they were just two boys.

Logan made a soft sound in his throat when Leo tilted his chin up to kiss him harder. It parted his lips and Leo tested gently, but Logan let him right in. He tasted the mint tea Logan had been drinking—seemingly the only thing he took without sugar. Logan’s fingers curled and held onto Leo’s t-shirt. Finn’s t-shirt.

Here, there felt like there was all the room for him in the world, even if he didn’t understand why they wanted him to begin with.

Here, it didn’t seem to matter that he was a journalist and they his subjects.

Logan broke the kiss gently, but stayed close. The string that would break Leo’s resolve hadn’t snapped, but oh, was it ever threadbare. Logan could probably feel how fast Leo’s heart was pounding beneath his hand.

“Ça va?” Logan asked faintly.

Leo had to swallow hard to find his voice. “Mhm.”

Logan nodded, the motion bringing their foreheads to rest together. He shifted and let out a sigh.

Leo realized he’d tucked his hands up and under Logan’s shirt and he just had to look down for a glimpse of that tattoo.

He got a lot more.

Logan’s shorts were straining around his hips. Leo got turned on so fast, stars sparked around his vision. The shorts were linen. White. Barely anything. They buttoned, not zipped, and those buttons were trying to hold on.

“Sorry,” Logan whispered.

“No,” Leo managed to say. He sounded weird to himself. “It’s—you’re fine. Very fine.”

“I just…” Logan laughed a little. He cupped a palm to Leo’s face briefly before pulling away. He flashed him a bashful smile as he turned back to sit on the couch. “Là, I mean, look at you. I’m…d’accord. I don’t mean to…”

Leo needed to say something more. He needed to say something not stupid. Something other than I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming right now.

“We’re taking our time,” Logan said. He took Leo’s hand and squeezed.

“I—no, we are,” Leo said. But if you wanted to sit on my lap right fucking now—

“Ouais,” Logan said. He was breathing slow, like he was trying to will himself to calm down. “Okay, so I will—be right back?”

They both kind of dissolved into laughter at that. Logan sat next to him, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Merde. Does this go into the piece?”

Leo had to stop laughing long enough to say, “In the middle of doing a puzzle, Tremblay had to be right back—”

Logan let out one of his free laughs and reached over blindly to shove at Leo’s knee. “Hey, take a look at yourself. You’re just as bad.”

Leo was trying very hard not to think about himself.

Logan rose, face flushed, and jerked his head towards the puzzle. “See if you can figure out that hellish thing over there.”

Leo watched as he disappeared through the doorway. Leo didn’t know if he was going to find Finn to help or go somewhere on his own to—well, fix it or calm down. Both thoughts sent Leo’s body aching. He had to lean his head back on the couch and breathe. He reached down and tried to make himself more comfortable, but it didn’t help.

He picked his notebook back up. He flexed his hand and picked up his pen. No use. He closed his notebook. He looked at Logan’s puzzle.

He took a deep breath, slid himself to the floor, and set about fitting a couple pieces into place.

~

Leo got called back the next morning via an email with airline tickets attached for the following morning. Apparently endless time equated a week more. Rather, Leo would be sent back out to a show when their tour started back up to write a follow-up snippet on what it was like playing shows as a couple.

But it left Leo a little frantic and disoriented. It left Logan and Finn staring at him with faces that were almost mournful when he broke them the news over morning coffee.

Logan punched Finn’s arm. “Be a difficult little rock star.”

Finn arched a brow at Leo. “Can I?”

Leo smiled, tempted to take Finn up on it, but he knew it was probably no good. He was supposed to be with them for a week. It’d been almost three. His boss would want their story polished and published, and Leo back in the office.

Only now here he was. His last night in this perfect place, unable to sleep.

The sleeplessness wasn’t new to him. He’d had insomnia ever since he could remember. It was only that it was here. He’d never slept so well in his life as he had these past few weeks.

It could have been worse. At least with all the extra space and the crashing waves, he didn’t feel worried about waking anyone up as he made himself some tea in the kitchen before trying to lull himself back to sleep by proofreading. Nothing exhausted him like proofreading.

He rubbed at his eyes as the kettle heated. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t feel like he had an old life. This felt like his life. Waking up and Logan making him that perfect bitter sweet espresso. Finn’s music all day long, soft plucks on the guitar, humming as they read together on the dock. Finn coming to peak over his shoulder while he was writing, stealing his pen out of his hand and adding seemingly random words. Blue!! Sunny!! Dazzle!!

The morning markets. Logan’s almond pastry. Puzzles and movies and how did he get here? Oh God, how did he love the hours of the day so much?

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Leo jumped hard, eyes flashing open as he turned. Finn was standing there in a well-loved t-shirt that said New York Rangers. He had his hands in the pockets of his cotton pajama pants and was smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

Leo laughed, hand on his chest. “No, me. I mean, I’m sorry. You startled me. What are you doing awake?”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

“Lord, am I a hopeless sleeper,” Leo said. “I’ve been getting up at one in the morning and staying awake until three for as long as I can remember.”

“Oh.” Finn frowned. “That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“I’m used to it. What about you?”

Finn shrugged. “I think I heard you.”

“Fuck.” Leo felt his shoulders slump. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, no,” Finn said. “I was kind of already awake.” He paused and leaned his hands on the cool stone counter between them. “Was thinking about you leaving.”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “Me too.”

“You really have to go?”

“You have to go, too,” Leo said. “You’re kind of on a world tour, you know.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Finn said. “Sorry, I’ve been doing more important things lately.”

Leo smiled. “Oh…I don’t know about that.”

Finn gave him this unconvinced look as he rounded the kitchen counter. He looked like he was on stage all of a sudden. Something about his walk. The daring look in his eye. Like he was about to say something to a crowd that was sure to get a reaction.

He stopped right next to Leo and crossed his arms, looking at him. Unlike Logan, they were almost eye-to-eye. Finn’s smile brought heat from Leo’s chest to his hips.

“I hear Logan got a kiss.”

That heat spread out farther. His cheeks. His neck. Finn’s eyes darted over his face like he was watching it.

“He did,” Leo said. Oh God, please kiss me.

Finn clicked his tongue like it was a shame. “Would’ve liked to see it, gotta say.”

Leo laughed a little. “Honestly, me too.”

Finn bit his lip. He was sort of smiling, but there was something else there, too. It was half hidden in the dim kitchen.

“Is it…Is it that you like one of us better?” A flicker of insecurity. “Because if—”

Leo pushed his hands against Finn’s chest. Stopping him. Holding him there. Brown eyes, bed-head, skin still salty from the sea. Leo had always loved Finn O’Hara. But Finn. This Finn was something else. This Logan… All of those fans didn’t even have a clue.

Leo couldn’t stand that hurt look on Finn’s face. He curled a hand behind Finn’s neck and pulled him closer. Like he’d wanted to in the ocean. Like he’d wanted to every time he heard him sing.

“Finn, I like both of you so much, it scares me.”

“Then…” Finn leaned closer, dropping his voice to hardly a whisper, so quiet that Leo more felt the words brush his own lips than he heard them. “Don’t I get a kiss, too? Before you go? Feeling a little left out over here—”

Leo didn’t let him finish. He pushed forward and kissed him.

His world went perfectly silent.

Oh. Leo grabbed onto Finn’s broad shoulders. Oh, oh, oh, Finn O’Hara could kiss. Oh, Finn could kiss, he could kiss, he kissed Leo like he would never breathe again and Leo felt himself sink. His chin tilted up, his body fell into Finn’s, and Finn took it. Finn held him.

He pressed harder against Finn’s body. Finn made a soft sound when his back hit the counter and his hands smoothed down Leo’s back, cupping his hips.

Finn managed to get out, “Are you—” before Leo was kissing him again.

“Yes,” Leo said. “Yes, yes…”

This was not Logan’s restraint. Not a single kiss. This was the sugar in Finn’s songs, the sugar that always applied to Logan in Leo’s mind. But Finn’s kiss was so all-consuming that it occurred to Leo that some of that sweetness had to belong to him. God, what could Logan do when he wasn’t holding back?

It took Leo a moment to figure out what sound was pulling at his mind and interrupting him. A strange, high-pitch—

“Shit,” Leo mumbled. “Tea, tea, tea.”

Finn didn’t even break away, though. He reached out a hand and flicked the stove off to stop the kettle from whistling.

The renewed silence rung in Leo’s ears. Finn’s palm was rubbing up and down Leo’s back.

Suddenly, Finn was hugging him tightly. His chin was tucked into Leo’s neck and Leo’s hand went to his hair automatically. That famous hair. Red and thick and soft. Leo turned his nose into it.

“You have our numbers,” Finn whispered. “And you know where we’ll be.” His brown eyes looked pleading when he pulled back. “You will choose a show, won’t you? Choose a show and come see us. The article will be out. I know there’s the follow up but—We’ll just be three people.”

Just three people. Leo thought of those little dressing rooms. That New York apartment. This place. But the fear was still there. Three people. Leo didn’t care what strangers thought. He cared about the aftermath of losing them, though. If he lost them…

Finn read it all on his face and he took Leo’s cheeks in his palms. He kissed him—this was closer to Logan’s gentle kiss.

“Come to a show and find out how much I want this,” Finn said. “Okay? Promise me. Or do I have to wake up grumpy and get him to tell you because he’ll probably just burrow in and not let you leave. Ever.” A brush of Finn’s nose against Leo’s. “He’s all about that kind of thing these days.”

Leo’s laugh spilled out, too much and too giddy for the night, but he didn’t mind. When he made to pull back, just a little, Finn took his arms and put them back around his neck. Leo couldn’t help his shiver as Finn’s palms ran down his sides and Finn pressed another smiling kiss to his mouth.

“If you wake him, I really will never leave,” Leo whispered. “And I do have to go.”

“Then promise me.”

Leo closed his eyes. He was so sure he’d be able to sleep just fine if Finn kept holding him like this.

“I promise.”

[ofsappho]

Heartless

🔞 Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, smut in the next chapter (and the chapters after).

Reader is disabled/chronically ill (and so is the author)

You need health insurance. Ghost is sick of sharing living quarters with the rest of the 141. Soap, your childhood friend, thinks the two of you can fix each other’s problems.

Or, Ghost and you have to convince his command that you didn’t just meet each other and your marriage is totally, completely, 100% legit. Not for any, more practical reasons. And, of course, your married-couple accommodations only have one bed.

Chapter 1:

This will either be the stupidest decision you’ve ever made or the greatest stroke of brilliance you’ve ever had. And there is no in-between.

When Soap ducks his head into the coffee shop, you’re more than a little relieved to see him in one piece, plus or minus a few silvery scars scattered across his face and peeking out of his sleeves, the collar of his jacket.

And the dumbass aviators you bought him as a high school graduation present hang from the dip of his shirt. You know Soap thinks he looks badass, but the placement reminds you more of ‘Patagonia dad who likes hiking’ than it does ‘mysterious hardened special forces dude.’

He’s so built that he has to carefully pick his way between crowded tables, just so he doesn’t knock over someone’s drink or trip into a random stranger’s elbow.

You more or less tackle him into the biggest hug you can. “Soap! You’re not dead!” Ever since he joined his super-duper-top-secret whatever the fuck, you’ve gotten used to the communication dead zones in your years-long friendship. The silence never stops worrying you, though.

Johnny chuckles and practically lifts you off your feet. “Neither are you! Congratulations!” You know he’s relieved to see you as well by the way he ruffles your hair.

You fucking hate it when he does that, which is, of course, why it’s become a tradition every time you see him.

He pisses you off, you piss him off. “Twinning!”

The glare he tosses your way has all the menace of a kitten attacking a curtain. “Fuck does that mean? You know I can’t keep up with your American slang.” You’re a good friend who pre-ordered his ridiculous caramel latte with extra caramel, and Soap sits happily in front of it.

He learned that he enjoyed heart-stoppingly sweet drinks on accident - a case of mistaken identity where you unintentionally grabbed Soap’s macho Americano, and he drank half of your caramel latte in revenge. And here you are, years later, watching him slurp down a milk foam heart.

“Awww, too much for the brain cells you have left?” Teasing him as easy as breathing and a welcome distraction for the anxiety attack-inducing question you must ask.

The general coffee shop ambient noise swells in your ears. An espresso machine malfunctions, almost loud enough to make you jump, and you try to disguise it by sipping your iced tea. No caffeine; you’re nervous enough without it.

“I could have you arrested for that,” Soap quips. Please. As if you’d let him try. One call to his commanding officer about his pre-service shenanigans, and you’d have his ass court-martialed.

“Abuse of the power of the Armed Forces? Very ethical.” You raise an eyebrow and lace your voice with haughtiness, even flicking some hair over your shoulder.

Then you need to pass Johnny a few napkins to mop up the latte dripping from his nose out of laughter. “I’m glad to see you,” He tells you, and the sober, knowing look in his eyes makes your stomach drop out. He doesn’t miss a thing. He’d probably be dead or fired from his job if he did. “Though I know this isn’t a social call.”

Well. You’re in for it now. “Yeah, unfortunately, it isn’t.” The words taste like dust in your mouth, and the lemony-black tea barely washes it out. Just to give yourself something to do, you pop the plastic lid off and tip a couple of ice cubes into your mouth before chomping down.

“What’s going on?”

How do you summarize the horrifically, brutally stressful whirlwind of the last few weeks without inspiring the annoying, patronizing pity you’ve gotten from literally everyone else you’ve vented to? You’re not a victim to be coddled or a child to be given advice you’ve already thought of, tried, and failed at.

“I’m losing my health insurance at the end of the month” is what you decide on in the end.

He knows exactly what that means for you. For your future. Soap shakes his head ruefully. “God, I’m so sorry.”

You’ve been sick for a while, diagnosed the year after the two of you graduated high school. The kind of sick that is simply a freak accident of nature, causing your body to attack itself over and over until the day you’ll drop dead from complications. It wouldn’t take much; maybe a regular infection burning you alive with a fever your crippled immune system can’t stop, or a benign cut from a kitchen knife that will bleed and bleed until you’re halfway to the coroner’s office.

And then there’s your shitty, damaged, degenerated spine that keeps you in bed for weeks at a time with crippling, numbing pain.

Without health insurance, things won’t look good for your quality of life. And you like your quality of life to be decent. You’d settle for passable.

Really, it sounds worse than it is, and you try to console him. “It’s okay. It was eventually going to happen. I had hoped to have a little more time, though.” You remember the call from the insurance company like it just happened yesterday. You were loading dishes into the dishwasher and listening to Fleetwood Mac on the radio. And some poor customer service representative told you they were increasing your monthly payments beyond what they knew you could afford, so they’d have to drop you.

You watch him open his mouth as if to tell you that you should’ve said something sooner. But he’s been deployed for the past four months. He pauses and resets to something a little more helpful. “How can I help?” That’s something you have liked about Johnny a lot since you were kids. He cares more about what he can do.

Your anxiety permits your lungs to take one big, fortifying inhale. “Well…” Dragging it out will only make this worse, you know, but you really, really, really hate that it’s come to this. “This is fucking embarrassing.” You tried to find a way to pay the premiums; you really did. But you work forty hours a week already and trying to get more shifts, maybe find a new job, do this, do that, appeal, all of that has been futile and draining. “Will you marry me?”

He drops his half-empty cup on the table, forceful enough that some of the coffee spills out. “What?”

Soap’s partially-scandalized shock is not what you hoped for as a reaction. But you suppose you shouldn’t have expected anything better.

The worst part of this conversation is over. It can’t get more nerve-wracking. “Marry me. Like. Get legally married. I could get on military benefits, and my meds would be covered.” He doesn’t swing your way, but surely signing some paper and standing before a judge is, like, not the most terrifying thing Soap has ever done. “And- and I know there’s stuff in it for you, too, like a better apartment or whatever. I can cook. Better than you, that’s for sure.” One of your friends had to teach him how not to burn water.

He just sits there in silence. “Please,” You add on softly. Desperately. This is your last-ditch attempt, your Hail Mary.

At last, Soap’s shoulders slump, and you know, from that alone, that he’s gonna say no. Miracles are rarely performed for ordinary people. “I would if I could, but… I’m sort of already married,” He sighs, then winces, waiting for your inevitable unhappy outburst.

…

You blink a few times, brain furiously recalibrating everything you know. John got married, and he didn’t even invite you? Or tell you? You’re supposed to be his friend. That’s so rude, ouch. You would have even gotten him some expensive shit off his gift registry.

A fucking Keurig, for God’s sake. “What? Who?” You demand, more outraged that he would leave you out of his life than you are over him declining your proposal

Underneath that deep, sunburnt tan, you see Soap blush. “Jeremy from final year.”

You’d throw your empty cup at him, but he’d just duck. “I knew you were fucking him! I knew it! You tried to gaslight me and say you weren’t, but I saw the hickies on his neck!” There were only so many times Johnny ducked out of a math classroom covered in sweat, followed shortly by your classmate, before you put the pieces together.

Oh, but the rest of your friends called you a conspiracy theorist and told you to mind your business. Now, who’s laughing?

Soap holds his hands up in the universal ‘don’t shoot’ sign. “He needed health insurance. We’re married on paper. Haven’t seen him in a few years, but I know he’s doing alright.” Naturally, he’s already selflessly committed marriage fraud. You honestly should’ve seen that coming; that’s why you wanted to propose in the first place and figured you’d have a slim chance of success.

“Shit.” Now you’re back to square one. And it’s a shitty square, with walls that close in around you with every passing second.

The regret in his eyes overflows when he sees your slumped shoulders, how you’re picking at your cuticles hard enough to bleed. “‘M sorry. If I wasn’t locked down, you know that I’d do it for you in a heartbeat.” The worst part is that you know he’s being sincere, not just parroting empty platitudes.

Right. Well. That’s it, then.

You rub at your closed eyes, then at the stress wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Fuck. It’s fine, I know. I will… I’ll figure it out,” You sigh. Less than convincing, but it doesn’t need to be.

There are probably options you just haven’t thought of yet. Or maybe you can work something out with your doctor, where you only get your meds every other month. “I got it covered. Don’t worry about me.” You instantly see Soap rush to shake his head, to tell you that he’s always worried about you. You want to chastise him, tell him that he has plenty of things to be worried about in his own life. “Shush. It’s fine.” But you don’t have the heart to rake him over the coals for it now, so you settle for that.

You should go. You have things to do, things that include crying in your bed with the curtains drawn and urgently refreshing your email to see if anyone's gotten back to you. New jobs, aid organizations for low-income people, any further bad news.

Soap catches your wrist before you can say the appropriate goodbyes and rush out of the cafe. “Look- hold on- let me… let me ask my… friends.” He wrinkles his nose as he says it with an odd, stilted tone. Like ‘friends’ is a replacement for something he can’t say out loud in a civilian setting.

You can put the pieces together. “Is that what you’re calling your coworkers?”

“That’s classified, shut up.” His Scottish accent pops out there stronger than good malt whiskey. Hope is an easily-caught flame and far more difficult to extinguish. When you smile at him, you find it’s not entirely false. “Let me ask around, okay? They’re good guys. You might need to do the heavy lifting with your sparkling personality, but I can try.”

‘Sparkling personality’ is sort of ominous. ‘Don’t give them shit,’ is what he means to say. That’s fine, you’ve worked in customer service before. You can be on your best behavior.

You’re not exactly sure what kind of dude would be willing to marry a stranger, even if that is the kind of dude you want to marry.

But desperate times, desperate measures. “Thank you. Really. It would mean the world and…  would probably save my life.” You didn’t mean to get as choked up at the end as you do. No one else has been willing to help you, though, and Soap’s answering hug feels like desperately needed hope reviving itself in your chest.

“I’ve got you. And I hope I can help in the end, even if it’s not what you originally had in mind.”

-

Soap runs through his team members in his mind as he waits for the gate guard to scan his ID, trying to recall who’s tied down and who isn’t.

Captain’s got a wife, he thinks, and he’s a wee bit too old for you anyway.

It takes a second for the starry-eyed guard to hand him back the card and lift the gate.

You picked a good time to call him up; not only is he in town, menacing the local army base, but so is the rest of the 141—a rarity.

Vargas would certainly charm you, but Soap trusts Alejandro with you about as far as he could throw him.

Out of all the idiots he went to school with, you’re the only idiot who stuck around through the early years of his service, and you pursued your friendship like a hound after a fox even when he couldn’t properly reciprocate.

So John feels some responsibility for looking out for you, as you’ve always looked out for him.

Garrick wouldn’t be a half-bad choice. Dependable, responsible. Friendly, so your sham marriage would at least be enjoyable.

His mind drifts to his own errant mostly-platonic husband as he parks the borrowed car in his numbered space. Jeremy. The last time they spoke was over three years ago? Maybe four. Jeremy had found himself a new boyfriend and called to let him know, asking if Soap wanted a legal divorce. He was moving to some godforsaken corner of America. Florida? Maybe. That place has got too many fuckin’ states for him to remember them all.

They worked it out - they’d stay married, and Jeremy would keep out of his way. No love lost.

Roach could do it for you in a pinch as well. A little quiet, but maybe you’d work out something like him and Jeremy. Staying out of each other’s way.

Soap dismisses Lieutenant Riley without a second thought. On his best day, Ghost is about as inviting and amenable as a particularly hungry great white shark. And even if God himself came down from Heaven and changed Ghost’s heart to be interested, Soap would worry about you.

A lot. Even more than he already does, since the day you sobbed in his arms after school when you were first diagnosed. Since that day he had to help you out of bed because you could neither walk nor miss any more class.

Does he trust Ghost enough to fight alongside him? To have his back when there’s a gun against his head? Absolutely. Does he think Ghost would treat one of his oldest friends properly, befitting of the funny, kind, vibrant person you are? Abso-fuckin’-lutely not.

So that puts Gaz and Roach in his top choices for you and Vargas as a last-tier resort.

Armed forces worldwide, in Scotland and America, are all about efficiency. Eliminating redundancy.

And if that’s the excuse Johnny uses to justify blindsiding his whole team at once, so he doesn’t need to have this conversation three damn times and hear three separate rejections? That’s between him and God.

He herds them like sheep, plucking the Captain from his office, Garrick and Alejandro from conditioning in the gym, disturbing Roach’s book. Ghost appears out of nowhere as if summoned by the disturbance and falls in behind Soap. Not a single damn sound, of course. While that’s useful on deployment, he still has to tamp down on the instinct to jump every time he sees a skull mask hovering out of the corner of his eye in everyday life.

No matter. The lieutenant will likely wander out when the subject matter is revealed. It would raise more red flags if he told Ghost off.

He barely gets Lt. Riley through the pool room door before Captain jumps him. “Sergeant. What’s the trouble?”

That’s fuckin’ rude. “Why’d you assume I’m in trouble?” He indignantly replies. Except… yeah, there was that time he borrowed a humvee he had no permission to touch, and Captain covered for him to Laswell. Shit. “Well, I’m not.” At least, not this time.

Soap opens his mouth to argue this because it’s hardly fair for Cpt. Price to point fingers only to be cut off. “What is it?” At least Price has the decency to file the sharp edges off of his voice this time.

Right. He almost feels guilty getting sidetracked over something so stupid when he’s gathered everyone here for an infinitely more important reason.

Where does he start? How the fuck does he proposition them without sounding absolutely mental? “I… Hear me out.” Instantly, Garrick shakes his head ‘no,’ and Cpt.’s face remains as unmoved as a brick wall. Definitely not how he should have opened. “Wouldn’t be asking if the situation wasn’t desperate.” Soap opens his hands in the vain hope that the gesture will make them listen, at minimum.

You loathed hospitals and doctor’s offices when you first got sick. Now, you see the inside of them so often that it hardly fazes you. Still, Johnny always went along when you asked. So you wouldn’t have to be alone.

The countless memories of holding your hand as some faceless nurse sticks an IV in your elbow is the motivation that steps on the gas. “I have this friend,’ He tells them.

“You have friends?” If Vargas weren’t separated from him by the pool table, he’d reach over and stick an elbow in his side. What is it, official ‘piss off Sgt. MacTavish’ day?

They get in a laugh at his expense. “Shut up, you reprobate.” He puts enough bite in his tone to cut through the ruckus with the keenness of a knife. “I have this friend. Since I was a lad. She’s a good girl, good person. She needs our help.”

Everyone knows what he means by ‘good person,’ and the mere mention of a civilian girl in distress softens Gaz’s scowl and Alejandro’s scorn.

Their Captain nods, now significantly more amenable to this conversation than he was at the beginning. “Help?” Progress is progress, and for the first time, Soap allows himself to think he might be able to persuade someone.

“Yeah, well… you know these fuckin’ Americans. They don’t give a damn if people die like dogs in the streets. She lost her health insurance, and she’s… She’s ill. She’ll be ill for the rest of her life.” That’s something Johnny will never understand about this side of the pond. The NHS was never good, but at least it exists. All that freedom and shit, for what?

“Sorry to hear that. Fucking shame,” Price murmurs. 

“I was wondering if any of you might be interested in marrying her. For the fuckin’... benefits. I dunno know what exactly they are, but she mentioned new living quarters for her soldier.” He really ought to have looked this up beforehand and found some other things to sweeten the pot. “I’m already married. Had to turn the poor lass down, and I told her I’d at least ask you lot.”

Their captain gets up and off his ass like the stool’s on fire. “Alright. MacTavish, I’m leaving the room now. I’m going back to my office, and do not disturb me until you’re done,” He orders, mustache practically fuckin’ bristling with urgency. “I didn’t hear or see a thing.” With his parting words finished, Johnny watches the man book it out of the pool room in double time.

While he understands and appreciates the discretion, was that truly necessary? They’ve all done exponentially worse things than this.

His first choice makes a break for it, too. “Sorry, Soap,” Garrick declines. “I’m out. I’m sure she’s a delightful person, though being friends with you doesn’t speak highly of her life choices. But that’s a big ask, and I just don’t know her.” The sergeant taps him on the shoulder as he walks out in a silent show of support.

“‘Course.” With each man who leaves, his worry increases.

What voicemails will await him after he returns from the next mission? That things went horribly wrong, and you’ll be hospitalized for the rest of your life, or maybe even dead?

Whatever it is, there won’t be anything he can do by then. That’s the worst part.

“Yeah, can’t do it either, Sarge. I got a girl already.” Right. There goes Sanderson.

At least Alejandro has the decency to look genuinely sympathetic. “Let us know if there’s anything else we can do.”

Soap watches him leave and wonders if you’re still awake. It’s not late for him, but who knows? Maybe you keep normal hours now. “Yeah, I will.” You’d prefer to hear the bad news as soon as possible, but he would hate to wake you for it.

But he can’t ignore the ghoul haunting the corner any longer. “What are you still doing here, Lt.? I’ve gotta tell her I can’t help, and I don’t think you’d care to overhear that conversation.” His voice is a little sharper than is nice and proper, overflowing with prickly irritation like too much tea in a cracked cup. Of all the times for Ghost to not mind his fucking business…

“…what she look like?”

“What?”

And Riley’s got the audacity to repeat himself, slower, as if he’s stupid. “What does she look like? Got a picture?”

“Is this a joke?” Simon should stick to shitty quips about goldfish. At least those are tasteful.

The man doesn’t laugh, shake his head, or leave now that he’s successfully rattled Soap. He just stands there, as grave as always. Motherfucker. He means it. “Fuckin’… yeah, hold on,” Soap sighs as he fumbles for his phone.

He’s desperate because you’re desperate. He tells himself that, over and over, as he looks for a half-decent selfie. You’re a big girl, you knew what you were risking when you asked him for help.

Ghost takes his phone in his gloved hand. “Not bad,” He murmurs after a while. “I’ll do it. Marry her.”

A beat passes. Soap lets another one go.

Alright. The grace period is over and done with. “This is a really shitty, serious thing to mess around about. Genuinely. Don’t do that to her or me. This is about her health. Her life.” Johnny likes Lt. Riley. Really, he does. Even under all the freaky mask shit.

But this is mean-spirited. It would almost be out of character. It’s one thing to be careless if his sparring partner walks away with permanent nerve damage. This is fucking cruel if he doesn’t mean it.

Ghost can read minds now. “I mean it.” His chuckle makes Johnny fix his surprised expression into something more stern and imperceptible. “She’s desperate, isn’t she? I’ll do it.” When he walks closer, the changing light makes that skull on his face flash in and out of existence.

“Why?” If he can’t come up with a somewhat satisfactory answer… Soap’s fist can probably reach him fine from here.

And in a rather remarkable show of humanity, he watches Ghost pinch the bridge of his nose through his mask. “Think I like listening to you snore? Or fuckin’ Roach chattering on Discord at four in the morning?” Johnny never knew Ghost was such a little princess about that. Who would’ve thought?

The other man huffs a laugh. “Need my beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, you do, the mask’s not doin’ you any favors,” Soap retorts as if on autopilot. That’s only their longest-running tiff. You’ve got your work cut out for you to deal with that ugly mug, he thinks.

“You want me to help her or what?”

Right. Right. “Sorry.” He examines Ghost’s body language, searching for any hint of dishonesty. “If you so badly want out of the shared bunks, how come you haven’t found someone else yet? Or some other way?”

“You think girls are lining up outside my door proposing marriage? You can’t even find me off duty. Now I ain’t gotta find… some other way,” He says before leaning back against the wall, at ease now that his argument’s been made.

“Fair point.” Fair, but fucking dumb. “I’ll tell her. She’ll say yes, I know she will.” Jesus, does he wish he’d been able to persuade Garrick.

Soap considers exactly how much you should know about your intended before this shit goes down. On the one hand, it might be better for you not to know much, other than that he’s found someone relatively trustworthy and willing. On the other hand… interacting with Lt. Riley is something that should only be done after signing a covenant not to sue.

“Whatever you do, don’t hurt her. She’s been through enough already. And I meant it when I said she’s a good person. Too good for either of us.”

Nobody gets through secondary school untouched. Especially not at that prissy international school you met him at, filled with over-privileged rich kids and army brats scraping the bottom of the barrel. Like the two of you.

When you were fourteen, you picked him up by the scruff of his Scottish neck with a smile on your face, then hit the bastard who hit him first. Thick as thieves ever since.

“And if you can’t find it in you to be nice, just… promise you’ll leave her alone.” At least you’re more than capable of making Ghost’s life a living Hell if he fucks with you. He takes comfort in that and a healthy amount of glee at the possibility of watching that play out. He’s got a front-row seat, after all.

Riley shakes his head. “As long as she ain’t a burden, MacTavish, no need to fuss and cluck.”

For a moment, Soap almost pities him.

“Don’t hurt her. Promise me that, right now,” He stresses. Just in case. At least eliciting this agreement might remind Ghost in the future to stay his hand.

The other man sighs. “I won’t,” He says at last. And Soap can tell he means it.

“Get out. I’ll let her know.”

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER FOUR — HOT SKIN and a HALL PASS

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summary: rules, you've recently learned, are for breaking– sanity is also, apparently, relative. after making a statement in the cafeteria, you play hooky with eddie in main street vinyl. content warnings: MINORS DNI tension you would need a chainsaw to cut through, farm-to-table snarking, do they even know they're yearning, nancy wheeler i'm sorry i shittalked you again (it will get better i swear) word count: 4k

Dear reader, do you ever feel like you’re completely losing your grasp on reality? 

You’ve cruised through life almost seamlessly up to this point. Yours is a well-oiled machine, one you painstakingly built yourself. But do you ever feel like you’ve spent so much time constructing something so carefully that it doesn’t make sense to you anymore? 

Like you can’t see the forest for the trees, or the treason for the thrill. 

Do you ever want to light your whole life up in flames, just to see what’s really fireproof?

“So, which is it?” 

You’re standing at your locker, making a bad job of touching up your now-flaking under-eye concealer when a voice rings out from the other end of the hall. It bounces off the cool metal of the lockers, the tack of the linoleum. It makes your shoulderblades go tense. 

“Has little Lacy been hiding a pair of brass balls this whole time, or is she on a suicide mission?”

You’d roll your eyes, but your face is aching. 

“Showing up with me this morning would have been one thing, but sitting yourself at my little table of outcasts? At lunch? The most important social event of the day?” 

Munson lets out a low whistle from where he leans, a couple of lockers up from yours. 

The hallway is deserted save for the both of you; you, out on a forged hall pass and him, probably just ditching to ditch. You peer at him from behind your locker door. He’s standing slanted in a long, lithe line made bold and jangly by his carefully curated metalhead armor. 

You, and this comes with a hefty dose of begrudgery, have to hand it to him– he leans great. 

“Talk about blowing up your reputation beyond repair.” 

You know he’s making fun of you– he’s not exactly subtle about it, nor is he about anything. It’s all in the lilt of his tone, how ridiculous he thinks the interwoven politics of the cafeteria are, how dumb he thinks you are for considering that in the least bit important. 

Munson’s idea of survival in high school is attacking conformity with a nuclear bomb, whereas yours is a little more artful. 

“I know this might be hard for you to comprehend, Munson,” you sigh, and the sound rattles through your ribcage– you are tired, tired of him, “given that your understanding of object permanence has clearly been stunted at an infantile level, but the world does not revolve around you."

"No?!" he croons, sarcasm slicking out of him.

"I was catching up with Ronnie.”

“Right, because you guys have been such good gal pals up to this point,” Munson scoffs. 

His face, framed by those wild waves, materializes in the reflection of your locker’s mirror, peering over your shoulder. You slam the door and pivot to face him properly, impact ringing out like a gunshot. 

He does a little jump, a shadow of his shock at you on Harrington’s porch. 

That reaction is like a shot of espresso straight to the veins.

Good. Be afraid. Asshole.

You're sure as fuck awake now!

“Lab partner love never dies,” you say, leveling his stare. “You’d know that if you showed up for Biology once in a while.” 

“Maybe I need a tutor. I could use someone to help me brush up on anatomy.” 

“Sorry. I don’t teach remedial.” 

“Maybe you should start. Rehabilitate your image.” 

“Again, who died and made you my parole officer?”

His expression cracks; a gasp of a laugh. “Oh, so you remember all that?”

“My hippocampus is alive and kicking.”

“Your hip– what?”

Your lips purse, and just as you’re about to throw another verbal dart at him, the voice of Ms O’Donnell cuts through the both of you. 

“I hope you two have a damn good excuse for loitering in this hallway– because if not, Mr Munson, I believe you’re less than one detention away from suspension.” 

Munson’s got this terminal disease where he’s more smarm than charm, despite his warped perception of himself. There’s no way he’s going to handle this with the grace that’s necessary, because O’Donnell hates him anyway. 

He keens his head in the teacher’s direction, ready to roll out some useless excuse. 

Before he’s even got the chance to speak, you cut him off. 

“Hall pass, Ms O’Donnell.” You flash the fake yellow slip at her, careful to obscure the names– you’ve usually got one of these forgeries to hand, just in case you need it, and teachers generally trust you enough not to check them out. It comes with the whole work-life balance you’ve been treading for the entirety of your high school career; you’re well-liked and you’re maintaining an impressive grade point average. They don’t give a shit what you do other than that. 

“The Weekly Streak has run into a printer snag and Nancy Wheeler’s car is on the fritz. Eddie,” his first name, which you never ever use, feels weird and heavy on your tongue, “offered me a ride to the printers to make sure it gets worked out– it’s a big issue. What with the game this weekend and everything.” 

O’Donnell’s eyes narrow. You nudge Munson right in his funny bone– hard enough for him to wince. 

“Right?”

“Right! That big game. Front page news, Ms O’D. Gooooo Tigers.”

The teacher clicks her tongue against her teeth, her rock hard stare challenging the delinquent beside you– it’s entirely likely that Munson could have blown it for himself just by virtue of being alive and in O’Donnells sight line, but you know she’s got no reason not to believe you. 

See, your reputation at the school newspaper precedes you; it’s just about the only thing that really holds your interest within the monotonous structure of Hawkins High. With your finger on the pulse of Hawkins’ student body, it only makes sense that you serve as a fierce and unforgiving editor of the Streak’s society pages– funnily enough, that hardline professionalism included never giving Munson’s infamously lame Dungeons and Dragons club a single mention in them. 

Vetoed, you’d drawled at one of the more well-mannered members that had shyly approached you about writing a piece. Not Ronnie– she knew better than that.

How come? they’d whined, as their fearsome leader glowered near the lockers just like he was doing now. 

On grounds of irrelevance. I’m not wasting valuable inches on a make believe board game club. 

This activated Munson. Lacy, you wouldn’t know valuable inches if they rammed you in the–

“Make it fast,” O’Donnell decrees, and you feel her watch you as you take off down the hallway. With a snappy quirk of your painted fingers, you gesture for Munson to follow your lead. And you better believe he does, almost tripping over his ratty Reeboks trying to keep in step with you. 

You both heave open the double doors, squinting against the unseasonable late autumn sunshine. Heels of your ankle boots clicking against the concrete, you make an unconscious beeline for the parking lot– for Munson’s van. 

“So– what now?” he asks, dur-dur dumb as all hell. 

“What now is I just got you a free pass to play hooky,” you say, little miss cactus flower, prickly with annoyance. You shield your eyes against the blazing light. “Weren’t you ditching anyway?”

“Yeeaaah,” Munson hums, scratching the back of his head, “But… the plan kind of was to smoke a joint and go to the record store.” 

“Doesn’t sound like a complete waste of time,” you hear yourself saying before you realize it, yanking at the van’s passenger door. You pause, raising an expectant eyebrow at Munson. Isn’t this your cue? 

Baffled, bewildered, but grinning despite himself, he extends that silver ringed hand and helps you haul your ass into his beat up chariot. 

Completely losing your grip on reality.

–

It’s a fugue state. It’s an out of body experience– you’re watching yourself from outside your corporeal form and you have no logical control over what you’re doing. 

That’s the only way to explain why you’re standing in Main Street Vinyl, elbow to elbow with Eddie Munson. 

But that might also be the weed talking. 

You don’t know where the hell he gets this stuff, but it’s strong– way stronger than the shit he’s sold to your friends ever since he started dealing. Well, you guess it makes sense that he’d keep the good shit for himself. You’d do that too, if you were him. 

What if I was him, you idly wonder, peering up at him as he flicks through letters R through T in the metal section. His tongue peeks out of his mouth as his ringed fingers work though the vinyl, carefully considering each one. 

This is what you mean by obvious– you, for one, would have the good conscience not to look so stoned while you’re so stoned. 

You definitely don’t look stoned right now. 

No one can even tell that you’re looking at him, up from underneath those thick lashes of yours. 

He’s got thick lashes too, come to think of it. 

Munson is actually not completely unfortunate looking– but again, if you were him, there’s no way you’d wear your hair like that. You’d keep it long-ish, though, you think. He’s got a point there; a nice curl pattern. Maybe to your ears. And the clothes obviously have to go– that denim vest is a patchwork disaster. Did he sew all those patches on himself? 

A vision of him hunched over the thing with a needle and thread in hand flits through your brain, pricking himself more than he can pick up a stitch. He’s gone out of his way to make himself look like this– kind of similar to the way you pick up your skirts so they’re always impeccably just short enough. 

Now, the leather jacket you could forgive if at least the collar was different. Maybe one of those Brando-style biker jackets, you could rock that. Or a brown leather number, to bring out your eyes– which are his eyes, of course, his crazy dark empty universes of eyes. 

The kind of eyes with the kind of stare that nails you in place and makes you want to do crazy shit like ditch class and get loaded and stand dumbly in a record store. Those eyes.

That are staring at you. He’s staring at you. Right back at you. 

“I can read your mind,” Munson monotones, unblinking. 

You go flush, heat crawling all the way up to your ears. “Wh–what?”

Then he nudges you and snorts, breaking the spell. 

“You have gotta stop thinking such dirty thoughts about me, ice princess. You’re gonna melt.” 

You scoff, shaking your head– but the cartoonish move is more to ground you in reality than a reaction to him and his idiocy. You’re Wile E Coyote after blunt force impact with an Acme anvil, shaking the circling birds away. 

“They don’t even have what I’m looking for here.” 

Stalking around the stacks of records, with no clear direction in mind, you feel Munson’s laser stare follow you. “Yeah, they don’t usually file Madonna next to Motörhead, Lacy.” 

They’re both filed under M, aren’t they? is what you want to say. “I don’t listen to Madonna,” you protest instead, all quietly miffed and earnest with a crinkle in your brow. 

“Mm, don’t think that’s true,” Munson smirks, rounding on you around the rack. “You gave me a pretty spot on rendition of Like a Virgin– or does your hippocrampus not recall?”

“Hippocampus,” you breathe out, but it’s lost in the din of Main Street Vinyl’s quiet, carpeted atmosphere, “I don’t listen to her, like, recreationally. I can’t help if that song’s an earworm.” A beat. “I also can’t help if you’re a particularly serenadable virgin.” 

“She’s gonna touch me for the very first tii-iime…”

“That was a threat.” 

You make an active attempt toward tunnel vision as you slowly tread through the store, feeling the high starting to turn on you– this was the part smoking weed that you hated, the few times that you’d imbibed in it. That lack of control over the way you were coming across. For a girl trained in the art of saying all the right things, this was dangerous. Your tongue felt both loose and heavy in your mouth, like it could come out with anything and you couldn’t stop it, it’d just roll on out. 

The malevolent presence of Munson and your pathological need to one up him wasn’t helping matters. 

Ever since the parking lot at school, you’ve been stalking around like there’s a target on your back. Evidently, you’re not the kind of girl that chills out when you smoke, which is equal parts a relief and a disappointment to Eddie. He wonders what you’d look like, mellowed out and floating. Your eyebrow unarched and your lips not poised for attack.

He’s also acutely aware that he wouldn’t know what the hell to do with you then, either. 

But he can’t tear his eyes away from you, a hyperfocus that he’s assuming is a symptom of his own buzz. Every little twitch and jump you do– it’s like it’s begging him to pay attention. Like if he looks away for even a second, he might miss something. 

“What are you looking for?” he asks, eyes trained on you while you thumb through the records. 

As much as you love music, and you do, you have a tough time describing exactly what you want to listen to. The notes in the songs that you revisit again and again read more like physical feelings, sparking off in your nerve endings. For example, listening to River by Joni Mitchell feels like something heavy is sitting on your chest. Listening to Hong Kong Garden by Siouxsie and the Banshees feels like you have fairy lights at the end of your fingertips. 

“I want something that sounds…” you say, noticing the distinct feeling of cottonmouth setting in, “Ticklish.”

“Ticklish,” Munson deadpans back at you. 

“Something that sounds like someone’s running a xylophone mallet down my spine.” 

He regards you for what feels like an excruciatingly long timewith this terrible, awful look on his face– brows ticked up over his glassy bloodshot eyes, pink mouth peeling into a grin, and this look, this look of wonderment. Like he can’t believe you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re saying shit like this to him. 

Join the club. 

“... You don’t get stoned a lot, do you?”

“Ugh!” you groan, a little louder than you mean to– the cashier shoots you a glare as you stalk past Munson, stalk past him, cheeks flaring pink. “I know what I’m talking about. I know it when I hear it– I heard a record just like that earlier this year! It’s like, some band from Scotland or something? Totally incomprehensible lyrics, yeah, but that’s what it felt like. It was like… bone deep.”

You hear Munson emit the teeniest hehe! and you just about snarl at him over your shoulder.

Rounding on the alternative section, limited as it is, you feel a welcome sense of familiarity. You haunt this corner when you can, when you’re out of sight from prying eyes. There’s only one other regular purveyor of this little corner of Main Street Vinyl that you know of. You trace a thumb over the spines of the cassette cases–it’s mostly tapes, rarely ever records because tapes are easier to import and harder to damage, and it’s always haphazardly organized–and then you spot it. 

Victoriously, you thrust it in Munson’s face, which is right over your shoulder. He’s frequenting that spot a lot recently. “Ha!”

“Oh!” he chirps, sounding almost pleasantly surprised and plucks the tape from your fingers. “... Cocteau Twins?”

You falter, eyelashes flickering as you look up at him. Dammit. He even pronounced it right. 

“You know them?” You hate how high your voice sounds.

He runs a thumb over the plastic casing, edging a little closer to you. That came outta left field. 

“This shit… sounds like what a haunted music box would sound like.” 

Aaand we’re back in the room.

“Okay…?”

“This is creepy, cursed doll music.” 

And the room is filled with assholes.

“Alright.”

“This is what you hear right before you’re about to get possessed by the ghost of Tiny Tim. The whiniest little bitch ghost of all time.” 

And all the assholes are named Eddie Munson. 

“I get it.”

“You better be careful with this stuff, Lacy-Wacy,” he teases, mocking that fraudulent concern ripped straight from an episode of Donahue. He taps the cassette case against your forehead. “Music like this is a gateway drug. A gateway drug to hanging out with, like, Jonathan Byers.”

You reach out and grab his wrist, tugging his hand and that damn tape away from your face. You’re shocked to find that the skin under your fingers is blazing hot–same as you felt through his shirt when he helped you to the door in your drunken stupor. 

Does he always run this warm? you wonder. Is it all that Satanic poseur poison coursing through his stupid veins?

“Well, it’s a little late for that,” you tell him, and you’re not quite sure why. Probably because every secret you swore would die with you is slowly but surely punching its gnarly hand from the grave, like fucking Carrie from fucking Carrie.

Munson doesn’t even express any overt shock, like he’s learning to roll with the punches of you revealing bits and pieces of yourself through sheer annoyance with him. He just cocks his head, challenging you with a silent, Really?

This chick. This blink-and-you’ll-miss-it chick.

“I ran into him in this corner a lot,” you explain breezily, tilting a shoulder up like it doesn’t bother you, like it’s never bothered you. “We’d always be standing next to each other at the listening booths, and I’d be listening to stuff I couldn’t take home and he’d be listening to stuff he couldn’t afford to buy and… We like a lot of the same music. We went out on like, one date if you could even call it that, and it didn’t work out.”

“Because he’s a creepazoid?”

“Because he was hip deep in it for Nancy Wheeler,” you supply, a green monster gurgling in the pit of your stomach. “Like every other respectable member of the male species.” 

It was the summer before junior year, a punishingly hot one even by Hawkins standards. You’ve never been good in the heat and that summer made your entire body feel ill-equipped, your skin ill-fitting. Main Street Vinyl had those big, big box fans right near the cash desk which was right near the listening booths, so you would spend the majority of your time there when you weren’t being forced to the lake or Skull Rock with your friends. 

Jonathan would look at you with alarm at first, like you were trespassing. Then he’d spy what you were listening to and sneak these small, shy smiles at you that you indulged in– at first, because you weren’t copping a lot of male attention from anyone else that summer. Eventually, it was because his shadowy eyes were always ringed with this tenderness, with knowing. Like you two were sharing a secret. It made you be able to look past the greasy hair and crippling social awkwardness. 

You know you rocked his world the day you breezed past him at the listening booth, leaned in and whispered, I love Linda Thompson's voice, don't you?

But still, the Love’s Baby Soft scented specter of Nancy Wheeler loomed large. You picked what you thought was a secluded spot in the park for your ‘date’, which included a conversation that was almost entirely cruise directed by you. Said conversation completely flatlined when you both spotted Nancy Wheeler cresting a hill, walking her family dog.

At this point, you and Nancy were most familiar with each other from the school newspaper– she, the peachy-cheeked junior, the rising star that was sure to make editor and you, the girl who knew where the parties were happening and where the bodies were buried. 

The picture of coquettishness, she offered you and Jonathan an awkward, stilted wave. Jonathan spoke a grand total of three words after she left, zeroing in on the spot where she appeared like a man possessed. 

You didn’t acknowledge his existence after that.

It’s not that you were particularly hung up on Jonathan Byers, but you didn’t expect someone like him to be able to elicit that cold sinking feeling you were used to experiencing at the hands of other boys and their ignorance. Maybe it hurt more because you thought you had something in common– something real, something that wasn’t shotgunning a can of Busch. Whatever it was, it made you sure of two things. 

You hated Nancy Wheeler, and she wasn’t going anywhere. 

You wished you didn’t hate her. But you also wished she’d dissolve into a fine mist.  

“Wheeler’s a priss,” Munson pulls you out of memory lane in a harsh left turn, face contorting into a half-grimace. It’s the general consensus on Wheeler– the shoes are too goody for everyone to be falling head-over-heels with her, if you want Eddie’s honest opinion. There’s no there there, not like with–

“I’m a priss.” It sounds like you’re defending her. In some weird way, you might be. 

I know what guys like you think of me.

“No, you’re a bitch.” 

His weight on the word bitch makes your knees feel unsteady. The way he says it. It’s not enunciated like an insult. It’s a dagger cloaked in velvet. It’s warm, like he is. It’s almost filthy. It makes you look at his mouth. 

“You’re a stone cold killer bitch,” Eddie’s voice hums low in his chest. His heartbeat is picking up, and he wonders if you can feel it where your freezing fingertips are squeezing his pulse point, “and I think–”

“You two truant assholes gonna buy anything today or am I gonna have to call the goddamn dog warden on y’all?” 

Heaved back into reality by the clerk at the cash desk. A trickle of cold sweat runs from the nape of your neck into the collar of your sweater. Heaved back into reality to see you’re still clutching Eddie Munson by the wrist, and he’s looking at you like you’re the last Popsicle. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day.

It gets so hot here in summer.

“I think,” you breathe as you unstick your fingers from him, suddenly aware that you’re parched and starving and your face hurts, “it’s time for me to go home.” 

“I– yeah,” Munson stumbles, also perturbed by the interruption. His red-ringed eyes gain a little more clarity. He’s seeing something you’re not seeing. He shouldn't be letting himself see that. “Let’s go.”

Let’s go back to the van. Let me make you look at me like that again. Let me see if you’re cold all over. I can fix that.

“No, I gotta…” Your head pounding, your thoughts swimming– the sharp and stupid realness of this whole afternoon coming into perfect view. What are you doing? “I need to walk it off.” 

He inhales sharply, a strangled chuckle– oof. That other shoe, that buckled heel of yours, clattering to the floor. He should have expected that, right? There’s no way you’d wanna… Because you’re you and he’s…

Eddie retreats back into himself a step or two; it looks like he’s gone all bashful, a little color dropping out of his cheeks. His hands clasping behind his back. His heart is in his big intestine. 

“That’s the second time you’ve turned me down today, sweetheart. Keep it up, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t like me.”

Munson, get the fuck out of here before I ban you again! and Jerry, can’t you see me talking to somebody right now! explode in a cacophony, the boy and the keeper of the keys to the record store hollering at each other. You take this moment of interruption to nudge the door open with your shoulder. But you don’t start into the street without giving him one more look. 

“Lacy.” He’s grinning this dumb grin, eyes gone soft at the corners.

He’s giving this one last nudge.

Your heart thumps. A reminder– this is really happening. Shit. Fuck.

“That’s the thing, though,” you say, attempting to smooth your expression out with a frosty smile. “I don’t like you, Eddie.”

author's notes: of course, my eternal eternal ETERNAL THANKS for all the love you have shown this story and the anons you've sent!!! writing is crazy so thank you for caring about mine. onto the fun stuff because you know i love a reference: - he leans great. a shameless my so-called life drop but eddie to me is a kind of stunning midpoint between catalano (left back twice) and krakow (would go down on you for days) - someone in the tags said ronnie and lacy should hold hands and i don't disagree. lab partner love never dies! - there's never a bad time to listen to ace of spades by motörhead - there's also never a bad time to listen to treasure by cocteau twins, which is the album lacy is referencing - i always fee like the zombie hand reaching out of the ground motif is unfairly accredited to the living dead franchises or something like that, but of course the most iconic instance to me is from carrie (1976) because women own horror - god, we really need to bring back listening booths in record stores! like we really need to bring them back lest romance die forever. - richard and linda thompson, also forever!!!!! my headcanon for this re: jonathan byers is this particular record is a joyce byers influenced choice. joyce and lonnie loved this record (when they were happy... lol) and played it all the time when jonathan was a baby. their original copy got lost (or destroyed) and sometimes jonathan will play it in the main street listening booth but he won't bring it home because he knows it's painful for his mom. - all my stone cold killer bitches in the house make some noise - jerry from main street vinyl you will always be rob from high fidelity in MY HEART (eddie is barry even though he doesn't work there lmao) - ok my hellcats! that's all the cultural education for this chapter!! thanks again for reading, reblog and scream at me in the asks because i so appreciate (and need) the support and i'd also love y'all to send me prompts! don't be shy! i love an in-universe blurb!

[ddarker-dreams]

Scarlet ribbons but she is the one telling the boys how she thinks they are super pretty/handsome/etc.

(Ps love your writing sm, it cheered me up alot after i had a rough day yesterday uwu)

WAHH WHAT AN ADORABLE IDEA.... it's what they deserve tbh... my favs from part 5 are like the only people who get to be happy on this blog hrjktmger and i'm so glad that my writing helped cheer you up, i hope that the past few days have been treating you better!!

Reader is referred to as girlfriend here!

[Scarlet Ribbons index]

Giorno

He gets the cutest blush that he tries to hide by covering his face with his hand and clearing his throat. Passione's Don, who remains unwavering in the face of death, can't handle his beloved heaping praises upon him. No matter how suave he may act, your relationship is his first foray into romance. There's a slight shakiness to his voice when he returns your compliment. It doesn't help that there's this glint in your eye that tells him you'll be using this newfound knowledge to your advantage. He supposes it's only fair, considering his penchant for teasing you whenever possible, but maybe he'll go easy on you after learning how it feels. That isn't to say he dislikes your kind words — more so that the temporary loss in his composure is a strange sensation. Strange, yet not unwelcome.

Bruno

Your serious Capo melts on the spot at such ardent praise — he can feel Cupid's arrow piercing him in real time. He takes a moment to recollect himself, before wondering aloud what brought this on. When you point out that he compliments you all the time without any real reason, he puts his hands up in defense, conceding to your argument. If you're in public, he'll limit his response to a warm thank you. Should you be away from prying eyes, however, he'll pull you into an embrace. It serves a dual purpose. You won't be able to see the pink dusting his cheeks and he gets to wrap you up in his arms. You really are the light of his life, he'll tell you. As unconventional as the lifestyle you both lead is, it's moments like this where he delights in a shred of normalcy.

Fugo

His overactive brain temporarily short circuits. Fugo is the type to blush up to his ears, no matter how vehemently he denies it. This poor guy considers you infinitely out of his league and immediately assumes you broke the espresso machine or something and want to soften the blow by using flattery. He sputters for a few moments before his tongue recalls how to properly form coherent words. He'll downright ask what angle you're trying to use here. He isn't used to receiving compliments without the other person having an end goal in mind. Once it's clear you just felt like letting him know, he takes deep breaths to calm his heart, which he can hear thumping loudly. Fugo then starts saying that objectively speaking, you are far more aesthetically pleasing, and starts lifting off some mathematical terms that fly over your head.

Mista

Mista points at himself and says "Me?" just to make sure he heard you right. This is a big moment for him. It isn't that he doubts your physical attraction to him, but hearing it confirmed out loud in your sweet voice is a real treat. He'll sling an arm around your shoulder and drops the line, "You're not so bad yourself", because he thinks it sounds cool. Mista wants to maintain his laidback air, but when you say stuff like that, his stomach does soumersalts and his hands start sweating. He has this big goofy grin and confident gait the remainder of the day. The one trade off (in his opinion) is that the Pistols start swarming about, insisting that you pay them equal praise. Chaos ensues until you appease their neediness for your validation. It is his soul made manifest, after all.

Narancia

Narancia does a little fist pump and starts cheering internally. Although, if you called him pretty, he might pause and get petulant. He totally exudes machismo, he'll insist. He'll warm up to the compliment eventually, though, but he won't admit it. Regardless, he's hype about it. His energy skyrockets the rest of the day. He's all over you, peppering your face with kisses, picking you up and twirling you around, he's on cloud nine. He considers it his personal mission to shower you in praise and this only reaffirms the creed. He'll go up to random people in public, point at you, and say stuff like, "Isn't she so cute? That's my girlfriend, yeah, that pretty lady over there. Do you see her? Just look at her, she's amazing, the coolest ever, did you know she—" and on and on he'll go.

Abbacchio

Similar to Fugo, he initially assumes that you're trying to butter him up. He'll wryly ask what you intend to cajole him into doing. When you huff and insist that this is a no strings attached compliment, he'll study you, since he knows the many tells that signify you're lying. Upon realizing you're being genuine, he'll grumble a few words of gratitude and leave it at that. Don't let his composure fool you — his heart is pounding away like he's a hormonal teenager again. He will lie awake that night, your words repeating on a loop without his Stand's assistance, floating in this warm and fuzzy sensation. Abbacchio might not be the best with his words, but he swears an oath to compliment you properly the next time he sees you.

[abbyromanoff]

Destiny Can Be Hell

Pairings: Kate Bishop x fem!reader, (past) Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova

Word count: 13,106

Warnings: cheating (R has a husband), older!R, arguing, drinking, mentions of drugs (cocaine, heroine, weed, LCD, mushrooms), smut, fingering, face riding, cunnilingus, handcuffs, mommy kink (R), excessive pet names (baby girl, baby, sweetheart, honey, etc), mentions of gagging, thigh riding, strap on use (K), public sex, masturbation, phone sex, biting, spitting, Kate has mommy issues, almost getting caught, abuse of power, powerbottom!R, service top/switch!Kate, degrading, guilt, angst, fluff, multiple orgasms, praising, smoking, jealousy, think that’s about it :)

This is based on the show “Gypsy” on Netflix, def recommend it!

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

“And then she just left. H-how can someone just throw you away like you meant nothing to them?” You nodded with understanding, making another small note on your paper marked with the words, ‘Yelena Belova’.

“Honey, I know this may be hard to take in but, do you think she might’ve just, say, gotten bored?” The blonde looked at you through tears and gulped down her nerves. She wasn’t the easiest to get through, but after nearly six months together you learned how to reach her. Her parents had forced her to come here if she wanted to continue living with them, and, due to her having nothing left in her bank account, she had to agree.

“But, why? I don’t think I’m all that boring, am I?” You quickly shushed her with a shake of your head, grasping her clasped hands in your own.

“Trust me, Lena, you are not a bore. But, sometimes some people struggle being with others or spending so long with one person, and that’s their own battle that they need to fight on their own, you can’t help them. And no matter how badly you want to help them and be there for them, is it really worth losing your mind and sanity over?”

“But I loved her..”

“I know you did. But there comes a point where you need to give yourself an ultimatum, are you going to ruin your life for hers when you still need to live with yourself every day? While I know you’re such a sweet, young girl who just wants to help others, you’ll never be able to fix someone; you have to be able to fix yourself.” She moved into your arms, wrapping her own around your shoulders as she cried. It pained you to hear it when you had started developing a love her for. She was almost like a daughter to you that you’d be willing to protect at any cost and knowing you couldn’t protect her heart from that asshole only hurt more.

“Thank you, Y/N.” She used to call you Mrs. Y/L/N, but you had insisted that she call you by your first name, hearing the title always made you feel old.

“Of course, kiddo. Now, let me assign you your homework for the week, okay?” She agreed, wiping the tears from her face before you handed her a tissue from your desk. You grabbed a new sheet of paper and wrote down her assignment, ‘Remove all things belonging to your ex from your belongings and put them somewhere hidden where you won’t find them.’

When you handed it to her she looked shocked. She didn’t know if she could do so, but she’d try for you and herself.

“And don’t forget, even if you don’t complete it yet, you still have a long time to do so. And no matter what, I’ll always be proud of you, Yelena.” You said your goodbyes before sitting on your desk chair, spinning in it for a moment before throwing your head back and letting out a sigh. You were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home, but you still had one more session.

After another hour of listening to one of your patients, you finally decided to head home. But first, you wanted to stop for some coffee. You had been craving it for a few days now that your espresso machine broke and you were running late this morning so you didn’t have time to order any.

The doorbell chime rang as you entered but it didn’t draw many eyes, there were already at least twenty-ish people in here.

“Can I have one small cold brew, please?” The man in front of you nodded and wrote down the order, yelling to some girl in the back to make it. You waited patiently and passed the time by going on your phone, smiling at the video your husband sent you of him and his friends saying hello. They were at the bar for an after-work drink and he would most likely not be back for another two hours.

Your eyes soon landed on a flyer in front of you, it was bright yellow and practically begging for your attention. It was an advertisement for a band who were playing this Friday at the local pub. All of a sudden, you heard your name being called and shot your eyes up to see who it was, almost forgetting where you were.

“Cold brew for Y/N!” You walked forward, your eyes still examining the piece of paper and the details written on it. You weren’t exactly planning on going but the idea didn’t disappoint.

“Nice flyer, lady.” You looked up with a raised brow, eyeing the girl in front of you who just grinned.

“It’s my band, I’m the lead singer.”

“Oh! Sorry, I thought you were just being rude there.” You chuckled with embarrassment, walking over to the side where napkins and straws were placed.

“So, you going?” The girl was still there, even if she most likely had many other orders to take.

“Uh, I might. I’ve never really been that into rock.” She shrugged. You didn’t know why she was wasting her time talking to you but you weren’t mad about it, either. In fact, there was a small part of you that enjoyed the small talk with her, even if you only knew her for a minute or less.

“Well, I promise we won’t disappoint. And if you do go, I’ll buy you a shot on me, deal?”

“And why would you do that for me?” She shrugged once again, a smirk teasing at her lips.

“‘Cause you’re hot.” Was all she said before returning to her spot in the back where you guessed she would make the drinks. You chuckled to yourself and tried to hide the blush now adorning your cheeks from any pass-byer’s as if they’d even care for one second what you were giddy about.

“Welcome home, my love.” You greeted your husband from the bed as he entered the room. He took off his suit jacket and pecked your cheek before entering the master bathroom.

“How were the guys?” He took a moment to respond due to him having still been brushing his teeth. Once he spit out the toothpaste, he spoke.

“Fine.” You hummed and pressed your lips together before turning to shut your bedside lamp off. You both had noticed the distance between you two starting to grow even more, but you were trying to hang on for the sake of this marriage.

“Goodnight, Steve.” He responded in a tired voice and quickly fell asleep next to you. Even after he brushed his teeth, you could still smell the alcohol residue on his breath and body.

He wasn’t a horrible man, he just wasn’t the best husband either. He loved you, you knew that. But he didn’t know how to show it. When you two had met each other he was receiving help from counselors and you really thought he’d change for you. He was a sex addict, nothing else mattered when sex would be involved. You thought you could fix him, and that’s why you had given Yelena that advice, so she wouldn’t end up like you who’d dread going home to her partner every night.

You toyed with your ring before placing it on the bedside table along with your blue-light glasses. Your hand lingered over the paper from today before you grabbed it once again. You were wondering what was happening to you, you didn’t even know this woman but you were still considering going.

Friday had come quicker than expected and here you were, sitting in your office with your work bag being filled with your current clothes. You looked too professional for a small bar and a band, so you thought you’d try and look your best for once since your wedding day.

“Ooh, what’s the special occasion for miss sexy tonight, hm?” You rolled your eyes at your coworker's words, Wanda had always been such a flirt.

“Don’t you have a husband and children to get home to, Wands?”

“Yes, but they have me all the time, I need a break from those brats.” She sat down in front of you as you ate the rest of your fruit bowl from today for dinner.

“I told you, I’m always willing to babysit if you need a break. I may not have children but I am good with them.” She leaned back into her chair and sipped from her mug thoughtfully.

“Why don’t you and Steve have kids? I mean, you’re thirty-five, Y/N, and you’re not getting any younger. Besides, with the muscles on that man, he could carry the babies for you.” You laughed along with her, resting your head on your hand. It’s not that you didn’t want kids, you’ve thought about it before. But having them with Steve didn’t seem like a possibility, especially with his addiction.

“I- I don’t know, I don’t think it’s going to happen.” Wanda looked at you, looking be-widdled at your statement. You knew how much she adored the thought of children, even if she complained about hers all day long. So for her to hear you weren’t going to have any was like a stab in the heart, even to her.

“What? Y/N, honey, you can’t be serious right now.” You shrugged without care and stood up to remove your empty bowl from the table. You placed it in your bag and put it on your bare shoulder, giving a kiss to Wanda’s cheek as you started to walk out.

“We’ll talk about it another time. But for now, I’m going to have some fun at the bar before I have to go back to doing nothing at home.” She slapped your ass playfully as you left, and you strutted your hips just to tease her.

The moment you entered the small building, a strong wave of alcohol hit your nose, you could’ve choked on it. You grabbed a margarita and sat in a booth all alone, questioning if you should’ve even come here in the first place. That was until you looked at the stage and there she was, setting up the microphone while her crew set up their own tools. You couldn’t put your eyes anywhere else. It was like staring at the sun, you knew it wasn’t good for you, but the feeling was so powerful that you didn’t want to look away.

Her voice soon boomed across the whole place and drew everyone’s eyes onto her, you wished you were the only one though. She thanked everyone for coming out tonight before she opened her mouth to sing, the vocals leaving her like it was second nature.

You moved to the front of the row, watching her with admiration. The lights were a dark red and the ones on stage were a bright, beaming yellow. It somehow illuminated her skin perfectly. Her nose ring shined and you were immediately drawn to it. Oh, how she could captivate you so much in such little time was insane, but you didn’t want to lose this. When her eyes met with yours you swore you saw hearts all around, you felt like you would’ve nearly fainted if it wasn’t for the people behind you squishing you.

Once she got off stage and thanked everyone again, you walked back to your booth to collect your things. You didn’t plan on staying, but that was until you heard her booming voice over the other patrons.

“I didn’t expect you to actually show up, coffee girl.” You grinned at the nickname and shook your head loosely before regaining eye contact with her.

“Where are you headed? I promised you a drink, didn’t I?”

“Uh, I should probably be getting home soon, I wasn’t exactly planning to stay out very long.” She rolled her eyes and dragged you towards the bar, yelling to the bartender for two fireball shots. You looked at her with wide eyes until she sat down, slapping the seat next to her to signal you to sit.

“You guys were really good up there.” You said, ruining the silence that overtook you both. She looked over to you, downing the shot with a raised eyebrow and the same classy smirk she gave you yesterday.

“Why, thank you, coffee girl.”

“You can just call me Y/N, coffee girl.” You teased her, smiling to yourself when you notice she doesn’t seem uninterested.

“Well then, Y/N, you can call me Kate.” You two continued small talk for nearly half an hour, most of it being about her band and her work. But she was intrigued to know more about you than herself, she wanted to know your life story, but you weren’t being that easy.

“So, Y/N,” You hummed in response. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, what exactly would you like to know?” She seemed deep in thought as she stared into the pupils of your eyes. You were like a mystery she wanted to solve.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-five.” She clicked her tongue happily.

“Mm, I like my women older.” Your mouth fell open at her comment before you shook yourself off when she showed no sign of the words affecting her as they did you.

“Any kids?”

“Nope.”

“Husband? Wife?”

“Husband.” She examined the way you took a moment longer to answer and furrowed her brows together. She looked down at your hand.

“Where’s the ring?” You followed her eyes to where she was right, there was no ring on your finger to prove you were in fact married.

“Oh- right, I must’ve forgotten it at home.” You nervously chuckled, hoping that she’d drop it without further questioning. She did.

“Ever been with a woman before.”

“Uh, no. No, I haven’t.” You stuttered, rubbing the back of your neck as your leg bounced quickly.

“Even better.” What was that supposed to mean? You wanted to ask her, but she was already starting to walk out the door. You followed her with hesitation, wondering if she even wanted you to.

“Where…where are you going?” There was a small bit of hope in your tone. You were hoping she wouldn’t just leave you like that, especially when you enjoyed talking to her so much. The other women you knew weren’t like her. They weren’t as fun or energetic. Their voices didn’t have your ears making love, it only made them burn to hear them talk about their children and how pathetic their husbands are.

You wondered how Wanda would react to this. Knowing that you were practically falling for a girl nearly half your age. Especially when she adored your husband for whatever reason it was that she had said before, you probably weren’t listening anyways.

“For a smoke. Wanna join?” You let out a breathy nod, her face nearly inches from yours. She stared down at your lips for a moment before looking at your facial features, her mouth slightly parted just enough so you could see a small number of her teeth.

“You don’t smoke.” She said before dragging you with her by your hand, her own loosely grabbing the tips of your fingers to guide you with her.

“How do you know that?”

“I can read you like a book, baby.” The side of her mouth parted upward as she grabbed the small box from her back pocket. Her other bandmates were already out there, most likely high out of their minds and snorting a line off of the stairway. You bit your lip in order to not let anything slip that you knew you’d regret later on.

“Hey! Lighter.” She yelled to someone who you didn’t know the name of and quickly after, a lighter was thrown at her and she caught it in her hand like it was a baseball. She leaned against the alleyway wall, one of her legs holding her up while the other folded at the knee to rest on the wall.

“You want one or not?” She nodded in your direction with the box in her hands. You reached out after a moment of worry. You were wondering if this was a bad idea, but what harm could one do? She put the small container back into her back pocket after you took one, lighting her cigarette before cupping her hands around yours and doing the same. The moment you inhaled the tough smoke, your lungs filled with the disgusting taste of it. It traveled down your throat and tickled it on the way. She laughed when you had a small coughing fit.

“You look like me the first time I smoked.” You were never the adventurous type when you were younger, often opting in to finish your studies or watch a movie. It paid off in the end when you had a good-paying job and a nice house, but there were still times in your life when you regretted not having the same amount of fun your past friends had. While half of them either ended up with addictions or dead-end jobs that did nothing to support them, you still wished you got to experience all of those events instead of having your first drink of alcohol with your parents on your twenty-first birthday. God, how that still embarrassed you.

But Kate wasn’t like that. She was a nineteen-year-old girl with a passion for music. She wasn’t in college and she had a boring job serving and making coffee. But at the end of the week, she got to unwind with her vocals and melodies. You aspired to be the kind of girl she is.

“You ever done worse than cigs?” You asked in a beat of silence, your stance matching Kate’s but clearly looking more awkward and forced than she did.

“Depends, what do you see as worse than this?” You shrugged, going over all the options in your head of the things you’ve always heard people around her age getting addicted to. Even one of your clients had come to you, seeking help with the depression she had dealt with, mainly due to the pills she used on a daily. Her boyfriend was abusive and a drug dealer, her mother was on her death bed, and her scholarship was ruined due when they found out what she was taking. Her father had left her when she was young and she had no one left, she couldn’t even face her mother after the events took place.

“I don’t know, like…weed. Cocaine, heroin, LSD, anything really.”

“I smoke weed often, but I’m not an addict. I’ve tried cocaine once, didn’t like how it made my nose feel after. And that’s really it. Oh, I did use mushrooms before too.” She casually spoke, as if she hadn’t admitted to taking illegal drugs. After all, she didn’t know if you were a cop, she didn’t know anything about you.

“And?”

“And, it wasn’t horrible, but fucking expensive.”

“And weed isn’t?”

“Nah, my pals mostly give me a discount on it. They grow it themselves so they make a fuck load of money, they don’t need mine.” She stomped on the cigarette bud that was now on the ground before saying bye to her pals. It was already late and you two had been standing there for over an hour in the peaceful, cold night. Well, peaceful wasn’t the best word to describe it. Cars were honking at one another and angry drivers were shouting. Some people were shouting and fighting the air, you took note of their bodies and came to the conclusion that they were under something stronger than what you were using. Music was still blaring from the pub and people were getting kicked out left and right, some leaving with blood dripping down their faces.

“So, you wanna head back to my place?” While you wanted to take up the offer, you knew you couldn’t. You hadn’t even told your husband the truth about where you were, insisting that you were staying late at work to finish some files before getting a quick drink with Wanda. He’d know something was up if you didn’t come home that night, and with Kate’s clear intentions, you knew you wouldn’t be heading home afterward.

“Uh, I can’t. My husband would probably be suspicious if I weren’t to return home.” She smiled devilishly at your words, trailing her fingertips lightly against your arm. You shivered, and it wasn’t from the close-to-negative temperature.

“Where’d you tell him you were going?”

“Staying late at work, then getting a drink with a friend of mine.”

“Ah, the classic cheating excuse, sometimes works, sometimes doesn’t.” You looked at her dumbfounded and stepped back from her touch.

“I’m not cheating on my husband.”

“So, this,” She stepped towards you once again, your body fighting against you and leaning into her. She placed her hands on your ass and pulled your forward, looking into your eyes with that hazy look she had. She leaned her face into your neck, brushing her lips against the soft skin as her breath tickled you.

“This is nothing?” She whispered as you felt a small peck landing on your neck. She did it one, two, three times before you came back to your senses and pushed her off of you.

“Stop it, Kate! I’m not going to cheat on my husband, I still love him.” She raised her hands defensively and laughed. Oh, how you wanted to rip that smirk off her face. But simultaneously, you wanted nothing more than to see that smirk as she hovered over you, her cold fingers causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin as she touched you just below the belt. Having her peel off your pants, kiss down your body as your head would be thrown back when her tongue would lick up all of your wetness caused by her.

“Then why did you even come here?” You tried keeping a hardened face, although it wasn’t exactly easy with the thoughts racing through your mind.

“You really expect me to believe you just wanted to hear me sing? Please, I’m not that innocent, Y/N. I know you wanted to see what else I could do with my mouth-” You tried walking away before anything could escalate, but her hand gripped your wrist with a tight hold.

“Don’t walk away from me, baby girl.”

“I’m older than you, I’m not your baby.” She shook her head with a laugh. The number of times she had chuckled tonight was unbearable, but you wanted to hear more of it. You chased the sound that was so heavenly to you.

“Yeah, well, I wanna call you my baby girl if you let me. Will you be my baby girl, Y/N?” Yes. Yes. Yes, is what you wanted to scream out. You could’ve died just at the thought of her calling you that alone.

“I-”

“Let me have your phone. I’ll put my number in it and you can text me if you want. Or, you can go home to your husband and sleep in his arms while you wish it was me.” You reached into your purse and handed it to her after a moment. Your mind raced with any possible fear you could have, but you stood still and didn’t let it show. She opened your phone, the lack of a password making it easy to access anything she’d want. But she only went to contacts, typed in her digits, and gave it back to you. She leaned in to kiss your cheek and gave you a wink as she left. You were stuck in your spot, staring at your phone that had at least ten messages and calls from your husband that were silenced when you put it on do not disturb. You sighed and rubbed your temples with your hands before walking to the sidewalk of the loud street, calling over a taxi, and having him drive you home. You paid sixty-two dollars and thirty-two cents and thanked the man before exiting the car, walking to the front of your house, and using the key to enter.

Your husband was dead asleep in your shared bedroom, the only thing covering his body being a wife-beater and blue, Calvin Klein boxers. You walked into the bathroom, setting your phone down and grabbing your toothbrush. Your mind was plagued with the thought of her, of Kate. You wondered what she was doing right now, or who she was doing.

Once you had put everything away you grabbed your phone, staring at the number and debating on whether or not you were going to reach out. You wanted to, but there was still that small lingering fear that had you wondering if you should or not. If you did, you could risk your marriage and your heart. But if you didn’t, you could risk the unknown never being discovered.

Fuck it, you thought as you typed in a quick message to the woman, checking your phone every few seconds for a response. You didn’t expect one so fast, but she was record timing with her two-minute wait to respond.

Kate: So you did take up my offer after all

You: Yeah, I did.

You waited for her text with beads of sweat practically dripping down your face. You were so anxious and kept looking out the door for any sign of your husband waking up. He was out cold.

Kate: You don’t gotta be so formal on text yk

You: Well, I guess I just like being formal. Is that so bad?

Kate: Not at all baby

You: Why do you keep calling me that? I’m nearly twice your age, if anything, I should be calling you baby.

The three dots went in and out before you put your phone down, trying your best to think about anything else but failing in the end. You couldn’t stray away from her for more than a minute before you were falling back in for more.

Kate: You want me to be your baby?

You sucked in a breath, shuddering as you released it. You were up against the wall as you slid down it, the cold tiles pressing against you through the thin shirt you had on. You only wore a loose, lacy camisole and matching panties. Steve loved seeing you in it but he was too tired to be granted that gift.

You: I don’t know, maybe.

Your hand lowered into your panties, feeling your wet slit as you slowly parted your legs. You nearly jumped when your fingers made contact with your clit, you were absolutely dripping. How did she have such an effect on you in such little time? The question was one you’d never know. But what you did know was that you were in need of her. You needed her cold, long fingers replacing yours.

You pictured her face as you came to an orgasm. Her hair surrounding her perfectly sculptured face, falling over you as she laid on top of your shaking body. Her plump lips bringing you to another orgasm. Her soft thighs clenching as you returned the favor. Her breath shaky and hollow, a mere image of yours right now.

Kate: You still there Y/N?

The ding brought your focus back onto the phone, but still on her. You wanted to tell her what you had just done, would she think you’re too weird? Would she like it? Would she block you? You chose the safest bet in letting this rest in your deepest, darkest secrets file stored in your mind.

You: Sorry about that, I was doing something.

Three dots, a bubble. A response.

Kate: What were u doing?

You contemplated your options. If you told her, there was the risk of creeping her out, scaring her away for good. And you didn’t want that, she was one of the first people you enjoyed talking to in years. But if you didn’t tell her, maybe she’d never make a move on you again. That seemed great for many, but the facade you put up was only out of fear. Fear of someone seeing, fear of cheating, the fear of falling in so deep for her.

You: Just getting dressed.

You went with the safer option, feeling like your life was a video game where every small question can change the whole ending. Your nails were being bit down on as you anxiously awaited her.

Kate: What are u wearing?

Not what you were expecting. But with Kate, nobody could ever expect anything besides the unexpected. That’s what you enjoyed about her, she was unpredictable. She was like an adventure to a new country, you had no idea what you were doing or saying but you loved every moment of it.

You: This new camisole I got and my underwear. Nothing sexy, trust me.

Kate: Show me

You tried finding the best angle to take the photo, even standing to try and take a mirror pic but failing. You cursed to yourself and sat back down to where you were before, bringing your phone above your body and leaning it downward to take the picture. You sent it without looking back and saw the ‘read’ signal pop up. She was typing, and then it went away. The way she had this power over you shocked you immensely, why did you care so much about a girl who could sing? Maybe it was because she paid attention to you, something your husband for the life of him couldn’t do. Or maybe it was the exciting part of it. Your whole life was always a bore, but today had to have been the most exciting day in your nearly forty years of living.

Kate: Fuck youre so hot

You smiled to yourself and took another photo, this time including your face in the mix.

Kate: Baby youre killin me here

She sent a photo a second later, stating it took a minute to load before you were able to see it. You whimpered when seeing her under a blanket, clear signs of her wearing nothing underneath. Her leg was sticking out enough to be able to see that there was no underwear or shorts on. Her shoulders were exposed and you could almost see the top of her breasts from the angle. Her hair was sprawled out across the pillow beneath her head, her chin being the only part of her face you could see.

Before you could respond, another photo made its way to you. Her leg that was sticking out had her hand now resting on it, on the top of her inner thigh. Her pinky finger was just able to be seen as it mostly went under the blanket. She was so close to touching her core that even you were on edge and waiting for more.

Kate: I guess ur regretting not coming over now huh

You: I really wish I could’ve, trust me, I do.

Kate: Then why don’t u? Ur husband is prob dead asleep and would never know

Before you could answer, she was already typing out yet another response.

Kate: And r u just gonna leave me like this? Im so wet for you baby girl

Kate: U don’t know how badly I wanted to fuck u back at the pub

Kate: I can’t stop thinking bout it

Kate: U wanna know smth?

You quickly looked up the meaning of her slang word before answering, still watching the bed with a close eye for any movement.

You: What is it?

Kate: Ive been touching myself this whole time

You groaned to yourself, the wetness you fought so hard to relieve only coming back even worse.

Kate: Idk what if is about u but ur just so fucking sexy

Kate: Ive always been into older women but ur just different

Kate: In the best fucking way

You: I appreciate the compliment, baby.

Kate: I wanna hear u say that to me

Kate: I bet it sounds so hot coming from ur mouth

Your fingers somehow found their way back inside of your already-drenched panties. Your sore clit was rubbed in circles as you bucked your hips up to meet yourself halfway.

“Oh, fuck!” You mumbled under your breath, trying your best to cover your mouth but failing in the process.

You grabbed your phone, pressing the camera icon and pointing it to where your hand was almost hidden. You debated sending it, although you now knew she was doing the same so, what was the shame in it?

Kate: U alone?

You: Yeah, I’m in the bathroom and my husband is in the next room, but he won’t be waking up anytime soon.

You waited for a text, but instead, the screen lit up with a call. It wasn’t FaceTime so you wouldn’t be able to see her, but your mind already had enough pictures of her.

“You there, baby?” You hummed as an answer, afraid that if you were to speak, you’d end up gambling your words. Your breath was heavy, practically a pant by now.

“You sound so hot, fuck, you’re going to make me cum.” She bit her lip, her breath the same as yours as she rode her fingers. She had two inside of herself and she couldn’t help but think of how the night would’ve gone if you were there with her. For now, she’d have to stick to her fantasies. But soon enough, she’d have you. And she’d make you hers for good, no matter what that pity of a husband thought of it.

“I’m so close, I’m so close!” You whined, your wetness loud enough for Kate on the other end to hear. It only helped bring her closer to the edge as her coil tightened.

“Cum with me, Y/N.” It was in a low, cracked tone, but you could hear it. You followed her orders and exploded on your fingers, slumping even further against the wall when you heard her reach her peak as well.

“Can I tell you something, Kate?” You mimicked her earlier text with a grin, already picturing the type of effect it’d have on her when hearing what was to follow.

“Hm?”

“That wasn’t the first time this night that I touched myself thinking of you.” You hung up before she could answer, leaving her dumbfounded on her bed.

You lied in bed and that’s when everything hit you. Your husband, who slept near inches away from you, could’ve heard the way you came for another woman. Your orgasms with him weren’t nearly as good and you hadn’t even been touched by her yet, you could only imagine what that’d be like.

Tears threatened to spill as the realization came crashing down; you cheated. You were a cheater, and that would forever haunt you, you already knew it.

The rest of the weekend was mostly a blur, all that you did remember was Saturday night, dinner with the Wilsons. Sam was a kind man, tall, smart, and very handsome. He and his wife seemed to get along well, but so did you and Steve to the public eye. They had two children, one was turning sixteen while the other had just turned nine.

“You alright there, Y/N? You’ve been extra quiet tonight.” The whole table turned to look your way, the newfound attention leaving you slightly embarrassed. You waved them off and luckily, they listened. Truth be told, you didn’t want the liquor they were offering, you wanted the coffee from the shop. More like you wanted an excuse to go, that way you could see Kate again. You hoped it wouldn’t be awkward after the night before, the thought alone making you clench your thighs.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, bringing your phone with you and, right when you closed the door, pulling it out. You went to your contacts list and opened the text icon, typing a quick ‘I miss you.’ to Kate before you could regret it. But you already did. Fuck, you could already see her, laughing at the text with a different girl she brought home. You weren’t doubting her, per se, but she had mentioned before how she’s a ladies' lady, often attracting anyone she wanted into her arms, or even her bed.

A ding brought you out of your disturbance and you looked down, your hopes of it being Kate soon fulfilled as you read the text.

Kate: Come see me then

You: I’m at dinner, but I just needed to talk to you.

You weren’t able to see it, but she was secretly smiling at the messages. She had never been one for relationships, often opting for hookups instead. And when they wanted to be with her, she’d either block them and never speak to them again or say yes, but never actually planning to be anything more than friends with benefits in her mind. She was a heartbreaker, of course, she was. She was destined from birth to have a good time, and how could you have fun with just one person?

Kate: I’m at work rn but I’d way rather be with you

You: You’ve barely even known me for more than a few days, why so interested?

Kate: I could say the same bout u Y/N

Touche. She had you beat at your own game.

There was a knock erupting on the door, making you jump in fright. You were so distracted texting her that you didn’t realize it had been about eight minutes of you just standing in the bathroom. Walking back into the dining table was a bit awkward when everyone knew where you came from, it wasn’t exactly the best place to be hiding for so long.

“So, Y/N,” Sam started, drawing your attention back to him. “Steve said you and him had been talking about having children lately, and we just wanted to say congratulations and we wish you the best of luck in the process. Trust me, I know how long those things can take.” The rest of the table let out half-hearted laughs that you didn’t return. You looked at him with furrowed brows, shaking your head slowly.

“What do you mean? I and Steve haven’t discussed children-” You felt a small tap to your thigh and looked over to see your husband with a deceiving smile. It was clear he had been telling a lie to everyone while you were gone, but you weren’t going to stand for it. You had made it clear that having children would most likely not be an option for you two in the future, and each time he denied it, saying you’d come to your senses soon and that you were the only ones in the town your age without kids, that you were starting to get too old to push the thought away.

“What she means is, thank you for your support-”

“No, what I mean is we’re not having children, Steven.” You could sense the tension around the table as everyone looked at you two for another move. He sighed deeply, grabbing his things along with yours and having you both say your goodbyes to everyone. He gripped your wrist with certainty and practically dragged you to the car, not even caring to open the door for you as he got into his side.

The whole ride was full of silence, so thought it was best to finally be able to respond to Kate after you had left her in the bathroom.

You: Hey, sorry about the wait, someone knocked on the door and I had to go back to the table with the others. Xx

You added the Xs in hopes they’d show off a sense of regret and sorrow for not answering sooner. But she didn’t seem to mind as she answered back in an instant.

Kate: Hey baby I was starting to think u ditched me

You: I’m sorry, love, I had an argument with Steve at the table. Now we’re headed home and I wanted to talk to you before, well, we argue more.

Kate: Who’s Steve?

You must’ve forgotten to mention his name to her in the time you spent getting to know one another. You were slightly worried about the fact that you had a husband, not so much about the cheating aspect but about how Kate must feel. Does it turn her on knowing that she’s taking you away from him? That she’s now considered a homewrecker? Maybe she didn’t like the thought. But she also did seem pretty into it last night on the phone. Whatever she felt, she was good at hiding it.

You: My husband.

Kate: Oh so he’s the asshole?

You chuckled quietly to yourself, afraid to make too much noise when he was sitting right there. You didn’t want him to question you, so you turned the brightness of your phone down in case he looked in the window. And you turned at a perfect angle to which he couldn’t see your phone but he also wouldn’t notice you acting secretive.

You: He’s not an asshole, Kate, he struggles with his own issues and I help him with that.

Kate: He seems like an asshole to me especially since he took u away from me

You: We met eleven years ago, if anything you’re taking me away from him.

Kate: And is that such a bad thing?

You: Of course not, I prefer you way more than I do him.

Before you could look to see what she had said back, Steve was already trying to catch your attention.

“Can you get off that damn phone for one second, Y/N?” You hummed and did so slowly, unbuckling your seatbelt as quickly as possible when you saw that you had arrived home. He tried to stop you, but you were already gone.

Once the door opened and closed behind him, he took off his suit jacket before turning to you. You stood in the kitchen, pot in hand as you poured a cup of tea for yourself.

“If you’re expecting me to apologize, don’t.” He rested his hands on his hips and clenched his jaw. You suddenly remembered all the times you had gone to Wanda, explaining how attractive he was when he looked mad. Now, you hated more than anything to see him this way. You hated seeing him in general.

“Oh, I do. You think you can go over there and embarrass me like that in front of all of my friends and expect me to be okay with it?”

“And you expect me to sit there, listening to your agitating rants about how busy your work life is, how hard it is for you, and how badly you wish you could quit? Then fucking do it already! And do you expect me to sit there while you make up lies about us having kids when I deliberately told you I don’t want them? God, why can’t you just respect my choice? You’re not the one carrying the child, I am!”

“I want a child, Y/N. This could help me with my addiction, it could even help with us and our marriage.” He tried reasoning with you, but you stood your ground.

“I’m not going to bear a child just because you think it could help you, what about me? What about what I want, Steven?”

“What you want is what’s best for us, and for our family.”

“There is no family, Steve, it’s us. It’s me and you, a marriage, that’s all.” He ran his hands through his hair and, without another word, he walked his way up the stairs and into the bedroom. You took this as your chance to see what Kate had written earlier today.

Kate: Oh really?

You: Yeah. I want to see you this week, how about Monday? I’ll stop by your work and I could even pick you up if you’d like.

You set your phone down and drank the cup of tea in your hands, sighing contently. Even if you had just had a disagreement and shamed yourself in front of your friends and his, things felt okay. You had a feeling that if Kate said yes, you’d be looking forward to that day until it came.

Kate: That sounds perfect. My shift starts at 7 and ends at 4 wbu?

You, once again, found yourself looking up the meaning of her slang, it was most likely just a young person thing. Once you got your result, you reopened her and your messages and wrote out;

You: I’ll be done around 6 PM. Although, I do start at 11 AM, maybe I can stop by your work?

Kate: That sounds great baby girl. See you Monday?

You: Yeah, I’ll be looking forward to it!

You changed her contact name, adding a little heart at the end with a smile. You feared what would happen if your husband saw your phone, and saw any notification from someone with a red heart next to their name. He didn’t even have one, to anyone else his caller ID seemed like it must’ve been a friend, not the person you married.

You entered your room, leaning against the door to let out a sigh before walking to the bathroom. You felt the cold marble under your hands as you leaned over the sink, spitting the toothpaste out of your mouth before rinsing off. When you lied back in bed, lifting the blanket over your body, your husband turned to coddle you. His arms went around your waist and his front rubbed against yours.

“I’m sorry, love, I shouldn’t have forced you like I did. You think I can try and make it up to you?” His dick poked at your backside and you grinned, turning your head to see his now perfectly above yours. His lips pressed against your own, his hands wandering down your frame and stopping at the waistline of your shorts. He pulled them down slowly, his breath a dark, deep shake.

“Your skin feels so soft, so perfect you are.” His cock throbbed with need, a need to return to its true home. Not tucked away in his clothes, but deep inside your cunt, just like he wanted.

“I wanna fucking ravish you, love.” You ran your hand down to his now freed length, stroking him gently as your other went to rub your clit. No matter how badly you were trying to keep your train of thought on him, on your partner, you couldn’t stop thinking about Kate. When you came just picturing her, and once more just from her voice. Steve, while he was an animal in bed, had never once made you feel as hot and bothered as you did from Kate. Even in the little time you knew her and the years you knew him, there was such a difference.

Monday came by surprisingly quickly and you were ecstatic. Kate was too, she had been texting you all morning when she was supposed to be working. You lectured her playfully, and she got a serious lecture from her boss in return.

“What would you like to drink?” The man asked you bluntly, all manners of his being thrown away as his clear exhaustion showed. You gave him a small smile, asking for the lady in the back. He sighed heavily with exaggeration, yelling into the back and soon after you saw the young girl rushing out. She looked annoyed, that was until she saw you. Her face lit up, a quirk of her lips showing as she hurried over to you, rushing out a ‘going on break!’ to her boss and dragging you to the back. There was a small room, but it was more like a closet. You guessed it was a storage unit of sorts, but you didn’t have time to question it as she pushed you against the wall.

“Oh, Katey.” You hummed into her mouth, her lips loosely against yours. She leaned back, biting her lip and staring at you through hooded eyes.

“That’s new, I like it.” You groaned when her lips were placed on your neck, her teeth grazing over the skin ever so lightly. She stopped, looking up at you with a slightly clenched jaw. It was hard to notice, but you picked up on it. You were a therapist, after all, you noticed everything.

“What’s this?” She traced her fingertip over the mark on your neck that you failed to cover up. Foundation was put over it, but she still saw through it, saw through you.

“Uh, nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, baby girl.” Her fingers rested under your chin, pulling your face up higher so you’d look her in the eyes. She wasn’t some, stupid, naive little girl, she knew what it was, but she was jealous it wasn’t her marks.

“This from your husband?” You nodded with a gulp of fear mixed with lust. She scoffed, licking over the spot and sucking firmly. She was intending to make her own hickeys, whether you wanted them or not.

“Kate, I…slow down a bit, okay?”

“Or what? You gonna punish me?” Your eyes fluttered shut as her hand swept down your body in no time, slipping past the entryway of your pants and into your panties.

“You gonna, tie me up? Fuck me however long you want, not caring for one second about your little Katey’s pleasure, hm?” She was practically speaking to herself as you humped her palm that was rubbing deliciously against your clit. Two of her fingers prodded at your hole and suddenly the remembrance of Friday night came flooding back in. When you had your fingers deep inside of you, pumping in and out of your hole because she had gotten you so wet, so needy. She had this effect on you that you didn’t quite understand, but you loved the chase of it all.

“You’re so wet, baby girl, this all for me?” You nodded your head. “Yeah? Did you greet your husband this morning knowing you were going to get fucked in the supply closet at my work? God, you’re such a slut. How are you going to face him now? Knowing that I’ve fucked you better than he ever has.” Her nose flared in anger, her head tossing back as she humped your thigh that stood out. You were both chasing one another’s highs at this point, and it was so exhilarating.

“Oh, baby, I’m going to cum.” You whimpered into her shoulder, your head now resting on it as a way to feel closer to her.

“I know you are, and that’s the best part.” Your eyes squeezed shut tightly, your lip being bitten into by your teeth.

“Fuck! Fuck, you’ve ruined me.” While the words seemed harsh, she couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction. No time spent with other girls had ever equaled to you, she wondered if it was due to your age. While she was the outgoing type, the type you’d usually see in kids her age, she had always been mature for her age. And for some reason, she had always been drawn to older women like yourself. She blamed most of it on the abandonment her mother often gave her from a young age, or the lack of love that made her have a deep desire to be cherished by someone like you.

“You know, I’ve always been, like, so drawn to older women. In eighth grade, I had the biggest crush on my history teacher. I’d roam the halls just to see her, and I’d skip class just to think about her more, and I would just hope that every time I got detention, she’d be the one watching me. You feel like that. It- I don’t know how to explain it but you just feel like that, like that excitement of having a middle school crush and all your friends would embarrass you or make fun of you for it. You just feel so fun yet calming at the same time. Is that weird?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve never been with a woman before if I’m being honest, although if I was, my husband would have probably asked me for a threesome already. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I’m so attracted to you. And it’s not just because you’re so unbelievably attractive, but you’re just so exciting and refreshing, I feel like a teenager again.” Your foreheads were resting against each other’s as you leaned in for a kiss, brushing your lips gently over hers so she’d make the first move, which she did. The two of you progressed into a sloppy makeout with tongues and teeth clashing together, your noses often hitting softly. That was until someone came pounding on the door, demanding that Kate needed to return to her shift as she was way overdue.

“Well, when can I see you again?”

“I don’t know, maybe sometime-”

“I want you to come to my place.” She interrupted, not seeming to care for her coworker waiting outside the door.

“W-what?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! You could even spend the night, just like we talked about on the phone.” It was more of a question than an offer, you could hear the slight fear in her voice. You didn’t know what she had to be afraid of, especially when she was with you, in your arms. You raised your hand to her cheek, stroking the skin softly and pecking her lips once more.

“We’ll talk about it more later, alright?” She nodded and, due to her pal's request, returned to where she had to be, tugging the apron back onto her body and walking out of the small hallway in the back. You followed after a moment, keeping your head down in hopes no one would be able to pick up on what just happened.

“Y/N? Is that you?” You heard from the customer’s side of the register. You stopped in your tracks, slowly raising and turning your head to see who it was, hoping it wasn’t anyone you knew too well.

Wanda. Fuck. The suspicion was obvious in her tone but you didn’t blame her, if you had seen her walking out of a no-customers-allowed break room after a woman just left before you, you’d have questions.

She walked over to you, but you were rushing out of the store before she could meet you. She called your name, but you didn’t look back. Kate sighed, hiding her face from the other woman as she watched you leave.

“That lady that just left…why was she back there with you?” She asked Kate, placing her hands on the counter and leaning in close enough to whisper. Your mistress shrugged without thought, writing the name on the cup before continuing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…Wanda.” She read from the cup and walked to the back to continue brewing the coffee. She pulled out her phone quickly, pressing on your contact and typing out a quick message.

Kate <3: Wanda huh? U got another hoe Idk about?

You: Haha, very funny, Kate.

You entered your office with a deep sigh, the events from earlier still looming in your mind. You were still in such a need for her, you’ve never been so wet.

You walked over to your desk and opened the notebook in hand, trying to distract yourself from the soak in your panties. You could barely focus, there was sweat dripping on your forehead and you had to remove your reading glasses, hands gripping the desk as you tried taking deep breaths. It was so hard not to think about the things you had just done not even an hour ago, and how her fingers felt so well sliding against your walls.

The knock on the door interrupted your brain's fast thinking, but you were grateful. If you didn’t stop, you would’ve been caught grinding against your chair or fingering yourself in hopes that it would feel just as good as Kate's.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Wanda stood there awkwardly before sitting down on the couch, placing her coffee on the table in front of her and leaning back, her hands clasping together and resting on her knee.

“So, are we going to talk about earlier?” You played dumb in hopes she’d let it go and not mention it anymore.

“What about earlier?”

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N, you’re really going to act like I didn’t see you at the cafe down the street? And not to mention, the way you walked out of the back after another woman?” She took a moment before continuing her words, “Are you- are you having an affair?” You stopped in your steps, the same way you did earlier.

“Wanda, I’m going to need to excuse you from my office, I have a patient.” You opened the door for her and, before she could say anything more, you were closing the door in her face. You hated hearing it, that you being with another woman while still coming home to your partner and acting like it never happened was the definition of having an affair. You wiped the tears before they could arise and called in your patient, trying your best to listen and sympathize as if you weren’t dying inside.

The week went by slowly, painfully slowly. You and Kate had planned to meet Friday night, and it was that night. You haven’t seen her since, but you haven’t been able to stop yourself from texting her nonstop. She didn’t mind though, if anything, she was as obsessed as you.

You two had called twice, it didn’t feel like enough but hearing her voice eased you better than anyone.

Before you could leave and see Kate, you had one more patient. You weren’t exactly dreading it, Yelena was always a sweetheart and you’d never complain about seeing her, but you so desperately needed to touch Kate again.

“So, Yelena, did you complete your homework for the week?” She nodded proudly, and you loved to see it. You smiled, rubbing her knee and thigh softly. She craved the comfort from you, the motherly acts you gave her that she wished to receive from her own.

“That’s great! Here,” You put your hand in the air and she gave you the high-five you were asking for.

“I…well, I cut off contacts with her, but I just was really struggling to press delete for her contact.” You nodded understandably and let a hum escape your lips.

“Alright, I understand. It’s not easy to let go of things you had a connection to, especially when going back on your older self who never thought something like this would happen, where you’d lose the one person you started to love and trust.”

“But I don’t understand why I loved her so much. We, uh, we slept together a few times and went on a few dates, but I could tell she was uninterested in the thought of anything more than sex. She didn’t even love me, but I was practically obsessed with her and I hate myself so much for it, you know?” You handed her a tissue from the box on the table which she accepted with a small ‘thank you’.

“We don’t choose who we love, Yelena. We choose who we keep, and you wanted to keep her, but trust me when I say this, this girl, is not worth ruining yourself over. If she truly cared about you, she’d be fighting for you the way you did for her.” She knew you were right, but it was never easy to let go of someone who had this much of a hold on you. You knew it too, Kate already had a certain hold on you that you couldn’t remove no matter how hard you tried.

“Y/N,” She asked, now at the end of your one hour together. “I was wondering if you could help me do the honors of deleting her number completely.” You agreed and once she gave you her phone, you pressed the contact she gave you. Your eyebrows furrowed at the name and picture, your eyes then following as they widened.

“Shit.” You muttered under your breath and nearly dropped the phone if it wasn’t for your other hand being there. Yelena looked at you weirdly, but you shook it off as cramps.

“S-so, you want me to delete her contact? Like, permanently?” She nodded and her leg bounced nervously. Her hand came to her mouth as she bit her nails, rocking back and forth as she watched you hesitantly press delete. It felt like you were deleting her from your life, but it only made it worse knowing you were seeing your client's ex. Well, if it was even counted as an ex.

“Uhm, I’ll see you next week then?” You said your goodbyes and rushed out nearly as fast as her. You drove with speed, your fingertips bouncing on the driver's wheel anxiously, you were doing all the bad habits you helped others grow out of. Kate was texting you repeatedly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

When you knocked on the door to the apartment at the address she had given you, it took only ten seconds for her to answer. She was about to say her greetings, until you pushed past her abruptly and walked back and forth in the room.

“Woah, woah, what’s wrong, love?”

“Don’t call me ‘love’, Kate.” She waited for you to stop pacing before approaching you. Tears were streaming down your face and she wiped them against your will.

“Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to guess?” When you stayed silent, she sighed heavily.

“You don’t answer any of my texts ‘till I start to think you’re going to ditch me here and then you come bursting in crying, and now you’re refusing to let me in so, please, just tell me what the fuck is going on, Y/N.” She loosely held onto your arms and searched your face for any sign but you gave none.

“I had a client come in today, one of my regulars. She’s been going for about a year-and-a-half now, she’s become like a daughter to me.” You were struggling to finish your sentence. She had led you to the couch now, and she was listening closely as you spoke. She was listening, and that was all you were asking for.

“Her name is Yelena Belova.” You saw the gears switch in her head as she leaned back, letting out a deep breath and resting her head in her hands.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.” You both sat in silence awkwardly, trying to figure out what to say or do in this situation. She suddenly stood up, your eyes watching her body as she walked to the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of liquor that you couldn’t quite make out from the cabinet and poured the drink in two red, party cups. She walked back to where you sat, handing you the cup and downing hers in one go.

“Are we going to talk about this?”

“What is there to talk about?” You looked at her, then your drink, and then back at her. She leaned down to your level, holding your chin and parting your mouth, grabbing your cup and slowly pouring the substance into your dry mouth. You closed your eyes, basking in the hard taste.

“There we go, good girl, sweetheart.” Her lip quirked up at the way your legs ever so slightly clenched together, almost invisible to anothers’ eye, but she picked up on everything about you. “I thought that was my nickname for you, sweetheart.” You teased her words, seeming to let go of the tense aroma you walked in with. You still weren’t fully relaxed, but the alcohol with a side of Kate helped ease you just a bit.

“Can’t I call you whatever I want? After all, you are mine, right?” She straddled your lap, her arms going around the back of your neck as she leaned in, brushing her lips against yours in a way that had you begging for more. She pecked you gently, but only once, she wanted you to fight for her touch.

“I’m all yours, Katey.” You gulped, feeling her fingertips playing with the hairs on the back of your neck and causing goosebumps to arise to the surface.

“Fuck, I love when you call me that.” You felt her hips start a slow rock on your thighs and rested your palms on her own, trying to guide her. She let you. She let you help guide her to an orgasm, hoping it would be as intense as the other day. She rolled her head back, exposing her neck to the only person in the apartment besides her, you. Your lips found place on the skin, trying your best to leave marks just like she had wished to do to you. She moaned, and the sound alone almost made you cum.

“Does that feel good, Katey?” You heard her, once again, growl at the nickname and smiled, realizing the effect you had on her.

“So good, mommy.” You paused for a moment and soaked in her words, but she didn’t seem to notice as she focused on the pleasure pooling in her panties. While in shock, you had accidently bitten down on her skin, hard. She moaned even louder, and, while you always had a suspicion she was into harsher treatment during sex, you never expected that.

“Oh God, I’m gonna-” She was cut off by her orgasm that came crashing down on her, leaving her body to still momentarily. You admired her body, the marks of your love that were starting to turn purple, the wetness residue on her panties, her blown out face, and her flawless hair. You had an obsession with it, it was just so perfectly silky and had just the right amount of curls to go with the straigtness that was her hair.

“That’s it, cum for mommy.” You played along, watching as her eyes trailed to your own and her lip was taken between her teeth. Your digits toyed with the button to her gray jeans, undoing it slowly and dipping your hand into her undergarments, teasing her clit just enough to get a whine out of her and grabbing her juices on your fingertips. You ran them over her mouth before she parted them, sucking your fingers as if her life depended on it.

“You’re so pretty, Kate..” She smiled around your digits, running her hands down your body and finding your breasts.

“You wanna come to bed with me, baby girl?” You nodded and she quickly got off your waist, dragging you along as she walked backwards to her open bedroom that was only covered by sheets hanging from the ceiling. She kept her hands interlaced with yours, your feet nearly tripping from hers as she landed on the bed with a soft thud, you following soon after her. Her hands continued to roam your body and found your breasts once more. You looked down at her, smiling at the way she seemed completely absorbed by you.

“Take this off…please.” She said, motioning to your shirt. You chuckled, leaning back to do as she said, hearing her breath fall short when seeing you in just a lacy bra.

“You like it?” She nodded. “Good, I wore it just for you.” As badly as she wanted to see your bare tits, she also loved the clothing that you wore just for her. It made her shutter knowing that you woke up this morning and searched through the best clothes, all for her. She could only imagine what was under your dress pants.

“If I’m taking off mine, you need to take off yours.” She quickly took discarded her shirt, tossing it somewhere on the floor and smirking to herself when she noticed your hand close to your crotch.

“You need some help with that?” You breathlessly nodded and, in an instant, she undid your bottoms, leaving you almost completely naked. You guessed her fast and effortless moves were from the many girls she had been with, but knowing you were the only one she wanted to truly keep made your heart warm.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” You could hear the truthfulness in her tone, and it could’ve nearly made you cry. No matter how many times you were complimented for your well-put looks, none of them meant as much to you as hers.

You unclasped your bra, letting her see you in full glory. You were nervous, she had never seen you entirely bare, but you wanted to fully give yourself to her, she deserved that and so did you.

“Katey, I-” You paused, the fear of her judgement filling your mind.

“Go on, baby.”

“I…I want to ride your face.” Your worries only gre with her silence, but they were instantly forgotten when she had started tugging your body forward to rest on top of her face, just like you wanted. But you could tell she wanted it even more than you.

“You won’t hurt me, baby girl, I want this.” You nodded and sunk down onto her, sighing in pleasure as her tongue immediately started lapping at your folds. She was like a starved animal with the way she ate you out, leaving no room for complaints on your end. She moaned at your taste and it shot vibrations through you. You gripped the headboard with one hand, the other playing with her soft hair. The need was too great, and your hips had a mind of their own as you started grinding on her tongue. She kept it in place, letting you take control without care of the pains in her jaw she would receive later on.

“Yeah, let mommy ride that cute fucking face!” Her hips seemed to also have a mind of their own as they started bucking up, her cunt clenching around nothing as your’s clenched around her mouth. Her fingers trailed down to her hole, slipping in with ease as she fucked herself to your sounds. It made her wetter than you could ever imagine, and you internally thanked the neighbor who took a vacation, it would’ve been beyond embarrasing if they heard how loud you two were being. She had probably gotten complaints from others before about the noise, but your mind wasn’t even able to process that thought as the only thing invading it was her. Your girl. Your Kate.

“Oh, Katey, mommy’s gonna cum in that slutty mouth of yours.” You grinned to yourself, letting your hands yank her head into place. You knew she loved the way you spoke along with the way you pulled her hair, she was just a kinky little fuck.

“Shit! I’m cumming, baby!” You practically yelled as the coil in your stomach snapped, causing her face to be coated in your juices. Her tongue continued to lap up any of you that tried to get away, she was greedy for your taste.

Only moments later and you were on your knees sprawled out on the bed, watching as Kate attatched the harness to her waist. She smiled in victory when she did and grabbed something from the closet, hiding it behind her bacn as she slowly trailed back to you.

“So, I was wondering if we could try a little something tonight.” You were worried to hear what it was going to be, but when you saw handcuffs being placed next to your body it eased into excitement.

“Who exactly is going to be the one getting handcuffed?” Without responding she latched them both around your wrists, keeping your hands behind your back and smirking when realizing you were completely at her mercy.

“Wish I could just, take a picture of you like this. Maybe I’d send it to your husband, or your friend, make them realize how much of a slut you are for someone you just met.” She cupped open your mouth, spitting onto your tongue and making you keep it there until drool was rolling down your chin. She grabbed her polaroid camera, snapping the picture of you and letting it rest to dry. She turned you around, giving a few smacks to your ass and snapping another picture, capturing the red hand print.

“I can’t decide whether I want to gag you and make you drool like a brainless slut while I fuck you, or if I want to hear those pretty little moans of yours.” Her strap teased your ass, her fingers playing with your clit and making it difficult to speak. You whined when her tip eased into your tightest hole, only for her to pull out right after.

“We’ll save that for another day. But right now, I wanna fuck this precious pussy.” She eased into you once again, this time not pulling out as your warm walls wrapped around her and tried to force her to stay in place, missing the feeling of being full but needing the feeling of being filled by her even more.

“God, you’re so fucking tight. I wish I had a real dick, then I’d never pull out.” Her tongue licked a stripe up your neck before she left multiple kisses like you had done to her earlier one, only this time she was the one making you cum. Her lips trailed down to your shoulder, leaving a shiver to traven down your spine.

“Awh, does mommy like being fucked like a whore?” Her thrusts started hard, giving you barely any time to get used to her size. It made you whimper seeing her have no mercy, yanking your hair back and making you rest your head in the nape of her neck. Her lips sloppily connected with yours, her tongue playing with your own as she could taste the alcohol on your breath, she knew hers was the same.

She suddenly disconnected herself from you, pushing you to lay flat on the bed as she got on top of you, straddling your back thighs and thrusting herself back into you. The strap rubbed delightfully against her clit and had you yearning for more. The camera that was sat close to you on the pillow was suddenly pulled into her grasp. She aimed it to your face, resting hers next to you and getting the perfect shot of the mascara running down your face along with the beads of sweat dripping down her chin. The lack of AC wasn’t helping her overheating problem, but it only made the sex that much hotter.

“Ah! Kate, I-” She didn’t let you finish before she was speaking, overrulling your voice with her own.

“Does Steve fuck you like this? Can his tiny dick ever come close to mine?” You shook your head quickly, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the bed sheets with all of your might.

“My little whore, you are. You think you could ever be a mommy, hm? I don’t think mommy’s get tied up and fucked by their little girls, you agree?” Her harsh words were turning you on more than you’d like to admit, and she noticed. She could feel the wetness seeping onto your thighs.

“Oh, you disgusting little bitch. You fucking disgust me, Y/N.” She tugged on your hair once more, pulling your face back so she could whisper into your ear. Her mouth enclosed on your earlobe and your legs shook from her statement alone.

“You’re gonna cum already? Fuck, you’re a needy little thing, aren’t ‘ya!” Your orgasm was shortlived as she was already trying to pull another one out of you. You were gasping for air, only for your mouth to be filled by her fingers. Her nails were painted black and her rings were still on.

“You’re so fucking annoying with those pathetic whines, you think anyone’s gonna want to hear that shit? You’re lucky I’m even touching you right now, you dirty slut, I could be fucking anyone else but instead I’m listening to your whining.” Your hips were nearly bruising with her harsh pace, but that wasn’t stopping her.

“We’re not stopping until I’ve had my fill, baby girl.” If she had enough money, she would’ve bought a cum-filled strap-on so she could watch it pool out of you. The thought alone was what tipped her over the edge and caused you to release once again. You both came together, her free arm holding your body close to hers in order to feel you. Her lipstick was spread across different areas of your body and now smudged on her mouth. Your makeup was ruined and painted down your face. The marks that you had previously asked Kate not to give you were shining in the dim light of her room, and without even seeing them, you knew they were bad.

“Thank you for coming over, baby.” She undid you handcuffs after pulling out of you, tossing the toys at the end of the bed and pulling you into her, kissing you hard with no room to dissapoint.

“Mommy, huh?”

“It was the heat of the moment.” You both chuckled, your foreheads still resting together as she laid you down. You were both too tired for aftercare, but she promised you she’d do it in the morning. But you hesitated.

“You’re staying the night..right?” You sighed and refused to make eye contact with her, knowing that if you saw the hopefulness on her face it would only make it harder to deny her. But you made the mistake of looking, noticing the growing pout on her lips that made it impossible to resist her.

“I’ll call Steve, tell him I had some work business and was too tired to come home and am staying at Wanda’s.” She smiled, bigger than you’ve ever seen her smile, and hugged you tightly in fear of waking up with you gone. You knew you were in deep shit if you continued this, but you had always told your clients that there were times they’d have to put themsleves first, and this was one of them.

:))

[jwirecs]

Recommended BTS Fics of February - March 2023💖

hello, hello! here are my bts recs of february - march! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers 💝

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Give Yourself A Try || @miscelunaaa​​ 🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ You’ve got an enormous crush on Yoongi, the machine tech, and, if Jimin is to be believed, the feeling is mutual. A broken espresso machine and a snow storm are all it takes to bring everything crashing down around you.

Pure Affection || @yooniful​💕✅💯

↳ jungkook falls in love with the most innocent person he’s ever met

The Airdrop Incident || @yoon-kooks​​​💕✅

↳ You accidentally AirDrop a racy photo of yourself in strappy lingerie to your hot and arrogant neighbor Min Yoongi.

Our Not So Secret Secret || @thvhoe​​​🔞💕✅💯

↳ When someone learns that Jungkook has been secretly keeping a puppy in his room despite not being allowed to, he turns to ask the only other person who knows about his secret for help. And suddenly you two—who had long been bitter enemies—get very close.

Spellbound || @yoonivy​​​🔞💕💔✅

↳ The only reason you agreed to do this magical ritual with Park Jimin’s Circle was for the sake of your own Circle - to strengthen your individual magic. Yes, that means you’ll have to fuck him, but no, you weren’t happy about it because you hate Park Jimin. Once again, you were only doing this for your Circle.

Care For You || @archivedkookie​​​💕✅

↳ Yoongi will always care for you, no matter what.

Cherry Lips || @guqwrvte​​​💕✅

↳ you start using a new lip balm and jimin loves the taste.

Happiness Looks Good On You || @peachywritess​​​💕✅

↳ (the title says it all.)

In Which.... || @onlyswan​​​​💕🔄💯💯💯💯

↳ (no summary, but if you want to feel soft and fluffy inside, this you should read their collection!)

Plan A Trois Gone Wrong || @peachypinkygloss​​🔞💕💔✅

↳ Jealousy is a bad flaw, Jungkook knows it, but was this threesome really a good idea?

Starboy || @thvhoe​​​ 🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ Jisung still has feelings for you, even though he'll never admit it. So when he starts dating someone who looks way too much like you, and then shows up unannounced on the same day that Jungkook does, well, let's just say Jungkook is done playing games.

Sweet Promise || @7deadlysinsfics​​​​ 🔞💕✅

↳ hoseok is a romantic. he adores all the cheesy, cringey things about love, especially valentine’s day. there’s one problem, though: you hate all the cheesy, cringey things about love, including valentine’s day. but you do love your boyfriend, and for him, you’re willing to put aside your aversion for the holiday, especially when he promises you something you’ve been dying to try with him

Enemy || @bonny-kookoo​​​​​💕💔🔄

↳ The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Or alternatively: Jungkook has no idea what to do with you.

Lavender Lemonade || @euphoricfilter​​​​​​💕✅

↳ you love spring and namjoon loves you.

Put Your Records On || @mysingularitybts​​ 🔞💕💔🔄💯

↳ (there wasnt a summary, but i do suggest you give this one a read!)

Secret Story Of The Swan || @purpleyoonn​​​💕✅

↳ You were staring into the stream, contemplating life when someone decided to take matters into their own hands.

Sugar & Spice || @bonny-kookoo​​​💕🔄 (not too sure on the genre quite yet)

↳ In which Jungkook really wants people to love you just as much as he does - or maybe not.

The Life Of A Tyrant || @euphoricfilter​​​💕✅

↳ it’s hard to hide you from the world when you’re on the run.

Enchanted || @purpleyoonn​​🔞💕💔🔄

↳ The realm under King Min’s rule had been under war for over. thirty years, a war within the inhuman species with origins no one knows. Your presence was brought into awareness when found by the king under the rubble of your home. You are plunged into a world you had only ever seen from the outside, and don’t know how long you can last.

Fight or Flight || @thvhoe​​🔞💕💔✅

↳ You want to disappear and sink into the ground—we're talking code red. As a result of the horrible events of accidentally sending your nudes to your best friend's brother, your life appears to change drastically. Beautiful, arrogant, and quickly developing into a star fighter—many factors should prevent you from falling for Jeon Jungkook. For years, you've kept your feelings for him a secret. Yet, ever since he has seen you in your underwear, it can become difficult to conceal your emotions when you see him practically daily.

Fxck A Fxckboy! || @yoongifis​​🔞✅

↳ where you sort of hooked up with one of the school’s biggest fuckboys but end up leaving him hanging and never contacting him because…well…why not? somehow the universe brought you two together and now you’re left with dealing with him because he apparently caught feelings for you.

Groupie || @joonsy2k​​🔞💕✅

↳ Your best friend Jimin invites you to see his band, painted duck, perform at your local bar. You didn't expect to end up backstage with the bands lead bassist.

Ivory Paws || @yminie​​​​🔞💕💔✅

↳ Winter time brings Christmas, and the snow outside brought you a stray cat. But your little companion is far more unique than meets the eye, and in a time of need, he becomes the biggest surprise and best holiday gift of them all.

Regroup || @drvmekoo​​​🔞💕💔🔄💯

↳ Living with a roommate isn’t always smooth sailing. Whether it’s being plagued by a history of conflict, having met under bizarre circumstances or simply falling in love with the one person you know you shouldn’t be falling for. Are you ready to put pen to paper and sign away on that room for rent? After all, “the fate that brings people together is not a cord so easily cut”

Room For Rent (Bangtan Collab) || @m-yg93​​​🔞💕💔🔄💯💯💯💯

↳ Living with a roommate isn’t always smooth sailing. Whether it’s being plagued by a history of conflict, having met under bizarre circumstances or simply falling in love with the one person you know you shouldn’t be falling for. Are you ready to put pen to paper and sign away on that room for rent? After all, “the fate that brings people together is not a cord so easily cut”

Summer Nights and Morning Dew || @jeonstudios​​​​💕💔✅💯

↳ “Look, I don’t care. You can’t trust people, and we need to protect what’s ours, okay? So do us all a favor and take off those rose-colored glasses.”

Wicked As They Come || @caelesjjk​​ 🔞✅

↳ you’ve been undercover at one of Min Yoongi’s many hotels in the city for the past week. you’re there because of the rumors that have been spreading regarding his vampire employees feeding off of his human guests. what you don’t expect to happen is Min Yoongi discovering your true intentions in his hotel and offering you a very interesting ultimatum: pretend to date the vampire CEO to help appeal to his human guests, or quickly find out just what kind of monster he can really be.

A Place For Us || @raplinesmoon​​​💕💔✅

↳ It’s always on the most momentous occasions that things fall apart - but with some luck, love is always enough to bring people back together.

Father and Son || @serendipitous-seven​​​💕✅

↳ moments with yoongi and his son while they enjoy a trip together

Vegas || @chimivx​​​​💕✅💯

↳ Dating Yoongi as an Idol used to be easy, and effortless, like pouring you two a glass of wine after one of his shows... However, after the birth of your surprise baby girl, those effortless days have gotten a little harder, you being unable to travel with your daughter. After one lucky doctor's appointment though, things seem to shape up...

Baby (You Complete Us) || @purpleyoonn​​​​🔞💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ you wear your bracelet for ten years, and finally give up the hope you would find your soul group, only for BTS to put theirs on and see what they were missing. (sorry theres going to be a whole lotta fics from this author. and the reason is....i just fcking love their writings)

Doughnuts and Shell Casings || @purpleyoonn​​​🔞💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ you finally gather the courage to leave your routine and do something different. your expectations are blown out of the water as you meet your soulmates in a less-than-expected way.

Iridescent Love || @imnotlauriane​​​🔞💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ From a fated meeting to a life filled with wonders, the path of discovery is much, much harder than what I had prepared myself for. Especially when my identity, the only one I knew of ends up being a total lie

Lies || @i-am-baechu​​​💕💔✅💯💯

↳ Being friends with a famous boy group is laughable but here is L/N Y/N, best friends with Bts. Years of friendship and trust but all of sudden they start acting differently and it makes her question everything

Sleeping Temptation || @yminie​​​​🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ From a fated meeting to a life filled with wonders, the path of discovery is much, much harder than what I had prepared myself for. Especially when my identity, the only one I knew of ends up being a total lie

The Little Things || @xddaengx​​​​​💕✅

↳ You've never been more glade to have seven men by your side to help with your recovery. Even when times get tough you know they have your back.

I Hate You, Will You Marry Me? || @bangtansmaus​​​💕💔✅💯

↳ you are just living your life. finally graduated college, living with your best friend, working your dream job as a choreographer. that is until you a get a text from someone you never thought you’d hear from again asking for a favor. he knows your secret and uses it as blackmail to get you to help him.

Nonsense || @muniimyg​​🔞💕💔✅

↳ jimin and oc know each others secrets. they’re virgins and make a deal to lose it to one another. after that, they keep hooking up and everyone can’t believe their eyes when they catch glimpses of the two getting along

Your Universe || @muniimyg​​​🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ regretting rejecting oc, min yoongi goes through a circus load of gestures and tasks in attempt to be loved again

How Long Will We Fall || @jiminrings​​ 💕💔✅💯

↳ if it’s fate, it should already be set onto your skin — that’s why jungkook’s initials are already on your finger. he’s always there for you, but not only for you. if you’re his fate, he’d rather not have it. alternatively, jungkook’s your soulmate, but he doesn’t want to be.

My Home || @purpleyoonn​​​💕💔✅💯💯

↳ It was close to winter, and your medicine was nearly complete for you to use. But when it came to, you helped another whose wounds were life threatening. Now, random items kept showing up on your porch, with each item bringing you closer to the creature you healed. And when he returned, he saved you. Now, with him, you felt like you were home.

Yoongi’s Lullaby || @jiminrings​​💕💔✅💯💯

↳ there’s two things you can conclude from yoongi’s shapeshifting service: a) it’s great for his wallet, and b) it’s crushing for your heart. alternatively, yoongi’s your best friend and soulmate, and you have to watch him fall in love over and over again.

Captivity || @jimilter​​​ 🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ Maybe you shouldn’t be so attracted to one of your kidnappers and maybe you shouldn’t give in to his advances – but Park Jimin is way too irresistibly sexy and persistent in his pursuit of you for his own good.

Goodbye To Hello || @vminity21​​​🔞💕💔✅

↳ After a devastating break up, you immediately move in with your sister, leaving behind the country life to relearn the ups and downs of the city. Adopting a cat and gaining a new job at a retail store part time, life seems to gradually bring happiness and healing, but you did not expect for it to become even more interesting when you stumble upon the enticing yet alluring tattoo artist, Jeon Jeongguk. Will this be an adventure of a lifetime? Or will hello always lead to goodbye?

Off-Screen || @thvhoe​​​​🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ Being a woman in the gaming industry is challenging, especially when all eyes are on you. What happens, though, when your biggest rival finds out that the well-known streamer who consistently wins games is not who people believe they are? Or You've spent your entire life pretending to be a guy online, so when one of the biggest steamers finds out, things get even more tricky.

Do check out all of the other BTS Fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

[husbandhoshi]

Congrats on 3k!! You deserve it sooo much💌

If you have the time (and only if you have the time!) I would like to request a sort of a short bullet point fic. Or more so just your thoughts on the following: moving in with seventeen. Who is the one that labels every box? Who will live out of moving boxes for the next year. And yeah, just overall the vibes of new beginnings and promises😶‍🌫️

Pls only do write something if any of this inspires anything, if not pls don't feel burdened to write anyway!

I love your writing, so once again: congrats on the succes💗

seungcheol thinks it's one huge adventure. yes, he will be the person lifting the stupidly heavy boxes at the store. yes, he will make it a competition to build furniture as fast as possible (and race to take it all apart when you discover the desk legs are all different lengths because someone thought he could figure it out without the manual). even among the graveyard of boxes and bubble wrap and those huge styrofoam slabs he keeps chasing you with, seungcheol is happiest to lay with you on your bare, naked mattress (because he forgot to order sheets). he's planning what pictures of the two of you he wants to put on the walls. this is the first time he's owned a welcome mat and he's not even mad about it. it's all yours, together, and there's no bigger adventure than that.

his walk-in closet. bowls the perfect size for a portion of ramen, plus an egg. the lego taj mahal with two pieces missing that he insists will turn up sometime. these are some of the things jeonghan's not sure he can bring to your new apartment. it's not that he doesn't want to move in with you--he just doesn't know if he can. hell, you kissed him for the first time on the tiny futon in his living room, and he just learned it's too small for your new place. it's not until he watches you, later that day, play jenga with the toiletries on his bathroom counter because there's never been enough space for the two of you, that he realizes maybe it isn't such a bad thing to try something new. he imagines leaning you against a new sink, with that carrara marble you've been talking about, and he might even say he's looking forward to it.

you don't think there's a day you haven't seen joshua on zillow. look at my pinterest board, he'd say, and you wouldn't have it in you to ask how the hell you're affording that couch or if you really need a salt lamp that badly. you've lost count of the times your thursday nights consisted of a: your favorite chinese takeout and b: watching celebrity architectural digest videos. but joshua can't help it--to him, there's really nothing that would make him happier than waking up next to you in a bed you picked together. now if it was a midcentury modern canopy bed? even better. he can't wait to use his fancy little espresso machine to make your morning latte and grab your coat from the rack you got from that shop in LA before he kisses you before you head off to work. but they're all just things (pretty, shiny ones, albeit)--more ways he can show you the love you deserve.

junhui loves a good open house. early on in your relationship, you would dress to the nines before pretending to shop for a mansion you could never afford. junhui would comment on the door handles and the crown molding like he was a property brother, and then you'd finish the night off making out in the mcdonald's drive-thru. things are a little different now that you actually can afford a home. what if you end up not liking it? will you get tired of the wallpaper? will the closet be big enough? but surprisingly, none of this seems to matter when you walk into the house. (what's on your mind? you ask him. n-nothing, he says.) but he's really thinking about feeding you in that kitchen and spending the morning looking out those bay windows. how beautiful you'll look greeting him from that front door. needless to say, he's sold.

you find soonyoung hiding in the kitchen at your housewarming party. just an hour earlier, he was dumping cans of sparkling water in the jungle juice to make it more "adult" (as if it would erase the fact that an entire bottle of everclear had already disappeared into the mix). the hour before that, he was cleaning like a madman despite there not being much to clean yet. he held the duster the wrong way and you think he got more windex on the ceiling than on the windows. darling, what's wrong? you ask. his little, drunken hands wrap around yours so he can bring them to his cheeks. i just realized this is all ours. like, all of it, he wails, teary, and you realize he is far too many drinks down. it's only after you've sent him to bed with a water and a kiss that you really think about what he said. the hardwood floors, the duvet, the misshapen tiger plushie on the couch, him--all ours.

wonwoo is not an easy person to live with. the first three things he unpacked were, in order, his table, his first monitor, then his second monitor. then he ruined your perfectly curated aesthetic with his neon red keyboard and a gaming chair that would make any interior designer cry. the final straw is when wonwoo manages to kill the one and only houseplant you have, the single thing holding your home decor together. but he's trying, he really is. he's bought a silly little throw blanket for your couch (aren't the tassels fun? he says, wiggling the fabric between his hands). his ugly lamp has been replaced by a strange glowing cat light and there's a sticker on his computer tower. he buys a succulent and you have a little naming ceremony in your kitchen. and it lives, against all odds!

jihoon doesn't know the difference between a chaise and a sectional. cherry and mahogany look the same to him. and god forbid you ask him to choose between terrazzo and subway tile because he really thinks both of them look good and, no, he's not just saying that to make your life harder. jihoon isn't good at the hgtv stuff, but he's happy to move all the boxes. it's only when he's unpacking said boxes that he finally gets it. (the vase that came with the first bouquet of flowers he bought you. the record player you got him for your first anniversary, now fingerprinted, well-loved. matching valentine's day teddy bears, worn and baby pink.) you're standing on a stool stacked on top of another stool trying to hang a poster, and this is what home looks like.

seokmin wants to live in the ikea showrooms. you can't blame him--sometimes, when there's nothing better to do, you'll spend your afternoon in a bedroom that's not yours. seokmin will try on the lumpy blazer from the closet, and you'll beckon him to your sprawling king size bed, the one sat next to the painted on windows and floating shelves. honey, come to dinner, you'd say. he'll peek over your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle, and you open the lid to a big, steaming pot of nothing. micke or lagkapten? you ask, completely unseriously. but he's thinking about it, really thinking about it. in his mind, he's building a home together, silly furniture piece by piece, counting down to the days when you really can agonize over plants and how many drawers you want in a desk.

when you got the keys to your new place, mingyu insisted you eat jajangmyeon to commemorate move-in day. unfortunately, he failed to account for the series of delays that led to you having absolutely no furniture to move in on said move-in day. but mingyu is nothing if not a man with a plan, so he runs to the store and buys the cheapest assortment of kitchen tools and ingredients for the world's most unlikely dinner. we really don't have to do this, you laugh, the backs of your legs cold on the kitchen counter. but i want to, he insists, holding out a spoon for you to taste. we have to christen the apartment. you eventually do christen it the right way (involving: lots of tongue, even more laughter), but you might prefer, just a tiny bit, the night you sat on the empty kitchen floor and fed mingyu out of a pan.

minghao has rearranged the living room four times now. every time you walk in, it feels like you've entered someone else's house. it doesn't look right, he says, hands on his hips like his life depended on it. you don't know how to tell him they all look right, every single version. in the first version, all cardboard furniture and plastic wrap, you gave up on deciphering the wifi setup and built a fort instead. the second involved an ottoman in the walkway, which you almost immediately stubbed your toe on (and laughed so hard you cried). in the third, the couch faced away from the adjoining room, and you accidentally spooked minghao so badly he almost broke his knitting needles. but it's all perfect, every iteration, because you're doing it together--a hypothesis he's more willing to believe when you shut him up with a kiss.

don't look now, but seungkwan is buying another doodad at your local sunday swap meet. it's a small painted figurine of a bear in a nightcap, which he simply points to and says that's me. you don't have it in you to mention the fact that you're currently unpacking his seemingly never-ending assortment of doodads and you couldn't possibly know where one more would go. it's only when you're getting ready for bed that you catch the little bear in the glow of the alarm clock light. there's already a turtle with a hat in the medicine cabinet (jeju, last summer). on top of the fridge, a woodcarving that says EAT. (tj maxx, 2 years ago. it still makes you laugh). even though you just moved, all these little seungkwan-isms make home a little more home.

you wouldn't call vernon a planner. his version of housewarming is watching you play the sims. but real life doesn't have nearly as much poolside drama or five story houses--just packing peanuts and 50 page appliance manuals. aren't boxes just drawers? vernon asked you one day. no, but that's how it always starts. two weeks after move-in, vernon cooks you breakfast with a pan procured from a cardboard box. by three weeks, you know the exact box everything is in. (you still haven't been able to find vernon's avril lavigne let go album, though.) it's only when you're eating dinner on top of the box that your dining table is in when you say, vernon, baby, i think we need to actually move in. he takes one look at you, who's wearing mismatched socks and his boxers because your shorts are underneath the tv box, and his smile nearly splits his cheeks. yeah, i think so too.

if you had asked chan what his dream house looked like, he would say it had a wraparound porch, a white picket fence, and a pool. your new apartment has none of those things. the length of your bedroom is a little more than one and a half times the length of his body and he's not even that tall. if he looks out the window he can see right into his neighbor's apartment (three cats and no bitches. almost like he's living next to wonwoo). and his feet stick out of the tub. but he's learning how to live in small spaces. he likes the squeeze of your bathroom, how you have to sit on the counter if you want to both brush your teeth together. he likes the bump of your elbows when you wash the dishes together. most of all, he likes falling asleep with you slotted to his side--even in your tiny bed, he wouldn't mind having you a little closer.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 51 (Unflirty Heather Said 'No More Free Love!')

Brindleton Pawspital was always a hotbed for local gossip. More than once, Heather caught her employees and her customers cheating on their spouses in the lobby - sometimes even in the exam rooms!

Heather was so unflirty, the town's hands-off approach to extramarital romance had started to get a little disturbing. And now she had a boyfriend in town, so the last thing she wanted to think about was "free love."

None of it should have been any of her business, but she could get drawn into salacious rumours as much as the next person - especially if they were making out right under her nose!

But she had a hunch one such rumour would interest her mother, and called her one morning to pass on what she'd learned.

"I heard a rumour about the old creature keeper and grocer from Henford. You remember Hayes Harms and Abby Goldbloom, don't you?"

"Of course! They moved to Brindleton Bay and had three children together! It was a lovely happy ending to all those years of pining."

"Apparently it wasn't always happy ever after once they got here. Do you remember that old vet tech who used to work here when I was in high school? Our pets loved her, but then she left town without a trace and no one ever heard from her again."

"Emi Kudo! She was so sweet. I always wondered what happened to her!"

"I overheard someone at the clinic say she left town pregnant with Hayes' baby when he chose his wife over his mistress!"

(She had twins, and she lives in world. I know where she is and she will be back. Less so for her and moreso because one of those twins is evil and I've earmarked them to be hated by all of us for good reason in the future, so that'll be fun!)

Daisy gasped. "You're kidding? He did that to his wife?! He was always so quiet and unassuming."

"It might not be true. I'm not about to talk to the Harms, but if it is true, he might've been influenced by the free love action plan. It makes people flirty with people they barely know, or know are married. They're practically possessed. And all for influence! I can't imagine seeing someone else flirt with Conrad!"

"So maybe you should try to repeal it," suggested her mother. "Your father spearheaded a couple campaigns to get rid of things like public fighting here in Henford, and with how popular you and your clinic are, you should be able to get enough signatures in no time."

Taking her mother's advice, Heather started working to convince the locals to repeal the provision and replace it with something less scandalous, like support for performing arts.

Campaigning was going well, and she was happy to see Cassandra's brother Alexander one morning when he arrived with one of the Goth family cats. "Al, hi! How was the honeymoon in Sulani?"

"It was incredible. Lydia didn't want to leave."

"I hear it's beautiful there. But I expected to see your mother with Frankie today. Is she alright?"

"Oh, she'll be fine. She's just packing up Diego's things and she'll either be throwing them into the bay or taking them over to the Chopra place down the road. I don't think she's decided yet."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

"She found Diego in bed with Rahul Chopra. She broke up with him on the spot and I heard Diego and Rahul ran down to the courthouse to get married the same day."

"I'm stunned," said Heather. "Who gets left by their partner for another man twice but your poor mother? I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. She was fine after my father left and she knows she'll be fine again. She has no intention of being anything less than fabulous this time around, too. She's already talking about taking a trip to Ciudad Enamorada to test out the singles scene."

Heather chuckled. "I believe it." She grabbed the clipboard next to her espresso machine. "I'm not sure if you checked the community board on your way in, but I'm actually sponsoring a repeal of the free love action plan this weekend. It won't stop everyone from unnecessary public displays of affection, but it might be nice if your mother's next partner is a little less focused on scoring romantic influence points around town."

Alexander reached for her pen. "I know my mother can take care of herself, but I'm happy to sign it. Lydia's the only one for me as it is."

Once Alexander signed the petition, she had enough signatures for it to pass. Though a few of the town's randier residents were unhappy, most Brindletonians appreciated that their marriages were now much less under threat.

Heather returned home to find her son and Conrad laughing and playing helicopter upstairs, and she smiled with gratitude. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Diego really did this and I was so annoyed. I went out of my way to hook up this randomly generated townie spawn with THE Bella Goth after she thought he was handsome, and spent way too much of my time during Cassandra and River's wedding building up their friendship and flirting. The one thing I didn't do was get them married because it felt way too soon. And he repaid me like this!

One might say it was the final straw in the Watcher's tolerance for the Romantic Aura neighbourhood action plan that had been on by default since Heather moved, and set my unflirty sim in motion. 😂 Although I'm big on control over sims in-world and that's the real reason I don't like this action plan, Heather's negative moodlets from catching the cheaters messed with her work so it had to go. When she was upset she couldn't be warm with animals, so she couldn't start exams unless she was rude, which meant exams were taken by her less-skilled vet techs and didn't help the rating I'm already struggling to raise!

FUN(?) FACT: I never got any good screenshots of the cheating because it always happened out of nowhere with sims I had no control over, so I tried to stage some to set up this post (AFTER the repeal because I'm so good at this!) and Liberty (Lee) Huntington understood the assignment just enough, but this is how Brant Hecking reacted to getting hit on by Mitchell Kalani 🙉 😂:

[zerofuckingwaste]

Easy zero waste tip no. 6: Find out what caffeinated beverage you actually want/need, then learn how to make it; aka "The Starbucks Lie"

Tl;Dr: You may be misinformed about how coffee actually works, leading you to purchase beverages that you may not actually like, that may not serve the purpose you want them to serve, and you can save money (and the environment!) by learning to make something you'll actually like at home.

Last week, I went to Starbucks to get a pumpkin chai latte, because I'm not perfect and needed to fulfill a craving on a bad day- but at least I used a reusable cup. Anyhow, while I was there, I witnessed the following conversation, not for the first time, nor the last, which I'm sure is commonplace:

Barista: What can I get you?

Customer: Do you have a dark roast? I like my coffee dark.

B: We just have a medium roast ready, but I can do a dark roast pourover.

C: Nah, that's not going to be enough caffeine for me, and I need drip coffee, not anything fancy. I'll have an Americano, then- espresso beans should be high enough in caffeine!

Now, if this seems like a reasonable exchange, that's ok- you're likely not a trained barista, and even if you are, there's a chance your training was at least a little bit wrong. Let's walk through it point by point, to explain why this exchange made me want to tear my hair out of my head.

"I like my coffee dark!" Most likely, this is false- studies have shown that people are most likely to say they want dark coffee, when they actually most enjoy a lighter or medium roast. Darker roasts are bitter, partially due to having more tannins- which is why they can cause more side effects, like headaches and digestive issues.

"Not enough caffeine" In fact, the longer (darker) you roast coffee, the more caffeine it loses. If you want a highly caffeinated beverage, you should opt for the lightest roast available.

"I need drip coffee, not anything fancy (pourover)" Pourover is essentially a method of making drip coffee one cup at a time. No machine or anything, it's the least fancy coffee option possible.

"Espresso beans should have high enough caffeine" The beans used for espresso are the same as the beans used for the drip coffee- they're just ground more finely before going through the machine.

"An Americano [...] should have enough caffeine" An Americano is a double shot with hot water, about 160 mg of caffeine if you're getting a 'grande'. A drip coffee that same size is over 300 mg.

This man claimed to love coffee, but didn't understand anything about it, leading him to pay $4.39 for 160 mg of caffeine instead of $3.28 for almost double that- keeping in mind that number could easily have been doubled again had he opted for the lighter roast. So, let's fix that.

1. Light or Dark Roast?

Have you ever wondered why Starbucks has a medium roast, the Pike Place, as their go to roast all the time? It's because it's the most middle of the road, bland option, completely inoffensive- not very good, but also, not too bad. It's a blend from a bunch of places, so there's no overwhelming flavor besides coffee with a slight hint of being burned. That burn taste everyone complains about, btw, is a result of the roast being too dark for them, hello tannins!

A lot of things happen to coffee as you roast it. Let's go through each point one by one:

The color changes. The darker the roast, the darker the roast- literally. This is best gauged with ground coffee, where you can see the average of the whole bean, not just the outer shell.

The mass decreases due to a loss of moisture. However, the bean actually expands in volume due to the strength of the cell walls. In essence, the density decreases.

Oils seep out from inside of the beans, coating them, and protecting volatile chemical compounds that give them flavor.

The caffeine content is lessened the longer you roast.

With high heat, the Maillard reaction occurs. While this reaction is responsible for the lovely color and the viscous, dark flavor notes, it's also responsible for breaking down the citric and tartaric acid, which causes the sweet and fruity flavors to dissipate. It also breaks down chlorogenic acid, creating caffeic acid and quinic acid, aka bitter, bitter tastes.

High heat also causes caramelization of sugars- but at a certain point, those sugars start to burn away.

Taking all this into consideration, we can begin to figure out what kinds of coffee you'll actually like. One quick note: always get single origin coffees. Each region has its own flavors, and if you're only getting coffee from one spot in your cup, then those notes will be amplified for your enjoyment.

A dark roast will have less caffeine, a stronger coffee bitterness, and very simple, up front flavors: chocolate, nuts, smoke, wood, etc. (My favorite tastes like dark chocolate with a hint of hickory)

A light roast will have more caffeine, a lesser amount of bitterness, and very complex, more nuanced flavors: citrus, caramels, fruits, florals, etc. (My favorite tastes like blueberries and white chocolate, with notes of almonds)

No two coffees are alike. My recommendation is that you purchase a bag of whole beans from your favorite local cafe or roaster based on your caffeine needs, and try out different beans until you find one- or two, or five, or a dozen- that you really love.

One quick note- a much, much greater flavor difference can be found in aerobic v. anaerobic roasted beans. I recommend reading into this process on your own, it's fascinating- both of my favorite coffees are anaerobic roasts, as it happens.

2. How should I make my coffee?

I'm a big fan of the affogato. I'm a dessert for breakfast kind of gal, so it makes sense; a hefty double shot over a scoop of ice cream. Absolutely divine; I pretty much only do espresso for myself, although my partner greatly prefers French press.

The overall rule for caffeine in your coffee is that the finer the grind, the more caffeine you're going to get out of the bean. That being said, that doesn't mean the final product will actually have more caffeine than another method, as different ways of making coffee require different amounts of coffee grounds. Keep the ratio of grounds to water in mind for this reason. However, you must remember that the perceived strength of the beverage- the concentration of flavors- is not necessarily correlated to the amount of caffeine. I'll now go over a few methods of making coffee which can be 100% zero waste (assuming you compost those coffee grounds!).

Cold Brew- You either let grounds freely float in water, or let them steep inside of a little filter bag. Let it rest overnight, up to 48 hours. If you like your coffee cold, and not a lot of effort, this might be your best bet.

Pourover- You put grounds into a little filter over either your cup or a pitcher. Pour water over the filter and let it drip down. If you like having a calming morning ritual, this might be for you. Essentially the same as drip coffee, except you don't have to care about a machine.

French press- You put grounds in the bottom of the press, then fill with hot water, and let it steep for a few minutes, then press the grounds down. If you don't mind a little work every morning, waiting a few minutes (when you could prep your breakfast, perhaps) then give this a go.

Moka pot- You pour water into the base, then put grounds into the basket, then screw on the top. Place on the stovetop, and remove as soon as the coffee begins to come out of the spout within. If you like a strong cup but don't want to invest in espresso, this is a great option. The pressure is too low for it to be true espresso, but it's very good.

Manual espresso- This is a bit more complex. It will be the same as automatic espresso, except there's no chance of the machine failing for any electronic reason. You fill a little basket with grounds, then tamp them down. Water is brought to temperature, then pressed through the espresso at a relatively high psi. If you want espresso, this is the way. You can get an entry level (Flair makes several that are fantastic) or you can get something high end with a built in boiler (I have a La Pavoni with an attached steam wand, great purchase).

Automatic espresso- Essentially the same as manual, but the machine does the pressing for you. If you love espresso but don't want to do a lot of work for it, this is a great investment! If you can buy used, do- just make sure the brand is one that offers replacement parts.

There are plenty of other options, but these are a good place to get started, when figuring out what works for you.

3. Why do I want my coffee?

Are you looking for a caffeine boost to get through a rough workday? Do you want something sweet to accompany your breakfast? Are you just bored?

Figure out why you want your coffee, then tailor your morning experience to your needs. If you need a caffeine boost for a rough workday, maybe don't do anything time consuming- prepare a middle of the road medium roast cold brew for the week on Sunday, and go ahead and grab a glass in your hurry out the door each morning. If you want something sweet with breakfast, get a light roast and a French press, and make it part of the routine for the meal. If you're bored, do pourover with a dark roast into a funky mug, or learn to steam milk to make latte art.

Really, coffee is something lovely, that you should enjoy, without mindlessly spending money on something that's not even good. As a bonus, you can support local businesses (coffee roasters and cafes), develop a new skill, and better the environment.

[milk5]

THE MILK5 COFFEE GUIDE VOL. 1

REMOVE #BADBEANS FROM YOUR LIFE FOREVER

If you are a #TrueBlueCoffeeHead and subsisting on supermarket beans and/or frequent visits to big chains like Starbucks, PLEASE help yourself (and your local community, the environment, coffee workers, etc) and buy a pour over filter and freshly roasted, quality beans from a local roaster. Explicitly seek out Fairtrade Organic/Smithsonian Bird Friendly certified beans if possible. The taste of shade-grown coffee is incredibly flavorful AND you can be certain that your beans aren't the product of yucky pesticides, actual slave labor, and the annihilation of millions of acres of rainforest.

To start with what you need, a goose-neck kettle and pour over carafe are good purchases, but a suitably sized mason jar and regular kettle still work on a budget. Learning how to make a great pour over will raise your home coffee game to professional standards without needing to spend literal thousands of dollars on a real grinder/steamer/espresso machine setup -- if you're able to buy all of these items new for less than a thousand dollars, you're going to be down a few hundos in exchange for some pretty shitty machines. Regardless, a pour over setup with good beans will pay for itself VERY rapidly, assuming it replaces frequent Starbucks visits or whatever other chain you were going to. If you frequent a LOCALLY OWNED coffee shop that you like, keep going! You're an important part of the ecosystem.

What about grinding the beans? Should I get pre-ground beans? Would a cheapo blender-like blade grinder work?

NEVER touch a blade grinder again. It doesn't matter as much if you have #BadBeans, but if you have good beans, ALWAYS use a grinder with a burr; blade grinders just chop up your beans randomly into particles of massively varying sizes, leading to simultaneous over-extraction and under-extraction, generally leading to wildly inconsistent flavors and low repeatability. Burrs will always grind the beans into uniform particles and ensure that you're always (more or less, every cup is different to an extent) getting a consistent flavor. Don't buy a burr grinder -- just bring your beans to a local coffee shop, buy a drink, tip well, and ask the barista if they could grind the beans for you when you can clearly tell that they aren't busy. I have NEVER been refused, just go to a place with less sour employees if they won't help you out. Specify the coarseness that you'd like; smaller grounds have a greater surface area, so they're extracted to a greater extent, resulting in a more intense flavor; coarse grounds are the inverse. Lots of people recommend medium-coarse for pour overs (about 80% coarse 20% fine), but I prefer the stronger flavor of medium/drip (dead middle, 50% coarse 50% fine). It's also better to grind your beans periodically, as freshly-ground beans will taste better, but it's fine to have it pre-ground or ground all at once if you aren't able to easily make coffee shop trips every week or two. As far as roasts go, there's an entire gradient for you to explore -- not just the few that I list here; light roasts have a more sour, fruitier flavor, medium roasts are well rounded, and dark roasts are rich and smokey. Medium-dark is my personal favorite.

Experiment!!! It's all about your own taste, after all.

How do I make a good pour over?

Again, it depends on your taste. My go-to is a vigorous fourth-cup of grounds to 300ml of water; this is easily on the stronger end, but it's what works for me. More common ratios are usually weighed out on a kitchen scale, so consider picking one up if you don't already have one. Document your process until you get to your favorite! I always stop the kettle a little before it gets to its terminal temperature, then pour just enough water onto the grounds to let it bloom -- wait for one minute, and then start pouring a small-ish portion of the water onto the grounds every 20 seconds (this is where my own technique varies the most, it usually takes between 3-4 minutes to finish since I'm not pouring standard amounts; some people DO measure their pours for even greater consistency). Use the stopwatch on your phone, it's much better than keeping track in your head. Make sure to distribute the water evenly over the grounds, particularly making sure to wash the grounds off the sides every pour. When I'm finished, I like to immediately take a sip to see if a splash of milk or half-and-half would help or hurt the cup -- I think a very good cup of coffee can easily stand on its own without anything else, but additives can absolutely help depending on your personal preferences. Just be sure to taste the black coffee before you add anything.

What if I like the syrupy sweet drinks? What about iced coffee?

From my experience working at/visiting coffee shops, Monin is the most common syrup brand I see at local places. As far as iced coffee goes, coldbrew would be probably be the superior option -- it's also pretty easy to make at your home. I'm not going to be writing a guide for coldbrew any time soon, so you're out of luck there. I also never steam my milk if I'm doing a pour over, so I can't really point you to an inexpensive way to do that. Just know that the cheap handheld stick-frothers do not do the same thing as an actual steamer.

What was that about certifications?

Fairtrade is a pretty notable certification for food items produced in areas that have a history for being exploited (so pretty much the bulk of the global south), it can get very complex -- read more about it here. The goal is to ensure that the workers and communities involved in the production of the product receive fair, livable wages, that labor conditions are safe and reasonable, and that the decisions around the production of the product are made by those directly involved in the labor. FTO refers to Fairtrade Organic, which just means that it meets the standards of both Fairtrade AND organic production -- I'm not exactly sure if the organic standards are based on where the coffee is sold, produced, or both, but regardless, it's still a bonus; organic coffee will almost ALWAYS be shade-grown, which is the way that coffee grows naturally. Since coffee is an understory tree in nature, shade-grown coffee is produced more slowly and under a canopy and thus does not require the forest to be damaged or destroyed to grow; however, not all organic coffee will necessarily take place in a completely natural, untouched rain forest setting. Industrial non-organic coffee is most often produced under direct sun in gigantic clear-cut monocrop rows and usually with massive usage of potentially harmful inputs like, such as various pesticides and fertilizers. Direct sun coffee grows faster, but it has a distinctly different taste and is easily the most damaging method of coffee production to both the environment and the local communities. Smithsonian Bird-Friendly is the most rigorous certification for coffee in particular; FTO is more or less a pre-requisite to achieve SBF. Coffee likes to grow in tropical, equatorial environments -- these environments are also the areas of the greatest bird diversity in the world (and, really, biodiversity in general) and the destination for most migratory birds during the winter. The coffee industry has destroyed literal millions of acres of rain forest across the world, which has resulted in the death of billions of birds worldwide over the past 50 years. SBF guarantees the FTO criteria PLUS the additional criteria that the coffee must be produced in forests that are more-or-less in their natural state with thriving diversity of endemic species of flora and fauna. It's harder to find SBF-certified coffee than FT(O)-certified coffee, but the Smithsonian website has a handy vendor locator here. I'm not confident that it works beyond U.S. vendors, so I apologize to anyone interested abroad. Note that some of these certifications may be exclusive to particular continents; I need to do more research on the subject, but the tropical forests around the world vary wildly -- this adds a level of complexity to the goals and criteria of a particular certification. I am confident that all of the certifications that I have mentioned apply to South and Central America (and most likely the Caribbean), so keep that in mind. Also, watch out for phony certifications; big corporations frequently buy out existing certification organizations and/or create new green-sounding organizations to fool well-meaning consumers.

Where should my brand new beans come from?

Like wine, the exact qualities of a bean depend on its terroir, or the specific methods and geographic factors involved in its growth. However, some countries have trends in how the coffee is generally grown; some counties will practice shade-growing more than others and some countries will practice direct-sun industrial methods more than others. As a rule of thumb, Arabica beans are mostly grown in shade or partial shade, while Robusta is generally grown in direct sun. Defer to certifications if applicable.

The following areas primarily practice shade-growing:

Mexico

El Salvador

Peru

Panama

Nicaragua

Guatemala

Cuba

Timor

New Guinea

Ethiopia

Burundi

Rwanda

Tanzania

Zambia (*)

Zimbabwe (*)

Papua New Guinea

Sulawesi

Timor + East Timor

India

The following areas primarily practice direct-sun growing:

Colombia

Brazil

Costa Rica

Hawaii

Yemen

Kenya

Angola

Benin

Central African Republic

Congo

Gabon

Ghana

Guinea

Equatorial Guinea

Ivory Coast

Liberia

Nigeria

Sierra Leone

Togo

Cameroon

Madagascar

Malawi (**)

Democratic Republic of the Congo

Sumatra (***)

Java

Vietnam

China

Jamaica

Again, this is just a rule of thumb; there are exceptions to both and I'm sure that I've left out several production areas. Most of this information comes from the blog Coffee and Conservation, written by ornithologist Julie Craves. I've only tried a very small percentage of these origins; so far, my favorites are Sumatran (Arabica, of course) and Peruvian.

*The source that I got this information from mentioned that some avoid Zambian and Zimbabwean coffee due to concerns of it helping fund violent conflict in the area; this particular article, however, is from 2006 and may be wildly out of date. I couldn't find much more info on this topic when I searched elsewhere.

**They primarily produce Arabica with organic methods, despite the sunny conditions.

***Sumatra is likely the most notable coffee-growing island in Asia; while the majority is Robusta grown on plantations that have deforested a horrifyingly large percentage of the island, the Arabica grown in the north is well-known for its far healthier growing conditions (shade + organic, usually) and extremely distinct flavor.

Volume 2?

I may eventually add on to this post, most likely with a Turkish coffee guide coming next. I used to make Turkish coffee quite frequently, but I would need to dig up my old favorite recipe and cezve first. French press and coldbrew stuff will be in the more distant future if at all.

If any of this info looks wrong, let me know and I'll edit the post :-)

Enjoy your cup!!!!

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

Coffee For Cuties (Genshin Impact)

Pairing: Thoma x m!reader

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Thoma <3

The coffee shop near your house was overpriced. The coffee tasted as if it was stale and the only good thing was the pretty blond boy that smiled at you every time you came up to the counter. If it weren't for him, you would have left this place a long time ago. You sat at the table in the far corner. The seat by the window perfectly faced the counter so you could watch him as he worked. Totally not creepy at all.

Thoma was his name. It was on his name tag with a picture of a poorly drawn (but still cute) dog. After the first week of going there, you two had bonded. Shy and quick small talk was the only thing you could manage. You had learned bits and pieces of information about each other. He was a senior in college. He never really said his major, but he did reveal that the coffee shop wasn't his only job. He only worked the most hours here because his best friend, Ayato, owned the shop.

"Staring at him again?"

Ayato was a menace, to say the least. He set down your cup of coffee as you looked up at his smirk. Your eyes narrowed and you slid the coffee closer to yourself. You thought Ayato would at least be considerate about your crush towards Thoma. Instead, he opted for teasing you about it and consistently threatening to tell Thoma your feelings. 

"Thank you for the coffee."

Ayato leaned against the table. "You know, you should just confess."

You rolled your eyes. "Why?"

"Because…" He leans even closer to you, his breath brushing against your ear. "I need entertainment."

"So instead of helping me, you're just going to watch?" You sigh and look at him. "You can at least tell me if he likes guys." 

"I am helping. Just look at him! That's someone who's jealous."

Your eyes flitted to where Thoma was trying not to look over to where you were sitting. He was rubbing down the counter with a rag. When he looked at you, he turned. Ayato laughed as he saw your expression. His hand tapped your nose. 

"You're welcome."

Before you could ask how in the hell that helped your situation, he left. You watched as Ayato walked behind the counter. Thoma asked him a question, causing Ayato to giggle and then shake his head. That bastard then went to the back, leaving Thoma with a defeated gaze. He refused to even look your way.

"Damn it."

You could've gone over there. You should have . But it wasn't so easy. If this were some romance novel, you'd swallow that anxious lump in your throat and get up. You two would talk, have a laugh over how stupid Ayato was, he'd ask you out, and then you'd waltz into the sunset holding his hand. Hands that you spent an indecently long time staring at as he expertly used the espresso machine. Hands that you wanted to- 

No. This wasn't the time. Now was the time to sulk over how pathetic you were. Thoma had never shown signs of interest in you. He was a nice guy. That was like, his default mode. He was probably nice to everyone . You were just a customer, after all. If anything, he probably thought you were a weirdo that came around too much.

"Uhm…" 

Your eyes focused on the blurry image in front of you: Thoma was rubbing his hands nervously, his face turned away from you. It wasn't often you got to see his full frame. The white apron he wore was tied snuggly against his waist. A black shirt with the coffee shop's logo hugged his lithe muscles perfectly. His blonde hair was slightly messy, a headband keeping it at bay as a ponytail rested perfectly on his shoulder. God, he looked like a divine being whose sole purpose was to serve the best coffee. 

"Hi…uh…hi." You wanted to slap yourself in the face. Was now the time to really clam up? 

Thoma turned towards you. He wasn't smiling. "About you and Ayato-"

You scoffed. "Me and him? What about us? First of all, there is no us . We're just friends, if that's what you're thinking. Well, maybe not even that? He's kind of a nuisance. Don't you think so? I mean I don't even know how you deal with him." 

"That's not what I wanted to say."

"What?"

"I just wanted to ask if you're ok?"

"Huh?" Your eyes shift over to Ayato who had revealed himself from his evil cave. He had his hand over his mouth as if trying to hide his smile. "Wha…what did he tell you?"

Thoma cleared his throat. "That you just broke up with your boyfriend."

You let out a loud sigh before gathering your stuff. You shoved everything in your bag angrily, muttering something to yourself about how you never wanted to come here again. Thoma seemed panicked as his eyes widened, his hands raising asif he wanted to keep you from leaving. You grabbed your coffee and chugged the rest of it down before slamming it back down on the table. 

"What's wrong? Oh god, was I not supposed to bring it up? I'm so sorry! Ayato said that you needed comfort so I-"

"Ayato was wrong." Your voice came out more snippy than you thought. Thoma winced, causing you to sigh once again as you put on your backpack. "Listen, Thoma, you're super sweet for checking on me. But I did not break up with anyone. Even if I had, it's not Ayato's business to tell."

"Oh. Well, I apologize if I crossed the line."

"You didn't. I need to go."

It didn't feel good to leave Thoma with a hurt expression. Like a wounded puppy, you just wanted to pat his head and call him a good boy that did nothing wrong. Because he didn't. It was Ayato that meddled too much. It was frustrating. It truly was. If you had less of a brain, you would have climbed behind that counter and choked him while calling him every name in the book. 

Calming down was what you really needed. It was winter, so the cool air hitting your cheeks felt nice. You didn't realize how heated you actually got. As you walked back to your dorm, you thought about if you were truly only angry at Ayato or at yourself. 

It was most likely a mixture of both. You spent so much time pining over Thoma that you didn't actually act on your feelings. To be fair, it wasn't like it was easy. He could be dating someone. Or even worse, he could be straight. When you finally were in bed, staring at the ceiling in moping, you knew you had to at least apologize. 

The next day, you stood outside the cafe wringing your hands together. You were so confident that you could apologize, but now that you were here, you realized it wasn't so easy. What if he didn't want to accept your apology? What if he didn't want to even talk to you? 

"Welco- well, look who it is." Ayato greeted you, if you could even call it that. Thoma was nowhere to be seen, so you walked up to the counter. "You walked out in quite a tizzy."

"Where's Thoma?"

"Not even a hello?"

You glared at him.

He held up his hands in defense. "Ok, ok. He's coming in soon. He said he was late."

"Good," You crossed your arms. "I have a bone to pick with you."

Ayato scoffed. "What? Haven't I been helping you?"

"No! You haven't! I'd much rather you stay out of it!"

"It's not like you're doing anything about your crush. Honestly, it's painful to see."

"So you tell him I just broke up with someone? How is that supposed to help?"

"Comfort. He gives you comfort, you two grow closer, then you date. Case closed."

You roll your eyes, wondering how this man was even in charge of a cafe considering he has no critical thinking skills. "Ayato, I'm being serious. I'd rather work on this at my own pace. You severely crossed a line. It's not your business to tell Thoma anything about me, especially if I didn't ask. Did you even realize you outed me to him?"

Ayato paused. His face grew slightly pale and then softened. "Jesus."

"Yeah. Exactly. I understand you're trying to help both of us out but at least ask . Now I don't even get to tell him about myself when I was ready."

"I'm sorry." 

"Yeah. Just…be more considerate."

There was silence as it sunk in on what Ayato truly did. He honestly didn't seem like a bad guy. He was just too eager to push his own agenda. Before you or he could say anything more, the door jingled. You turned to see Thoma huffing and shaking his hair out as he took off his beanie. Your heart melted at the sight. If there was anyone who was made to be the perfect partner, it would be him. 

"Sorry I'm late!" He smiled. His eyes fell onto you. You smiled sheepishly and waved. "Oh. Hey."

It was a less than enthusiastic greeting. You tried to push down the pain you felt and instead walked over to him. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Sorry…about yesterday."

He shook his head. "I get it. Ayato can be a pain."

"That may be true but…" You pouted slightly. "I had no right to use that tone with you."

"Why…why did he tell me that?"

"He was trying to uh- you know. Just...Uh…"

"You don't have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable!"

"It's not that, it's just-"

"How about I get you a drink? Your usual?"

You nodded. There goes your chance. If you could've slapped yourself without looking like even more of an idiot, you would've.

"Alright. I'll call you when it's ready."

Before he could leave, you pulled on his sleeve. "Before you go…He said that because he was trying to help me. Because-I kinda, well." You took a deep breath. "I really like you. Ok. I'm gonna stop embarrassing myself now so you can work."

Without looking at his reaction, you went and took a seat at your usual spot. It felt good to finally say it out loud. At the same time, you felt like your heart was going to explode . Was this how it felt to confess to someone? Without taking any precautions and just going for it? You wanted to throw up. To actually throw up. You sat back in your seat and zoned out, waiting for your drink.

"Order up!" Your name was called and you got up, staring at the ground as you sludged up to the counter. 

"Thanks," You mumbled, slapping down two five dollar bills. "Keep the change." 

Gripping the cup, you noticed there was something written on the side. Your mouth dropped open. Your eyes shifted from the drink to Thoma back to your drink. Instead of your name, it read “to the cutest boy”. Your head whipped to Thoma again. His whole entire body seemed to be consumed in a blush as Ayato stood next to him with a shit eating grin on his face. Thoma smiled sheepishly and you shyly looked away. 

“Shit.” You mumbled.

"If you'd like," Thoma's soft and melodic voice made you look at him with the utmost attention. "And if you're free afterwards we can…hang out?"

"Yeah. I-I'd like that."

"Cool. Me too."

Ayato let out a laugh. "Finally!"

[barachiki]

Here's a story because I mentioned the coffee I had:

In university, I used to be really addicted to caffeine. Like full blown shakes and teeth grinding and migraines and anxiety if I didn't get it. I had my own espresso machine, and I had a café right below my dorm where I'd get cheap triple shot lattes every day before class. I was so bad that I usually needed at least a little coffee to calm me down enough to sleep.

There was this class I took, Psychology of Adjustment. I have no idea what it was about anymore, but I do remember this one assignment. We had to break a habit using a method we had learned about, scientifically describe the process, write out the successes, failures and if you were using positive or negative reinforcement. We had three weeks to do this.

My friend Tony did his study on stretches. If he did his physio stretches before noon, then he'd get a piece of Halloween candy as a treat. A simple positive reinforcement.

Sleeping in was the habit I wanted to break, so my plan was that each day I slept in, I wouldn't be allowed my favourite thing: coffee. It was supposed to be a negative reinforcement study.

The thing is, I didn't know how addicted I was to coffee/caffeine. As well, I was horrifically depressed and I've been an insomniac since I was a kid, so I never got the sleep I needed. The task was impossible.

First thing I did was sleep in the first two days. So no coffee for me. I did the negative reinforcement for those two days... but by the third day, I was so beyond irritable, nauseous and headachy and shaky that I snuck some coffee even though I still slept in. Then over the next week, I was practically hallucinating without the caffeine, so I was shaking and making stupid bargains ('I only slept in a half hour so I should get half the coffee', 'Maybe I can just try again tomorrow and have a mocha tonight,' that kind of thing). With classes going until 9pm and trying to get up for 6am, I was fighting a losing battle with both sides of the study.

I quit even trying after nine days.

By the time I had to write up the study, I had no data, no results and nothing to show other than my failure. So I lied. I made up data, I fabricated these tables, notes and explained how I broke my habit and now only take coffee occasionally and I wake up on time cheerfully every morning blah blah blah.

My prof, who was not an idiot, asked me for my handwritten notes. I panicked and said I kept my laptop by my bed and wrote down the notes on my computer. I know he didn't buy it. He was a Psychology prof, who has seen a million of these assignments. But my writeup said all the right things, and it showed that I understood the concept, so I got a C instead of an F.

I realized later that not everyone was 'successful' with their studies, but still got good grades. I knew then that if I had explained how badly I failed my study in the assignment and why (discovering I had a caffeine addiction), I probably would have aced the assignment. After all, it wasn't about breaking the habit, but the process.

I think of this every once in a while, that it is possible to be perfect and still fail, but also it is possible to fail and still be perfect, if you take my meaning (or some other philosophical garbage like that...)

I also know now that denying an insomniac university student her coffee was ambitious and idiotic. I should have just done the stupid Halloween candy thing.

[writeforfandoms]

Fall Into Me 7

Find the series masterlist

Rose makes a decision that is ultimately better for her health, and gets some unexpected help. The boys learn a little something new.

Poly 141 x Vaqueos x f!OC Rose

Warnings: Swearing, people being stubborn, Rose is still Jewish.

Word count: 1.7k

Rose bounced into the coffee shop on Friday morning, humming. She still didn’t have help, but she’d decided to just close the coffee shop for the weekend. She’d left the sign up on Wednesday. (Soap had nearly picked her up in a hug when he saw it, ignoring her squeaked protests.) 

So she just had to make it through today and she’d have a weekend off again. 

It wasn’t a long term solution, but it was a solution. At least she’d have some down time to catch up on things. 

Humming to herself, Rose unlocked the door and let herself in before locking it again. The shop didn’t open for another twenty minutes, and she needed the time to get ready for the day. Idly, she wondered which of the guys she’d see today. She didn’t see all of them every day - Ghost was still a more seldom sight, but the others had become a rotating cast of her life. 

Alejandro was first, sweeping in the door half an hour after the shop opened with roses. When she blushed, he merely grinned at her, pulling her into a hug and murmuring that she was adorable before he vanished again. 

Rose huffed. But she arranged the roses in the vases, humming along with the music. 

“Mornin’, love,” Gaz greeted her as he walked in, a full hour earlier than normal. 

“Hi Gaz.” Rose blinked at him and then checked the clock. “You’re here awfully early.” 

“Thought I’d help out this morning.” Gaz shrugged with an easy smile.

Rose eyed him for a moment. She was quickly learning that when it came to these men, she’d met her match in terms of stubborn. “Oh, fine. It’s not worth fighting over. Have you ever used an espresso machine before?” 

“Nah, but I’ll pick it up.” 

“There’s an extra apron in the back. Go on.” Rose shooed him behind the counter and then into the back, shaking her head. “You’re gonna have to learn on the fly.” She moved back into place behind the register as the first usual came in. 

Admittedly, the morning rush was easier when she had help. Gaz was cheerful, took direction well, and, well… Rose noted a bit of tittering from some of the ladies that worked upstairs. He did make good eye candy. 

But the best moment of the morning was when Soap came in, whistling, and stopped dead at the sight of Gaz behind the bar. Rose nearly laughed herself sick at the look on his face. 

“You replaced me already?” Soap asked, hand over his chest with an exaggerated pout.

Rose waved him off, fighting to get her laughter back under control. “Much like you, he didn’t take no for an answer.”

“If you’re not careful, you’ll have to start paying them,” Ghost drawled as he walked in. 

Rose shrugged. “I can afford one of them. Probably.” 

“Let them fight it out,” Ghost advised, walking up to the counter. 

“Preferably not in here,” she quipped, already getting a cup for him. “The usual?” 

He nodded, and Rose just chuckled as she started on his tea. 

“One for me too?” Soap popped up next to Ghost. Ghost didn’t even seem perturbed, making Rose wonder how often that had happened. Something else itched at the back of her mind, seeing the two standing so close together like that, but she pushed it away for now. 

“If you don’t start a fight.” Her smile was teasing as she grabbed a second cup. “You have any plans for tonight?” 

Soap shrugged. “Might go out.” He glanced at Gaz, raising an eyebrow, and Gaz just shrugged. “We’ll see later. You?” 

“I’ve got plans with some friends.” Rose tapped her fingers against the counter at the reminder. “I’ll probably be closing up a little bit early, maybe half an hour or so. Have to get halfway across town.” 

“I hope you have fun.” His smile softened to something more sincere. 

“Thanks.” Rose set the milk out for them. “You, too, whatever you end up doing.” 

“Cheers.” Soap stepped aside for the next person in line, nudging Ghost along too. Ghost didn’t even grumble. That itch in Rose’s mind got more insistent. 

“You won’t be out late, will you?” Gaz asked at the next lull. He was cleaning the espresso machine under her watchful eye. 

“I doubt it. I’m not much of a party person.” Rose shrugged. “Why?”

“Would feel better if I knew you got home safe, is all.” Gaz shrugged, looking mildly abashed. 

Rose was quiet for a few moments before she sighed. “Alright, alright. You can let everyone else know too. Last thing I need is you lot forming a search party. What’s your number?”

Grinning, Gaz rattled it off, watching upside-down as she sent him a text. “Thanks, love.”

“Don’t abuse it,” she grumbled, though she was smiling. “If you drunk text me, I reserve the right to wake you up at 4 in the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gaz gave her a cheeky salute. 

Rose chuckled and bumped his shoulder with hers. “How long are you planning to stay?” 

“All day.” At her incredulous look, he shrugged. “At least through the lunch rush. Get you through most of the day, yeah?” 

For a moment, Rose was speechless. Then she swallowed hard and nodded. “You are entirely too sweet.” 

His expression softened and he rubbed one hand up and down her arm. “Not a bad thing to need help, you know. We’ve all got each other. And now we’ve got you, too.” 

Rose blinked rapidly at that and she shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you,” she murmured, voice a little thick.

Gaz made a wordless noise and reeled her into a hug, tight and warm and wonderful. Rose melted, just a little, burrowing in and just breathing. At least until she felt more stable. Then she leaned back. 

“Stop that or you’ll actually make me cry,” she sort of berated him, though she squeezed his arm before she let go. 

“Sorry.” He did, in fact, look apologetic. 

“It’s fine. Just. Been a while.” Rose drew in a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s check on the amount of drip coffee we’ve got, before things get busy. Half of surviving the rushes is just in being prepared.” 

“Sounds a lot like our previous work.” But Gaz moved to the drip coffee machines. 

“If I start reminding you of John, we have problems.”

“Nah. You’re a lot nicer than he is.” 

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Trust me, he’s heard much worse.” Gaz poked at the decaf machine. “This one’s getting low.”

“So it is.” Rose stepped over to show him how to brew more at the correct strength so it didn’t turn into tar sludge. 

True to his word, Gaz stayed through the lunch rush. Rodolfo brought lunch for all three of them, setting up one of the tables and holding Rose’s chair for her. 

She had to focus very hard on not crying, because this level of attention and kindness? She wasn’t used to it. 

“Rodolfo,” she started, looking down at her plate and then back to him, “did you make this?”

“I did.” 

“Damn. You are a good cook and this is delicious.”

He colored a little, looking down at his own plate. “I’m glad you like it. It’s a recipe from home.” 

“I love it.” Rose hummed. “Maybe we can swap recipes sometime. It’s been a while since I’ve had someone new to cook for.”

“Any time.” His smile was probably the warmest she’d ever seen from him. 

“Just gonna leave me out?” Gaz asked with an exaggerated pout.

“Geeze, Gaz. I’ve seen dogs that aren’t as good at begging looks.” Rose shook her head. “I suppose you can have some, too.”

“I’ll judge,” Gaz said with a wink. “See who’s the better cook.”

“That way lay danger,” Rose muttered, though she was grinning. “On your own head be it.” 

Rodolfo laughed quietly. “We’ll save him the embarrassment,” he said. “And call it a tie.”

Rose barked a laugh, shaking her head. “Just for that? You can decide what kind of cookies you want.” 

Lunch didn’t last much longer, and the two men cleaned up while insisting she take it easy. Rose circumvented that by handling a customer who walked in. 

Both Rodolfo and Gaz got hugs before she shooed them back upstairs, insisting she’d handle the rest of the day on her own. 

Rose started cleaning at about five, knowing she would only get a few stragglers in before she closed. She was so close to being doing and being able to go home, grab the challah, and get going to her friend’s apartment. 

“Still have time for a cuppa?”

She blinked and looked up at John, and then smiled. “Of course,” she agreed. “How many of the others have abandoned you by now?”

John chuckled quietly, leaning against the counter. “Alejandro is still here.”

Rose laughed. “No wonder you need a top up. No Friday plans for yourself?”

“Nah. Not one to go out.” He shrugged. “I’ll pick up something on the way home.”

“Sounds quiet.” And lonely. But she didn’t add that.

“After this week, the quiet will be nice.” John watched her, smiling a little. “And what about you?” 

“Going to shabbat dinner.” Rose realized what she’d admitted a moment too late and then froze. Oh hell. 

To his credit, though, John only blinked once. “Do you go every week?”

“No,” Rose said, relaxing a little but still watchful. “Only once in a while.” 

“Good you get to enjoy sometimes.” His smile was crooked and a little sad. “You should mention to Rudy, too. So he doesn’t accidentally serve you pork.” 

At that, Rose relaxed the rest of the way. “I don’t keep kosher, I never have. Wasn’t raised that way.” 

“I see.” John relaxed a little as she did. “Well. I hope you enjoy your shabbat.”

“Thank you.” Rose set his tea in front of him. “Have a good weekend, John.” 

He nodded to her and left. Rose followed him to the door to lock up after him. Might as well go home a little early.  (In the elevator, John pulled out his phone and went to the group chat, which he rarely used, and typed in a simple message: She’s Jewish.)