#i washed my whole fuckin bathroom

[ophexis]

I did a bunch of chores todaaaaaay

[apatheticlexicographer]

BRO WHY IS IT THAT LITERALLY EVERYTHING HAS DECIDED TO FALL APART AT THE SAME TIME

[nomaishuttle]

it was pretty fun except i got randomly rly upset and now im still upset. sigh

[yanderenightmare]

TW: suggestive nsfw

gn reader

Thinking about how you and your delinquent childhood friend couldn’t be any more different...

And yet you never seem to grow apart…

You’re fresh out of the shower, feeling toasty with a fluffy towel wrapped around your hair – another around your body.

You’re ready to lie down in bed and enjoy the rest of your Saturday night with a cup of tea while catching up with the new releases of that show you’ve been meaning to watch before the spoilers reach you.

The clock ticks about midnight, but it doesn’t really matter because you have the entire Sunday morning to sleep in – so you take your time, letting your chamomile soak before adding honey and a teaspoon of vanilla.

Your feet prickle against the shoddy floorboards – faux wood doesn’t carry heat very well, and the cold is beginning to seep through your soles post-shower – so you walk off to find your slippers. 

But just as you’ve slipped them on, there’s a loud banging on your door. 

“Oi! Open up!”

There’s no mistaking who it is. 

You sigh.

“Go away, you’re drunk…”

There was a party tonight. But you didn’t go. 

Though, you bet the boy on the other side of the door had gone and gotten kicked out and has now washed up here – right on your welcome mat.

He doesn’t relent, now kicking the door as well as banging his fist into it.

The pictures on the wall rattle from the force. 

“Open the fuckin’ door," He's whining now. "Or I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow the whole street to hell!”

You curse under your breath at the sound of him howling, shuffling over to the drunken mood swings, then unlocking the three locks to let him in. Hissing beneath your breath as though the damage isn’t already done, “Shut up, you’re waking the entire block-”

He ignores you, grumbling, “Fuckin’ finally, ‘m freezin’ my balls off out’ere,” while pushing himself inside even when your plan was to tell him to piss off.

“I’m really tired,” You sigh, but he’s not really listening – fully ignoring you with a groggy grin as he looks down at you with lazy eyes and slurred words.

“Tch- look at yah – all wrapped up – lookin’ like a pastry.”

“Wah!” You yelp when he grabs you – lifting you up around his torso while stumbling forward to your bed – crashing down on the mattress with a content murmur – his face cradled in your chest.

“Just what I need right now…”

A little panicked – wearing but a towel you felt slipping from the fall – you try nudging him off, but he has his entire weight on top of you – soaking into your warm skin after having stood out in the chilly night air with nothing but a lousy shirt on.

You jolt with a squeal when he puts his freezing hands beneath your towel – squeezing into the soft, warm flesh of your thighs.

“Mh- you’re warm~” He rumbles in a drawl, traveling higher despite your whine. “Come on- don’t be stingy- m'gonna catch'a cold-”

You realize there’s not much you can do but accept it. 

You huff, gritting your teeth. “Fine, you can stay.”

To which he just chuckles, placing his chin in the dip of your ribs while looking up at you with a sly grin. “You’re such a sucker.”

You frown, grimacing at the words wafting into your face. 

“Ugh- you’re breath reeks. Go brush your teeth, at least. And take off your shoes.”

He pouts at your strictness, releasing a long, drawn-out sigh like a child. 

But ultimately, he drags himself up. 

“Mh-kay…” He kicks off his shoes, lets his pants drop into a heap, and wrings off his shirt on his way to the bathroom – calling back over his shoulder before he disappears into the room. “But we’re fucking after.” 

You’re cheeks warm at his casualness.

You hear him flip the tap.

You purse your lips while sinking your teeth into the lower one. Smacking them at yourself.

You rubbed your hair dry and your thighs together until the sound of running water was interrupted by his toothbrush clinking against the sink – signaling he was done.

You were also ready and waiting by the time he walked out – your original plans for the evening already long lost in the heat. 

But waddling back, he flops right onto the bed, like deadweight – on his stomach, snoring almost just as quickly with drool dribbling down into a blotch on your pillow.

He’s fast asleep.

You gape. Blinking at him. And after realizing it wasn’t a joke, you scoff. “Hello?”

There’s no reply.

You close your mouth and raise your brows. Then sigh with your entire body while shaking your head.

You drape him with the duvet and scooch in beside him. A bit of a frown on your face as you look at him.

There’s toothpaste on his cheek. 

You wipe it away with a wet thumb.

“Dumbass.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi

JJK – Sukuna, Gojo, Toji

AOT – Eren

[st7rns]

𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒, m. sturniolo

✿ IN WHICH, everytime matt messed up his girlfriend’s lip gloss

✿ WARNINGS, black!reader, fluff, swearing, kinda suggestive at the end??

✿ RORA SPEAKS, i hope ygs like this! ik it’s kinda short but i js wanted to write smth quick n easy and im a literal lip gloss addict so.

NO. 1

i’m standing in the mirror, layering my lips with my favorite pink lip gloss. my lips were already lined with my signature brown lip liner and the lip gloss just added the cherry on top. me and matt were going out today for lunch, so of course, i wanted to look good.

in the reflection of the mirror, i see matt walk into our shared room. “you look really pretty, baby” he compliments me which makes me smile and reply with a shy, “thank you.” even though me and matt had been dating for almost 6 months, he still made me nervous.

“so pretty i wanna kiss you” he leans in and gives me a sweet, but long kiss. i break away and pout, turning to look back to the mirror at my smudged lip gloss.

“matt!” i whine, “i literally JUST put this on.” i give him a stern look. he only laughs and wraps his arms around my waist from behind, “i’m sorry i just can’t help it when your lips look so damn kissable”

i roll my eyes in reply before reapplying my lip gloss and saying very seriously to matt, “that was your only chance of kissing me tonight, because i’m not about to be putting this back on a thousand fucking times”

matt unwraps his from around me to throw them in the air. “what the fuck? that’s not even fair!”

NO. 2

i was getting ready to record tiktok’s and take pictures because my hair looked good as fuck today and i didn’t want it to be for nothing. i add the final touch, lipgloss, before smiling at my reflection and heading to the triplets’ living room.

their living room literally has the best lighting in the whole house. i scroll through my saved tiktok sounds and land on nicki minaj’s black barbie song, the lyrics saying “i’m a fuckin’ black barbie. pretty face, perfect body.” and instantly smile and choosing it.

as i’m fixing my necklace so it fits just right, i hear the triplets walk through the front door. i lock eyes with nick first, who smiles at me “damn, you look fucking good!”

matt sets the fast food on the counter before looking me up and down, “my girl always looks good” he says proudly. chris snorts and mocks him in a childish voice before saying, “what the fuck did you expect? her to look bad?”

nicks punches chris in the arm, making him grab his shoulder in pain. “stop trying to start arguments cause you’re fucking miserable”

matt laughs and kisses me on the cheek, “she could never look bad” i smile and before i could say anything, he grabs my chin and kisses me on the lips. i immediately break away and groan, “matt, my lip gloss!”

“just put it on again” he shrugs, not even feeling bad. i throw my head back in annoyance, “it was the last of it! i can’t just put it on again” i grab my phone and storm off to the bathroom.

“you know i can just buy you another one?” i hear him yell but i ignore it and slam the bathroom door.

NO. 3

i’m laying on matt’s bed, scrolling through pinterest. we just got back from filming a car video, that lasted longer than usual because chris had to pee a hundred times. that kid needs to really stop drinking pepsi so much.

matt comes in the room, fresh out the shower. he lays down next to me and i can smell his cocoa body wash. i give him a soft smile as i run my hands through his hair. i can’t help but admire him. everything about him. his blue eyes. his pink lips. his stubble above his lips.

“what?” he laughs, staring back at me. i shake my head and quietly say “nothing. you just look so handsome right now” he smiles back at me and snakes a hand around my waist, pulling me closer.

he stares down at my lips before back up at my eyes. i feel him trace patterns on my waist. i look at his lips as well, which only gives him the confirmation he needs to kiss me. it’s a slow and sweet kiss but quickly turns heated, his tongue exploring my mouth.

he breaks away to gasp and cover his hand with his mouth, “i forgot about you’re lip gloss” he giggles. i laugh with him and playfully roll my eyes, “for the first time, i don’t give a fuck about my lip gloss,” i hook my leg around his waist and flip myself on top of him.

“now kiss me” i say against his ear. matt wastes no time connecting our lips and dropping his hand to my ass, squeezing the plump skin.

[hynzsn]

★ LATE NIGHT CALLS ★

☆ sohee x male reader

-> idol!sohee x non-idol!reader

꩜ .ᐟ fluff

contents: soft!sohee, clingy!sohee, longing, hotel room, tour shenanigans, falling asleep on facetime, established relationship, idol au, long distance, sohee’s missing you, sohee’s wearing your clothes, cute pet names, teasing, playful banter, emotional support, comfort, post-concert feelings, mutual pining, sweet talk, flirting, sohee thinks he’s cuter than your pet

wc: 2.5k

summary: sohee's on tour, living his idol dreams, but his heart's back home with you. after a thrilling concert, he calls you for a much-needed nightly facetime date.

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

the bass was still thrumming through sohee’s veins as he stumbled into his hotel room, the adrenaline from the concert slowly ebbing away. his muscles ached, his throat was raw, and his hair was a sweaty mess, but god, he felt alive. the screams of the fans, the pulsing lights, the rush of performing – it was all still fresh in his mind. but as he closed the door behind him, leaning against it with a heavy sigh, another feeling crept in.

longing.

sohee’s eyes darted to his phone, lying innocently on the nightstand where he'd left it before the show. he bit his lip, fighting the urge to grab it immediately. no, shower first. he needed to wash off the grime and sweat of the performance before he could even think about calling you. but fuck, he missed you so much it physically hurt.

dragging himself to the bathroom, sohee stripped off his stage outfit, leaving a trail of sequins and leather in his wake. the hot water hit his skin, and he let out a groan of relief. as he lathered up, his mind wandered to you. were you at home right now? what were you doing? had you watched any fancams from tonight's show?

the thought made him blush, remembering how he'd blown a kiss to the camera during his solo, knowing you'd be watching later. god, he was whipped.

stepping out of the shower, sohee wrapped a fluffy hotel towel around his waist and padded back into the main room. his suitcase lay open on the floor, clothes spilling out haphazardly. but he bypassed all of that, reaching instead for a familiar, oversized hoodie folded neatly on top. your hoodie.

sohee buried his face in the soft fabric, inhaling deeply. it still smelled like you – a mix of your cologne and that indescribable scent that was uniquely you. he slipped it on, reveling in how it enveloped him, hanging off his frame. a pair of your sweatpants completed the ensemble, and sohee felt instantly calmer, safer. it was like being wrapped in your arms, even if you were thousands of miles away.

finally, finally, he allowed himself to grab his phone. his heart rate picked up as he opened your chat, seeing the string of messages you'd sent throughout the day.

[sohee’s phone pov]

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: good morning sunshine!! hope you slept well~

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: break a leg at the concert tonight (not literally ofc)! you're gonna kill it babe

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: saw some previews on twitter... how dare you look that good wtf

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: that outfit should be illegal smh

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: love youuuu cant wait to talk later!!

sohee’s cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. how did he get so lucky? he quickly typed out a response, fingers flying over the keyboard.

[your phone’s pov]

📱 -> my baby ♡︎♡︎♡︎: babyyyyyyy im back!!

📱 -> my baby ♡︎♡︎♡︎: missed you so fuckin much today

📱 -> my baby ♡︎♡︎♡︎: can we ft?? pls pls pls i need to see your face

he bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for your reply. it came almost instantly.

[sohee’s phone pov]

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: ofc!! give me 2 secs

sohee’s heart leapt into his throat as he saw the incoming facetime call. he scrambled to answer, nearly dropping his phone in his haste.

and then there you were, your beautiful face filling his screen, and sohee felt like he could breathe properly for the first time all day.

"hi, baby," you said, your voice soft and fond. "how was the show?"

sohee couldn't help the way his lips curved into a pout, eyes going wide and pleading. "it was good, but i missed youuuu," he whined, flopping backwards onto the bed. "feels like forever since i last saw your face."

you laughed, the sound making sohee’s heart skip a beat. "we facetimed this morning, you big baby."

"that was hours ago," sohee protested, holding the phone above his face. "do you know how many hours that is? too many. way too many."

"poor baby," you cooed, your eyes crinkling with amusement. "however did you survive?"

sohee’s pout deepened. "i almost didn't. i think I'm dying of you deficiency. it’s a real thing, look it up."

you snorted, shaking your head fondly. "you’re ridiculous."

"ridiculously in love with you," sohee shot back, grinning when he saw the way your cheeks flushed.

"smooth talker," you muttered, but sohee could see the pleased smile you were trying to hide. "so, tell me about the concert. how’d it go?"

sohee launched into an animated retelling of the night's events, gesturing wildly with his free hand as he described the crowd's energy, the special stages they'd prepared, and the couple of minor mishaps that had occurred (like when anton had nearly tripped over his own feet during the dance break, saved only by wonbin’s quick reflexes).

"—and then during my solo, i did that thing with the rose, you know? where i bite the stem? and i swear to god, i thought the fans were gonna riot," sohee giggled, eyes sparkling with mischief. "i blew a kiss to the camera too, did you see? that was for you, babe."

you groaned, covering your face with your hands. "god, i saw. nearly had a heart attack, thanks for that."

sohee preened, feeling a rush of satisfaction. "good. that was the goal. gotta keep you on your toes, ya know?"

"trust me, you do that plenty without trying," you said dryly. "speaking of which, is that my hoodie?"

sohee glanced down, as if he'd forgotten what he was wearing. "oh, this old thing?" he said innocently, tugging at the collar. "maybe."

your eyes softened, a tender smile playing at your lips. "you’re wearing my clothes again?"

"always do when i’m away," sohee admitted quietly, suddenly feeling shy. "makes me feel closer to you. like you're here with me."

"baby..." you breathed, looking at him with so much love it made sohee’s chest ache. "i wish i was."

"me too," sohee whispered, curling up on his side and holding the phone close. "i hate being away from you. i know it's part of the job, but fuck, it's hard sometimes."

you nodded, understanding in your eyes. "i know, love. but hey, at least the time difference isn't so bad this time, right? we can talk more easily."

sohee perked up at that. "true! small mercies, i guess. still hate time zones though. wish the whole world operated on sohee time."

"and what, pray tell, is sohee time?" you asked, amusement clear in your voice.

"it’s whatever time lets me talk to you the most," sohee declared matter-of-factly. "duh."

you laughed, the sound warming sohee from the inside out. "of course, how silly of me. clearly that's the only sensible way to measure time."

"now you're getting it," sohee grinned, winking at the camera.

as your conversation continued, sohee felt the stress and exhaustion of the day melting away. just hearing your voice, seeing your smile – it was better than any post-concert high. he could talk to you for hours and never get bored.

and that's exactly what he planned to do.

"so, tell me about your day," sohee said, shifting to get more comfortable. he propped his phone up against a pillow, freeing his hands to play with the strings of your hoodie. "what’d you do while i was out here being a superstar?"

you rolled your eyes at his playful bragging, but there was fondness in your expression. "oh, you know, just pined away dramatically, waiting for my idol boyfriend to notice me."

sohee gasped, clutching his chest. "how cruel of me! making my precious honey bunny sugar plum wait like that. i’m a monster."

"honey bunny sugar plum?" you repeated, eyebrows raised. "that’s a new one."

"i’m trying it out," sohee said with a cheeky grin. "too much?"

"definitely too much," you laughed. "but somehow still cute coming from you."

sohee preened at the compliment, a light blush dusting his cheeks. "everything's cute coming from me. i'm the cutest."

"can’t argue with that," you agreed easily, making sohee’s blush deepen. "anyway, my day was pretty normal. went to work, had lunch with some colleagues, came home and watched some of your fancams-"

"ooh, which ones?" sohee interrupted eagerly, sitting up straighter. "did you see the one where i did that body roll during get a guitar? the fans went crazy for that one."

you groaned, covering your face with your hands again. "yes, i saw that one. multiple times. i think i've memorized it at this point."

sohee wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "like what you saw, babe?"

"you know i did, you menace," you grumbled, peeking through your fingers. "it should be illegal to look that good."

"aww, you're making me blush," sohee cooed, even as his cheeks flamed red. he batted his eyelashes exaggeratedly. "tell me more about how hot i am."

you snorted, dropping your hands. "as if your ego needs any more stroking. you fish for compliments more than my pet fishes for attention."

"hey!" sohee protested with a pout. "i resent that comparison. i’m way cuter than your pet."

"debatable," you teased, laughing at sohee's indignant expression.

"take that back!" sohee demanded, jutting out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. "i'm the cutest thing in your life and you know it."

you pretended to think about it, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "hmm, i don't know... my pet is pretty adorable..."

sohee let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. "i can't believe this betrayal. my own boyfriend, choosing his pet over me. i’m heartbroken. devastated. i'll never recover from this-"

"oh my god, you're such a drama queen," you laughed, shaking your head fondly. "fine, fine, you're the cutest. happy now?"

sohee immediately brightened, his pout transforming into a dazzling smile. "ecstatic," he chirped. "i knew you'd see reason eventually."

a comfortable silence fell between you, both just content to look at each other for a moment. sohee’s eyes traced every detail of your face, committing it to memory. the curve of your smile, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed – he loved every inch of you.

"i miss you, you know?” sohee said softly, his earlier playfulness giving way to a more vulnerable honesty. "like, really miss you. being on tour is amazing, don't get me wrong. i love performing and meeting fans and all that. but sometimes... sometimes i just want to be home with you."

your expression softened, a mix of love and sympathy in your eyes. "i know. i miss you too. so much. but i’m so proud of you, you know that right? you’re out there living your dream, and i couldn't be happier for you."

sohee felt his eyes start to water, overwhelmed by the love and support in your voice. "even if it means we're apart so much?"

"even then," you assured him firmly. "yeah, it sucks sometimes. but seeing you on stage, doing what you love? it’s worth it. you’re worth it."

a tear slipped down sohee’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. "god, i love you so much," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "how did i get so lucky?"

"i ask myself the same thing every day," you replied with a soft smile. "now stop crying or you'll set me off too."

sohee laughed wetly, sniffling a bit. "sorry, sorry. i’m just feeling extra sappy tonight i guess."

"post-concert emotions?" you guessed, and sohee nodded.

"probably. everything feels more intense after a show, you know? the highs are higher, the lows are lower... and right now, missing you is like, cranked up to eleven."

you made a sympathetic noise. "i wish i could hug you right now."

"me too," sohee sighed, tugging the sleeves of your hoodie over his hands. "this helps though," he added, gesturing to the oversized garment. "it’s like a hug from you, kinda."

your eyes softened even further, if that was possible. "i’m glad. does it still smell like me?"

sohee nodded, bringing the collar up to his nose and inhaling deeply. "yeah," he mumbled into the fabric. "s'nice. comforting."

"good," you said, your voice warm. "i sprayed some of my cologne on it before you left, hoping it would last."

sohee’s heart swelled at the thoughtful gesture. "you’re the best boyfriend ever, you know that?"

"i try," you said with a playful wink. "someone's gotta keep up with korea's sweetheart, right?"

sohee groaned, burying his face in his hands. "oh god, don't call me that. it’s so embarrassing."

"but it's true!" you insisted, grinning widely. "my boyfriend, the nation's darling. stealing hearts left and right with his angelic voice and killer moves."

"stooooop," sohee whined, peeking through his fingers to glare at you halfheartedly. "you’re the worst."

"i thought i was the best boyfriend ever?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"both. you’re both. simultaneously the best and the worst. it’s very confusing."

you laughed, "i'll take it. as long as you still love me."

"always," sohee said without hesitation, dropping his hands to reveal a soft smile. "no matter what."

the conversation flowed easily from there, jumping from topic to topic. sohee told you about the prank war that had broken out between the members on the tour bus (seunghan was currently winning, much to everyone's chagrin). you filled him in on the latest drama at your workplace, complete with exaggerated impressions of your coworkers that had sohee in stitches.

as the night wore on, sohee felt his eyelids growing heavy. he tried to stifle a yawn, not wanting the call to end, but you caught it anyway.

"getting sleepy?" you asked gently.

sohee shook his head stubbornly, even as another yawn escaped him. "no, m'fine. not tired at all."

"uh-huh, sure," you said, clearly not buying it. "when’s your schedule start tomorrow?"

sohee pouted, knowing where this was going. "not till noon," he mumbled reluctantly.

"then you should get some sleep," you insisted. "it’s late, and you need to rest after the concert."

"don’t wanna," sohee whined, clutching his phone tighter. "if i go to sleep, you'll hang up. and then i’ll be alone again." sohee bit his lip, considering. "...can we stay on the call?" he asked hesitantly. "even if we're not talking? just... knowing you're there helps."

"of course," you agreed immediately. "whatever you need. i’m here."

feeling reassured, sohee nodded and settled down into the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. he propped his phone up on the pillow next to him, angling it so he could still see your face.

"comfy?" you asked, and sohee nodded sleepily.

"mhmm. wish you were here though," he murmured, already feeling himself start to drift off.

"i know, love. soon, okay? just think about the moment you come back, i’ll be waiting for you."

sohee smiled at that, his eyes fluttering closed. "promise?"

"promise," you confirmed softly. "now get some sleep, superstar. i love you."

"love you too," sohee mumbled, already half-asleep. "so much."

as he drifted off, the last thing sohee was aware of was the sound of your steady breathing through the phone, and the comforting scent of your hoodie surrounding him. it wasn't the same as having you there, but for now, it was enough.

he fell asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of the day he'd be back in your arms for real.

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Everything | Overlord!Husk x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Overlord!Husk fluff, established relationship with reader, very sweet and domestic, a slightly intimate moment near the end

Word Count: 913

Summary: You were out to support your fiancé while he did his job, but by the end you were about ready to drop, so he steps in to remind you exactly why you're marrying him and not some other overlord.

A/N — I've never written for Husk before — let alone Overlord!Husk, so I'm hoping this gets some love 💗

"It's about that time, my love." You whispered in his ear, watching the hands on the clock tick with every passing second — every passing minute.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

"I'll be done soon, Doll." His grip around your waist tightened as the men around the table stared you down like a piece of meat.

You thought he was insane playing high stakes games. On more than one occasion you found yourself uttering the phrase 'play stupid games, win stupid prizes', which was essentially the equivalent to 'fuck around and find out'. . . Which you had also said many, many, many times.

Husk nearly always had a good hand, so the prize was often money or jewelry — anything that was bet and valuable at the time of his win. Even souls, if they were put on the line. You loved watching those ones, as twisted as it likely sounded. 

Hell, you were almost certain the engagement ring that sat prettily on your finger was won in a bet. No complaints regardless of how it came to be. It was sparkly and just your style.

The only time you had a complaint was when he chose gambling over his responsibilities. . . Namely making sure you were happy and satisfied. Even then, it was a rare occasion, despite practically being his whole job.

Tonight, though, you were bored.

You were hungry.

You were tired and just wanted to go home — but you stayed to support him and it was now long past when the two of you ate dinner and it was rapidly approaching the time when you usually went to bed, knowing your mornings were early and consisted of mentally taxing wedding planning with your closest friends.

You loved them, though, and appreciated all of their ideas. Who in Hell didn't love the idea of an event as important as an overlord wedding?

Bitter, loveless souls obviously — but other than that. . . Who?

When the game finally came to an end, it was no surprise to you when Husk collected his winnings. Almost 10K and two souls. You loved when things worked out.

"Let's get you home, Doll. You look fuckin' exhausted."

"You really know how to flatter a woman." You snorted, allowing him to lead you out of the casino he owned. "I should lock you out of the room for mentioning my exhaustion in public."

"Oh, don't be like that!" He smirked, playing into the little game you always played. When he played back, you knew you were about to get your way. "Gonna make you forgive me, one way or another."

You hummed with a smirk of your own, looking away from him. "We'll see."

"How about. . . Dinner at the house and a nice hot bath, hmm? . . And your favorite ice cream?"

Your smirk morphed into a smile. "Close, but we'll see."

"I'll join you?"

"You're forgiven."

It wasn't long before you were sat at the table eating the quick and delicious meal that Husk made — it was far from something he would've usually made, but it was delicious and you enjoyed it.

He finished eating first and went to run the bath for you, but not without kissing you on the forehead on his way to the shared bedrooms ensuite bathroom.

You loved that bathroom — it had been what sold you on the house in the first place. Sure, the kitchen was nice, but the bathroom had a huge bathtub, a spacious shower, and the colors of the floor and shower tiles went together without clashing or being gaudy.

The lighting wasn't bad either.

You called it your 'own little slice of Heaven'.

You soon finished and put your plate in the sink, but before you could wash up the couple dishes, Husk grabbed your hand and guided you to the bathroom where he urged you to undress and get into the hot bath while he handled the couple dishes.

You did as he asked and got undressed, stepping into the tub filled with water and bubbles. Immediately, the stress from the day melted away as the heat soothed the aching muscles that you surprisingly hadn't noticed until then.

Husk joined you a few minutes later, slipping into the water behind you. He hated water as much as the next cat, but for you, he'd do anything and everything.

"It was a long fuckin' day." He groaned at the hot water, your back pressed against his chest.

"You're telling me. . . I thought it would never end." You chuckled and then sighed contently. "I could fall asleep right here."

"You love going with me and you know it." Husk mused, his hands finding their way into your hair, fidgeting with the strands in a way that raised goosebumps.

"I do. But I also love having moments like this. Moments where it's just us. No gambling. No overlord society gala. No worries. Just us in our slice of Heaven."

He couldn't help but agree, those moments were perhaps the best part of his day.

And he'd give you that.

He'd give you everything.

It didn't matter what it was, whether it was material or otherwise. He loved you, so the world was yours if you asked. Money. Power. Anything. Everything.

"We have all of eternity for moments like this. . . We've already taken the first step." He ran one of his clawed hands down your arm until it was placed in the hand that the sparkly ring adorned, glistening in the light.

Everything for all of eternity.

🏷Tags: @6esiree

[stevebabey]

a piece that alas, will never get finished 😔 the bath fic that was once discussed, half written, and left to rot in my tumblr drafts. i hope u can read the seeds i was planting and see the vision i had even if i never could write it <3

Hot water is, indisputably, a luxury in the Munson household.

Far as Eddie knows, the same goes for the whole damn world.

Hot water is something sacred. Something to be used scarcely, lest you drain the tank and have only cold water to wash your plates and yourself in for the rest of the week.

It's not the worst, but, well, then again Eddie can think of few things worst than needing a shower during the colder winter months when the water splutters out lukewarm and the cold trickles in right when he's in the middle of washing his hair. It sucks. Always sends him to bed with the shivers.

Hell, sometimes he'd even do the mile at school just for a chance to get in the showers first — dashing in for the free hot water that only lasted a good couple minutes.

It was worth it though, Eddie thought.

Both the exercise and the sneers, in exchange for getting to be truly warm for the first time since he'd gotten out of bed that day. Warm showers will do that to you though.

Eddie's heard stories of places, of faraway like Hawaii or somewhere, where it gets so warm that when it rains, the water sometimes rains down already warm. Like a great big shower for the whole place.

He reckons if that ever happened here in the middle of nowhere Indiana, he'd be out dancing in the streets in the warm rain. Soaking it all in. Taking not a single drop for granted.

Steve's house, as Eddie has discovered, has more than one shower — because it's got multiple bathrooms.

In the time he's been hunkered down there, his sides patched up roughly and healing at what feels like a snails pace, Eddie has taken to exploring the empty halls of the Harrington House.

It's... enormous. Gargantuan. Fucking massive.

There's rooms with doors that never open. Rooms that Eddie's never even seen Steve go near. Endless doors and cupboards and an upstairs and downstairs, and far too many garages for one just couple and their son.

Eddie explores them all.

It stems from his boredom, of course, because patient isn’t one of the words used to describe Eddie Munson but restless certainly is.

He wanders aimlessly, under the guise that he needs to keep using the muscles in his legs while he heals up but truthfully, he loves a good snoop.

Soon enough, the driving force of his wandering transforms from boredom to… curiosity.

Steve Harrington has always been an enigma to Eddie.

Upholder of conventional standards and the heterosexual gaze turned, well, loser, in the manner of a couple months- it was jarring to say the least.

Especially to the likes of people like Eddie, for whom he had represented everything wrong with small town Hawkins. Rich meathead jocks who pay their way through school.

Eddie always figured he’d had a fucking mansion of a house but this place… it’s unsettling, seeing so much space, so unlived in.

It’s even more unnerving how Steve just… doesn’t take up space.

Even in his own home. Steve’s bedroom doesn’t sprawl out, it’s not packed with possessions and hobbies like Eddie knows his own is. His wallpaper matches his sheets, picked out by someone who clearly doesn’t know Steve.

Everything is tidy because Steve seems to have this neatness ingrained deep within him. He putters around, on auto pilot sometimes, to keep the space clean for parents who don’t seem to come home.

When Steve's out at work and it's just Eddie, wandering aimlessly to keep the strength in his legs, the loneliness of the place yawns down the halls. Consuming. Suffocating.

He’s found himself eagerly awaiting Steve's arrival home from work, if only to hear someone else's voice other than his own.

Today, Eddie's searching has lead him here— into the master bedroom’s ensuite and they have a goddamn fuckin’ bathtub.

It’s a proper fancy type one with clawed bronze feet and a wide lip, made of sparkling clean marble. The type he might describe for that is a King in a campaign, just to be on the nose about how wealthy and greedy this character was.

He’s so transfixed on it that he doesn’t even hear Steve jimmying his keys into the lock, coming home.

It isn’t until— “Eddie?”

Eddie jumps, startled, as Steve’s hand touches on his shoulder lightly. His goal to not scare the other boy doesn’t go as intended, considering how much Eddie flinches but the moment he turns his head, his face is relaxing.

“Fuck, dude,” He breathes a sigh of relief, lips quirking into a smile. “Didn’t hear you come up.”

Steve shrugs a bit and scratches behind his ear, a bit awkwardly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie nods, but his gaze has already shifted back to the tub before them. Steve follows his gaze easily, an easy chuckle passing his lips.

“I see you found the bath.”

“Yeah…” Eddie says, sounding a bit breathless, his voice distant. Steve glances over, trying to understand the strange emotion toying on Eddie’s features. It’s just a bath. Steve hasn’t even been allowed to use it before, sure, but he likes his own shower just fine.

“It was such a bitch to get it in when they first got it,” Steve explains, folding his arms across his chest as he recalls the memory.

He points his finger behind him to the doorway without moving his arm. “Knocked down a whole wall ‘cos they couldn’t get it to through the doorway. To be honest, I’ve always thought it was kind of ugly.”

He’s waiting for Eddie to say something. For the joke, for the sneering comment on his parent’s fortune, for any lippy spiel that usually gets under Steve’s skin in the best way. The longer Eddie stays quiet, the more it begins to worry Steve.

It’s as though Eddie hasn’t even heard him.

Steve clears his throat and tries again, his tone light and delivered with a chuckle. “Man, you’d think you’ve never seen a bath before.”

Eddie’s head snaps toward Steve. He finally breaks his trance, regrettably just to snap at Steve. “I have, thank you very much.”

Steve feels a bit of embarrassment bloom over his cheeks, wanting to backtrack on his poor joke instantly but before he can open his mouth Eddie is already softening, hackles falling. His eyes are back on the bath.

“Just… haven’t even taken one.” He admits softly.

Steve doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what’s going through Eddie’s mind — can’t come close to understanding what forlorn nostalgia is tugging at Eddie’s gut.

“Not really, I don’t think.” He continues. He pauses to think, head tilting back just a bit. “When I was really little, maybe. Little enough to fit in the sink or— or something.”

Eddie seems to realise he’s letting whatever thoughts he’s having drift out of his mouth and promptly snaps his jaw shut, teeth clacking as he does. He doesn’t look at Steve, doesn’t want to see the pity or the sympathy or the—

“Anyways,” Eddie huffs a breath, turning to leave his newfound discovery on the exploration of the Harrington House.

When—

“Do you want to?” Steve asks suddenly. His voice is sincere. “Take one?”

Eddie blinks. Wonders if it’s a joke, that it’s being offered out just so it can snatched away and Steve can laugh at how desperate Eddie is to actually be given this. He has to hastily remind himself that Steve wouldn’t do that to him.

There’s no containing the excitement rushing in his voice when Eddie spits out, “Can I?”

Steve chuckles, an easy smile at the other’s eagerness.

It’s easy to overrun the instinct that’s ingrained deep, not to cross the little rules his parents have scattered through the house — easy because he’s doing it more and more with Eddie here.

They’d eaten off his mom’s expensive and untouched china on the first night Eddie had managed to get up and about to eat downstairs, instead of tucked in bed.

He’d been so keen to help, proclaiming that he’d set the table for the both of them— too excited to be up and moving to remember that he and Steve weren’t usually as buddy-buddy as they were acting.

Steve had soaked in it greedily. Warm brown eyes, saccharine smile, he’s found that Eddie sort of glows when he’s happy. And that giving him good food is one of the ways to stir up that happiness.

But even then, Steve had paused seeing the plates in Eddie’s hands, an instant stone in his throat because he isn’t allowed to use those ones.

Sputtering through a sentence, Steve swallowed the stone and skipped over the rule he’d never broken before. It was worth it for the smile on Eddie’s face.

Just like it’s worth it now. Seeing the awed smile on his face, already a little jittery at the thought of a bath… Steve’s embarrassed to find he can’t really say no to him.

He keeps that to himself though, because if Eddie knew that he’d be batting his eyelashes and making every demand known to Earth. But then again, that didn’t sound so bad either.

Christ, Steve thinks to himself. He’s so screwed.

[here2bbtstrash]

real magic (explicit)

genre: smut, fluff, bangin’ your boss, m attempts kidfic - part of a hyung holiday collab !

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.

word count: 16.7k 😩

contains: ~*~explicit sexual content (after kind of a slow burn sorry lol)~*~ the "moving back to your hometown" hallmark trope, a nick jonas poster (yes that's a warning), some taekook slander in the beginning because i thought it was funny, namjoon is so buff and so dumb but so wise and so hot, moni is a little shit, namjoon is a dad!, namjoon's kid uses they/them pronouns but it's not like A Focus of the story it's just flavor, reader thinks joon has a dead wife for like one second 💀 mentions of teenage pregnancy and co-parenting, one incredibly stupid asshole customer lmao, mint choco slander (it's what namjoon would want 😌), obviously there is an employee/boss power dynamic but they talk about it and figure it out because this is namjoon and he overthinks everything, namjoon driving (he's a dad i have to assume he would get his license if he had a literal child!!!!!!!!) and a lotta sentimental holiday and life talk. here are ur sex specific warnings: making out/going to second base in a car in a parking lot (what is it with my namjoons and cars in parking lots yo), fingering, semi-drunk sex, and fuckin' rawwwww with a smidge of size and breeding kink lmao (but she's on the pill!!! no more kids!!!!!!)

A/N: hello hello hi merry crisis this damn fic is finally here lmao~ as i have been babbling on about for days i really really (REALLY) love how this namjoon turned out he's just hesjkrgdhtgk such a fucking himbo but a good dad and wise and did i mention hot aaaaaa 🫠 all the love in my gay little heart to @goodsoop for their barista wisdom and real life experiences that went into this one (the cookie story will never not make me laugh) ! and to @sailoryooons for beta reading this 50 million times and encouraging me when i was convinced it sucked ass, and also for making all the gorgeous banners for this collab 😭

which btw - be sure to go check out @gimmethatagustd & @sailoryooons & @nabiolive 's fics tooooo !!! i've loved collabing with them so very much even when we were all hashtag Going Through It, we got the whole damn hyung line you hear meeeeee 🎁🎁🎁🎁

read on AO3!

Rudely awoken by the incessant beep of your alarm, you open your eyes to find Nick Jonas staring back at you, and you sit up with a scream.

Realization washes over your sleep-addled brain in waves: first, that you aren’t actually staring at a real person. He’s just smizing on a hot pink poster, held up by some remarkably durable masking tape you stuck to the wall fifteen years ago. Second, it comes back to you that you are staring at said poster because you’ve woken up in your childhood bedroom. It’s been left untouched since you were a teenager, like a weird time capsule of all your high school obsessions.

After reaching for your phone to silence the alarm, you kick your way out from under the blankets, trying not to make eye contact with Nick, or Justin, or Zayn as you stumble to the bathroom. The circumstances of your grand return to living in your goddamn parents’ house linger like a bad taste in your mouth, one that all the tongue brushing in the world can’t remove.

It still doesn’t feel real. Taehyung, your best friend in the world since freshman year of college, kicked you out. Sure, it may have been phrased more like a gentle request, but as far as your ego is concerned, it still feels like exile. Banishment, even. The person you thought you could never be parted from made his choice, and he chose his fucking boyfriend over you.

Jungkook. You think the name with all the venom your cold, dead heart can manage as you spit toothpaste into the sink.

Jungkook, the weird, bug-eyed kid who put his toe-socked feet on your couch, drank his banana milk out of your favorite mug, and ate up all of your Samyang ramyeon because he ‘thought it was communal’. 

Jungkook, who ruined your sleep schedule nightly, either by fucking Taehyung senseless on the other side of your paper-thin apartment wall, or by blasting the same four Ariana Grande songs over and over on his bluetooth speaker and singing along in an annoyingly good voice. Either activity would go on well into the early hours of the morning, until you had to bang on the wall so hard you nearly put your fist through it.

Jungkook, whose dog once took a shit right on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

Bam was cute enough to forgive, of course. But you can never forgive Taehyung for his betrayal. Especially when he knew you’d just been fired from your shitty coffee shop job for the stupidest reason ever, and he didn’t let that derail or even delay him. He still went ahead and delivered the killing blow.

Et tu, Taehyung? you think angrily to yourself as you stand in front of the suitcase containing as much of your closet as you could possibly fit. You still need to go back for your bigger furniture, and little things like your plates and your mugs and your silverware, which Jungkook is probably putting his grimy little fingers all over at this very moment. But until you’ve checked out of your indefinite vacation at the Nightmare Parental Hotel, there doesn’t really seem a point.

If you were less upset, you might take consolation in the fact that your parents aren’t actually here, that they’ve jaunted off to their timeshare until the new year, but you’re busy being too swallowed whole by your misery to find an ounce of joy in any piece of your current reality.

You dig through the pile of clothes until you manage to pull out something halfway decent. The first order of business now that you’ve moved back in is simple: acquire another stupid coffee shop job. You have no plans to stick around long, you just need something seasonal that will give you some meager income while you start looking for a real gig, one that is ideally not in your hometown.

Watching yourself in the mirror as you pull on a simple black blouse and your least-stained pair of jeans, you attempt to mentally dust off your interview skills. You conjure up your best fake smile and customer service voice, both of which are second-nature at this point.

Why do you want this job? “I’m just so passionate about coming home sticky and verbally abused by caffeine-addicted assholes every night.”

What’s your biggest weakness? “Clearly it’s the fact that I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”

Why were you terminated from your last job? “Oh, well, I attempted to get my previous employer to improve their standards of worker treatment. You see, I selfishly requested that they raise the bar a single notch above hell. Certainly won’t happen again!”

This should go well, you tell yourself, and your reflection grimaces back.

With several hours to kill before your job interview and a growing desire to avoid the weird nostalgia of your childhood that seems to lurk in every corner of your parents’ house, you decide to take a walk.

The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and though the air is brisk, it isn’t terribly windy. You tuck in your earbuds as you shut the front door behind you and pick a direction, aimless, letting your mind wander to the soundtrack of your “seasonal depression” playlist.

A whole new crop of families must have moved into your parents’ neighborhood in the years since you moved out, because the streets are more alive with kids than you can ever remember them being, even when you were a kid yourself. Bikes and scooters lay abandoned on the sidewalks between homes, and you can hear the repeated echo of a basketball dribbling on a driveway, punctuated by distant, playful screaming.

Even in the daytime, you can tell these families have spared no expense when it comes to Christmas decor: some homes have every eave outlined in string lights, some have candy cane stakes dug into the perimeter of their perfectly manicured lawns, and some have been seemingly invaded by small armies of inflatable reindeer and snowmen. You can’t help but giggle a little at the inflatable decorations that have been set to turn off during the day, the way the airless material lays limp in the grass, giving the impression of a yard strewn with dead bodies.

But you remember what it looked like when you drove in last night, everything lit up and brought to life.

Your parents definitely didn’t have inflatable lawn decorations when you were a kid, but you’d get so excited every year when your dad would drag the ladder out and spend the day stringing up the simple rainbow lights you did have. You still remember the little spark of joy you’d feel in your chest when the colors would click on after dark, the way you would run outside every night just to see them twinkle, your breath puffing steam clouds in the air, your bare feet freezing on the ice-cold driveway.

It felt like magic then. But somewhere along the way you grew up. And now that feeling’s gone. Even at night, the lights just look like… lights.

Distracted as you are by the music in your ears and thoughts of your childhood that have brought you to a standstill on the sidewalk, you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late. 

A blur of red and white is suddenly circling around and between your legs, and you feel something twining over your ankles, then tugging with a force that threatens to knock you off balance. As you lean forward in an attempt to right yourself, the chaos in question slows enough for you to realize it’s a fluffy white dog in a red sweater, who has excitedly tangled you up in his leash.

You manage to find the looped end of the leash and slowly get yourself unwrapped while the dog continues to pant and jump and occasionally yap at you. With your legs freed, you squat down for a proper greeting, laughing to yourself as he lifts up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on your knee to lick an enthusiastic greeting across your cheek.

“Hi, puppy,” you murmur, trying to get him to hold still long enough to read the name on his tag. A voice beats you to it.

“Moni!”

When you glance up to find Moni’s owner jogging up the sidewalk, you have to make a conscious effort to keep your own tongue in your mouth, because good lord, he is fine.

He’s tall, towering over you even once you bring yourself back up to standing, and the black workout tank and athletic shorts he’s wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the thick, well-defined muscles of his arms, chest, and thighs.

Despite his lack of clothing in the cool winter air, you can see his face and neck are slick with sweat, his white-blonde hair damp with it too. There’s even a dark patch that’s soaked his shirt at his sternum, making the firm swell of his pecs that much more apparent. It takes you an extra second to break eye contact with them, but when you do finally manage to drag your gaze up to meet his, you realize his face is just as nice of a view: honey-tan skin, full lips, and cute dimples that pop as he gives a sheepish, appreciative laugh.

“Thank you,” he says, a little breathless; his voice is deep and slightly husky in a way that makes your face grow hot. You blink stupidly at him for a few moments, your mind reeling, and then it occurs to you that you still have his dog’s leash in your hand.

“No problem,” you manage, handing the looped end back over and double-checking to make sure your ankles are still free from their entanglement. Though now that this man is holding the leash, you kind of wish they weren’t.

“Moni’s usually good about not taking off when I stop to do a circuit,” he explains, like you’re the dog owner police. It makes you wonder what kind of Karens must have moved into this neighborhood since you left it. “I don’t know why he ran, maybe he saw a squirrel or something.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile, admiring Moni as he stretches and settles into a polite seated pose. “I like his sweater.”

“Thanks,” he laughs again. “C’mon Mon.”

You can’t help focusing on how big this guy’s hands are as he slips his fingers through the end of Moni’s leash, tugging slightly as if to encourage the dog back in the direction he came from.

Moni blinks and stays right where he is.

“You little shit,” his owner huffs under his breath, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. You distantly realize you should probably leave them to it and continue on your walk, but this is too entertaining to turn away from now. Your hot neighbor tries one more futile attempt to get Moni to move, then seems to give up entirely.

He stoops down with a low grunt of effort that makes your core flutter as he grabs the fluffy dog and hoists him up in his arms. You try to force yourself to stop noticing the way his biceps flex, the fact that the muscles of his arms are nearly bigger than your head.

“Thanks again,” he says with a final grateful smile, and your only response is to swallow hard and stand there like an idiot as he turns and carries his spoiled dog back home.

When you arrive for your interview, you’re delighted to discover that Indigo Coffee is nothing like your last job. It’s warm and bright, with large picture windows that flood the space in sunlight, and there’s a cozy personal touch to it, the likes of which you’d certainly never see in your former corporate shell of a workplace. The sitting area is dotted with live edge wood tables and mismatched chairs. There are an array of framed paintings on the walls that look handmade in a good way, simple yet bold brush-stroke lines in a deep blue color scheme. And, you realize as your eyes linger, the shop is absolutely overflowing with plants: in simple clay pots lined up along the windows, free-standing between tables, and tucked into bookshelves placed artfully throughout the space. 

You step closer to inspect one as you wait on your interviewer and are pleased to see that it’s real, that they all are— no waxy fake leaves jammed into a thick block of cement, but real greenery sprouted in real dirt, deep brown soil gone soft from what must have been a recent watering. These are plants someone cares for, coaxed and kept alive by someone’s time and patience and love. The thought makes you smile a little despite yourself.

There’s still fucking Christmas music playing, but you figure that’s inescapable this time of year.

“Are you here for the interview?” someone asks over your shoulder. As you turn away from the plant, you wonder if you’re imagining that the voice in question sounds slightly familiar, and then you find yourself once again staring up at a fine-ass man with white-blonde hair and a sweet pair of dimples.

He’s clearly showered since your last encounter, and is now slightly more covered up in a pair of faded jeans and a gray-green flannel thrown over a black shirt emblazoned with bold white lettering: Protect Trans Kids.

“Oh.” Moni’s owner blinks back at you, and the shock on his face is so apparent that a giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Uh, hi again.”

“Hi,” you echo, equally flustered, before realizing you failed to answer his initial question. “Oh, yeah. Yes. I am. The interview. I’m— that’s me.” So well-spoken, you mentally kick yourself.

One dimple deepens slightly as he extends a hand. “Kim Namjoon. Owner of Indigo Coffee. And the world’s least obedient dog, as you saw earlier.”

You offer your best handshake in return and a smile that you surprisingly don’t have to force as you give Namjoon your name. He gestures to a table in the corner, and you each pull back a chair to have a seat. You try to banish any potential horny thoughts from your brain, but shifting into interview mode proves difficult as he rests his large hands on the table in front of him, drumming idly along to the horribly cheery music.

You manage to tear your gaze away from Namjoon’s fingers when he speaks again. “If it’s cool with you, we can just chat a little? I’m not so good at conducting formal interviews. Too inauthentic.”

It’s like you can feel some of the tension release from your shoulders. “I— yeah. That sounds great.”

“Cool,” he nods, and you try to ignore the rush of heat up your neck at the intensity of his stare. Professional, be professional. “So I saw on your resume that it looks like your last few jobs were out of town. Did you just move here?”

“Moved back,” you say quickly. “Yeah. I grew up here, actually.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen a little in clear interest. “Really? What brings you back?”

You purse your lips as you consider how to phrase it. “My life… kind of fell apart. So. I moved in with my parents for a bit. Like a winner.” His dimples pop when he smiles at your joke, and you drop your gaze to the table. “Just trying to figure out what’s next, and find something seasonal in the meantime.”

“Well, we could certainly use the help,” Namjoon admits. When you chance a glance up, there’s a look on his face like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I saw in your application that you were terminated from your last position.” He leans in, lowering his voice slightly as he continues. “I’m gonna be honest, I hate that we even ask that question. But can you tell me a bit about what happened?”

You keep your stare fixed on the wood grain in front of you as you try to stay calm. “Well, if I can be honest too...” Squeezing your eyes shut, you tell yourself to just say it. “I was fired for trying to unionize.”

“Oh.” Namjoon sounds surprised, but you can’t manage to look at him. “Really?” You nod slowly, biting down on your bottom lip. “That’s— fucking illegal.”

That makes your gaze snap back up to meet his. His brow is furrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw pulled tight.

“Yeah,” you say belatedly. “Yeah, I know. They made up a bunch of fake excuses as to why I was fired, but I knew what it really was. It was because I wanted them to actually pay us what we were worth, and hire more workers so we weren’t being scheduled to death. And I was getting everyone else riled up too, and I guess it scared them.”

Namjoon sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Huh. Man. Well, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

It takes you a second to process what you’re hearing. Union has always been a scary word for any person in upper management you’ve previously encountered. You hadn’t expected this to be so… easy. For him to understand, or sympathize. “I— yeah. I am too.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Namjoon continues quickly, “I think it’s great, what you tried to do. I’m very pro-union.” He pauses for a moment, his face twisting slightly in thought. “I mean, admittedly, we don’t have one here. Granted, there are only five of us. I should probably ask, though, if they want one.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “I’m gonna take a guess that you probably treat your employees pretty well as-is.”

“I try,” he says with a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours again. “So, here’s the deal. You have a ton of experience, and with holiday time off and a few people out sick, I’m super understaffed right now. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, and hopefully you feel like you can come to me if you have any issues, without fearing retaliation.”

You blink slowly, and he must be able to read the disbelief on your face. “What I’m saying is I’m offering you the seasonal position,” he clarifies. “Is that— do you, uh, accept?”

“Yes.” The word is chased by a dazed laugh, and Namjoon’s dimples resurface around a small smile.

“Cool. I told you I’m bad at interviews,” he huffs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. You try to ignore the swell of his bicep, clearly visible even beneath his bulky flannel. “I know this is a lot to ask, but. Is there any chance you can start, like, right now? Because Jimin’s shift ends in…” He tilts a little, fishing his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, and his mouth drops open in surprise when he gets a glimpse at the time.

“Oh, shit,” Namjoon murmurs, and then he raises his voice to call across the mostly empty store. “Jimin-ah! I’m so sorry!”

You turn around, your gaze landing on the barista leaned up against the counter next to the register. His dyed-gray hair dusts over his eyes, which pull into crescent moons as he laughs. “It’s cool. I knew you were almost done. But I’m gonna clock out now, if she’s good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, turning back to Namjoon. “Yeah, I can start now.”

The two of you move behind the counter, and you sweep your hair up out of your face while Namjoon starts to go through a basic run-down of where everything is located. The overhead bell tinkles as Jimin shoulders the front door open, and he lifts a hand over his head in parting.

“See you after the holidays!”

“Alright,” Namjoon says as he waves to Jimin, a little breathless from having rambled on for the better part of several minutes. “That was a lot. Do you want to just start on register? I feel like that should be easy enough, and I can train you on everything as people come in, since it’s pretty dead right now.”

You shrug. “Works for me.”

Within half an hour, there’s a line out the door, and Namjoon has managed to spill espresso grounds all over his shoes for a second time.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, taking a step back. “Sorry. Been a minute since I’ve had to be back here.”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you can see from the faces of the customers who have been waiting on their drinks for several minutes— including one who’s had hers remade three times, all of them incorrect— that it is very much not okay. You certainly lack the people skills to smooth over any of Namjoon’s mistakes, and you can feel a stress-induced eye twitch starting to flare up, brought on by Kelly Clarkson’s incessant yuletide belting.

You give your boss five more minutes, wherein he scalds his hand on the milk steamer, forgets about a cookie in the warmer until it’s burnt entirely black, and nearly turns the blender on with the lid off, before you finally intervene.

“Hey, Namjoon?” You do your best to keep your expression pleasant when he glances over at you, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand. “Maybe we should switch?”

“A-are you sure?” he stammers, apparently torn between wanting to be a good boss and a clear desire to just take the L. “I feel bad, this is literally your first shift.”

“I think I can handle it,” you reassure him, lowering your voice a little. “Let me take care of the drinks, and you can do your… endearing golden retriever thing. Keep the people entertained.”

Color blooms in the apples of his cheeks as his dimples make a brief appearance. “Oh, okay. Can do. Just let me know if you need help.”

You can’t imagine a universe where his clumsiness could in any way be considered helpful, but you keep that thought to yourself as you smile at him. At least he’s cute.

Things improve dramatically once your roles are reversed: as you expected, Namjoon is far more charismatic than he is coordinated, and he chats endlessly with the people waiting on their drinks, hardly pausing long enough to take a breath, while you scramble around trying to get your bearings in a new environment. The steady stream of customers doesn’t let up for the rest of the evening, until the last few finally trickle out of the store a few minutes after close, and you waste no time locking the door behind them with a sigh of relief.

You spin around, letting your back thud against the door for a moment as you watch Namjoon fight with a broom and dustpan in a futile attempt to get espresso dust out of the grout between the tiles. There’s a dull ache starting to thud in your skull, and it’s only deepened by the shrill opening notes of another fucking a cappella song.

“Namjoon?” you ask as you cross toward the counter, and his head instantly snaps up. “Do you think we could maybe turn off the Christmas music?”

“Oh, sure.” He’s already fumbling to grab his phone, and he taps a few buttons until the music suddenly switches, a soft voice starting to croon over an old school beat.

“Thanks,” you say, and you can’t help the pity smile that pulls up your mouth when he returns to his useless task. “I think the grout might be a lost cause, but I can go ahead and mop whenever you’re ready.”

He rights himself with a defeated sigh, nodding his head to the storage closet in the back. You follow his lead to retrieve the mop, then set about filling up the bucket with water and cleaning solution. Namjoon’s voice floats in from the front of the shop as he busies himself with his own closing tasks.

“Imagine smokin’ weed in the street without cops harassin’ / Imagine goin’ to court with no trial / Lifestyle cruisin’ blue Bahama waters / No welfare supporters, more conscious of the way we raise our daughters...”

You’re laughing a little as you roll the bucket out, starting at the door to work your way back. “Is this… Nas?”

He glances up, like he’s just remembered other people exist in the world. “Yeah, sorry. I can turn it off.”

“No, no,” you say quickly when he starts to reach for his phone again. “This is good. Much better than Pentatonix. I’m just… you really know every word.”

Namjoon shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “He’s my favorite.”

The revelation surprises you, and you pause to think as you pull the mop back and forth over the tile floor. It didn’t even occur to you that Namjoon would have a favorite kind of music, apart from the soft elevator muzak you imagine must play on a steady loop in his brain, given the way he fumbles through life.

“I actually wanted to be a rapper,” his voice comes back, and you look up again, your interest piqued. “When I was younger. But you know. Life had other plans.”

“Ah yes, the rapper to coffee shop owner pipeline,” you muse, and he barks a laugh that you wish you didn’t find so hot. Shaking your head, you force yourself to look back down at the espresso-studded tile, doing your best to shove your attraction aside and not think about it. He’s your boss, dumbass.

Still, it’s hard to ignore, particularly as he continues to rap along to each song that comes on, his voice deeper and huskier than you’ve heard it thus far in casual conversation. He doesn’t miss a word, and you can’t deny that it’s impressive. And sexy. Fuck.

Once the floor has been successfully mopped and everything else is put back together, you hop up onto the counter to wait for the tile to dry, and your gaze lingers over Namjoon’s large hands as he cashes out the register. He flips through the bills in time to the music, still humming under his breath as he goes, and you do your best to hold in your laugh when he inevitably loses count and has to start over from the beginning. Thankfully the second attempt sticks, and he smiles proudly to himself as he zips everything up into the deposit bag.

“First shift down,” he announces, as if you might have forgotten, and then his eyes find yours and you swear your breath gets stuck in your throat. “How do you feel?”

It only occurs to you now how close he’s standing to you, and with the way your legs are casually dangling over the edge of the counter, it wouldn’t take much for him to step between them. And god, he’s so damn tall, you’re practically eye-to-eye.

“Uh,” you manage, your mouth suddenly gone dry. “Good. I feel good.”

“That’s good,” he answers, his voice dipping into that throaty tone again. You find yourself wondering absentmindedly if maybe Namjoon has a customer service voice, too, and then for the briefest flash of a moment, his gaze flits from your eyes to your lips and back again. It’s so quick, you can’t be sure it even really happened.

You tell yourself it’s just your exhausted post-shift brain seeing things that aren’t there, wanting this fine-ass man to be into you, too.

A sudden bang on the front door makes you flinch so hard, you come dangerously close to kneeing Namjoon in the crotch. He takes a large step back as you whip around to look over your shoulder, only to see a kid’s face pressed to the glass, framed by two small hands. You’ve never been great at telling the age of children on sight, but this one looks like… maybe a middle schooler?

“Whose fucking kid is that?” you say automatically, blinking, dumbfounded. Namjoon’s laugh is a low rumble behind you.

“That would be mine.”

It takes several days for the shock to wear off. Your boss has a kid. Kim “could’ve burnt the building down with a single cookie” Namjoon is at least partially responsible for keeping another human being alive. Which means you have a crush… on a father.

A father who also happens to be your boss.

You try not to think about any of it.

There’d been brief introductions when you left the shop that first night, but all you’d really managed to glean was the kid’s name, Sol, and their pronouns. As someone who is historically terrible with children, you’d excused yourself the minute Namjoon locked the front door, after what felt like an eternity spent watching him pat each of his pockets twice before he finally managed to find his keys.

“I hope it wasn’t weird,” your boss says out of nowhere in the middle of your next shift, during a much-needed moment of peace after the morning rush. “For you to meet Sol like that. It’s just been hard, since their mom, uh…”

Namjoon trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You glance up, eyes widening as you put the pieces together.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

His gaze meets yours, and it’s like you can see the wheels in his head turning before he catches up. “No, no,” he says quickly, and then he starts to laugh. “Wow, I really did not start that sentence well. She’s not dead. She just got married, and she’s on her honeymoon for most of December. The logistics have been hard, is what I meant.”

An embarrassed heat creeps up your neck, and your elbows thud against the countertop as you press your face into your hands, attempting to muffle your own laughter. “In my defense,” you groan, “you really made it sound like you had a dead wife.”

“Not dead! She’s fine!” Namjoon’s dimples are as prominent as you’ve ever seen them when you peek up at him from your full-body cringe. “Very much alive, very much not my wife.” The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, leaning up against the counter next to the register. “Never was, actually.”

“Really?” you answer automatically, your damned curiosity getting the better of you.

He nods, his voice a little more serious when he continues, rambling on in the way that you’ve already started to suspect is his default setting, talking as if to fill empty space. “We were seventeen when we got pregnant. I knew we were young then, but I don’t think I really realized. Now that I’m almost thirty, I know: seventeen is fucking young.”

The line of his jaw tightens, thoughtful, as his gaze sweeps over the floor. “I thought I wanted to marry her, or at least felt obligated to. Like it was the right thing to do, but. We didn’t have any money, and then it all got so hectic after Sol was born. Didn’t even take a year for us to realize it wasn’t gonna work, not for us.”

You blink, trying to take in all the new information. “That sounds really hard.”

“It was,” Namjoon admits. “But we were both on the same page about it. That no matter what, Sol had to come first.” He glances up with a shrug. “It’s all good now. She’s a great co-parent, and her new husband is really good for her. And… well, I have Indigo.”

The tinkling of the bell at the front door snaps you out of a daze, makes you realize you’ve been staring at him, dumbfounded. You do your best to shoot Namjoon a soft smile, and to ignore the pang in your chest as he turns to greet the customer that’s just wandered in, already starting to babble on about the weather.

You find yourself more grateful for Namjoon’s presence with each passing shift, in a way that you try to convince yourself is thoroughly platonic. Between fairly steady work and his very steady chatter, your time spent in the warm, sunny space of Indigo turns out to be a good distraction from your own miserable excuse for a life. The repetitive motions of making drink after drink are oddly comforting, and you have to admit, Namjoon really is good with the customers.

“Peppermint mocha to go.”

You do your best to follow up the sentence with a polite smile as you set a drink down for the customer who has done nothing but scowl at you the whole time you were making it. The silent prayer you’ve sent out to the universe that he’ll take whatever personal problem he has elsewhere and leave you alone has clearly gone unanswered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps, and you can feel your shoulders creep up towards your ears in anticipation of nothing good. Here we fucking go.

You blink twice, trying to keep your service persona engaged. “I’m sorry, is that not what you ordered?” It is, you know it is, you heard him say it.

“No, that’s mine,” the man quickly responds, reaching out to snatch the cup in a motion that makes you flinch. “But do you hear this fucking song?”

The honest answer is no: at this point the ever-present Christmas music might as well be white noise, so you have to make a conscious effort to tune back in and listen. It’s a few seconds, and then you pick up on the melody. “…Last Christmas?”

“Uh, yeah,” he continues, explaining like you’re stupid. “The original. Last Christmas by Wham!” When it’s clear you still aren’t putting the pieces together, he scoffs in pure frustration. “You just made me lose Whamageddon! I’ve won every year for the last five years, I can’t believe you would even put this on your fucking playlist!”

Your face pulls into an incredulous grimace before you can think to control it. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I didn’t make the—”

He cuts you off. “First off, I don’t need the fucking attitude. And surely you’re at least capable of checking what songs are on there, right? That’s not too advanced for you to handle?”

You didn’t even hear Namjoon walk up from the back office, but he’s suddenly stepping in front of you, and you’re more than glad to move back and let him handle this dude before you end up in jail. “Woah, woah, alright,” Namjoon interjects, his voice loud enough to carry. “What’s going on?”

The man beats you to it. “I’m trying to file a legitimate complaint and she’s rolling her fucking eyes and getting an attitude with me!”

“It’s the song,” you explain briefly, trying to keep everything about your expression neutral. “He’s mad that we’re… playing Wham.”

Namjoon’s face twists in an expression that you would find funny if you weren’t so fucking livid, one that you’re pretty sure is the mirror image of your own reaction minutes earlier. “The song? Seriously?”

You can see the guy scrambling, clearly starting to get embarrassed at his own dramatics. “Alright, I don’t have time for this. I guess I just need to take my business elsewhere, because this is ridiculous. What ever happened to the customer is always right?”

Namjoon goes silent for a minute, and you try to ignore the way the look on his face makes your pulse quicken, thudding brightly in the hollow of your neck. His voice is deadly serious when he speaks again. “I appreciate that you’re upset, but if you’re going to look my employee in the face, after she just performed a service for you, and disrespect her like that? Over a fucking song? Nah, I’m not gonna tolerate it. Maybe the next time you want someone to make you a toothpaste drink, you should take your ass to Starbucks.”

It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep the reaction off your face until the asshole has stormed out the front door, nasty drink in hand. As the bell finally tinkles to signal his departure, you collapse forward, just barely catching yourself on the counter so you don’t crumple straight down to the floor.

“Oh my god.” Your laugh of disbelief comes out more like a groan, at the ridiculous complaint and your boss’ insanely attractive comeback alike. “I fucking hate this time of year.”

“Hey.” The word is punctuated by Namjoon’s shoulder bumping into yours, and you look back up at him, still laughing a little at your own misery. His eyes search yours, sincere. “Assholes are assholes no matter what season it is. I’m sure that guy finds plenty of things to complain about the other eleven months of the year, too. Don’t let him ruin it for you.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, if only because you can do it freely now, without a man standing over you and yelling about your ‘bad attitude’. “I guess,” you huff. “And thank you.”

Namjoon shakes his head, like it’s nothing. “Chin up, okay?”

The two of you breeze through closing that night, familiar enough to fall into a steady routine now. You’re wiping everything down behind the counter and humming along to Tupac when Namjoon’s voice drags you back out of your thoughts in a way you’ve already grown accustomed to.

“You know…”

You glance up, only to realize that he’s started to flip chairs on top of tables to clear the floor, and is grabbing them two at a time, one in each hand. The image makes you a little dizzy, and you tell yourself to focus on his words, not his biceps.

“I think we make a pretty good team,” he concludes.

“Yeah,” you breathe, trying to keep your composure at the unexpected compliment. “I was thinking the same thing. And thanks again for, you know. Handling that guy.”

Namjoon shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Hey, you’re doing me a favor, taking this seasonal job. I’m not about to let anyone fuck with you.”

You bite down on a smile as you head towards the back to grab the mop, and then you hear a loud bang on the front door— it’s another sound you’ve gotten used to in your brief time at Indigo. There’s the click of the deadbolt, chased by the tinkling overhead bell and Namjoon’s chiding voice. “Homie, if you break my door I’m gonna make you get a job to pay me back for it.”

“You think I don’t know about child labor laws?” you hear Sol retort, clearly not intimidated, and the attitude in their voice has you biting back a laugh.

Wheeling the mop bucket out of the storage closet, you glance up to see Namjoon jut his chin toward the large front window, indicating Sol to take a seat on the ledge. “Feet off the floor, she’s tryna clean.”

Sol complies, plopping down in the window with their eyes glued to their phone as Namjoon disappears back toward the office to grab his things. You watch as Sol pulls their knees into their chest so their chunky black boots clear the tile, and you can’t help noticing that said boots are adorned with oversized silver bat-shaped buckles, reflecting the amber streetlight gleam that leaks through the window.

“I like your boots,” you say, more to yourself than Sol, half expecting them to be so engrossed in TikTok that they don’t even hear you.

But to your surprise, Sol looks up.

“Thanks,” they say, glancing at their feet. “I just got them. I’m in my post-hardcore era right now.”

The statement is delivered without a trace of irony, and you do your best to hold in another amused giggle as you respond. “Wow, you are… so much cooler than I was when I was your age.”

Sol seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t have the internet back then, right?”

The question hits you like a train, and you have to pause and press a hand over your heart at the impact. “Okay, ouch, I’m not that old.” They grimace apologetically, and you lean up against the mop handle in thought. “But the internet definitely wasn’t like it is now. The only social media that really existed was Myspace, and my parents wouldn’t let me make one. I mostly just used the internet to, like, play RuneScape.”

“Oh shit,” Sol remarks, sounding remarkably like Namjoon in the process. “You played old school?!”

It’s like you can feel your bones crumbling to dust inside your body, and you wince as you resume dragging the mop over the tile. “Hey, back then it was the only kind of RuneScape we had. But yes, you can consider me a… founding father of that game.”

“That’s cool!” they exclaim, sounding so genuine it makes your head spin. When did RuneScape become cool again? “My friends and I play old school all the time. It’s the best, for real.”

You shake your head in disbelief as you continue to mop, and a long pause settles between you, with Sol’s interest clearly returning to their phone.

Fuck, you think to yourself, what else do kids even talk about? Marvel movies? It’s like your mind has gone totally blank, unable to conjure up a single topic of conversation, and you practically huff out an audible sigh of relief when their voice breaks the silence again.

“I think my dad has been happier since you started working here.”

The mop nearly slips out of your hands entirely, and you glance up, eyes wide. “I— really?”

Sol nods, playing absentmindedly with the strings of their black hoodie, then bringing the end of one up to their mouth to gently chew on. “It’s a theory I have. A game theory. I plan to ask additional follow-up questions tonight.”

At this, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m sure your investigation will be very thorough.”

There’s a flash of a dimple in Sol’s cheek, like the mirror image of their dad. “I can tell you what he says, if you want.”

You wonder how telling your own smile is. “I mean… I can’t say I’m not curious.” You’re distantly aware of the sound of the office door closing, chased by Joon whistling to himself, and you lower your voice conspiratorially as you drop the mop back into the bucket. “I look forward to hearing what you find out.”

Monday morning, when you wake up to the omnipresent smize of Nick Jonas, you can’t help smiling back. 

You made it through your first week of work, and it wasn’t even that torturous. And best of all, Namjoon reminded you the night before that Indigo is closed on Mondays, which gives you an entire day to spend as you please. A real day off, which was truly unheard of at your last job, where you’d spend your non-scheduled days still anticipating an incoming emergency text asking you to cover a shift last-minute. More often than not, you’d end up working after all.

“But not today,” you announce to Nick.

A grand plan has already started to form in your head, one that involves a party size bag of Hot Cheetos and all eight episodes of The Fabulous, and yet. There’s a lingering urge at the back of your brain that you can’t quite ignore. With all the day-off energy you can muster, you drag yourself out of bed and tug on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, then shuffle into the bathroom to at least make yourself halfway decent.

You’re just going for a quick walk around the block to get some fresh air, you tell yourself. That’s all. Certainly no other reason.

It’s only a few minutes after you step out your front door that a fluffy white blur nearly collides with your shins, and when you stoop down to lift Moni into your arms, you once again can’t keep the smile off your face. Huh, who could’ve seen this coming?

But when you glance up, there’s no hot buff man jogging up the sidewalk after his dog. In fact, you realize as you look back at the ball of fluff in your arms, he isn’t wearing a leash or harness at all, just another cute sweater.

“Are you even supposed to be out here?” you ask Moni. His only answer is to drag his tongue up the side of your face.

You shift him a little in your arms so you can fumble for the tag attached to his collar, and thankfully, there’s an address listed. It takes you a second to get your bearings in the neighborhood, having not lived here for close to a decade, but it eventually comes back to you where the listed street is, and you start to walk. Moni is already blinking sleepily in your arms, clearly enjoying his preferred mode of transportation.

A laugh bubbles up in your chest as you approach the house in question— even if you hadn’t had Moni’s tag to guide you, finding his home would’ve been easy enough as soon as you passed this street, because you can hear old school hip-hop bumping through a speaker despite still being several houses down the block. You suppose Namjoon can get away with it during the day, when all the neighborhood kids are still in school.

As you make your way up the driveway, you realize the music is actually coming from behind the house, and when you follow the path that leads around back, you spot the culprit: a simple wooden-slat fence surrounds the yard, and the gate has been left wide open.

Before you can even make it over the threshold, a familiar voice reaches your ears, sounding much closer than the music. “Ah, shit.”

Namjoon comes barreling through the open gate so fast he practically runs you over, and Moni yaps, like he’s annoyed at being jostled as you quickly try to stumble out of his owner’s path.

“Oh. Uh, hi.”

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to take in how shock looks on Namjoon’s features without giggling a little. Today is certainly not that day. It’s just so endearing, the way his eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a perfect o-shape.

“Hi,” you breathe out around your laughter, trying to ignore the heat that flushes into your face when his dimples appear in return. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

With a wave of his hand and several profuse thank yous, you follow Namjoon back through the gate, and wait until he firmly shuts it behind you before letting Moni down to trot off across the yard. It’s only now that you take Namjoon in properly: he’s in a gray hoodie under a pair of denim overalls, both of which are splattered artfully with paint in a variety of colors.

“I was just in my studio,” he explains, tipping his head toward the small shed in the yard, which you quickly realize is also the source of the music that led you here. “Doin’ some art. Do you, uh… wanna see?”

“Yeah, okay,” you answer with a nod.

“Fair warning, I’m really bad at it,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads you in the open studio door, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He reaches for his phone, propped up in the windowsill, to turn the volume down a few notches.

There’s an easel up against the far wall holding what must be his current project, a half-finished scene that you realize upon closer inspection is thousands of tiny dots of color, painstakingly blotted onto the canvas to form a mountain landscape at a distance. A few more pieces that he’s already completed have been leaned up against another wall to dry, one featuring an abstract array of featherlight brushstrokes, and another where the paint’s been globbed on in thick layers.

Namjoon is talking a mile a minute as you inspect the canvases. “I thought maybe I’d do cyanotypes today, but it’s not sunny enough, and I’ve made that mistake before. I’m really into texture right now, so I’m trying out some different techniques with paint. I want to get better at pointillism, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it would be. ‘Cause it’s just dots, right? But you have to be able to see the forest for the trees, too.”

“These are amazing,” you finally manage to murmur, and to your surprise, the compliment actually renders him silent. When you turn back over your shoulder to look at him, he’s glancing down, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks. But I just do it for fun. ‘Cause I love art.”

“I can tell,” you say, and when he looks up, you offer him a smile you hope reads as encouraging. “Did you make the art at work, too?”

He nods, still sheepish, and that answer also surprises you. You recall thinking on your first day that the paintings hung on the walls looked handmade, but it never crossed your mind that they might have been made by Namjoon’s hands. Maybe because you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him drop and break things, you haven’t ever considered him as also capable of… creation.

And yet, here he is. Proving you wrong.

“Sorry,” Namjoon’s voice makes you refocus on him, and your brow furrows in confusion at the unexpected apology. “This is literally your one day away from me and here I am, taking up your time. Thanks again for bringing Moni back.”

“It’s okay.” You shrug. “Don’t have much going on today, honestly. I never really know what to do with myself when I’m not working. Which I’m aware is very sad.”

“Well, uh,” Namjoon starts, and when he takes a single step closer, you swear you feel something flutter in your stomach— or maybe lower. “Sol’s got a half-day today, since it’s the last day before break, so I’m picking them up in a bit. And we were gonna go on a hike, probably take Moni too. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Your eyes widen at the invitation. “Oh. That sounds great. I mean, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up just so. “Nah. I actually think Sol really likes you. At least, they wouldn’t stop asking questions about you at dinner last night.”

“Is that right?” You do your best to keep your expression neutral.

Namjoon drives far enough north that there’s actually snow on the ground when you climb out of his front seat. You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you follow him across the gravel parking lot towards the trailhead, a few paces behind Sol and Moni.

Sol shoots an expression of pure mischief at you over their shoulder, and then immediately starts to sprint up the marked path through the woods, Moni easily keeping up.

“Bye, nerds!” you hear them call before they disappear between the trees.

“Stay on the trail!” Namjoon shouts back, sounding as dad-like as you’ve ever heard him, and you can’t help but laugh. The two of you quicken your steps slightly to not fall too far behind, tracking the set of boot and paw-prints they’ve left to mark their trail.

For a moment, it’s silent between you, save the crunching of snow underfoot. It’s nice, being out in nature like this, time spent with Namjoon where you aren’t suffering through Christmas music and ungrateful customers. Where you can just… breathe. It makes you feel a little less sorry for yourself, a little less fixated on your own miserable life.

You glance over at him as that strange seasonal melancholy starts to settle into your bones again. “Are the holidays… better? With a kid?”

Namjoon makes a face, like he’s surprised by the question. “I mean, they’re definitely different. Then again, it’s been a long time since I did the holidays without a kid— not since I was a kid myself. What do you mean by better?”

Self-consciousness washes over you, your gaze drifting down to the path beneath your feet. “I don’t know, there’s just… I can’t shake this weird feeling now that I’m back home. This time of year used to be so exciting for me when I was Sol’s age. Everything felt special. Magical. But now I’m back here, and nothing’s really changed, except me. But I just keep feeling like the magic is gone. It’s… sad.”

He nods, taking a moment before he responds, and he’s chuckling softly to himself when he finally does. “You know, it’s kinda funny. When Sol was younger I actually felt a lot of stress this time of year. I couldn’t really enjoy it, because I was too busy trying to make sure that they had the best holiday I could possibly give them. That they didn’t feel like they were getting any less, since, you know. Their mom and I aren’t together. It’s funny that you bring up the magic, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to make that magic happen. But now that they’re a little older, I don’t know, it’s different.”

“Different how?” you prompt.

A dimple deepens as he hesitates. “It’s gonna sound corny. But really, I realized that the holidays aren’t about the gifts, or the decorations, or every little thing going perfect. You can make yourself sick over that shit, and I did, but kids don’t really care about it.” He pauses, and for a second you think that might be it, but then he keeps going, eyes fixed on the towering pine trees ahead of you.

“The year I opened Indigo, I had sank so much fucking money into it that I was broke. Broke broke. I couldn’t afford a single gift, a tree, not even a turkey. Sol and I sat on the floor of my shitty apartment and ate Chapagetti and watched Friends. And I felt like the biggest fucking failure imaginable. And then you know what happened?”

“What?”

“Sol turned to me, and they said, ‘This is the best Christmas ever, because we get to hang out, just the two of us.’” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to ward off tears, and his voice comes back slightly less steady than before. “I still don’t know if they said that because they really meant it, or if they could just tell that I needed to hear it. But either way, I thought to myself: how fucking lucky am I, to have such a great kid? Like what did I ever do to deserve them? I still feel that way.”

Namjoon shrugs, as if to shake off the emotion. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not helpful to you, but. I just see it differently now. It’s not about the what, or the how. It’s about the who. Spending this time of year with the people you care about, and making sure they know you do. That’s the real magic.”

You realize the trail has carried you up the sloping hillside, and is now flattening out at the edge of a clearing, where you can see Moni chasing Sol through the snow, can hear their high-pitched laughter ringing out in the wide-open air.

When you turn back to Namjoon, he’s already looking at you.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel the magic right now. I didn’t either, for a long time. But it does come back, I believe that. It’ll come back for you, too.”

You blink up at him, overwhelmed by his willingness to be so honest, and by the wisdom of his words. “I— thank you,” you finally manage to say.

Namjoon doesn’t answer, just glances up to where Sol and Moni are still playing, and your gaze follows his out over the snow-covered field. Sol is dusting off a sizable stick, and they call out for Moni to fetch before launching it into a dramatic arc, high up in the air.

Moni watches it go, entirely disinterested, then settles onto his haunches in the snow with a yawn.

“You’re so bad at being a dog!” Sol shouts, and that’s enough to make you and Namjoon both dissolve into laughter. They look up at the sound, hands-on-hips, before yelling again, this time in your direction. “My dad said he has a crush on you!”

Your jaw drops open, and Namjoon’s eyes are wide as you’ve ever seen them when you look up at him.

“Damn, dude, you said you were gonna be chill about it!” he exclaims, and you press a hand to your mouth as a fresh wave of giggles overtakes you. Given how long Namjoon’s legs are, it only takes him a few strides to catch up to Sol. You stay a tentative distance behind him, but still close enough to be able to make out their conversation.

“Uncle Hobi says you need to be bolder with women,” Sol chides, matter-of-fact.

“Uncle Hobi says a lot of shit,” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“He painted my nails,” Sol raises their voice, clearly talking more to you than to their dad, and holds up a hand for you to see, waggling their fingers proudly.

“They look great,” you call out in response.

Namjoon turns back to you as you step in closer, then juts his chin to a bench at the other side of the clearing. “Sit with me for a sec?”

With a nod, you follow him over, and he wipes the metal surface free of snow with his sleeve before gesturing for you to have a seat. For a moment, the two of you sit silently and watch Sol, who is already busying themself with building a snowperson while Moni slow-blinks encouragingly from a distance.

Namjoon’s words chase a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna be real with you, despite the fact that my child just stole my thunder. I like you a lot.”

Your heart swells in your chest, threatening to burst. “I-I like you too,” you stammer back immediately. “Have definitely been harboring my own crush… basically since I started working at Indigo.”

When you turn to look at him, it surprises you a little that he isn’t smiling. You can see a muscle working in his jaw, like he’s nervous.

“That’s the thing,” he finally relents. “Work. I don’t— I hadn’t really planned to tell you how I was feeling, or act on it. Because I’m your boss, and that means, you know. There’s a power dynamic there. And it would be… unethical of me to blur the lines like that, by getting involved with my employee. I wanted you to come out with us today because it was a chance for you and I to be equals, outside of work, but it’s not like that dynamic just goes away, you know? And I feel a little guilty about it now. Because I really like being around you so much, but I just. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not while you’re working for me.”

You stare down at the snow under your boots as you take in his words, and you can’t help it. Try as you might to sit there and take his worries seriously, laughter flutters out of you before you can hold it in.

“What?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, trying to compose yourself.

“I really, really appreciate that you gave it so much thought,” you say, willing your voice to stay even. “I mean it.”

“It’s weighed really heavy on me, if I’m honest,” he says solemnly, and you glance over to see him staring into the middle distance, like he’s deep in contemplation.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching out to where his hand rests on the bench between you and covering it with your own.

“Namjoon?” you ask softly, and it seems to snap him out of his trance enough to look back at you.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” you preface. “But if I have to choose between you and my stupid seasonal coffee shop job?” The smile starts to flicker over your face again. “Then I quit. I quit right now.”

“Oh thank god,” Namjoon breathes, and you can only make a soft noise of surprise when all at once, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. You need a split second for the shock to wear off, and then you’re moving your mouth against his, one hand fisting tight in the fabric of his jacket. His lips are full and warm, and it feels like far too soon that he’s pulling back again, his cheeks flushed with color.

“Will you, uh—” he pauses, like he’s remembering how to form a sentence. “Will you still work tomorrow though? Jimin’s back after Christmas, but I really don’t think I can survive a shift on my own.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still a little breathless from his kiss. “Yeah, I think you’d burn the place down.”

Unable to deny the claim, he laughs brightly as you untangle from each other, then gets to his feet before offering a hand to help you up. “We should head out, it’s gonna get dark soon.”

It’s true: across the wide clearing you can already see the sun threatening to sink back down between the trees, casting a golden-pink light that gleams off the snow and paints the world in warmth.

Sol leads the way back through the woods to the car, tugging Moni along by their leash, while you and Namjoon bring up the rear. You glance over at him a few times to catch him staring, and you scrape your teeth across your bottom lip, unable to keep the smile off your face, unable to stop yourself from mentally replaying the moment when he kissed you, over and over.

Just as you step under the shadow of a large tree, snow-covered branches stretching up toward the clear sky above you, Namjoon stops in the path. It’s so abrupt that you continue a few more paces before you even realize, and then you stop, too, glancing back towards him.

“Hey Sol,” Namjoon calls. “Think you and Moni can make it all the way back to the car in ten seconds?”

“I know what you’re doing,” comes Sol’s cheeky reply, but when Namjoon starts counting backwards from ten, you can hear the crunch of their boots taking off down the path.

“Eight, seven, six…” You watch as Namjoon cranes his neck until he deems Sol far enough out of sight, taking a step toward you as his counting trails off, and you find yourself pulled into him like a magnet. “Come here,” he murmurs, and then his hands are slipping up your waist and guiding you backwards until your back hits the trunk of the tree.

In true Namjoon fashion, he uses way more strength than is necessary for the task, and though your winter jacket cushions you from the impact, you’re smacked against the bark so hard that it knocks a dusting of snow off the branches above you, covering you both in flakes that stick to your hair and eyelashes. The sudden rush of cold makes you gasp into Namjoon’s mouth, but then he’s rolling his tongue over yours and you can’t think about anything else. A heavy pulse has started to thud between your legs at the heat of his breath in your mouth, the way his hips have you pinned to the tree, his body big enough to cover yours entirely.

“Joon,” you find the air to breathe as his lips trail hungrily down the slope of your neck. You rake a hand through his hair, white-blonde strands studded with snow, to try and pull his attention back, despite very much not wanting him to stop. “Joon, we should go. Before someone steals your kid.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours again for one more kiss, like he can’t get enough. “Okay,” he finally grunts as he pulls away, sounding as begrudgingly responsible as you feel. Your head is still spinning; you want nothing more than to stay here and let him kiss you dizzy.

“Let’s go.”

He takes a step back so you can right yourself, reaching out to dust some snow off your jacket, and then the two of you resume walking up the path, sharing a breathless laugh like confidantes. You assume it’s just his standard clumsiness when Namjoon’s hand knocks into yours, but then his fingers are twining through yours purposefully, until you’re pressed palm to palm.

The rush of heat that blooms in your chest at his touch keeps you warm the rest of the way to the car.

Your last shift at Indigo somehow manages to feel exactly like every shift that’s come before it and completely new at the same time.

The work is the same, the steady stream of customers unchanged, the Christmas music still an aggravating soundtrack. But you no longer feel like you have to ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when Namjoon asks you a question, or meets your gaze across the shop.

The only urges you have to suppress are indecent ones, made worse by Namjoon seemingly taking advantage of every opportunity to touch you: hip-checking you when you’re both standing at the front counter, pressing a hand to the small of your back whenever he has to squeeze behind you, leaning in a little closer than necessary to be heard over the noise of the milk steamer. It’s enough to make your breath hitch each time, and you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same relief at not having to hold back anymore.

Towards the end of the night, it surprises you when the typically consistent flow of customers starts to slow down, until it seems to have ceased entirely. You still have two hours to go, but you find yourself staring at the walls, every table empty, having done all the side work you can think of to distract yourself from boredom.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking shut makes you glance up, only to see Namjoon flipping the open sign over.

“What are you doing?” you ask, blinking dumbfounded, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas Eve Eve, and I’m the owner, so. We’re closing early. Effective immediately.” The decree makes you laugh a little, and his dimples wink back. “Let’s finish cleaning, I wanna show you something.”

In record time, you find yourself standing outside the front door of Indigo as Namjoon locks up, only tonight your hands are kept warm by the hot chocolates he’d made for the two of you as you closed. He takes his cup back once his hands are free, and you try a tentative sip from yours, now cool enough to drink without burning your mouth. Given what you witnessed of his barista abilities on your first day, you brace yourself for the worst, but your eyes widen in pleasant surprise when the liquid hits your tongue.

“Being a dad means getting really good at a few specific things,” he says by way of explanation as he unlocks his car doors, and you smile as you slip into the passenger seat.

It occurs to you as Namjoon starts to drive that you don’t actually know where he’s taking you, but when you open your mouth to ask at the next red light, he leans over you to fumble open the glovebox and you lose your train of thought. He fishes inside for a few seconds before retrieving a CD case, then makes quick work of prying it open and sliding the disc into the slot on the dash. You attempt to hide your giggle behind the rim of your cup.

“No wonder you like ‘90s music so much. You’re still living there,” you say, nodding to his antiquated stereo, and he smirks as he turns up the volume. 

“This is A Tribe Called Quest,” he remarks, quirking an eyebrow when he looks back at you. “You better show some respect.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease in response, and you don’t miss the color that flushes his cheeks.

The light turns green and he accelerates through the intersection, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the center console to grip playfully at your leg, a few inches above your knee. You can see his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, like he’s considering saying something, but when he finally opens his mouth, it’s just to rap along to the music.

It’s only a few songs later that he’s turning off the main road and following a barely-lit gravel path up to a large grassy parking lot, where he pulls into a space and kills the engine. You squint through the windshield, tucking your now-empty drink into the cupholder, but you can’t make out much except dusk and some vague lights over a hill in the distance.

“Was this crush thing just a ploy to murder me?” you quip, and Namjoon looks a little nervous when you glance over, like he took the question to heart. “I’m kidding,” you clarify quickly.

His voice comes out surprisingly soft. “This is one of my favorite things to do during the holidays. Thought it might help with, you know. The magic.”

Something cracks open inside you as you look back at him. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Ah,” he says, as if to dismiss the compliment. “You haven’t seen it yet. Maybe you’ll hate it. Come on.”

The two of you climb out of his car to start your trek to whatever he has in store, heading in the direction of the lights, and Namjoon’s hand slips into yours, like it’s already second nature. Easy and sweet. You grip tight to him, the night air colder now than it was when you left work, but then you finally crest over the hill, and the temperature is suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.

It takes you a moment to even understand what you’re looking at. The place is clearly some kind of arboretum, as the path ahead of you snakes through a perfectly manicured garden of various plants, but the only thing you can focus on are the lights. Every tree, bush, shrub, and other kind of greenery that lines the walkway has been intricately strung up with lights, each one boasting a different hue. The end result is nothing short of dazzling— a veritable rainbow of light and life and color, glittering diamond-bright against the deep-set night around you.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. “This is beautiful.”

There’s a dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth when you look up at him. “Thought you might like it.”

“I can’t believe I never knew this was here,” you remark, your eyes wide and blinking as you try to take it all in.

“Hey,” he answers with a shrug. “Maybe your hometown still has a few good surprises left in it.” You exhale a laugh as you lean into his side and he squeezes your joined hands; you can’t help feeling like you’ve already found the greatest surprise of them all.

After an hour spent wandering through the displays, each one more breathtaking than the last, Namjoon diverts you toward a small food stand. He comes away from the counter with a paper carton filled to the brim with long ropes of twisted, fried dough, warm enough to release steam into the air when you tear one apart to share, and dusted with cinnamon sugar that sticks to your fingertips.

The two of you take a few steps back down the path until you’re under an archway of glowing golden lights, then eventually come to a standstill, too hungry to do anything except devour your food.

Namjoon speaks first, mid-chew. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What’s up?” you answer as you reach for another piece.

He swallows, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth before he continues. “At your interview, you said your life fell apart. What happened?”

“Oh.” You smirk as you rip the braided dough in two, then in two again, before popping it into your mouth. “It seems a little silly now, but. I got fired from that last job, like I told you. And the same day, my roommate pretty much kicked me out of the apartment, because he wanted his boyfriend to move in. He was also my best friend, so. It stung a little. A lot. Moving back in with your parents at this age is humbling, to say the least. Feels a lot like starting over.”

Namjoon hums, like he understands. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Eh,” you respond noncommittally. “I should probably be happy for him. The timing just… wasn’t amazing.”

“You know,” he murmurs, thoughtful. “I thought my life was over when my ex and I got pregnant. Not even eighteen and about to be a dad. I really felt like… I don’t know, like that was it for me.” You nod slowly, unable to even fathom what that must’ve been like.

“But, here I am. Still alive.” Namjoon flashes you a grin, and you find yourself smiling back. “Still figuring it out. I actually feel like I’ve learned a lot from watching Sol grow up. They’re like—” He shakes his head, as if at a momentary loss for words. “They’re like a different person every month, I swear. What they’re into, how they dress. Who they wanna be. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Like it’s okay. Like I can change too.” He shrugs. “That’s the thing about life. It’s long. And even when you feel like it’s ended… it keeps going anyway.”

His words wash over you, and you’re so in awe that you can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, sorry.” He grimaces, suddenly self-conscious. “I know that was corny.”

“No, no,” you interject, trying to keep your composure. “I just think you are like, literally the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

The lights glimmering overhead aren’t enough to hide the way Namjoon blushes at the compliment, and then he pauses, as if recalling something. “Didn’t I nearly run the blender with the lid off on your first day?”

You double-over at the memory, and he’s laughing now, too. “Okay, okay. Fair point.” 

The thought keeps circling around in your brain as you dust cinnamon sugar from each other’s jackets and continue your way around the rest of the gardens, occasionally pausing to trade sticky-sweet kisses in the twinkling glow: you don’t want the night to end. You keep glancing over at Namjoon, wondering if he’s feeling the same way as he drives you back into town, the heat in his car on full blast, the CD player still underscoring your conversation.

“So, what do your Christmas plans look like?” he asks, eyes flitting briefly from the road to meet your gaze.

You fiddle with a button on your coat, wishing you had a less depressing answer. “I was just gonna spend it by myself. My parents already had a vacation in Hawaii planned, so I’m gonna do what I always do: hole up with booze and snacks and wait for it all to be over.”

He chuckles, tapping his fingertips absentmindedly against the steering wheel. “Well, I have about a hundred presents to wrap tomorrow night while Sol’s at their mom’s. Why don’t you come over and help? I can even provide the booze.” There’s a pause, and his voice comes back softer before you can respond. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

The corner of your mouth tugs up at his sincerity, the way he gently cares for you, has since day one. “Yeah, okay. I mean, you had me at free alcohol.”

Just like that, Namjoon is already turning back into the Indigo parking lot, where your car sits waiting for you. The two of you shrug off your seatbelts once he’s pulled into a space and parked, and he reaches to turn down the music before shifting in his seat to get a better look at you.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat a little. “You are officially no longer my employee.”

“And you are no longer my boss,” you answer back, and a thrill buzzes in your chest at the statement.

“Which means,” he continues, doing his best to lean over the center console, “I can do this.” He barely finishes getting the words out before his mouth is on yours, your eyes fluttering closed, his kisses far less chaste than the ones you shared earlier. They’re open-mouthed and urgent this time, with Namjoon slipping his tongue into the heat of your mouth like he’s been waiting all night for it.

“Uh-huh,” you murmur between kisses, and then he dips his head lower, until his lips find the join of your neck and shoulder.

“And this,” he purrs before kissing you just as hungrily there, tongue-first. You can’t hold back the soft noise his mouth pulls out of you.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he sucks gently over the same spot, with just enough pressure to make you writhe in your seat. A shiver rolls up your spine when he hums against your skin, clearly pleased at your reaction.

“And, uh…” You slowly blink your eyes open when you feel the warmth of his breath dissipate, and he’s looking at you with his brow furrowed, as if attempting some difficult mental math. “Actually—” He reaches down for the lever to adjust his seat, and it drops all the way back with a graceless thud that makes a laugh flutter out of you. “Maybe you could take your jacket off and come over here?”

You don’t need him to ask you twice, and you’re moving quickly as you peel out of the thick material and scramble across the console to straddle him. You both groan a little when you duck down to press your mouth to his again, all of this suddenly feeling much more real now that you’re basically horizontal. His hands alight on your hips, tentative, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them, and you smile against his lips.

“Touch me, Joon,” you instruct, and he does as he’s told.

His hands are warm as he slips them beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing over your skin until he reaches the band of your bra. When you hum encouragingly into his mouth, he keeps going, pushing the fabric up your chest so your tits spill free from their confinement. He cups one in each hand, and though you might’ve expected him to be clumsy or rough, given everything you’ve seen of him thus far, you’re surprised to instead find that he’s gentle, thumbs circling your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to tighten them into stiff peaks.

Unable to bite back your whimper at the heat that blossoms through you at his touch, at how much more of him you need, you pull away just enough to break your kiss, glancing up through the back window of his car to confirm the parking lot is still empty.

Namjoon groans low in his throat when you reach down to tug up the hem of your shirt, shifting a little on top of him to give him better access. He doesn’t hesitate, thumb still working at one nipple while he takes the other into his mouth, and your sigh of relief comes edged with a soft moan when he swirls his tongue over the bud of your breast.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Feels so fucking good.”

He pulls off with a wet pop to switch sides, and the slick heat of his mouth sends bolt after bolt of arousal through you until there’s a dull ache of need thudding between your legs. As you roll your hips in desperate search of friction, you can feel him beneath you, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.

Namjoon pulls his mouth off your breast, letting out a hoarse laugh when you shift to drop your forehead against his collarbone with a groan, horny enough to practically be delirious. “I hate that I’m even saying this,” he rasps, “but I really can’t have sex in a car. I’m too—”

“Big?” you offer, and there’s a smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I was going to say old.”

You can’t help giggling as you lean up to find his mouth with yours again. Namjoon kisses you a little while longer, lazily, his hands still kneading gently at your tits, until he finally tips his head back, heaving a sigh up to the roof of his car. “Okay, okay. You should go.” His tone is reluctant, like it’s the last thing he wants. “It’s late. And my jeans fucking hurt.”

There’s a self-satisfied smirk toying at your mouth as you sit up, tugging your bra and shirt back into place and not missing the bulge in Namjoon’s pants where your hips meet his. “I will take the blame for that one.”

He folds his hands behind his head, biceps and dimples on full display. “Damn straight.”

You lean down for one more kiss, letting it linger before you make your way back over the center console to retrieve your jacket. “Have a good night, Joon,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle, and when you glance back, his eyes are fixed on you, still heavy-lidded with lust.

“Get home safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I have booze, as promised.” Namjoon’s voice echoes in from the kitchen as you kick off your boots and hang your coat up at his front door come Christmas Eve. The aroma hits your nose as your socked feet pad down the hall to follow him: the spice of cinnamon and clove, paired with a hint of citrus. It smells like the holidays, like home.

“Mulled wine?” you wager a guess, and he nods, turning away from the stove to retrieve two mugs from a cabinet.

“I halved the recipe, since it’s just us,” he explains, mouth pulling down at the corners as he starts to ladle out servings from the pot full of deep red liquid. “Still made a lot, though.”

Your eyes drift across the kitchen until they land on the two empty bottles of red sitting next to the sink, and that makes you pause for a moment to consider. “So the original recipe called for four bottles?”

Namjoon’s brow is furrowed when he glances up, and then he follows your gaze, and a look of delayed understanding washes over him. “Oh, fuck.”

Your elbows dig into the kitchen island as you press your hands to your mouth, as if to physically hold in your laughter. “Did you… halve everything in the recipe except the wine?”

His eyes drop closed as he nods, his answer a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Yes, I did.”

You can’t help yourself: all at once, you’re circling around to join Namjoon behind the stove, so you can take his face in your hands and pull his mouth down to yours. He makes a soft noise of surprise, but then his lips fall into rhythm, kissing you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. Even through the fabric of your shirt, his large hands are warm when they slide over the small of your back, and then they keep going, until you finally break the kiss with another laugh when he reaches his final target and outright grabs your ass.

“Not the reaction I anticipated,” Namjoon admits, paired with a teasing squeeze. “But I’ll take it.”

You look up at him through your lashes, pressing your palms flat to the firm plane of his chest. “A very wise friend of mine once told me that the holidays aren’t about every little thing going perfect. I thought maybe you needed a reminder.”

His dimples deepen as his eyes search yours, and his voice is lower in his throat when he responds. “I think that fool was just sayin’ words because a pretty girl asked him a question.”

Heat flushes your face as you smile back. “Well, they were very good words.” You drop your gaze to the pot on the stove. “Come on, I bet we can salvage this.”

Determined to save Christmas, you throw in another handful of spices, chased with a few glugs from a bottle of orange juice Namjoon heroically digs out of the back of the fridge. After a few more minutes of simmering, you take a tentative sip of the mixture to find it perfectly adequate.

“I guess we just have to drink twice as much now,” Namjoon quips, filling up two fresh mugs with the remedied wine. You raise an eyebrow back at him, as if to accept the challenge, while you tap your drinks together in a cheers.

By the time you realize that a double-batch of mulled wine and gift-wrapping don’t exactly go together, it’s already too late. The booze makes Namjoon’s big hands go even clumsier, the few presents he attempts an absolute disaster, and you can’t stop laughing long enough to be of any help. At one point he reaches up to cup your jaw for a kiss, but completely misjudges the distance, deftly knocking into his half-drunk mug and spilling the contents all over a tube of wrapping paper and the crotch of your jeans.

You dissolve into giggles until you can scarcely breathe, scooting your chair a few inches back from the table as he jumps up to grab something to soak up the mess. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you manage to gasp when he returns, immediately focused on cleaning you up first. You wave him away as you get to your feet. “Seriously, it’s not that bad, it’s mostly the table.”

“Jesus,” Namjoon groans as he drops the kitchen towels in his hands onto the wooden surface, doing his best to soak up the puddle, though there’s no saving the ruined gift-wrap.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmur as he turns back, once again examining the extent of the damage done to your clothes. A shiver rolls through you as his thumb brushes over the waistband of your jeans, and he grimaces a little.

“This is probably gonna stain.”

“I mean…” Your pulse starts to quicken as his fingertips linger where they are, and Namjoon’s gaze flits up to meet yours when you speak, clearly hearing a shift in your tone of voice. “I could just… take them off.”

A smile teases at the corner of your mouth when his eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes, then seems to self-correct. “I mean, uh. If-if that’s something you would feel comfortable doing.”

You’re already reaching to undo the button, and then Namjoon takes over to tug open the zipper and push the fabric down your legs, and your nipples tighten beneath your bra at the reminder of how gentle his large hands can be. His lips find yours again and you don’t hesitate to lick into his mouth, jostling slightly as you try to make out with him and kick your pants the rest of the way off at the same time. It’s graceless, but you manage to make it work, and then he pulls away from you to glance back down.

“It looks like a little got on your shirt, too.”

He’s right, you realize: there are faint purple marks splattered just above the hem of your long-sleeve, and you smirk as you look up at him.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you did this on purpose,” you tease, and then in one swift move you pull your shirt over your head, letting it drop to the kitchen floor next to your discarded jeans.

Namjoon’s hands are instantly on your bare skin, trailing heat as they trace the curve from your hip to your waist, and your breath hitches as he ducks down to brush his lips over your collarbone. The low tone of his voice reverberates through you when he speaks against your skin. “I like to think I could’ve gotten you naked tonight even without being an accident-prone idiot.”

You run a hand along the line of his jaw, tipping his head up to seek a kiss, before leaning back to murmur, “I guess we’ll never know.”

He kisses you again, and the two of you stumble across the threshold into the living room, pausing along the way to peel off his sweater and then his jeans, laughing into each other’s mouths, just drunk enough to lack any semblance of coordination you might have otherwise had.

When you drop down to lay back on his sofa, you’re both stripped to your underwear, and you can feel the thick bulge of him, pressing firm-heavy heat into your thigh as he settles his hips between your spread legs.

Namjoon’s eyes roam over your body beneath him, and then he’s tugging the lace of your panties to the side to slip a finger into your drenched center, beckoning it up to rub you just right. Your mouth drops open as he traces slow circles against your front wall, and when he adds a second digit, you can’t help but whimper softly at the stretch. It thrums through you like your lingering red wine buzz, hot and thick and good enough to get lost in, your head dropping back on the couch cushions as your hips rock up into his touch.

“Goddamn,” Namjoon groans, and your eyes flutter open again to take him in, his gaze heavy-lidded as he watches his fingers disappear up into you, coaxing slick sounds out with each pump of his hand. “I had a whole plan,” he rasps. “To take my time. But, fuck, I really want to fuck you.”

“It’s okay, Joon,” you breathe, not sure how much longer you could stand the torturous feeling of his clothed cock grinding into your thigh, so close to where you want him. An ache throbs in your cunt, needy, plugged up with two fingers but still begging for more. “Just fuck me.”

Realization flashes over his face, and then he suddenly heaves a sigh, looking defeated. You have to bite back a noise at the loss as he withdraws his fingers. “I— there’s an obvious joke here, but. I don’t have any condoms. Or if I do, they’re definitely expired.”

It takes you a second to process the revelation, and then you reach up to pull him down to you, smiling when he hums surprise into your mouth at the unexpected response. Your lips linger on his, and then you tip your head to press a kiss to the slope of his neck, not quite able to maintain eye contact as you murmur, “I mean. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean. So.”

“Yeah?” he replies, and your nose bumps against his shoulder as you nod. “Me too. Well, I-I’m clean, I mean. I’m not on the pill.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out as you look up at him. “Right, no, I get it.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon huffs a laugh in return, his face flushing a little. “I talk a lot, when I’m nervous.”

“I just thought it was an all-the-time thing,” you admit, and the color in his cheeks deepens.

“I’m just always nervous around you.”

Your mouth seeks his out for a kiss sweeter than the last, slower for his shy honesty and the hummingbird thrum of your heartbeat behind your ribs. The heat of his breath ghosts over your lips when you tip back to answer, “You don’t have to be.”

“So, you’re okay?” he asks, almost reverent with his question. “If we—if I don’t—”

“Please,” you insist, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

With remarkably little fumbling, he drags the lace of your panties down your legs, letting you kick them the rest of the way off while he moves up to unclasp your bra. You slip the straps off your shoulders and drop it over the edge of the couch, then watch as he shifts to strip out of his boxers, freeing his cock with enough force that it smacks against his abdomen with a hefty thud.

You swallow hard as you take him in: long and thick, flushed dark. Big, and fuck, you want all of him; you can feel how drenched you already are between your legs at the thought of all that cock filling you up.

When you tear your gaze away to meet his, Namjoon is staring at you just as hungrily, and he brings a hand to pump himself a few times, to coat his shaft in the wetness that’s started to drool from the head of his dick.

“Come here,” he grunts, his voice rough-edged, and you waste no time straddling yourself over his hips.

Given his considerable size, you figured it might take you a second to adjust, but you want him so bad, the feeling of his cock stretching you open is all white-hot pleasure. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself down on him, inch by overwhelming inch, until your ass is flush with thighs.

Namjoon’s head drops back against the couch as you slowly grind your hips into him, his hands gripping at your waist to guide the movement. You can’t help the soft sound that flutters out of you: he just looks so good like this, white-blonde hair swept off his forehead, beads of sweat trailing down his temples and glistening at his collarbones, his parted lips full and kiss-bitten.

“Baby,” he groans as you start to move a little more intentionally. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long. Tell me what to do.”

“Touch me,” you breathe, and you close a hand over one of his, guiding him down to your clit. 

Just like the night before in his car, his touch is so gentle when he begins to trace circles into the sensitive nub with his thumb. You can feel the slow-hum build of an orgasm in your core, drawn up by the steady rub of his hand, and you lean back to allow him better access, bracing yourself on his thighs as you rock along his length.

A moan rips through you as the new angle drags the head of his dick just right against your front wall, and it’s good enough to make your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you shove your hips down harder, driving his cock into that spot over and over until your thighs have started to tremble.

“That’s it,” Namjoon grunts encouragingly, his voice husky. “Use me, baby. Look so good when you bounce on my cock like that.”

The words set every last one of your nerve endings alight, and you dig your nails into his skin as your spine arches from the pleasure. His thumb is still working steadily at your clit, and the heavy stretch of his cock has you so wet, you can feel arousal starting to leak down your thighs. Your pussy clings to him like a vice, a throbbing-tight heat, taking him to the hilt every time.

“Oh my god, Joon,” you groan, “I’m gonna come.”

His touch doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself teetering right on the precipice of it, only able to manage little gasps as you drop yourself down onto his cock again and again and again, with enough force that there’s an audible sound of your skin slapping against his.

Your legs are outright shaking from the effort now, from how close you are, and then Namjoon ducks his head, using his free hand to guide your tit into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue laved across the tight bud of your nipple is just what you need to push you over the edge.

With a moan that’s more like a sob, you drop forward against Namjoon’s chest, sinking all the way down to bury him in your pulsing cunt as you come. He continues to rub you through the waves of your orgasm, breathing ragged in your ear while your pussy gushes around him, until you grab his wrist with a soft whimper of overstimulation, and he relents.

Too gone to get any words out, all you can do is take his face in your hands and kiss him. He rolls his tongue over yours, decadent, as his palms slip down to cup your ass. You groan a little into his mouth when he begins to shift you, your cunt still fluttering-sensitive at every little motion, but he manages to maneuver you onto your back while still keeping himself sheathed in you.

His hands move to your thighs, encouraging your legs to hook over his hips, and his mouth trails kisses down the valley between your breasts before he breathes against your skin, “Can I keep going?”

“Please,” you murmur, and it’s chased with a moan when he starts to rock his hips into you. You feel so full, so swollen from your climax that it’s like your walls were molded to take him, the crown of his cock stroking deep-deep over the place that lights you up inside, shooting sparks of pleasure all the way down to your toes.

Namjoon’s breath stutters on a laugh. “Shit, I’m already close.”

You tilt up to brush your lips against his, humming encouragingly into his mouth, and then he pulls back again, one dimple teasing at the corner of his smile. “God, I— wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, you know exactly what he means. “Come in me, Joon,” you beg, fucked so good that you’re shameless for it, and you gasp when he bottoms out in you with his next thrust. “Fill me up. Fuck me full of your cum, baby, please.”

It’s like the words send him into overdrive, and he practically growls as he starts to fuck his cock into you forcefully, hard enough to make your tits bounce. Each snap of his hips punches a heady groan from your lungs, and you reach up to drag your nails across the skin of his back as he chases his own end.

“Gonna fucking— give it to you,” he hisses, rolling his hips one, two, three more times, and then you feel his cock twitching, shoved in as deep as you can take him. He heaves a final strangled groan as he comes, rope after rope of his release pumping into you to paint your walls, until you can feel it beginning to spill back down your thighs.

You kiss through the comedown, inhaling shaky breaths into each other’s mouths, your bodies still fitted together like puzzle pieces, sweat starting to cool in the places where skin is pressed to skin. Namjoon finally moves first, giving a grunt of effort as he rolls off the couch, and you throw an arm over your face while the world slowly settles into focus around you.

When he returns, it’s with a towel in hand, and you can’t help smiling as he cleans you up, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone in tandem.

His voice is soft, too, when he finally speaks. “Will you stay here tonight?”

You prop yourself up on your forearms to look at him, and a little glimmer of something lights up in your chest that you can’t ignore. The first spark of an ember, just enough to reignite a flame you’d long since believed to be entirely extinguished. But now he’s shown you: it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be alone.

“Of course. We still have presents to wrap,” you say simply, and he huffs a laugh as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Joon?” you murmur into the crook of his neck, unable to keep your voice entirely steady.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For the magic.”

[jeansplaytoy]

Complaining. - Ony 4

<<part three part five>>

slight arguing, mentions of cheating and feelings (mild), no proofread, i’ll edit it whenever. sorry for the waittt!

you rubbed your eyes, slipping your white painted toes into your fluffy slides. you weren’t even drunk last night but for some reason, that headache just bothered the hell out of you.

“shittt.” you whispered to yourself. you checked your phone and the time. 10:47am. you stretched before standing up, stretching your legs and making your way to the bathroom. you grabbed a towel, running warm water under it before washing your face lazily. you brushed your teeth, went to your room and grabbed your phone.

you made your way to the living room, sitting on your couch, waiting for something to happen. it was a weird feeling, like empty. you can’t say you’d never felt it before, but this time you were just bored. and you were rarely bored.

but conveniently, as you were scrolling through apps on your tv, you got a phone call from an awfully familiar number. you pursed you’re lips together, frowning slightly before answering. “who is this?” was the first thing you asked.

“damn, you deleted my whole number too?” ony spoke on the other line.

you sighed, rolling your eyes. “boy what you want? ain’t yo girlfriend somewhere near you?” you asked. “just because we… quote on quote “date” don’t mean we live together.” ony mumbled. you hummed. “yeah okay.” you muttered.

“so wassup witchu?”

you paused for a minute before answering. “ion know. but i gotta talk to you about something, ony.” you said while playing with your nails. “ight, speak.” ony said in between a yawn.

you quirked a frown before leaning back on your couch. “we need to talk about some shit going on between us because-“before you could even finish, your phone started vibrating and it was a facetime call instead of an audio call. you smacked your lips and answered it with a frown, making ony laugh. he was still in bed, he looked tired.

“my bad, i just wanna see you when you talk. keep going.”

you squinted for a few seconds. “anyway, as i was sayin. we need to talk about some shit between us because i feel-“

all of a sudden, there was a loud ass sneeze and you frowned. “ony what the fuck is wrong witchu?”

“it’s allergy season bruh please.” he rubbed his nose before sniffing and chuckling. “ight keep going.”

you smacked your lips. “nevermind dude just… you wanna come over today?” you asked while rubbing your forehead. ony raised his eyebrows. “like… for what?” he frowned a little. “so we can talk. cus apparently you don’t know how to listen without making dumbass sounds.”

“can we get sum to eat if i come?”

~

so there you were, sitting in the passenger side of your ex boyfriends car, downing a burger and large fry with a drink. as he drove, he glanced at you from time to time, raising his eyebrows at the way it looked like you just feened for food.

“you ain’t eat today?”

“nah.” you mumbled, taking a bite of four fries and looking at ony with furrowed eyebrows. “you must got a problem or sum?”

“you in my car.” he nudged your arm and you continued to eat your food, staring at him. “ion care.” you said, grabbing your drink and sipping through the straw. ony hummed. “so what you wanna talk about. you know my girl ain’t gone like us together.” he sighed, leaning back a little. you frowned and looked at him.

“i’m just playing, damn.” he laughed. “but for real wassup.”

“we need to get our shit together, that’s what. cus i’m not finna be fuckin on you tomorrow and then we have a lame ass argument the next day.” you glanced at him, passing him a fry. “and ion want yo lil bitch to be mean mugging me, but i’m not gon say too much cus she ain’t did too much yet. but that shit you said about her being a replacement, it just made me feel like you wasn’t really talking to me for me, you was just talking to me cus you wanted to brag or sum.”

ony pursed his lips together, putting the car in park as you both sat in an empty parking lot. “so you tryna say i was only talking to you to let it be known that i could easily replace you?” he frowned softly.

you shrugged, finishing your burger. “i mean, i really hate yo ass. i do. but you having her as my replacement? you gotta do better than that. you making it seem like i’m ugly or sum shit.”

ony smacked his lips and rested his eyes at you. “you know you not ugly, i know you not ugly. don’t do that. and how was i posed to find somebody finer than you?”

“you cheated on me with her, ony. then you brought her around the around the group expecting her to just be invited like we all ain’t been friends since bout middle school and her ass just now coming.”

you turned in the seat to face him. “and then the hoe kept staring at me when she saw me and you talking like she had a problem or sum. wassup wit that? i mean i get why she mad, you talkin to the girl you cheated on to get with her, but she ain’t had to look at me like that-“

“why you always shit talkin?” ony stared at you. but it wasn’t a bad stare. it was more like a genuine question stare.

“huh?”

“you too cute to be worried bout what these hoes got going on or what these bitches think about you. i told you bout that.” he said as his eyes continued to rest on yours. he did tell you about that.

you opened your mouth to defend your actions, but nothing came out. it was like ever since you broke up with him, you’ve just been in that same grumpy mood for the whole time.

“you ain’t ever act like then when we was together, you was a lover girl.” ony smiled a little.

“but you cheated on me and i got mad. and ian gone lie, i been mad about that shit for a long time.” you looked at him. “and it’s annoying seeing you with somebody else that think they better than me or sum. i can’t tell nobody but you that.”

“why?”

“cus that’s embarrassing.”

ong smacked his lips. “i’m sorry for doin that to you. ion got no problem wit apologizing. but ion want you to bottle up yo feelings until i come around cus we not even together.”

“and ion want you to be around me as a secret and then start acting different in front of yo girl.” you raised your eyebrow at him. you might’ve been feeling some typa way, but ain’t no way you was finna sit here and feel bad about shit because she was in the way of you and ony getting back on good terms.

ony rubbed his face. “ion act different. that was only when i expected you to be more mad.”

“but you’ll flirt with me one minute and then be a whole other nigga when you get around her.”

“cus that’s my girlfriend.”

“you don’t even like that girl.”

“says who?”

“me, nigga.”

“who the hell is you to say ion like her?”

“why you always tryna argue wit me?”

“cus i love yo ass.”

you paused in your words and pursed your lips together, slowly staring to smile. “you still love me?” you asked. ony stared at you for a few seconds before rolling his eyes. “duh, why you think you in my car?” you slowly nodded. “so that mean you cheated on me wit that bitch for nothing. when you breakup with her, then we can start back talking, but for now? aw nigga you outta luck. now take me home.”

“bruh y/n-“

“take me home, ony.” you said before finally turning around in the seat and buckling up.

the ride home was silent, but not awkward. it wasn’t like you were mad at each other, it’s just that nobody had nothing else to say. you bit the inside of your cheek, looking around the car. you opened the glove compartment and a perfume bottle rolled out of there. it was yours.

you opened it and smelled it. “i was lookin for this.” you mumbled, looking at ony.

“keep it in there.” he glanced at you.

“it’s mine.”

“that’s the only thing in this car you still got, bruh. lemme keep it.” he mumbled, nudging your cheek. you smacked your lips and put it back.

“you better be glad i’m not as mad as i was.”

[superblysubpar]

Dad Steve Options

- dad steve wants to/asks to baby wear his little infant girl and it's just about the fuckin most adorable thing. Maybe he goes out on the town doing something domesticated with her strapped to his chest. 🫠

- his kiddo (boy or girl) plays basketball and he's all mushy proud dad at their first game (esp bc he knows what it's like to play with no one in the stands) 🏀

- dad Steve has a daughter and she asks him to her schools father daughter dance 🤵

- dad Steve gets heart eyes at you just after you give birth and are a trash mess in the hospital (and/or other first time mom things that are otherwise not glamorous but he's just so amazed. 🤱

dad!steve harrington x mom!fem! reader

a How Sweet It Is story

Summary: It's hard to stay mad at Steve when he's just being a good husband and dad | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is

Warnings: reader is pregnant

3.6k words

Winter, 1996:

The house was in chaos, but what else is new? 

Steve can't even keep track of what day of the week it is, so it was a very real possibility (or entirely one hundred percent a fact) that he forgot to change the wet clothes from the washing machine into the dryer last night.

Normally, not a big deal - he'd rewash it or he'd smell test and toss it in the dryer anyways. However, this load was important because it had the basketball jersey in it.

The basketball jersey his daughter is supposed to wear in less than a half hour for her game. 

"Dad! Where's my jersey? You said you washed it right?"

The basketball jersey said daughter is screaming down the hall for. 

"Oh shit," he whispers before realizing the little lady who barely comes up to his hip is standing next to him as he carefully pulls another daughter from her crib. 

The noise of her sucking in a deep breath alerts him of her presence. Watching out of the corner of his eyes as she rocks back on her heels and chirps out happily, repeating it back to him, "Oh, shit!"

He spins to face her quickly, hand on the back of the sleeping one year old cradled against his chest, "No, no, no Liv, baby don't-"

"Shit!" She laughs as she repeats it again, happy to have her dad’s attention on her.

"Dad!" Nora shrieks down the hall and he groans.

When did the "dy" get removed? Why don't fathers get notified? Have ample time to prepare from being called Daddy lovingly by their baby girl to Dad like they’re public enemy number one suddenly. 

He calls out, squeezing his eyes shut, "Nora, sweetie I forgot-"

"Folded on the counter in the bathroom!" your voice echoes up the stairs, interrupting the meltdown that was about to occur. You are a saint and his shoulders fall down with relief as Nora shouts back a thank you - much too loud, but he’ll take the win. 

He watches Liv untangle her braids absentmindedly and she sings "Shit!" again as they walk out into the hall.

Grace gasps from the bottom of the stairs, "Mommy! Liv said shit!"

"Grace, don't repe-"

"She what?"

Steve groans again, his permanent state lately, as he makes his way down the stairs one at a time, his jeans in the firm grasp of his three year old as she takes her time. Julie stirs in his arms, that furrow of her eyebrows deepening and tiny fists forming from all the yelling. 

God, please don’t wake up and start screaming. Steve pleads down the stairs with the one who can maybe understand him, "Grace, baby, she doesn't know it's a bad word yet okay? She doesn't-"

"Shit!" Liv hops off the stairs from the second to last one, grinning proudly at you.

Steve closes his eyes and peeks them open as he takes the last step to see you trying not to smile.

"Liv, sweetie, bad word don't repeat," you squat with your arm outstretched for her and groan the whole way down and wince when she slams into you with a giggle.

Steve's nerves on high alert as your face scrunches in pain, "What? What's wrong? Are you okay? What hurts?"

Your laugh is loud as you look up at him, rolling your eyes. You slip on Liv's shoes as Grace uses your shoulder to balance while she gets her own on. Grace manages to trap some of your hair between her fingers as she tugs and he watches you physically fight off the wince that wants to come out as you huff, "Steve, I'm fine. I have a doctor’s appointment nex-”

“Yeah, not till next week. You should stay home and-”

Fury burning in your eyes towards him as you frown, “I’m not missing her game Steve.”

He swallows and nods. He totally understands, it’s the championship game. Nora’s first season. He’d literally have to be bleeding out to miss it, and even then he’d probably fight you on it. But this - you - it’s different. 

This pregnancy is so unlike the others already, your symptoms much worse and far quicker than the other four and he felt guilty and more worried than usual. However, the main feeling buzzing through his body is absolutely fear. Your mood towards him has been far more on the ‘you did this to me and I hate you’ side of the spectrum than the ‘wow I can’t believe we’re having another one’ he was normally used to. All of which has him convinced it’s a boy this time. Destined to be a pain in the ass just like his father. Or worse, it could be another daughter, but one who comes out calling him dad immediately with disdain dripping from her lips while she sneaks out of her window to go sleep with-

Nora’s feet slamming on the steps pulls him out of his spiral and he turns, a wide smile pulling at his lips. Decked out in green and orange, bright green glasses to match and her dark brown curls in a ponytail, she beams at him. 

He raises his hand and pretends to snap a picture and she poses, sticking her tongue out just like Uncle Eddie and he laughs. 

She jumps down the last few steps and as Steve bends to kiss the top of her head, Nora ducks to kiss Julie on the forehead softly. As Steve stands up, brushing a stray baby hair that fell from Nora’s headband, she peers up at him looking like his little girl and an adult all at the same time as she asks, “Ready to watch me kick some Cougar’s butts?”

He laughs and Grace cheers, causing Liv to join in and run around in a circle whooping and tugging on your jeans. Your hand falls to your stomach, not really showing at all yet, but your habit of resting it there from past pregnancies already returning. You smile at your daughters before making eye contact with him, nodding towards the front door with a roll of your eyes, “Well what are we waiting for? Time to go watch the best team in Indiana!”

“Steve, come on, I can just hold her,” you huff as you lean against the car, watching Robin push Grace and Liv on the swings across the parking lot.

“Baby, just-ouch!” buckle pinching his fingers again and he grits through his teeth, “This way we both have free hands,” he grins as it clicks together and he tugs harshly, making sure it’s secure before he motions with his fingers for her to hand over Julie. His youngest, who’s now awake and happily munching on her own hand as she peers at him with big brown eyes. 

You smile, kissing the top of her head, not releasing her and looking out the corner of your eye, “You look like such a dork.”

“Ah, but an efficient dork. This way my hands are free for foam fingers and popcorn. Plus it’s practice. What’s gonna happen when it’s park day and we have two that can’t walk and one of us is at work?” he snaps the band over his shoulder with a grin and raises his eyebrows.

You snort and he reaches for Julie, she squirms and shrieks, kicking her legs like it’s a fun game as he tries to place her in the opening. Steve mumbles, “Jules, come on now-”

“Would you like some help?” you ask with your arms crossed, hiding your amusement as he huffs and nods. 

Julie reaches for you again as you help tuck her legs in, her back to Steve’s chest. Her shriek breaks his ear drums as you pretend to bite the air around her, chasing her hands and pressing your nose into hers. 

Eyes sparkling as you look up at him from under your lashes, hair blowing lightly in the wind Steve was sure if you weren’t already pregnant he’d ask you for another one right then and there. 

Snorting, you stand up and raise your eyebrows at him and he feels the heat blooming under his skin as he asks, “What?”

You laugh, pointing an accusing finger in his face that Julie makes quick work to grab onto as you scold, “You’re giving me your baby eyes!”

“I-what?” Damn, you were good. Steve looks up at the sky, hands on his hips, “You’re ridiculous. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He starts to walk away, turning to reach out his hand, “Look at that,” yours slips into his and he squeezes, kissing the top of Julie’s head, “Another benefit to free hands.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s a fair argument,” you squeeze it back, locking eyes with him as you step closer to the playground. Your thumb rubs against the back of his knuckles, “I’m sorry I’ve been so awful lately.”

He stops you, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks and he shakes his head, “Woah, woah, woah, who said anything about you being awful?”

You roll your eyes, leaning into one of his palms and kiss his wrist, ready to protest when Robin interrupts.

“Hey! Lovebirds! If you’re done making googly eyes at each other, I think we have a very important game to get to!”

Steve sighs and you smile, stepping onto your toes to kiss his cheek and letting his hands hover in your absence as you start towards the girls. 

Robin hangs back until Steve catches up, yanking his arm harshly, “I cannot believe you.”

“Hi Robin, I missed you too,” Steve rips his arm out of her grip and frowns. 

She pokes at him, walking backwards with a hiss, “Did you really get her pregnant again?”

Steve stops, mouth dropping open and Robin groans, “Steve, you’re actually disgusting. Can you not keep it in your pants? I mean, my god, you just had this cutie,” she tickles Julie’s cheeks as she reaches for her and Robin raises her eyebrows, snapping the band of the pack as he had just done, “Dork.”

He rubs at his temple, “Will you -first of all, Y/N hasn’t even been to the doctor yet, so will you just cool it? The girls don’t know and actually, why am I even telling you?!” he throws his hands up, “You probably already know since you have a wire tap into my house or some shit.”

Robin snorts, turning back around, “No Stevie, you’re just very, very…” she flutters her fingers around, eyes scrunching before snapping, “Predictable?”

Annoyed at her use of the nickname and ready to argue with her, he’s interrupted when you turn with both girls' hands in yours to look over your shoulder and you frown. Any sweet moment the two of you just shared over as you scold, “Steve! Did you just tell her?!”

Steve holds up his hands, eyes widening, “No, no, no, I-”

You narrow your eyes and his voice squeaks, “She guessed!” he hits Robin’s shoulder with the back of his hand, “Right? You guessed. Tell her that I didn’t tell you.”

“Ouch,” Robin hisses and then shrugs, enjoying the game, “I don’t know, did I guess Steve? Or did you just confirm a suspicion?”

Steve can see the steam coming out of your ears and Robin winces, hands motioning just like Steve’s, “No really, I did guess. Not his fault. Can I get you a pretzel? How about a Sprite? You look beautiful today, doesn’t she, Steve?”

You roll your eyes and walk away with the girls and Steve’s shoulders slump, and Robin pat his arm, whispering as they trailed in behind you, “What the hell did you do to her?”

He looks at the back of your head and then at Robin and shrugs before whispering, “I don’t know, but I think a mini version of myself is coming out this time.”

Robin shivers, making a gagging noise, “Ew, gross, don’t say-”

“Aunt Robin!” Nora shouts, waving wildly from her spot on the bench. 

Robin screams, waving just as frantically and holds up two thumbs before blowing a kiss that Nora jumps up to catch. 

As you sit, Liv wastes no time, crawling onto you, her foot digging into your stomach as she maneuvers to a comfy yet restless position and Steve winces, “Baby, why don’t you come sit on Aunt Robin’s lap?”

You frown, “Steve, I’m fine,” but Liv is already crawling across your lap and into Robin’s who takes her arms and waves them and gets her shouting for Nora too. Grace standing on the bleacher next to her, holding up a sign decked out in glitter that’s raining on the people in front of her as she waves it back and forth too quickly. 

You’re on your feet suddenly, making your way past him and he grabs your wrist, “Wait, where are you going?”

Glaring at him, you remove your wrist, “To go get a Ginger-ale.”

He starts to stand, “Are you not feeling good? I can get it, you sit and-”

“Steve, I also have to pee, are you going to do that for me too?”

He sits, pulling his cheek in and nods once, “Right. Have fu-good lu-” he closes his eyes and shakes his head and nods again as you leave the stands. 

Robin whistles, “Dude, this is bad. I haven’t seen you this frazzled since before you started dating.”

Steve slumps against Robin, forehead to her shoulder, “I don’t know if she’s actually pissed or it’s just the-” his voice drops quieter, “hormones, or-”

Liv spins in her lap and pulls at his cheek and he smiles until she grins back and shouts, “Pissed!”

Grace gasps, “Daddy! Liv just said-”

Steve straightens, finger pointing at her, “I know! Don’t repeat it!” he boops Liv’s nose, “Not a good word. Don’t repeat.”

Liv grins, opening her mouth and before she can say it again, Robin blows a raspberry into her neck, distracting her in perfect time to you climbing the stairs with Dustin and Eddie behind you. 

Julie has a hold of his fingers and you smirk, “So much for free hands.”

Dustin stops in front of him, “You look like a mega dork.”

Steve pushes the bill of his hat down, “Takes one to know one.”

Eddie and Dustin plop in the now vacant and completely littered in green and orange glitter spots in front of you and Liv climbs from Robin’s lap onto Eddie’s shoulders. Dangling, her face upside down in front of his, she beams and shouts, “Shit!”

Eddie laughs but quickly covers it up with a cough, “Well, that’s a new word,” he looks over his shoulder at you and grins, “For the record, I was not the one to teach that one to her.” He pulls her forward until she’s balancing a foot on each of their thighs and beaming back at you.

Sighing, you shake your head, “Nope that one was all Steve.”

Liv chooses then to repeat her other new word and Steve hides his face in Julie’s hair. Grace gasps again, “Mommy, did you hear-”

It’s extremely hard to stay mad at Steve Harrington. 

Not a new realization, in fact it’s something you’ve been highly aware of since the day you met. One look at his stupidly adoring face and anger just seemed to dissolve from you. So, today was no different of course. 

The way he nudged his knee against yours when you returned to the stands, a silent ‘we’re okay, right?’, his sudden jump up when Nora got the ball and he shouted, “Elbow, baby, keep your elbow in!” and his fist pump as the ball swished into the net. The stupid ( and fine, very logical) baby carrier that shouldn’t look good on him but did. The way he handed Julie off to you so he could race down the stairs and catch Nora who jumped into his arms as he spun her shouting something about pizza for everybody. 

It was all so incredibly and unfairly endearing. And it’s not like you were actually mad at him. You couldn’t wait to have another baby with him. No, the problem is that once Steve finds out, he’s not going to let you out of bed, out of his sight or allow you to do a single thing for yourself. Because you know that’s how he was with the other four and this will be worse, you just know it.  

Having four girls is already a lot of work. His promotion at work and your job keep you both busy aside from being parents. He already insists on doing most of the chores since you work longer hours some nights. But it’s chaotic. Both of you forget loads of laundry, leave dishes in the sink, and you get take out far too many nights because the thought of cooking is too much. What’s going to happen when he finds out? When it’s already chaos and you’re helping, how much worse is it going to get when he refuses to let you do anything?

So, when he insists on getting up at dinner to go get you another slice and go refill the girls drinks and his pizza sits cold and uneaten in front of him you snap, “Steve! Stop it!”

The table falls silent, a thing you actually thought impossible for your family. Even Julie, her pacifier placating her into silence. The arcade game’s dings and whistles are the only sound for what feels like forever before you blow out your breath and push back from the table. Mumbling some sort of an apology and you step outside taking a breath of fresh air. 

Though your vision is blurry, you can see through the front windows that they’re all trying and failing to look busy instead of watching you, and Steve is outside and in your space because of course he followed you immediately. 

“Baby, you gotta tell me what’s going on. Hey, come on,” he cradles your cheeks, thumbs brushing over them and wiping your tears as his forehead presses to yours, glasses sliding down his nose. 

“So-sorry,” you hiccup, hands tightening on his forearms and squeezing. 

“Will you stop apologizing? It’s my fault and I know we talked about it, but maybe you don’t want this fifth one and-”

“Steve, please stop. You have to…” you take a step away from him and wipe at your cheeks and cross your arms, “I need you to listen. Really listen. Let me get it all out before you go into overprotective hero mode okay?”

He grimaces, “That is not making me feel better, babe.” His shoulders relax at your raised eyebrows and he nods, leaning against the window, raising his right hand with a small smile, “I promise, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you start pacing in front of him, “I love you. So much. And I love our family. It’s chaos, but it’s our chaos, you know? And, seriously, I love you, but you have to let me do things for myself and trust that I know my body and my limits because, Steve,” your hands are in your hair as your eyes stay focused on the sidewalk, “It’s already hard to stay on top of stuff when I do help. So I need to hear you say it.”

He straightens, eyebrows furrowed and you reach forward on instinct to soften the wrinkles with your fingers just like you do for the girls as he asks, “Say what?”

“That you promise to let me help. That unless I ask for help or to not do something, that I can…” you wave your hands around, “That I can go get my own slice of pizza. That we both help with the girls, that-”

He nods, hands finding yours, “Okay, I promise.”

He leans in to kiss you, nose pressing into your cheek and lips hovering over yours as you sigh, “Thank you, but there’s one more thing?”

His lips twitch up on one side, “Yeah? Do I need to start using a swear jar?”

Blowing out your breath in a shaky laugh, you watch his eyes carefully as you whisper, “Remember how you said you wanted six kids?”

He smiles against your lips, not fully listening you’re sure, since this is the closest you’ve been in weeks but he nods. Swallowing and licking his lips as he presses closer to you. 

“Well, uh, about that,” his hands find your cheeks as you push through it, “We’re having twins.”

Steve’s thumbs freeze, his shoulders tense and his gulp is audible, “Wh-what?”

You shrug, biting your lip as your vision turns blurry from more tears, “Surprise?”

His arms move around your waist and before you can say anything else he’s holding you up, your toes barely touching the ground as he laughs through his own tears and kisses you. Breathless and kissing all over your face as he spins you around and the door opens, the girls running out, Julie in Nora’s arms and Grace holding Liv’s hand. 

Nora cocks her head to the side, a mirror image of Steve as she frowns, “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

Steve’s behind you, head pressed into your neck as you laugh and wipe at your eyes, holding up two fingers, “Well, mom’s having two babies!”

Shouting and running around in circles and kisses on every cheek you can find as they all celebrate loudly and are filled with too much energy for such small bodies. Steve doesn’t remove his arms from around your waist, squeezing you lightly and laughing into your shoulder as Liv yells, “Shit!” again. 

It’s chaos. But what else is new?

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, and I hope you consider reblogging my work to get it circulated to new readers - thanks for being here 💛

[ihavemanyhusbands]

thinking of Richie...reader just wants to shower in peace but he's sat on the toilet seat complaining about his day at The Bear lol

hope you're having a nice day!!

Hiiiii <3 i hope you are too!! GOD YES he would be so fucking annoying but i love him for being soooooo clingy 😭❤️😭

——

“Then Carmen had a major bitch fit and threw the whole fucking pot of gravy against the wall, and you know what that asshole said?” Richie’s voice turned more nasally as he imitated Carmen mockingly. “‘Clean that up, Richie.’ Can you believe that shit!?”

You sighed a little, leaning your forehead against the damp tiles, letting water trickle down your back. After having a long day yourself, you’d been looking forward to a relaxing shower to unwind, but then Richie had gotten home and barged into the bathroom.

“Did you actually clean it?” You asked.

“I mean I had no fucking choice, really, but I made sure he’ll never pull some shit like that again. Fuckin’ stronzo,” he scoffed. “God it’s fucking steamy in here, babe. I’m getting all sweaty. Maybe I should just join you in there.”

“Richard Jerimovich don’t you fucking dare. This is my shower time. You can have it when I’m done.”

He peeked around the shower curtain to look at you. “What? Why don’t you wanna shower with me?”

“Hey! You’re gonna get the floor wet!” You exclaimed, pulling the curtain back into place.

“Oh, but you’re fine with wasting water by making us take separate showers…”

You sighed again, this time in resignation. “Fine, get in here, but you owe me big time, you hear me?”

“Relax sweetheart,” he said, and you heard the soft thuds of his clothes being discarded on the floor. “I’ll wash your back, you wash mine. You know how it goes. Now how about you tell me about your day?”

——

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Hey! This is extremely late but I feel like you'd adore this prompt.

Character study: Ed's beard caused sensory issues, required tedious upkeep, and was a source of performative masculinity. Finally, he's shaving it, and seeing "Ed" for the first time in decades. Super healing, cute, positive 💜

You're right, I absolutely adored this prompt!! This took a minute because I wound up going in a completely different direction at first, wasn't satisfied with it, and it sat in my drafts, and now I actually fuckin' love it. This one's set in a modern AU with a trans Ed, because that's a delicious little wrinkle. Bon appétit.

(Never too late to send me prompts for 1k word fics, by the way! I can't promise they'll all get done but if they inspire me, I'll do 'em eventually. These are great for writer's block)

--

No one could accuse Ed Teach of disliking hair care.

That was something his mama had instilled in him from a young age. His hair was also his pride in his heritage, in where he came from, and taking care of it was an important way Ed could take care of himself and stay true to himself. His worst argument with Stede, to date, was over which of them was taking up too much space on their shared bathroom counter with all the hair care products (they’d wound up putting up more shelving). The first time he’d let Stede help him wash his hair, after Stede had listened through Ed’s explanations of his hair care, was probably one of the most intimate moments he’d ever shared with another man.

His beard, though. That was a different story.

Ed didn’t hate the beard, most days. It had started out as a band-aid solution when he’d been struggling to be taken seriously with his baby face, and he’d wanted to prove he was as much a man as anyone.

Then he’d grown up, and he’d stopped looking like he’d just glued a few random hairs to his chin, and it became…him. It was big and striking and masculine.

“You know,” he’d confided in Stede a few nights ago, cuddled up under the covers together, one thigh and an arm thrown over Stede’s middle while Stede traced little patterns over Ed’s bare hip with a forefinger, “I don’t even like the beard.”

Stede blinked down at him. “You don’t…like your beard?”

“Honestly?” Ed ran his fingers through it. He liked how soft it was, liked putting little bows in it, liked how everyone saw him and knew without a doubt he was a man. “It’s itchy, and it’s easy for things to get stuck in it, and it makes my face all hot, and hair gets in my mouth, and -”

“Hm,” Stede said, shifting his hand up to scritch his fingers along Ed’s jaw, and Ed leaned into the touch. “You don’t have to keep it.”

It was Ed’s turn to pause in surprise.

“But I’m Blackbeard,” he said, a bit lamely.

“You can be whoever you want to be, beard or no,” Stede shrugged. “I’ll love you just the same, with or without it.”

Huh.

This morning, Ed woke up early, plugging in Stede’s electric razor and locking the bathroom door behind him. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted Stede to be part of this moment, but…he hadn’t seen his whole face in literal decades.

He wanted his reaction to be his and his alone.

Ed hesitated before he could touch the razor to his face for the first time. What would everyone think? He’d literally named his entire brand after this thing.

He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter what everyone else thought. It was about what Ed wanted. He could do what he wanted with his own body to help himself feel more himself and more comfortable.

At the very least, he told himself, it would save him time in the mornings. You don’t keep a beard that big looking that good without a very time-consuming beard care regimen. 

He used a hand mirror as he worked, looking at himself at too close an angle to be able to see his full face before he was ready for that. When he splashed water on his face, he shivered at the coolness of it against his sensitive skin.

He swept up all the clippings, taking care to avoid looking into the mirror over the sink. “Bye-bye, Blackbeard,” he whispered, tipping the clippings into the trash can.

Ed took a deep breath. Stede had said he’d love him, no matter what. He lifted his head, and he saw -

Oh.

His first reaction was that he looked a lot like his mother. He’d started trying to grow his beard out right after he’d first started taking T, and he hadn’t even realized how scared he was that he’d shave his beard off and see his dad under there until he got to see the opposite was true. He had a sharper jawline, but the rest was all her.

And he’d been scared he wouldn’t look enough like a man without it, too, but he looked…pretty, actually, and literally fine. He’d probably want to keep at least some stubble, because he really did just like how affirming facial hair was, but this was proof that he didn’t need the full beard to look like a man. He was a man, no matter what he looked like - the beard had just been his way of daring anyone to tell him otherwise.

“Hey, Ed,” he whispered, watching in the mirror as he brought his hands up to feel, tracing new wrinkles, soft skin, birthmarks and little freckles he’d long forgotten.

It shocked a quiet giggle out of him when he realized how nice it would be, to eat food without worrying about something getting into his beard. How nice it would be to feel soft things against his cheek, to -

There was an idea!

Ed darted out of the bathroom and practically launched himself back into bed, grabbing Stede’s hand to hold it against his face. He shivered in delight - Stede had touched his face before, of course, but he’d never felt it so clearly, his soft palms and warm fingers against his cheek.

“Mmf,” Stede mumbled, burying his face in the pillows in protest against being woken up.

“Babe!” Ed collapsed down onto his side so he could snuggle close and rub his clean-shaven cheek against Stede’s.

“Wh-aah!” Stede yelped as he opened his eyes to see Ed like three inches away. “Your beard fell off!”

“Shaved it,” Ed corrected, looking away. He hadn’t expected Stede to fucking scream at him -

Stede reached out, gently, cupping Ed’s chin to tilt his face for a better look. “Oh, Ed,” he whispered. “Aren’t you beautiful?”

Yeah, Ed thought with satisfaction. He sure fuckin’ was.

[zweiginator]

I want crazy ex gf to get patrick jealous with a evil little plan like she’s daxtors laboratory

you devising a little plan as soon as you get home that night. deciding all you want is for patrick to want you again. for him to be as miserable and jealous as you are about him. you know how he is. you know girls fawn over him and you know he’s hooked up with girls since your break up a month and a half ago.

making fake social media accounts and following his accounts to keep up with where he’s going. he’s not very active but his friends are and you know they’re together a lot of the time.

so you see he’s out at a local bar and you have to be fast. getting all dolled up and calling the guy you hooked up with a few days after the breakup to numb your feelings.

of course he answers and agrees to pick you up and you know your plan did the trick when his mouth falls open as he sees you in your tiny skirt and tight top. your lips are glossy and you play along with him even though he’s really just a means to an end.

and when you get to the bar you’re hand in hand with him, standing on your tippy toes to give him a peck on the cheek. his hand rests on your lower back and you crank up the flirtiness, rubbing your hand over his leg and leaning into him, laughing way too hard at jokes that don’t merit it.

and you know patrick is there because you hear his friend group’s conversation falter. clearly, he’s seen you, but you don’t look at him. you don’t want to give him the time of day.

so you get tipsy and you eat dinner and then when your date goes to the bathroom there’s a tap on your shoulder. you swivel around on the barstool, your mouth wrapped around the straw of your drink.

“do you need something?” your heart is beating. fuck he smells good and he looks even better. hair freshly washed, aftershave slapped against his neck. green eyes angry; it’s obvious from the red flush on his cheeks. it’s hard not to sound excited.

“are you fucking serious? did you make a fake instagram account to follow me and my fucking friends?”

you feign surprise and ignorance. “what are you talking about? you set your drink down and eat a fry. “i’m on a date, so.”

patrick sits in the seat next to you and scoots close.

“you think you’re gonna make me jealous?”

“i don’t give a fuck if you’re jealous or not. leave me the fuck alone.” you spit at him, turning the chair away. he doesn’t want to cause a scene or look like a creep but he really wants to get through to you.

“already on a fuckin date a month later. and he looks familiar doesn’t he?”

yes, your date does look like patrick. obviously not as tall nor as attractive, but the similarities are there.

“what? he’s just a guy with brown hair.”

and now if patrick wasn’t mad, he is now. he doesn’t know why. he doesn’t care about you or what you’re doing. he doesn’t care that you’re there with another guy and he gets to touch you and you look beautiful and you’re laughing at his jokes and letting him buy you drinks. you’ll probably put out later and he remembers your first date. how you said he needed to wait before having sex with him between heated kisses in the backseat of his car.

“c’mere.” he reaches for your wrist. he doesn’t want to look pushy since you’re in public.

you stare up at him and your lip is almost wobbling upwards in a smile but you try to be cool.

“for what?” you make sure to make your eyes nice and big, staring up at him all naive and dumb. he loves that.

he snakes his hand up your inner thigh and you can’t pretend like you don’t love it. you whimper a bit and his finger brushes against your panties. they’re soaked and you’re wearing his favorite pair, baby pink and lacy with a pretty black bow on the front.

patrick groans as he feels your cunt. so warm and wet and wrapped like a gift for him to open and admire.

“i’ll never talk to you again if you go home with him.” he whispers in your ear and you swallow. he walks away but watches you the whole night.

and he smirks against the lip of his glass as he leaves without you.

[groupiewhoreee]

Imagine Kirk walking in Dave and you having sex and he’s a little bit embarrassed but it makes him kinda horny so he joins them ;) I would love a whole fic with this idea

hiii! omg yes. yes yes yes. my 2 favorite men. i love this idea thnx for requesting ittt!

Dave Mustaine x Y/N x Kirk Hammett

Warnings: Smut, heavy/filthy smut. Threesome. (Minors dnii! do nottt interact! But i cant force ya, so you can stay ig.)

Summary/Plot:In req by an lovely anon. <3

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

Kirk's cold, slender finger tips landed onto the knob of the pale door that faced him. He twisted the knob anxiously. He walked in, before noticing you and Dave. "Holy shit! I'm so sorry—!" Hammett shouted, covering his eyes. Kirk was embarrassed. Pure embarrassment rushed thru his veins in hysteria. He looked over at you for a second, his eyes landing straight on ur tits. "You gonna watch us fuck or what?" Dave rolled his eyes, continuing to pound into you. He groped ur boobs, a luscious moan slipped. Kirk was aroused. He felt his dick grow in his pants. Your eyes fluttered open in ecstasy, ur eyes landed on Kirks bulge that popped thru his pants.

Kirk was starting to get horny at the sight of you two getting it on. "Mind if I— maybe, join you two?" Kirk asked. Dave looked at him. "What the hell? Absolutely not." Dave said, turning around. "Oh come on Dave, let him join in. Its fine." You said repeatedly. "Okay, whatever. What the fuck." Mustaine's eyes rolled back to space. Kirk nodded eagerly. Kirk stepped over to you and Dave. He dropped his pants as well as his boxers. His rock hard dick sprung up. Kirk gave you the signal to suck. You would grab Kirk's dick with ur soft hand. You started sucking, bobbing ur head on his cock. Dave continued to pound into you. His lips instantly clashed with urs. Kirk's head threw back. He groaned, gripping ur hair. His finger tips entangled into ur hair.

Kirk pulled his dick out of mouth, cum leaked and dripped onto ur face, it somewhat mixed into ur hair, making a filthy mess. Dave still pounded into you, his thrusts going more sloppy. He held onto ur waist tightly, enough to make bruises. Dave pulled out of you, he cummed on ur stomach. Kirk pushed Dave out of the way. "Don't fuckin' push me dickwad!" Dave pushed Kirk back. "Whatever you ass." Kirk rolled his eyes to the moon. He positioned himself at ur entrance. You bit ur lip. He slammed into you, going at a slow speed, but he started speeding up. You moaned out loud, while Kirk stretched you out. "Kirk!" You moaned. Dave jerked off while watching you two.

Dave came onto his hand, while Kirk pulled out of you and came on ur stomach as well. Kirk pulled his pants up as well as his boxers. Dave grabbed his pants and boxers, putting them on in an instant. "Damn," Dave muttered, walking to the sink in the bathroom and washing his hand off. Kirk and Dave started helping you get changed and everything. Kirk smiled while doing so. "That was fucking great man," Kirk said. "I guess, never had a threesome with a dickwad like you." Dave laughed, bumping Kirk. You just laughed, looking at the two boys. "Shut up!" Kirk bumped Dave.

[eonars]

THE WHINERRRRR I've been at this summer training program half a day and I already hate itttttttt

When I first got in a couple of them (fellow phd students in the doctoral network we're a part of) were asking me about my background and stuff because they'd all just been talking about their background in embryonic research and reproductive biotechnology and what fucking ever and I was like yeah um I did environmental consulting for proposed development projects and was also a math and science tutor for kids and got a fuckin LOOOOOOK from them bro :/ and like genuine surprise of oh so all this stuff is new to you? You're gonna learn it all here? Like YES? THIS IS A SUMMER TRAINING PROGRAM NOT A SUMMER ALREADY KNOWS IT PROGRAM. And then they were like you only brought that backpack with you? And I was like yeah my supervisor booked my flights and only got a carryon but it's whatever and they were like wowwww my university got me a checked bag I could neverrrr fit everything into a backpack like that. Poor you. Then one guy was like what's that fish you have tattooed? And i was like oh it's m.zebra I did my bachelor's thesis on them and he was like ugh. I could NEVERRRR have something *work* related tattooed on me (he has no tattoos but told me all about how he's perfectly planned two sleeves of japanese motifs on one and nordic runes on another) and then when we got in I was like you know I might just hand wash a shirt or two bc by the time I get enough stuff for a load of laundry I'll be out of clothes and this girl was like omggggg I just feel SOOO BAD for you with that tiny backpack I don't know how you did it. And then tattoo expert was like honestly if I went to America when I was 20 and they told me I couldn't drink a beer I'd GO CRAZY how come you guys can join the army and vote and do all this stuff before getting a beer?? And I was like you're aware I have no power over this right? And then later on in the night he was like yeah I see those videos of Americans making mac and cheese with like bricks of cheese and stuff it's fucked up and I was like no yeah I'd come home from work and fry a whole block of velveeta every day. And then he was like that are those runes on your hand and I was like they're not runes. Also every time we smell weed he's like haha look at her the Californian she's so excited. Anyway I kinda hate it here I wanna go home four of us are sharing one bathroom and the shower doesn't drain at all and the whole thing floods and I feel like everyone is being so patronizing to me cause I'm some dumb inexperienced American and they keep making snides about how I got into a really good project and how norway has the best pay out of all the European countries associated with this program and why am I being so cheap and taking public transport from the airport when I'm getting the norway pay?? Anyway I almost cried in bed last night. Onwards and upwards I'm here til next Wednesday.