#led toe kick lighting

[cattenkitten]

Kitchen - Rustic Kitchen

A large, rustic, l-shaped, medium-tone wood floor eat-in kitchen remodel with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, light wood cabinets, quartz countertops, a black backsplash, a glass backsplash, black appliances, and no island is shown in the inspiration.

[kanskesims]

Minneapolis Dining Kitchen A large, rustic, l-shaped, medium-tone wood floor eat-in kitchen remodel with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, light wood cabinets, quartz countertops, a black backsplash, a glass backsplash, black appliances, and no island is shown in the inspiration.

[druitts]

Kitchen Dining

[peachesofteal]

The House

The Crypt anthology Simon Riley / female reader

The House was a gamble.

Tucked away in a thicket of forest, boxed in on the side of a hill, it stands alone at the mouth of an uneven gravel road. The porch tips to one side, the front door to another, like the wood is weeping. White, stained paint contrasts with faded black trim, all of it peeling away.

“Not sure how old it is, to be honest. It’s been back there for years, owner let it fall into disrepair.” The realtor hesitantly dropped the keys in your hand with a grumble under his breath. “Good luck.”

The living room is habitable, barely, along with a single bedroom that has managed to fend off the rot and decay. After the floor is swept, cobwebs cleared, you rub your hands together trying to spark some heat between your palms. You didn’t think it’d get this cold, this fast, but the weather has turned in the last few days, and the furnace in the basement patiently waits for you.

Best to get it over with.

This isn’t the first house you’ve rehabbed. You’re familiar with weeping trusses, creaking stairs, raccoons curled up in kitchen cabinets, dirt floor basements and cellars. You’ve battled a furnace or two, cleaned a fireplace, nearly fallen through a rotten floorboard. It should all be old hat.

Should be.

Something about this house is different. Shadows dance in the corner of your eye, gone when you turn to look. Windows whistle without wind, and at night, you swear you can hear breathing.

It’s all in your head, of course. A house stuck out here in the woods is bound to have some quirks, some unexplainable moments, passing as quickly as they came. Pipes, foundations, doorframes, they’re all shifting things, never truly solid. There are always growing pains, even in something old.

Besides, old houses always have stories. They have bones.

So, it should be old hat, but a wisp of a feeling so unnatural gives you pause at the top of the stairs, and a shudder rockets down your spine.

Suck it up, you chastise. You’re an adult for fucks sake.

The furnace is a monster. It’s big, and ancient, and rusted, and to your delight, still operational. Old furnaces, old washers and dryers, all the things made in the seventies and before, last forever. No LED displays, no excessive electrical hookups, no songs to announce the end of a cycle. Lack of extensive wiring leads to a longer lifespan.

It kicks back on with a loud groan, hissing and rattling, and you roll back on your heels, satisfied. Easy enough, you think, tugging your tools up and turning to leave.

Something catches your eye. A black scrap of cloth, haphazardly ditched in a corner of the basement. The light casts it in shadow, and the room goes cold as your knuckles graze the fabric, turning it to reveal faded white teeth and bone.

It’s a skull mask.

You chalk it up to being something left over from the last owners, a Halloween costume, or prop as you carry it up the stairs. Just another thing left behind, like the house itself. You toss it on one of the tables, making a note to throw it away later, distracted by the thud of a fist.

Someone is knocking on the door.

“Can I help you?” He’s too big. Too tall. Shoulders too wide. Chest too broad. There’s a curve of fat around his belly under the unbuttoned jacket, and you try to look away at how hips give way to too thick thighs. You’re not a small girl, by any means but this man… this man is a monster.

“Just wanted to come by, meet my neighbor.” Your heart pounds, so loud it rattles your eardrums, and your mouth dries. “I’m Simon.” You manage to spit your name out in response.

“Your neighbor?” You squeak in disbelief, and he nods.

“I live on the next property over. Over the hill.” Over the hill? The realtor said no one lived around here, and he must read the confusion on your face, because he chuckles. “I don’t live too close, it’s still about ten miles. You’ve got a lot of land here.”

“Oh. Right.” He takes you in from head to toe. There's a tenebrific flicker in his eyes that you barely catch, gone when the front porch creaks under your feet, a sharp whine forcing you to step off the board, lest you fall right through.

“How’s it treatin’ you?” You think you’re supposed to step off the porch. Be friendly. Extend a hand, but you can’t. Something roots you to the spot you’ve chosen.

“Good. Fine. It’s uh… not my first rehab.” He nods thoughtfully.

“Well, just wanted to drop by.” He gives you a smile. It’s not warm, or welcoming, but grim. Haunted.

You watch him disappear down the road, still stuck to the porch. Wondering.

Your dreams are caked in mud.

Held down by the earth, dirt wet between your teeth, grit and gravel clogging your throat.

You scratch and claw and scream but it only grows heavier, quicksand turning to cement, burying you deeper and deeper until you’re six feet under. Listless. Resigned.

Dying.

Dreams are always the same. Just when you get to the point where you think you might die, when you’re past the point of no return, the last sliver of life slipping away-

is when you wake up.

This dream is no different. You come to screaming, gasping for air, tangled in your blankets, heart racing in a gallop. You need the sky. The sun. The moon. Anything to prove you’re not buried alive.

The window suffices.

It groans as you throw it open and shove your face outside, cool breeze soothing your stomach, the roar of panic pounding between your ears. You breathe deep again and again, the trembling in your hands tapering off, feeling of impending doom, of collapse, leeching away.

You get yourself settled when the stairs creak.

Growing pains. The house is old.

It’s a manageable explanation, until a boot steps on the landing outside your room, just beyond the door. You fumble with the flashlight on your phone. “Hello?”

Nothing.

And then-

The steps move away. Down the hall. It’s certainly a person now, walking, and you fly out of bed, fumbling with your slippers, your sweater, throwing the bedroom door open and squinting the down the hallway.

There’s nothing there.

No one.

You’re losing it.

Days pass, and the nights tick by the same.

Same dream. Same footsteps. Same nothingness at the end of the pitch-dark hallway.

You start to stay up, drinking coffee late at night, sitting up at the head of the bed. Waiting.

The steps never cease. But you never see where they come from.

The neighbor, Simon, comes around again. He takes stock of you and comments on how you look exhausted, sickly.

You snap back with some smart-ass comment and a suggestion, mind his own business. The sleep deprivation builds into agitation, and then into tears. It’s embarrassing.

“Is something wrong?” He asks gently, stepping close, close enough you can smell him. Cedar. Flame. Charred wood in the bottom of a firepit, the leftover remains of a once loved campfire.

“I’m sorry, I… I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Why’s that?”

“You wouldn’t believe me. It sounds pretty crazy.”

“Try me.” He’s at your shoulder now, tilted down, trying to meet your eyes. When you refuse, he tips your chin backwards, baring your face to him. It’s too intimate. You can’t pull yourself away. “Go on.” The birch trees sway in the wind.

“It’s the house. I keep… I keep hearing things.”

“Things?”

“Footsteps, but no one is there. And I’ve been having the same dream, every single night since I got here.”

“What do you dream about?”

“Being buried alive.” His brows crease, framing fleeting caliginous shadows in his irises, mouth turning downward.

“I’m sure it’s just an animal in the house,” he glances up at it with a scolding, resolute glare, before returning his attention back to you. “As far as the dream, it’s probably just your subconscious telling you this house was probably more than you bargained for.” His mouth quirks to the side and you’re struck by it, confused. You didn’t notice earlier how handsome he is in a scarred, rough edged sort of way.

“Sure, yeah. You’re probably right.” He fishes out his phone and passes it to you.

“Put your number in there, I’ll text you. That way if you ever need anything, you can give me call.”

“Okay.”

A hand holds yours in the night. It’s warm, and heavy, and you squeeze it, curling your chin over it, a soft blanket of solace in a turbulent dream.

Old houses have bones.

When the nightmare wakes you later and you rocket out of bed, sweating and startled, you don’t hear the footsteps.

Instead, you hear your name being called. You stumble from your bedroom, frantic. The floor tilts between your feet, hallways contracting, crowding around your shoulders, ceiling weeping from the pressure.

You’re still asleep. You must be.

They breathe around you, expanding, narrowing, a dry rasp echoing from the bowels of the house.

Someone-

Something-

Calls your name.

It groans from the basement, floorboards singing under your heels as you trip down the stairs, turning the corner to crash through the door.

The light is on.

Did you leave it on?

You can’t stop yourself. Fear wraps a rope around your neck, but there’s nothing to tether you to the world above, nothing to prevent you from going down there.

But nothing prepares you for what you find.

In the dirt floor of the basement, a rectangular hole is dug. Long enough, wide enough for a body.

A grave.

Beside it, sits the skull mask you found when you fixed the furnace. The one you left upstairs.

You retch, skin prickling from a howling cry, ice cracking up your back, and turn to run. To flee, to fly back up the stairs like you did when you were a child, running from invisible monsters, trying to make it to the top before something snatches you around the ankle and drags you down into the abyss.

Instead, you collide with a wall of muscle.

You scream, pull away, only to be tugged forward.

Simon.

When he looks at you, he almost seems sad. “I told him not to do this.” He sighs, and you blink. He grips your upper arms, strength unnatural, fingers burning against frozen skin. “Told him it was too fast, y’know? You just got here.”

“Wh-what?” He’s walking you backwards, step by step, and no matter how hard you struggle, you can’t break free. It’s hard to breathe. “Simon, stop. Let go of me.”

“When I let ‘im go, freed him, I never thought he’d turn into… this. But it all worked out for the best, I think.” His mouth is moving, and you hear him, but the words string together into mush, and you can’t hold on, trying and failing to make any of it make sense. The only thing that registers is the horror blooming in your heart, the sweat slicking down your spine.

“L-let me go.”

“Can’t.” You teeter on the edge, heels suspended over the dirt pit. Simon is still holding you by your arms, balancing you above, and you cling to him.

“Stop- stop-“ He ignores you, grabbing your wrists, widening the gap between his chest and yours. His thumb finds your cheek and strokes away the tears there, the touch gentle, sympathetic.

“It won’t be too bad. You’ll be with him, and I’ll have you both.” The house groans again, and the lights flicker. You’re still suspended over the hole in the ground, flying, stomach turning over and over again, motion sick.

“With who?”

“Ghost.” He looks around, gesturing to the basement like it’s obvious. “This is where I buried him. Scratched him out of my soul and gave him peace.” Your head spins, and he holds you close for a second, cheek on your head.

“Simon-“ The protest is cut off by his lips on yours, impassioned, aggressive. He draws back, cradles your face with his free hand and then-

let’s go.

You land on your back with a scream, trying to scramble to your feet only to find yourself weighed down by some invisible force, the same cold clinging to you again, holding you like a lover. “G-get me out, get me out this isn’t funny.” He ignores you, stepping out of sight. Your chest explodes with agony, terror spilling from your eyes in rivers of salt, vision going so blurry it’s impossible to see.

Someone-

Something-

Holds your hand.

A shovel clangs, damp dirt crumbling into a blade. Simon looms with a heaping pile of earth. When he throws it down into the grave, onto your legs, you thrash. Scream. Beg.

No one can hear you.

No one can save you.

He goes about his work in silence, ignoring every plea, every bargain, every cry. The cold never leaves, only tightens its embrace. The weight of the dirt crushes you, compacts your diaphragms, your breaths growing more and more shallow with each passing second.

“Please,” you croak when it meets your chin. “Please.” The shovel pauses, shadowed over your face, small clumps and rocks falling over the edge onto your cheeks. It’s the next to be dumped, the next layer, the one that will finally hide you from view, from the world. Bury you. Alive.

Before it drops, you peer up through dusty cobwebbed lashes. There’s another man beside Simon. He wears the mask, the skull one, eyes glistening above the hem. They’re haunted, heavy with desiderium, but shining with something else, starvation, desperation. Lunacy.

Love.

He disappears in the next moment, and Simon looks down at you one last time. “This is the only way we can keep you, ‘m afraid. Have to make you a part of it, just like him.” You choke.

“A part of what?”

“The House.”

[a-leg-without-fear]

No Fucking Way (pt.1)

have some absolutely adorable interactions with you and the students at the mansion (and a surprise guest)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: cursing, mentions of animals neglecting their babies, and a story so sweet my teeth hurt

Inspiration: This scene from X2: X-Men United

Series: No Fucking Way

Your feet pounded against the gravel path beneath you. Small rocks and dirt were kicked up by your well-worn sneakers. Warm sweat dampened the cloth of your sweatshirt around your arms and chest. The sun beat down on your flushed face as a cold breeze bit across your nose. 

It was an absolutely gorgeous, autumn day. Occasional spotted clouds glided at a snail’s pace across a great blue sky. Soft breezes made the great trees surrounding the mansion dance like sheets of amber linen. Red and orange leaves skittered across the yellowing grass fields.

You saw a handful of students out on the lawn enjoying the early morning air. Sybil, a brunette with the ability to see through others’ eyes, sat beneath a large willow by the fish pond with a notepad in her hands. Vienna sat beside her. A strawberry blonde, bright eyed girl who could channel electricity into the palms of her hands. The two exchanged ideas about whatever Sybil was jotting down in her notepad.

Yuna sat not too far from the whispering pair, fingers twirling above a quickly constructed tower of stones and blades of grass. Her usual deep brown eyes now glowed a subtle violet. The maroon hijab she wore wrapped around her neck matched the crimson hues of the changing leaves in the trees around her. 

Jane, a kind-eyed tracker, Matt, a red glasses-wearing fighter, and Mads, a short-haired plant bender, sat in a circle, enjoying their morning coffee and tea together. You gave Mads a quick wave as you jogged past, receiving a warm smile and a shower of flower petals left in your wake.

The gravel path led along the left side of the mansion. Emerald ivy crawled up the brick walls like arms reaching from the earth. An occasional window broke up the light colored bricks. Most had their curtains drawn, which you attributed to a large portion of the students being late risers. One or two had the curtains open to allow fresh sunlight into the shared rooms.

You caught a glimpse of Sapph through one of the windows. Her bright smile and blue eyes were almost radiant as she basked in the streams of sunlight. Vases of sunflowers sat on the windowsill in front of her. The light seemed to bend, refracting from Sapph’s palms and hitting the sunflowers’ leaves.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The students were happy, the day was beautiful, and you only had one more lap of the mansion to jog before you’d call it a day.

“MAAAOOOWWW!”

You stopped just short of the empty basketball court. The crimson asphalt was covered in crunchy leaves and green brush from the nearby bushes. Corded nets hanging from the steel hoops swayed in the breeze. You looked around you, trying to find the source of the noise.

“MaaooOOW?”

There it was again. Closer than before. It sounded like it came from an incredibly small source, whatever it was. Your sneakers crossed onto the asphalt, toes kicking at leaves and twigs. You let your eyes scan the area around you. The court was surrounded by a wall of hedges. About waist high to you, it helped keep the court clear of too much debris from the trees. 

The mansion sat against the hedges. Large, bay windows looked into a sitting area. Hira, a telepath, sat in one of the plush leather armchairs with a novel in her hands. A white hijab wrapped around her head, glasses peeking out over light brown eyes. Daniel, a light-haired strongman, and Jacob, a bearded speedster, sat on the green-clothed couch across from Hira. Dice and rulebooks laid on the coffee table in front of them.

A rustle in the hedges to your left drew your focus from the students inside. The lowest branches shuddered, small green leaves shaken off and falling to the ground below. You knelt on the asphalt and strained your eyes to see through the dense foliage.

“MoowwWOAAOW!”

That was the only warning you got before a tiny gray and white fur ball burst out of the hedge and landed five feet in front of you. Pointed ears folded back, blue eyes widened, arched back covered in long fuzz.

A kitten. A small, angry, fluffy kitten. No more than a few weeks old. 

You remained where you kneeled on the asphalt, palms upturned and resting on your thighs. You kept a neutral expression on your face as you blinked slowly at the small creature.

After a few moments the kitten relaxed. Its ears faced forward, tail sticking straight up as it approached you. You gingerly extended a hand for it to sniff. Its tiny, pink nose ran across the tips of your fingers as it grew acclimated to your presence.

“Hi, little one,” you said through a barely subdued, ecstatic grin. You had always wanted a cat. Ever since you were a kid, you dreamed of a tiny ball of purrs curled up in your lap and effortlessly improving your mood. Not to mention they were ridiculously easy to take care of.

The kitten took a few more moments to sniff at your fingers. Its tiny eyes squinted as it seemed to devote its entire being to assessing your threat level. Once it seemed satisfied, it rubbed its chin across your thumb. You could already feel the purrs rumbling in its throat.

It took everything in you to not explode from the cuteness overload. This little thing, this tiny itty bitty little thing, chose you. You could feel a swell of pure adoration overtake your chest, the gentle warmth spreading from head to toe.

The cat continued to rub on your hand, occasionally nibbling on your fingers with the sides of its mouth. You lifted your free hand in an attempt to pet the kitten. Moving slowly to not startle it, you gently ran your fingers across its fluffy back. An explosion of purrs, like a hive of angry bees, met your affection. The cat dug its little head into the palm of your hand. You took the hint, giving it gentle scratches on the soft spots by its ears.

“You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life,” you breathed in astonishment. The cat seemed to enjoy the compliment, pawing at your hands and attempting to climb closer to your face. You scooped its tiny body in your hands and lifted it to your chest.

Tiny paws kneaded at the fabric of your sweatshirt. Little needle-like claws pulled at the threads. The kitten looked up at you with squinted eyes. You carefully rose to your feet, doing your best to not jostle the miniature creature cradled to your chest.

The cat nestled into the crook of your neck. Its tiny nose puffed against your skin while a category-5 purricane buzzed in your hands.

You would die for this cat and you just met it a minute ago.

Mentally saying “fuck it” to the rest of your jog, you began to gingerly walk back inside. You avoided walking on the gravel to make as little noise and sudden movements as possible. The cat seemed to appreciate the gesture, with what miniscule amount its tiny brain could comprehend, as a small lick from its rough tongue passed over your neck.

You garnered a few sideways looks from the students on the lawn as you walked by again. Mads cocked her head, fairy themed earrings jingling, at the gentleness in your step and the backtracking in your path.

“You alright, ma’am?” she called out. Jane and Matt perked up at Mads’s exclamation. Jane looked up at you with curiosity written in her features while Matt’s dark brows furrowed.

A quick gesture to the buzzing fur ball in your hands was all the trio needed. Their expressions quickly shifted from confusion to utter joy. They whispered among themselves about the newest addition to the mansion as you passed by.

That method is how you seamlessly moved through the bustling early-risers inside the foyer. One perplexed look was met with a nod to the kitten in your hands and the students parted like the Red Sea. Excited murmurs spread through the students like wildfire. “Is that a cat?” “Oh my god, kitty!” “It’s so cute!” “I hope we can keep it!”

The last student you passed before reaching your destination was Bella, a time manipulator. She was just on her way out of the professor’s study, closing the heavy oak door behind her. A kind smile met yours when she looked in your direction. 

“Morning, ma’am. Need to see the- Wait, is that a cat?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Shhh. Yes, it is. Could you open the door for me?” you whispered. Bella lifted her first finger to her mouth, winking to indicate she understood, then twisted the brass knob and swung the door open before you.

“Good luck,” she whisper-yelled after you.

A grand office stood before you. Comfortable leather settees were positioned in front of a solid, mahogany desk. Rows and rows of bookshelves filled to the brim lined the walls. Trinkets and remembrances decorated available surfaces and empty wall space.

The professor, or Charles Xavier as you knew him, sat in his motorized wheelchair behind the large desk. His hairless head was lowered, blue eyes darting across the pages of a copy of House of Leaves. A single finger raised next to his aged face to acknowledge your presence.

“One moment, please. From both you and your new friend,” he said. A minute passed, seconds counted by the paws kneading into your shoulder, before Charles closed the book and met your gaze. A warm smile matched your enthusiastic one, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I found this little guy outside,” you began. The cat perked up at the mention of itself, eyes blinking up at you then looking at the professor. You ran a finger under the kitten’s chin as you continued, “He was an angry little fella, all bushy tailed, but he warmed right up to me. He was hiding in the hedges by the basketball court.”

“Ah, I see,” Charles replied. He lowered a hand to maneuver his wheelchair. The low buzz of the machinery heralded his movement as he rounded the desk to sit in front of you and the cat.

“I didn’t see any other cats around, but the good news is he seems to be old enough for solid food,” you said. The cat blinked slowly at the professor, its little nose sniffing the air in front of it.

“It seems his mother abandoned him. Weaned him off her too quickly and left him stunted. Poor thing,” Charles said, head tilting and lips pulling into a slight frown. You gawked at him.

“You can read the cat’s mind, too?” you asked. The abilities of the mutants around you never ceased to amaze. Especially one as powerful as Charles Xavier.

He smiled at the kitten, oblivious to your gawking, stretching out his hands to you, “May I?”

You gently lifted the cat off your chest, prying the tiny talons from your sweatshirt, and placed the furball in the professor’s hands. Charles lifted the cat to his chest and ran a gentle hand down its back.

“You’ll need to wake Rogue and Bobby, have them run to the pet store down the road. This one will need plenty of love and nourishment if he’s to thrive,” he said. You stared at him, dumbstruck.

“We can keep him?”

“He can stay, as long as he likes. Much is the same with the rest of those who live here,” Charles clarified. The little gray kitten nuzzled against Charles’s chin, the professor’s smile growing.

“Okay. Okay! Yes! I’ll go get Rogue and Bobby,” you said, absolute jubilation filling your lungs. 

You left Charles and the cat to continue their telepathic conversation as you raced up the giant, double staircase. Ornately carved wooden banisters ran along the edges of the stairs, polish shining in yellow circles from the chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. When the stairs divided into two sets, running opposite directions, you cut to the right. Your feet skipped over carpeted steps in your haste to reach your destination.

Once your sneakers landed on the second floor, you broke into a jog down the hallway. Door after wooden door flew by you on both sides of the hall. Paintings of peaceful landscapes and glowing sconces lined the wooden walls. A large window sat in the white wall at the end of the hall. Daylight streamed in and cast golden spots on the wood floors.

You stopped at the last door on the left. Rapping three quick knocks on the door, you bounced on your toes. There was a cat in the mansion. A cat! One that would live with you! You silently thanked whatever god it was that decided for you to be next in the cat distribution system.

It took another set of knocks on the door for you to hear movement on the other side. Bleary groans and rustling sheets leaked through the cracks in the door. You bit your lip in an attempt to quell your excitement.

The doorknob turned and a ruffled-looking Rogue appeared in the doorway. Dark hair just barely smoothed down, eyes squinted, robe hastily thrown over a nightgown.

“Vampire? Shit, what time is it?” she asked, grogginess laced in her tone.

“Doesn’t matter. We have a cat,” you said. Your smile widened as you waited for her response. Rogue eyed you, up and down, as she assessed her living alarm clock.

“Logan’s not a cat. We’ve been over this,” she said. She exhaled a puff of air through her lips to blow at the white bangs that fell over her eyes. You rolled your eyes playfully at the jab.

“Not Logan this time. An actual cat. A kitten,” you explained. Rogue’s eyebrows rose as her eyes widened.

“Wait, there’s a cat?” Bobby called from beyond the door. His blonde head popped up beside Rogue’s. The couple seemed to be much more awake now.

“Yup,” you said, annunciating the p. Bobby and Rogue looked at each other, smiles growing, before looking back to you. 

“Where is it? Can we see it?” Rogue asked.

“Charles needs the two of you to run and get cat stuff first. Like food, litter, toys. Anything you can think of,” you replied. At the first sign of them objecting, you continued, “You guys can get literally anything you want. Treats, cat towers, little obstacle courses. Just make sure it’s safe for a younger kitten.”

“We’re on it, boss!” Bobby said, happiness palpable and blue eyes sparkling, as his hand clapped on Rogue’s clothed shoulder.

“100%. This cat will be spoiled rotten,” Rogue confirmed. With that situation squared away, you gave the pair a quick nod, beaming at them, then took off back down the hallway.

The run back to the professor’s office was an even shorter journey due to you jumping down several steps at a time. A few students looked gravely concerned at your acrobatics. Especially Ash, who helped Jean with patching students up by being a walking pain-reliever.

Your hand caught on the doorframe of Charles’s office and you swung into the doorway, breathless. He and the cat were much like how you had left them. Tiny gray body tucked against his neck, both having their eyes closed.

“Bobby and Rogue are on their way out,” you said. Charles hummed in response, eyes falling open.

“This one’s taken a shine to you, my dear. Says you’re the first to treat him kindly,” he said, a proud smile painted across his face. You let out an incredulous laugh.

“Guess he really is one of us, huh?”

“More than you know,” Charles said through an amused chuckle. You approached the professor and ball of cuddles carefully, attempting to not disturb the little creature.

“Mrrpp?” the cat trilled. It squinted at you from beneath Charles’s chin, paws kneading into the back of the professor’s hands. You could almost hear its purrs from where you stood.

“Does he have a name?” you asked. You scratched beneath its furry chin as the cat stretched out its jaw into your hand. 

“I was hoping you might know one,” Charles said. He pressed the cat into your hands and you gladly scooped the little ball of love into your arms. You could feel the purrs emanating from the cat’s belly vibrate against your chest. Tiny, thin whiskers tickled along the underside of your jaw.

“Jeez, uh. I don’t know. Let me think on it,” you responded. It was hard to think when all of your focus was drawn to the fluffy creature cradled in your hands. Charles chuckled at your indecision.

“I’m sure whatever you choose, our newest student will happily respond to it,” he assured. He used his now free hands to dust cat hair off his crisp, navy blue suit. As you turned to walk out, Charles said, “Make sure to give him a bath. This young one’s lived outside for far too long.”

“Will do,” you said. You shifted your arms so you could better support the cat on your chest, then set a course for the upstairs bathroom closest to your and Logan’s room.

It seemed the news of a cat on campus had spread throughout the student body. A large crowd had gathered outside of Charles’s study. Students, an array of ages and stages of dress, craned their necks over their peers to try and catch a glimpse. 

“I wanna see!” Addie, a platinum blonde seven-year-old who could speak any language, called up from the space next to your hip. Your legs were framed by her and Ryan, a nine-year-old brunet with impenetrable skin. 

“Guys, the cat is very small. He needs quiet!” you said, voice coming out as a stage whisper. A hush fell over the group in front of you. Wide, hopeful eyes blinked up at you. You sighed, untucking the cat from the crook of your neck and holding him in front of you. At the sight of the small bundle of fur in your hands, a buzz of excited whispers passed from ear to ear. 

“Does he have a name?” Ryan asked. An echo of agreement sounded around the crowd.

“Not yet, so everyone start brainstorming!” you said. A renewed vigor filled the conversation as names were debated back and forth between students. You used the distraction to slip away, climbing back up the stairs and baring left this time.

This hallway was nearly identical to the one on the opposite side of the stairs. Wooden paneling covered the walls, patterned red carpet stretched down the middle of the floor, potted plants sat here and there. You knocked once on the first door to the right. Receiving no answer, you pushed it open.

Inside was a full bathroom. White tiles lined the walls and floor, the grout a cool gray. Warm patterned shower curtains hung from a steel rod suspended between two walls. A vanity mirror hung on the wall opposite the door. You flicked on the light switch, making the three globes above the mirror glow and send dancing reflections throughout the bathroom.

“Alright, fella. Let’s get you clean,” you said as you sat the cat in the sink. His little, furry body looked like a small sponge sitting in the white porcelain. A confused face looked up at you through squinted eyes.

“Mraow?”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not gonna like this part,” you responded. You leaned over, opening the white cabinets below the sink, and pulled out the unscented shampoo Logan liked to use. Straightening up, you noticed the cat had remained where you sat it. Prim, proper, posture like a little gentleman.

You smirked, scritching the top of his head between his ears. His face tilted up into your touch. 

“Such a sweet little guy,” you cooed. You gave him a few more well deserved pets before scooping his little body and turning on the faucet. You made sure the handle was turned to a warm, not hot, setting and the pressure was nice and low. 

The cat startled a bit in your palm at the sudden rush of water. A little paw raised, batting in the air between him and the running water. You dipped a finger in the water and brought it to his nose for proper inspection. A few sniffs, a couple licks, then his chin was rubbing on your fingertip again.

You took it as a good sign, dipping the same hand back under the faucet and letting the water coat your skin. Once enough water had gathered in your hand you lifted it to the cat’s back. He tracked your movement. Small, squinted eyes followed your hand as you placed your palm on his back. You felt the water droplets sink into the fluffy, gray fur and soak into his skin.

“This ok?” you asked, like the cat could give you an answer. The small creature blinked up at you. He seemed unbothered by the moisture. You gave him another palm-full of water to get him adjusted to the temperature, the sensation. Not a peep from this little sir.

You set the cat back in the sink, just the tail end of his back beneath the running faucet. He hunkered down into the smallest loaf you’d ever seen. Front feet tucked under his fuzzy chest, tail curled around his side, eyes blinking slowly up at you. You cupped water in your palm and let it run through his fur. Before too long you had a drenched, buzzing kitten in the sink.

“You are the strangest creature…” you wondered aloud. You popped the lid open on Logan’s shampoo and lathered up your hands. Thankfully, you didn’t spot any fleas or other parasites hopping on the kitten’s body. Washing out the dirt and grime shouldn’t take too long.

“Why are you hunched over the sink with my soap?” a gruff voice said from behind you. You smiled, looking over your shoulder.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you greeted. Logan leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He wore his trademarked white tank top and loose jeans buckled with a brown belt. His dark hair was fluffy and unstyled, long strands hanging in front of his wrinkled eyebrows.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. He pushed off the wall and stepped up next to you, his boots clipping on the tiles.

“Right. So, funny story,” you began. You ran your soapy fingers through the cat’s soaked fur. Logan’s hip leaned on the counter as he continued to stare at you. Jutting your chin down at the sudsy feline, you continued, “I found this guy outside and he made me think of you.”

“Made you think of…” Logan trailed off when his hazel eyes landed on the kitten.

“You know, with his cat ears,” you explained. You scrubbed at the kitten’s purring body while Logan spluttered next to you.

“Cat ears?!” 

“Yeah. Those hair floofs you get when you style your hair. They look like cat ears,” you said. You pretended to ignore the pure indignation spouting from the man next to you. A knowing smirk stretched across your lips.

“I do not have cat ears,” Logan argued.

“Yes you do!” Rogue shouted, voice echoing down the hall.

Your indifferent mask broke as you doubled over, cackling. The cat’s head tilted as it watched your face disappear below the counter. Logan huffed, arms folding over his chest again.

It took you a few moments to regain your composure. Giggles bubbled up your throat everytime you glanced back at Logan next to you. He rolled his eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he grumbled. But, because you knew him so well, you could see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to rinse off the cat sitting patiently in the sink. Warm water trailed through your fingers and washed away the suds gathered on the kitten’s body. Squinted eyes watched you, blinking slowly and serenely, purrs vibrating against your hands.

“Happy little fuzzball, isn’t he?” Logan said. The kitten turned its head to peer at Logan. You ran a wet finger between its ears, smoothing the fur back and washing soap away.

“He certainly is,” you hummed. When an idea popped in your head, you felt your grin widen and your gaze slip over to Logan next to you, “You know, he still needs a name.”

“So name him,” Logan replied instantly. A tentative, large hand reached into the sink and ran two fingers down the cat’s soaked back. The kind and delicate gesture only further solidified your idea.

“Actually… I was hoping you could name him.”

Logan’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, relaxed expression melting into pure confusion.

“What?” he asked.

this short story is kind of a tribute to the lovely, lovely folks in the murdock tuna team. i have nothing but love and an endless stream of thanks to give to them. you all have inspired me to be a better artist, a better author, a better person. love you, blob blob 🐟

Want to be on the taglist? Fill out this form!

[sillysowa]

･ﾟ:* DAZED AND CONFUSED *:･ﾟ

pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Spiderperson!Reader

genre: smut! porn with a bit of plot and a lot of foreplay.

word count: 4k

warnings: sexual content, slight exhibitionism kink, hair pulling (reader has at least enough hair to fist), bondage with spider webs, a lot of praise, oral sex f&m receiving, squirting, biting, scratching, choking, dacryphilia, size kink if you squint, literally writing out Hobie’s british accent, Hobie is kind of a switch, a little use of Y/N, lots of pet names, reader and Hobie use the color system, spider abilities used during sex, reader is sort of fighting back but it’s all consensual!

authors note: first time writing smut! If I missed any warnings let me know, ty!

synopsis: You and Hobie are in a secret relationship, but that never stops him from teasing you suggestively infront of your friends.

—

Hobie adored teasing you, but it’s not like you could blame him—you made it too easy.

You walked into the headquarters common area after a short mission, seeing Hobie hanging out with his friends. Miles and Gwen were sitting together and Hobie was sitting with a very energetic looking Pavitr. You searched for a place to sit as you walked up to them, when Hobie lifted his head, your eyes locking. His expression slightly faltered, a mischievous glint flashing through his features, gone just as quickly as it arrived, but before you could think too hard about it, his smooth voice pierced the air,

“Nice’v you to join us, Doll.” He said, smiling with his eyes as he motioned with an upturn of his head for you to take a seat across from him, next to Gwen. You looked down to avoid showing the others the sight of your face scrunching up, visibly flustered by just a pet name. Gwen and Miles made a space for you, and you sat in it, looking around at the group of spider people you called your best friends, along with your secret lover. The air seemed thick this time around—like something was about to happen. You leaned back in your seat, scrunching your eyebrows at your man. Hobie’s deep eyes bored into yours when no one was looking, your head ringing with your spider senses. You braced yourself for the worst.

“Oooh! Hobie and Y/N, don’t think we can’t see all of that intense eye contact!” Pavitr teased, his eyes lighting up as he rapidly looked between the two of you, talking over you when you started rambling to defend yourself, “You should play that song you promised you’d show us, Hobie! It’s getting late and we all really wanna hear it!” Pavitr groaned, changing the subject, also leaning back and kicking his feet up, Gwen squealing out something about his bare toes. Hobie knew the gang had their suspicions about his and your relationship—they speculated and accused, saying that ‘normal friends’ don’t look at each other the way that you and Hobie do, and ‘normal friends’ don’t touch each other as much as you and Hobie do, but through it all Hobie still had yet to blow your cover, able to expertly tease you in ways that are only humiliating and obvious to you and balance out the physical touch by being equally as touchy to everyone. However, he decided tonight he was going to tease you like he had never before. He was going to play the song that played when he was between your thighs the night before. The deep bass chords that buzzed around in Hobie’s bedroom while he mercilessly ate you out for hours, bringing his lovely doll to her release over and over again.

“Yeah, I did promise didn’t I?” Hobie smiled smugly, pulling his colorful, sticker coated, bass guitar out and leaning forward, his brow furrowed in concentration. Your eyes bore into his, staring at him despite him doing his best to not look you in the eye. Without even looking at you Hobie could feel your nervousness. 

“Need a pick, love,” Hobie flicked his middle and ring ringer twice in his direction, beckoning you forward. Your eyes widened, and you slowly leaned forward and looked down, feeling Hobie’s long fingers come up behind your neck, plucking the guitar pick necklace, his guitar pick necklace, off of you. No one else knew of the necklace, something you kept hidden under your spider-suit to keep a little piece of Hobie with you everywhere you go. Pavitr glanced over at Miles and Gwen, all of them equally stunned. They all shared a ‘Are you seeing this?’ look before quickly looking back over at the two, not wanting to miss a moment of the drama.

Your gaze locked onto Hobie’s for a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you glanced down to his fingers, and when they plucked at the strings, the deep bass chords of ‘Dazed and Confused’ caught you by surprise. The air instantly felt heavy, suddenly, you were transported back into last night. The song sent a shiver down your spine, and you did everything in your power to not lunge at Hobie. He played with passion, making faces that were all too familar—your nipples hardened under your spider suit and your thighs clenched together. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your obvious need, remaining silent and bringing your knees up to your chest. However, nothing could stop you from staring directly at Hobie’s long fingers, mind clouded with unhealthy amounts of lust. It was just an innocent song to your friends beside you, but it meant more to you and Hobie, obvious in the way he was playing it. He threw his head back at times, adams apple bobbing in his pretty neck, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, sending a surge of need though your core, and he even had the gall to look at you the same way he had last night, when his tongue was deep inside you, and his hand clutched your thighs, keeping them spread apart for him, keeping you still for him. It was too much, and he could tell by the way his spider senses were starting to go off frantically—a sign of your desire and unease.

With a large palm over the base of the gutiar, and a sling over his shoulder, Hobie was dont playing, “That’s all for tonight mate,” he quickly stood up, grabbing your hand in his, his other hand on Pav’s shoulder, looking down at his stunned friend and doing nothing more than sending him a smirk. “Come to one’uv the shows!” He shrugged, glancing at all his friends and then opening a portal with his bootleg watch, “I’ve go’ta finish what i’ve started.” He winked, pulling you flush against his chest and stepping back into the portal, vanishing just like that.

—

“Easy love, didn’t know my li’l stunt was gonna have ya this bothered now.” Hobie smirked as you pushed him down onto his bed, the glint in his eyes still obvious in the low lighting of his room. You had stripped out of your spider-suit the moment you landed in Hobie’s dimension and now you were in just your pretty underwear. Your lips were on his neck, straddling him with his hands pinned on either side of his head…because you couldn’t look him in the eyes. Whenever you dominated Hobie, he just found it amusing, because in reality he was still fully in control. He could break free from your hold any moment, but he didn’t, not yet. Hobie wasn’t done teasing you.

“You knew damn well what you were doing Hobie, you thought you were going to embarrass me.” You snapped, kissing up his neck and sucking a hickey into the spot that you know makes his knees weak, satisfied with the grunt he fights back and the way his wrists tense up. “I hold up pretty well though huh?” You whisper next to his head, biting his earlobe and tugging on his silver earring between your teeth. Instantly, one of his hands shoots out of your grasp, long fingers fisting you hair and yanking your head back as a shocked and agonized grunt spills from your throat. Your left hand clutched his wrist, as you looked at him with more intensity than he had ever seen from you in his life.

“Say whatcha want doll…but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this angry.” He grinned, You sure I didn’t get under your pretty skin? Not even just a li’l?” He held you in place, your hands tightening around his wrists, struggling for dominance as he leaned in,

“…Hobie,” You whispered, looking down at his plump lips, fighting the need to kiss him and the need to make your point.

“Yeah, baby?” Hobie teased, a slight tilt in his voice, his other hand fighting for dominance against yours. You close your eyes, tilting your head back as he leans in. It would be so easy to get the pleasure your body desperately wants If you just gave in, but you just couldn’t give him that. You tug your wrists back, expecting him to release you, but Hobie’s grip just tightens and he laughs airily,

“What, you really thought I was gonna let’chyou call the shots, love? You know you love being good f’me.” He smiled, dark eyes piercing through you as he releases you just so that he can drag you back to him by your ankles when you inevitably crawl away from him. You gasp, kicking your legs helplessly just for Hobie to web shoot your legs open, silky strings connecting your ankles to the walls. He laughs as you sit up with your hands ready, his long and lanky form crawling over you like a black widow spider as he uses his webs to restrain them beside your head. You’re out of breath, he’s out of breath, and he just looks down at you squirming, admiring his work.

“Come on love, all that talk just to end up writhing under me.” Hobie coos, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip before thrusting it into your mouth, ignoring your gasp, “It’s adorable how you always fight back knowing you’ll just end up crying under me.” He tilts his head, lost in the way you suck his thumb and then his fingers when he slides them over your tongue, moaning at the sight. “Mmm, good job doll. So obedient f’me.” He grunts, “What’s your color baby?” He asks, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a newfound softness crossing over his features as he check in on you. Hobie loves to treat you like a toy and to absolutely wreck you, but that’s only because if want it,

“Green.” You whine, holding eye contact with him and curling your toes at the smirk that covers his face. He flicks his head to the side, going you a beautiful view of his side profile, web shooting to his open record player where his Led Zeppelin vinyl sits. He expertly swings his webs around to start the soft thrum of ‘You Shook Me,” allowing you to admire the veins in his hands before he turns his attention back to you. Looking down with a devilish toothy grin, watching your eyelashes flutter. He drags his fingers over the expanse of your chest, trailing them behind you to unclip your bra and tossing it across the room, ignoring your protests on how its your favorite. Suddenly, he’s leaning down and capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, looking up at you while his large hand palms your other breast. He moans at your taste, swirling his tongue around your nipple and tugging on it between his teeth.

“Always keen on the sight of my girls.” He mumbles, kissing your chest all over. You tip your head back, feeling dizzy as a soft sigh escapes your parted lips. Hobie’s eyes flicker up to you, his hand languidly coming up to your neck and applying pressure, smiling into your skin when you lightly gasp. He trails wet kisses all over your smooth skin, paying close attention the parts of you he knows you like less than him, until he makes his way to your thighs. He licks and sucks them slowly, holding eye contact with you and softly biting into your flesh when you look away. You liked it at first…

“Hobie, please!” You cry out, tugging on your web-restrained wrists and thrusting your hips up. He instantly flattens his large palm over your lower stomach, looking at you with his piercing gaze,

“You’re not getting anything if you’re not patient, angel.” He slurred against your skin with a leering tilt in his tone, deciding to give you what you want, “Be good now, y’gonna be a good girl f’me, Y/N?” He whispered the last part, leaning down and running his nose over your covered pussy, hooking his deft fingers under the elastic band and slowly starting to pull your underwear down. You let out a shuddered gasp, his face lips and nose bumping on your throbbing clit, a primal grunt leaving his lips.

He slides your panties down your thighs, balling them up and and sitting on his knees, “Open up baby,” Hobie taps the side of your face gently, his half lidded eyes boring into your slightly shocked ones as your jaw goes slack. Hobie proceeds to shove your wet panties into your mouth and webbing it shut, grinning from ear to ear,

“I’m so hungry love,” he leans down to your ear, whispering absolute filth that rattles around in your empty skull. You moan helplessly as his long fingers begin their torture on your clit, rubbing it the way he knows makes your limbs weak and your eyes roll into the back of your skull. You look up at the ceiling, your eyelashes fluttering as he sucks hickeys into your neck, swirling his fingers around your sensitive nub until you make a noise that sounds like a muffled whimper of his name.

“I know, I know, I’ll quit torturin’ the both’v us.” He coos mockingly, pecking your nose before getting back on stomach between your legs, spreading your pussy lips open with two long fingers and thrusting one of his fingers into your tight walls with the other hand, looking up at you to catch your every reaction. Hobie was always careful to not hurt you or cause you any discomfort when you couldn’t tell him how you were feeling—But he knew you’d be on cloud nine from just one of his spindly digits. He leaned down and roughly licked your clit, moaning deeply at your taste, looking directly into your soul as he spits on it, continuing his assault on your pussy. You groan loudly with your eyes clamping shut, as you aggressively tug on your restraints. Hobie fucks another finger into you, laughing through his nose when your pussy sucks it in. Hobie curls his fingers up; watching when, like clockwork, your eyes shoot open, muffled moans ringing out through the room. He sucks, kisses, and licks your bundle of nerves, rhythmically pleasing you as one song ends on his record player, and the notorious bass of ‘Dazed and Confused’ fills the room through his speakers. Hobie ravenously eats you out, shaking his head side to side and getting his whole face involved. He meant it when he said he was hungry because he was eating you like a starved man, his face piercings glistening with your wetness. He would speak into your folds, grunts of ‘love this pussy’ and ‘all mine’ tearing out of his throat. Your hips were now shaking, a telltale sign of your approaching orgasm. Hobie absolutely devoured your pussy, thrusting his hips into the mattress at the sound of your non-stopping moaning and whimpering that steadily increased in frequency, Hobie whispered one last time into your sweet, throbbing pussy,

“Cum on my tongue, love.” He grumbled out, a slightly desperate whimper present as he grows needy. You whine, and whine, crying out as your back arches and your thighs desperately try to close as you cum. Hobie eats you out with so much fervor, slurping up your cum and spitting it back onto your pussy again, making a complete mess of your overstimulated sex. Hobie is completely lost in the deep electric guitar chords and the muscle memory of eating his girl out that he almost doesn’t notice your overstimulated cries and the way your hips and thighs are shaking. He gives your pretty pussy one last kiss before tearing the webs off of your ankles, watching them fall onto the soft mattress instantly. He tears his webs off your wrists, and gently peels them off your face, his knees on either side of your thighs. He works faster when you whimper,

“I’m comin’ baby.” He pants, pulling your panties out of your mouth, staring at your parted lips and glossy eyes. Hobie wastes no time in cupping his hand behind your head, pulling you into a sloppy kiss. You’re both moaning and clutching at each other, hands all over. You can taste yourself on his tongue and he knows it. Pulling away and gently lowering your head, hanging it off the edge of the bed. You knew what time it was.

“Hobie~” You smiled, viewing your lover upside down. He stripped naked, down to his boxers. You admired his beautiful dark skin, his beautiful wicks, and his mouth-wateringly beautiful cock that sprung free from his boxers. “Hobie,” you repeated, “You’re so pretty, Hobie, I love you~” You whispered, fluttering your eyes closed as he lined his dick up with your throat, grunting at the sight of how deep in your throat he’ll be when your words catch him slightly off guard. He crouches down, kissing your forehead and your cheek, cradling your head and whispering ‘I love you too’ into you ear. He knows you get all soft and lovey after your first orgasm, craving to please him. He stands back up, slapping his tip onto your lips and gently thrusting into your wet mouth,

“Now show me how much you love me, doll face.” Hobie grunts, thrusting at a steady rhythm into your throat, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open at the sound of your gagging and the slapping of skin-on-skin. You’re focusing on breathing through your nose while he fucks your throat, all of him sliding in and out faster, and faster. Hobie loses all decorum, panting and moaning like an injured animal as he looks down at you. Fat tears slide down your cheeks from all the gagging, your hands reaching to hold onto his hips while his throbbing dick absolutely mauls your throat. You swallow and gag until you’re sure you’ll pass out, vision bleary while Hobie praises you relentlessly,

“Take it, take it, take it…oh fuck. You feel so good, baby…so good…so filthy love, taking this dick like you were made for it~” Hobie moans, needy and chasing his release. You feel his hips stutter and thrusts pick up in speed, his whines becoming more frequent as he rapidly pants, a mantra of ‘I’m cumming’ spilling from his pretty lips as his semen shoots down your throat, gasping and swallowing as he looks down at you, unbelievably turned on. Hobie slides his length out of your throat slowly, watching you through his dark eyelashes. His cock pops out of your mouth, a string of saliva from his tip to your tongue and he nearly cums again just from the sight. He leans down and scoops you up with ease, using his super-human strength, placing you on your feet and kissing the top of your head as the both of you slowly walk backwards. Hobie’s hands were massaging your skin gently as he backs you against the wall. 

“On the wall, my li’l spider.” Hobie whispers, kissing your forehead as you use your spider abilities to cling onto the wall with your palms, spreading your legs for him and hooking your ankles behind his back, panting. Hobie places his elbows on the wall, lining his cock up with your entrance and slowly slipping the tip in before pulling it out and slapping it against your pussy. You gasp at the feeling, snapping your head up and glaring at Hobie,

“Don’t be a tease.” You groan, eyebrows furrowing and hips lifting. “Hobie!” Your lover just looks down at you, cracking a smirk,

“Hobie! Don’t be a tease!” He moans, mocking you and plastering a fucked out look on his face, drinking up your pissed off face. He trails his hand up to your chin, holding it keeping your eyes forward as he leans down to your ear, “You know you love it when I make you beg dollface.” Hobie whispers, biting your earlobe as he snaps his length fully inside you. You gasp loudly and moan uncontrollably, scratching up Hobie’s toned back and making him groan.

“O-Oh fuck! Hobie! Shit!” Your pussy throbs, his long dick kissing your cervix with every thrust. You’re so soaked he slides in with absolutely no effort, fucking you with so much energy you’d think you just started. You both grunt and moan, Hobie staring at you, you staring at where your bodies meet. He follows your gaze, grabbing your hips and fucking into you even faster, loving the way you’re nearly screaming for him. 

“Y’like the view lovely? Yeah, I know you love this dick.” He grunts, fucking your pussy ruthlessly, completely hell-bent on fucking you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow. He wants to make sure all the people at HQ can’t help but wonder what could have possibly happened to you to leave you so destroyed, only to see him, the infamous Spider-punk right behind you, kissing the purple hickeys all over your neck. 

The room smells like sex and it feels like heaven. Your lips are permenantly parted with moans spilling out and your lashes soaked with tears, pussy clenching around him, in dire need of an orgasm when Hobie suddenly pulls out and tosses you over his shoulder.

“What the fuck, Hobes!” You yelp at first, mumbling at the end of your sentence out of exhaustion. Your back hits the bed with a thud and Hobie crawls on top of you, hooking your legs over his shoulders,

“Just craving a change of positions.” Hobie enters you again, his thin waist and glistening abs a sight for sore eyes. You admire Hobie until you feel your eyes melt, not even aware of the animalistic sounds coming from your throat as he pounds your pussy into oblivion, the bed creaking and Hobie’s fingers feeling like searing hot lava on your skin as he circles your clit with his calloused guitar fingers. To think that you were here because Hobie embarrassed you in front of your friends—you wouldn’t change a thing. The delicious drag of his dick in your warm walls, and the sounds of his impending orgasm are driving you insane. Steadily, your orgasm is building inside you. 

“Hobie I-“ 

“I know love, I’ve got you, cum f'me, gimme one more.” Hobie groans a long, dawn out groan, throwing around profanities as he speeds up, fucking up into you with reckless abandon. He reaches down to your empty hands beside your head, locking his fingers with yours and kissing your open mouth as you both chase your high. The melody of muffled moans, creaking wood, and wet skin slapping reverberate in your ears as your eyes clamp shut and you squirt all over Hobie and the sheets, whining into his mouth as you struggle to kiss him back. Hobie thrusts vehemently, losing himself as he eventually stills and fills your pussy up. You both ride out your orgasms, breathing heavily and breaking the kiss, completely out of breath. Hobie rests his forehead on yours and you’re lost in the moment--He took you to cloud nine like no one ever had. Your chest rose and fell, your breathing slowly stabilizing as you hold eye contact with the man who made you feel this good. He pulls out panting and hissing in overstimulation, getting up with a promise of being right back.

You don’t even process that he left the room until he’s back with a wet cloth and cleaning you up, your head cloudy as you mumble,

“Thank you, Hobie.” 

He focuses on gently wiping you clean with the warm cloth, kissing the bite marks and hickeys that cover your thighs. 

“Don’t thank me love. ’t’s always a treat to make m’girl feel good.” He replies, genuine love filling his each and every word. Hobie tosses the cloth into his laundry, pulling the covers over the two of you and holding you close to him, spooning you. “You did so well baby, I’m so proud of you.” He whispers, kissing the crown of your head and massaging your skin as you sigh, curling up and relaxing after all you did. “I love you, Y/N.” He whispers into the thick air.

“I love you too, Hobie.” 

——

Back in Pavitrs dimension, the rest of the gang are chilling in Pav’s room in various seats eating all his snacks and chatting. With a mouthful of popcorn and a hankering for a juicy discussion, Gwen fills the random silence by addressing the elephant in the room,

“So…do you guys think Hobie and Y/N are like…a thing?”

[fullsandwichmiracle]

 "Oxford: A Year Abroad”

Paring: Felix Catton x reader 

Warning: 18+, nsfw, alcohol MDNI

Word count: 1622 

01|02|03|04|05|?

Y/N was enrolled at Oxford as an exchange student, specializing in economics. Securing a solo dorm since her roommate was a no-show, the room radiated old-money featuring two beds on either side, accompanied by a desk and a drawer. Opting for a rearrangement, she transformed the space by fashioning a king-size bed on one side and situating the desk and drawer on the opposite side, creating an illusion of more space. Following the successful room makeover, Y/N took a swift shower to freshen herself up to make a favorable first impression.

Y/N proceeded to the hall where all the international students were set to gather for campus information. The tour guide, Venetia, with bleached blonde hair in braids, began by extending a warm welcome to the international students and then led the group towards the library. The library exuded a cozy atmosphere, and Y/N noticed a guy sitting on a couch with some mates, engrossed in studies. He quickly glanced Y/N up and down before Venetia remarked, 

"Hi Felix, nice to see you studying for once."

Felix chuckled in response, saying,

"Nice to see you sober for once."

With that, Venetia briskly continued the tour, urging everyone to follow, casually dismissing the encounter. The reminding part of the tour was rather uneventful, and Y/N returned to her room after its conclusion. On her way back, she encountered Felix again, this time standing in a door frame engaged in conversation with a girl. It was evident that he towered over Y/N by at least a head, if not more. He appeared unfazed and his hair was roughed up but looking perfect. Realizing she was accidentally staring, she looked away, hoping he hadn't noticed, and continued walking back to her dorm.

Upon entering her dorm, Y/N glimpsed into the mirror and noticed a flush on her cheeks from the encounter. Felix, tall and quite attractive, struck her as unlike anyone she'd ever encountered. The remainder of the evening was dedicated to packing up the remaining items and dressing the bed in light pink covers. Y/N then changed into her pajamas, gearing up for the upcoming first week of lectures.

At the end of a full week of classes, Friday arrived, and all Y/N desired was to join her new classmates for a night of drinks. Rumors circulated about a party hosted by someone named Farleigh, to which one of her friends had secured an invite. Seeking some excitement for the night, Y/N opted for a more daring outfit, wearing a linen blouse with a plunging neckline, a lace bra, a short denim skirt barely concealing her ass, and a stylish yet steady pair of pink heels. Before heading to the party with her friends, she took two shots of vodka to calm her nerves.

As the cab arrived at the party, Y/N's friend, who got the invite, led the way to the gate and buzzed for entry. The gates opened without any verbal exchange. Upon entering the house, they discovered a bustling scene with people scattered all around and a makeshift bar. The group then separated, each exploring the lively gathering. Y/N approached the bar, scanning the surroundings to determine if it operated on a self-service basis or if there was a bartender. A guy emerged from what appeared to be a cupboard, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and wine in the other. Y/N approached the guy, asking him where she could get a drink. He smiled and replied,"Hello, I'm Farleigh. Feel free to help yourself to anything, sexy.”

Glancing at Y/N from head to toe, he suggested, "How about kicking off the night with a glass of white?”

Pouring a wine glass nearly to the brim, she gazed at the filled glass, smiled, and remarked, "That would be lovely Farleigh. My name is Y/N.”

Farleigh smirked and headed off to attend to his other guests.

After wandering around the house for a bit and finishing her wine, Y/N spotted the pool in the backyard where people were engaged in drinking games. A group playing beer pong caught her eye, and after observing a round, she went back inside to grab a fresh drink to join in. Upon her return, they were organizing players, and Y/N approached the table. On the opposing side stood Felix with Farleigh, and a seemingly random girl joined Y/N's side. Yet, it wasn't just any girl; it was Venetia, the one who led the tour. As the game kicked off, a crowd gathered to watch. The guys scored on their first throw, and Venetia took the initial drink. The game was evenly matched, with the guys having two cups left and Y/N and Venetia with one. Felix kissed the ball and scored directly into the cup. Y/N smirked at Felix before downing the cup filled with warm beer. Not a fan of the taste, she quickly sipped the cider she had obtained earlier. Venetia took Y/N by the hand, leading her to the poolside where a fireplace was situated. Felix and Farleigh had just arrived, and others were playing truth or dare. Venetia asked, "Mind if we join your little game?" as she sat down, pulling Y/N with her.

The game started off quite mild, but with each question, it escalated into more risqué territory. When Venetia declined to answer a question, Farleigh revealed a hidden bottle of tequila from a bag behind him, declaring, "Every time someone doesn't answer, they have to take a swig from this tequila.”

Venetia took the bottle, downed two swigs, grinned, and handed it to Y/N, saying, "Y/N, I dare you to knock back two shots or spill the beans on who on this lot you fancy for a cheeky quickie.”

Y/N glanced at Felix, then gulped down the tequila, going beyond the two shots and placing the bottle back. Felix stared at Y/N with a grin, seemingly formulating a plan, which he whispered to Farleigh.

When it was Farleigh's turn, he gazed at Felix, nodded, and remarked, " Y/N I dare you to take a lounge into the pool or tell us what position you want Felix fuck you in.”.

Felix glared at Farleigh and remarked, "You didn't have to be that aggressive.”

Y/N started to blush as all eyes were on her, awaiting her response. Having already consumed a bit too much tequila, taking a leap into the pool didn't seem like a terrible idea. Y/N rose from her seat and walked towards the pool's edge. Before taking the plunge, she removed her denim skirt to prevent it from getting soaked, revealing her pink string and someone whistled as she was bending down to take off her heels. Pinching her nose, Y/N leapt into the pool, tossing her shirt aside. As she hit the water, the chill had a sobering effect, and she realized the extent of what she had just done. She had exposed herself in only underwear to everyone around the pool. Feeling a tad embarrassed, Y/N climbed out of the pool and hastily dressed herself again, still soaked in water the blouse quickly became transparent and skirt denim darkened in color as if she had jumped into the pool with them on. She returned to the fire to warm up, taking a shot of tequila to help erase the recent events from her mind. This time, she chose to sit beside Felix who was staring at her chest that was now fully exposed with only her transparent blouse and the lace bra she was wearing under it. Y/N looked at Felix and realized that there was a big bulge in his pants, for the bulge to be that big he had to have a big package Y/N thought and then looked up and met Felix face that was covered in a big grin because he noticed how long she looking at his bulge. He put his hand on Y/N's inner thigh asking "Feeling a bit chilly? Wanna head inside?”

He looked down at Y/N breasts again and her nipples which nearly pierced through her shirt. Y/N nodded, and Felix fetched a blanket, draping it around her. He extended his hand, gesturing for her to take it. Leading Y/N into the house, Felix guided her up the stairs and into a room. It appeared to be someone's bedroom—quite lavish, with a bed that looked incredibly inviting. He whispered, "May I assist you in taking off your blouse? I reckon it won't be of much help in keeping you warm.”

Y/N nodded again to flustered to speak, Felix began taking off the wet blouse and kissing the neck once the shirt was off. “ Take your skirt off” he whispered whilst kissing her ear. She began taking off her skirt that was now very tight due to it being wet. Felix noticed how much she was struggling and ripped them off. As he did Y/N let out a small moan and he chuckled. “ As much as I would love to fuck you sweetie, you're to drunk and need to sleep but I can join you if you want”.

Felix tucked Y/N into bed, and she promptly drifted off to sleep. He planted a kiss on her forehead, undressed, and hopped into the bed beside her.

[irisintheafterglow]

way hay, and up she rises! (opla!zoro x you)

summary: zoro leads the crew to an informant from his bounty-hunting days; they don't know his history with the pretty singer in the bar.

wc: 2.6k

cw/tags: swearing, implied fem!reader (wearing a skirt and makeup) but they/them pronouns used, basically singer/bodyguard trope, strangers to lovers, brief guy being an asshole (and protective zoro!), simp zoro, i love zoro, can you tell how much i love this man

note: do i imagine lucy gray baird when i think about reader singing in a bar? maybe a little bit. do i wish i could sing like rachel zegler as lucy gray baird? abso-fucking-lutely. i've been listening to a lot of random sea shanties lately so this is where that came from. hope you enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are much appreciated!

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Of all the times for you to doubt me, cook,” he says, catching the door with the toe of his boot and kicking it open, “I can say for certain, I have this under control.” His feet step through the doorway and he’s bombarded with jolly laughter, drunken singing, and a dancing fiddle. The patrons cheer with flasks and goblets in their hands, liquor splashing onto their neighbors when they slam their cups onto wooden tables. It’s warm like a hearth, not a hell, and the unkempt atmosphere wraps around him like a familiar blanket. Within seconds, he’s not a pirate anymore; he’s back to being a hunter. 

And there, swinging the edge of your skirt with a tambourine in hand, was you. The lantern light catches in your eyes in a way that makes them glow, enchanting him like a spell. You’re just as breathtaking as the last time he saw you, singing clearer than the stars shining on a winter night. When you speak, it’s like invisible ropes extend from your lithe fingers, grabbing each man by the ears and pulling them in to listen further. He’s no different, finding himself drifting toward your stage when a sudden hand tugs him away. 

“Hey, we’re going this way. Luffy found a table in the back,” Nami informs him over the controlled chaos of the bar. Her voice quiets as he follows her to a secluded corner, but her teasing was not lost to him. 

“Pretty interesting place you’ve led us to.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he replies blandly, still slightly awestruck from seeing you again.

“Got a crush on the singer?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he deadpans, sliding into the booth next to his beaming captain. He gladly accepts the bottle Usopp offers him, taking a swig without so much of a flinch when it burns down his throat and goes straight to his head. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Luffy pipes up and he doesn’t hide his grimace in time. “Did Nami say something to bother you, Zoro?” 

“Doesn’t she always?” An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of the swordsman’s stomach, one he could only explain by not having eyes on you. He was used to being here alone, where he could admire you without distraction. He knew he wasn’t ready for the crew’s interrogation about his history with you. “I just need something to drink.” 

“You’re already holding a bottle, if you’ve forgotten already,” Sanji reminds him. “Don’t make us drag your sorry ass out of another bar.” If looks could kill, Zoro couldn’t fathom the number of coffins the stupid cook would need. 

“Alright, alright,” Luffy interjects. “Zoro’s just been…stressed. We all deal with stress in our own ways.” 

“There are healthier ways to deal with stress than alcoholism,” Nami points out. “For instance, talking it out works wonders.”

“While I appreciate the concern, we’re here for information, not therapy,” Zoro states tersely, taking another gulp from his bottle. “We came a little early, so we’ll have to wait until the band is done with their set before we move in on the target.” His eyes drift back into your general direction, hoping there weren’t any guys giving you trouble. 

“Why can’t we just move in now? There’s enough chaos in the bar to be a distraction,” Luffy asks.

“Sanji and I could start a fight,” Usopp offers in response, holding up the cook’s wrist like he was ready for the first punch. “That worked last time.” Zoro shakes his head. 

“Too risky. The informant won’t say anything if we interrupt the music, especially if it’s a bar fight,” he replies, a fond look blinking across his face. “They’re a little…difficult, sometimes.” The pieces click together in Nami’s brain before he can stop her and the realization dawns on her in no time.  

“Your contact is the singer.” He shrugs one shoulder, not looking any of his crew in the eye and instead watching the growing crowd around your stage. “The singer you have a crush on?” Zoro’s head snaps back to reality and becomes all too aware of the heat growing on his cheeks. 

“I don’t have a crush on them,” he mumbles half-heartedly. 

“Aw, Zoro is in love!” Usopp sighs. “I always knew he had a heart.” 

“It’s not love. It’s just admiration, if anything,” he counters, but it’s no use. His crewmates were already on a roll. 

“I thought you said you had this under control,” Sanji recalls with a taunting smirk. 

“I do have this under control.”

“Your red complexion says otherwise,” the cook replies and Zoro’s frown deepens. It wasn’t part of his plan for the rest of his friends to find out about his relationship with you. In fact, accompanying him to the bar was not part of the plan in the first place. “Look, I’m happy for you. Honestly, I am. If you could do it, then I surely will find someone even better.” 

“That’s enough,” Nami cuts in before Zoro can unsheath a sword. He nods in curt gratitude, but she doesn’t let him off the hook. “However, as payback for not telling us about your little sweetheart, you’re gonna explain how you know them until their set is done.” 

“Says who?”

“Says us,” Usopp answers, holding up Sanji’s fist again and miming the cook punching him in the face. “Or, we’re gonna cause a scene and make them come to us first.” 

“You guys are impossible,” Zoro mutters under his breath. With a deep exhale, he establishes a single rule. “You don’t tell anyone about what I’m about to tell you, understand?” The crew nods. “Good, because if someone finds out about them, I’m gonna shave your heads while you sleep.” 

As with most people Zoro interacted with, you met him because of a fight.

“I didn’t need your help,” you had told him that night, resting your boot on a ribcage for leverage and yanking your sword from the dead assailant’s chest. “So, you can leave now.”

“I thought you said you had this under control,” he remarks, cleaning the blood from his blade and inserting it back into its sheath. 

“I do have this under control,” you reiterate with a glare. “It was just an off night.” 

“Pretty impressive for an off night, though your swordsmanship could improve.” His hand gestures vaguely at the half-dozen attackers lying at your feet, amateurs whose strength depended on their numbers. Numbers, which he'd helped you cut down when you didn’t show up at the meeting spot you’d agreed upon. 

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to insult me or compliment me,” you scoff.

“Doesn’t matter, as long as you keep talking,” he replies without missing a beat, following you through the backdoor of the bar and down a dusty hallway into what he presumed was a makeshift dressing room. “You could make a good career out of bounty hunting if you wanted to.” Closing the door behind him, he settles into a nearby chair and watches you tidy up trinkets on the vanity. 

“I don’t remember letting you come in here, much less telling you to have a seat.” Your guarded nature only intrigues Zoro more, but he’s more than willing to leave if you truly didn’t want him present. Something in his gut told him, though, that you secretly enjoyed the company. “And, no. I’m not interested in the violence of your world, only the information part.” 

“The information part you didn’t show up for,” he recalls with a scowl. You hum in fake sympathy at his displeasure. 

“And my sincerest apologies for getting attacked while on route to our meeting place,” you bite, shaking your head when he rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re here now, so just ask your questions and get out.” Zoro does ask his questions and you give him the answers he needs, but the lingering feeling of disappointment when he bids you farewell stays with him even after he collects the head you helped him find. So, with the reward money sitting heavy in his pocket, he returns to your run-down little bar the following week. 

Without the pressure of fulfilling a hunt weighing on his chest, he catches himself enjoying your performance a little too much. It was mesmerizing, the way you danced across the stage and blew kisses to drunken audience members. Zoro even found himself smiling when he was able to catch your eye. 

“I take it the hunt went well,” you say in greeting when he appears in the doorway of your dressing room. It’s after your band’s last set and you’re visibly more relaxed than the previous time he saw you. Instead of barging into your space, he simply leans a muscled shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed and observing you remove your makeup. 

“It did. Your little tip about the maid worked wonders.” 

“She’ll always turn a blind eye if it means a little extra money.” 

“She also knew the place better than the maps I was reading,” he adds. “I wouldn’t think to talk to her if it weren’t for you.” You dismiss his compliment with a wave of your hand. 

“The Lady of the House’s true right-hand is not her husband, but the one that cleans up after him,” you muse with a satisfied smile. He’s still standing in the doorway, you notice from the corner of your eye. “You can come in if you promise to explain why you’re back again.”

“Consider the promise made, then,” he replies, shutting the door and taking a seat the same way he did the week prior. “I wanted to apologize for getting off on the wrong foot.”

“The Demon of the East Blue apologizing to me? What a world we live in,” you quip and he chuckles. “For the record, I wasn’t mad at you. Well, not entirely.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yeah, I was mad at you for interrupting the set to ask your questions, but I can’t blame you too much. It’s your first time here, after all.” He listens to your explanation intently, like there was no other voice he’d rather be hearing. “But for future reference, interrupting me while I’m singing will make other clients I serve a little jumpy.”

“They think you’re conspiring against them?”

“Exactly. I try to keep the same after-the-show policy with everyone, so if I give priority to one person, they’ll question my reliability.” He nods, your irritation suddenly making much more sense. 

“And when they question your reliability, they attack you outside the bar,” he concludes. 

“Mhmm, which was why I was late for our meeting. For that, I am sorry.” Your voice is softer than the candlelight illuminating the small room and he finds himself being drawn into you again, like a magnet. An idea pops into his mind, one that was sure to cost him a few hunts, but he’s sure you’re worth it.

“Ever think about hiring stage security?” 

“For a dirty-ass bar like this? Definitely not,” you laugh. “Maybe if I were playing for the general of the Marines, but here? That’s funny.” You thought that would be the end of your conversations with Zoro, but decided not to question his intentions when he showed up the following night. You spied him sitting in the same dark corner with a glass in his hand, watching you like you were the only being that mattered in his world. As the songs pass, your eyes find him on instinct and you’re rewarded with a rare grin that makes your stomach float. No sooner did you start your last set of the night, though, did a new client come storming into the bar. 

He was a Marine defector, one that was trying to make it onto some pirate’s ship before the government found him. In the second drawer of your dressing room vanity, you had a list of ships and ports that would guarantee him a smooth disappearance into the sea. He desperately needed the list and, being a new client, was clueless about your after-show policy. 

“Alright, give me the list. Let’s go,” he hissed once he reached the front of the stage, his words barely audible over the sound of your band. You attempt to smile and play him off as another drunk, but your amiable expression disappears when he tries to grab the edge of your skirt. “I’m not fucking messing around. Give me the fucking list.” As expected, your regular clients started to shift uncomfortably in their seats, looking at you and the greenie suspiciously. In their minds, you were giving special privileges to a new guy. “Stop being a bitch and give me the list.” The man reaches out to grab your skirt again when a strong hand shoves him away from you. 

“Get lost. They’re in the middle of performing.” You steal one glance at the swordsman in front of you, the one resting his hands menacingly on the hilts of his swords. His broad shoulders become a wall in front of you, impossible to pass without risking instant decapitation. The new client scurries away and you release a shaky breath, sending Zoro a grateful look when he’s back at his seat. Please stay, you mouth wordlessly. I’m not going anywhere, he mouths back.

He stays with you during your official meeting with the ex-Marine, arms crossed and stationed in the corner of your dressing room like a guard dog. When the meeting is over and Zoro’s all but thrown the man out of the building, he walks you home and waits until he hears your door lock before leaving. He’s back the next night, and the next, and the next, and all the nights afterward for nearly a year. You start to ask him about his past, his hunts, and his dreams. Little by little, you both start to take down your defenses and trust each other with vulnerability. He’s late, sometimes, when he gets caught in a hunt; but, you always end up finding him waiting for you in your dressing room. 

After he kisses you for the first time, you start inviting him in once he’s walked you home, impatiently locking your door before pulling him to your room. It’s little things that make you fall in love with him: waking up to find him hogging all of your blankets, resting on his bare chest and relishing in the feeling of his skin against yours, running a hand through his hair until he wakes up with a sleepy smile. He falls freely, hopelessly, and completely in love with you, too. 

He knows nothing has changed when you rush into his arms as soon as you see him in your dressing room. 

“Hey, songbird,” he mumbles while his arms lock around your waist. “I burn from missing you.”

“I’ve missed you more.” Your voice sounds muffled against his shoulder as your arms wind tightly around his neck. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pulling you as closely to him as humanly possible. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Zoro felt at ease. “I thought I saw you walk in, but you didn’t go to your usual spot.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I have some…friends with me,” he says slowly, nudging the door open to reveal his crewmates eavesdropping from the hallway. You smirk knowingly, running the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone. “Alright, alright. Just say it–”

“I didn’t know you could make friends,” you tease and he prevents you from saying anything else by pressing his lips against yours. “Wanna introduce me to them?”

“Give me a second, baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “I need you to myself for a bit.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 40

part 1 | part 39 | ao3

They're lying on their backs, Steve's head on Eddie's shoulder, Eddie running absent-minded fingers through Steve's hair. Led Zeppelin plays on low from the radio beside them, and the conversation ebbs and flows in sleepy bursts of disjointed thought. Talking just to talk. Because they like it; because they can.

"...Did you see Wheeler almost eat shit in the paint aisle this morning?"

"We should paint some stars on my ceiling. Make 'em glow in the dark..."

"God, what I would not give for more pizza."

"Who even eats cold pizza?"

Eddie shifts beneath him after a while, sitting up to bounce his legs and get the blood flowing again. With his weight leaned back on his hands, Steve can't help but notice the long line of his torso. Everything on display through the thin undershirt: the smattering of dark ink, the outline of his ribs, the cut of his slim waist. Steve wants to touch him.

"You know," Eddie says, surveying the empty room, the vinyl glinting in the lamp light, "it's really not half bad for a bunch of kids who thought they were gonna be hanging ornaments all day." He knocks his knee against Steve's leg. "I'd say you're well on your way to making this mobile house a mobile home."

Steve snorts at that, and Eddie pinches playfully at his side until the snort turns into a really undignified laugh and Steve rolls in on himself, curling toward Eddie, begging for mercy.

"You want to tell me what brought all this on?" Eddie asks. His voice is quiet and welcoming, eyes sparkling with some gentle offer of reprieve. The first rest stop sign after a hundred mile stretch of empty road.

Steve's mouth works; opens and closes and opens again, like it'll prompt his voice to sound or his brain to figure out the words. He still doesn't know how to explain — the fear, the paranoia, the way this place was starting to cling to him like black mold. "Just..." he shrugs. "Needed it, I guess."

Eddie gives him a long look. Unwavering and piercing; there's more pus in the wound that he's trying to lance, but he doesn't seem interested in drawing blood tonight.

He releases Steve from his gaze and goes back to his casual stretching — rolling his neck, popping his shoulders, shaking out his legs, his ankles, his feet — and then he gasps "Steve!" in a delighted tone that Steve does not care for at all. Usually means he’s about to get teased within an inch of his life.

"Hmm?" Steve lifts his head to look.

Eddie’s wiggling his right foot, drawing attention to the outer edge of his borrowed sock. "Is that a hole I see?"

Steve follows his line of sight, and sure enough, there's the smallest little tear by Eddie's pinky toe. “Oh, fuck off,” Steve rolls his eyes, “you can barely even see that.”

Eddie spreads his toes out wide, making the hole more obvious. "My, my, my,” he tuts, shaking his head with a big, disappointed sigh.

"You're such an asshole,” Steve mutters. Eddie's beaming; Steve flips him off.

"Well congrats, baby boy,” he drawls like a fucking pest, “now you're officially trailer trash."

"Hey!" Steve’s not sure if he likes that. Makes him blush to his ears; makes something sour roll in his gut.

Unfortunately it also kind of makes his dick twitch.

"Oh?" Eddie leers. His eyes dart to Steve's crotch, and then he shifts so he's hovering over Steve with Steve flat on his back, face on fire, pulse kicking hard. A vein throbs in his inner thigh. "Don't worry, Stevie." Eddie bends to nip at his jaw. "I meant it as a compliment."

"How is that a compliment?" Steve wants to sound annoyed. Is annoyed. But Eddie's skimming a light hand up his side, barest pressure that leaves a trail of tingling warmth in its wake, so the words come out more breathy than he intends.

"Because," Eddie whispers. Steve can feel his smile pressed against his skin. Eddie kisses up his jawline until he reaches his ear; mouths at the lobe and sucks it between his teeth, a sharp bite that makes Steve hiss. "All my favorite things are."

Steve bucks under him. "Trash?" he asks, breath catching.

Eddie's tongue traces his ear. "Mhmm."

His hand wanders to the hem of Steve's shirt, worming his fingers underneath, tickling the trail of hair below Steve’s belly button as he explains that all his favorite things are second-hand. Recycled and discarded items he’s restored with loving care.

Steve’s breath goes harsh and ragged, and he tries not to think about how that might apply to him.

Discarded.

Restored.

Favorite.

Maybe even—

He can’t let himself think the word.

—

part 41!

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

[fullofgutsndopamine]

three times hasan faked it + 1 time he didn’t have to

more hasan here

hasan is good at faking many things.

look, he’s not one for bragging-really, he isn’t. it’s just part of his charm, of his appeal, another tick of good things about him-could be an actor if this streaming job ever falls through, if he ever gets sick of politics and dumb jokes.

at least, he likes to believe he is.

one

“i fucking hate this movie, dude.”

it’s obvious by the way his eyes have been glued to the screen and how he hasn’t said much that he’s lying. really, the only way you knew he was here was by the constant rubbing of the pad of his thumb over your hand, where it traveled and slowly creeped, two fingers at a time over your spine until it reached the back of your neck where his hand rested against yours, a gentle squeeze there, as if he’s saying: i’m here

“mhm,” you counter, eyes on the screen, “it’s obvious you hate it by how quiet you’ve been this entire time.”

he rolls his eyes but his hands stay constant:

“whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “this is the best part. hold on.”

he fucking hated this movie. his eyes were close to rolling out of his head but as he was about to make a joke, to say how dumb this was, he saw how excited you were, how wide eyed and excited you were over tbis movie and naturally, he had to love the movie as well.

two

“boo!”

hasan is many things, but at the very top of the list with your initials next to it, it’s a scaredy cat

he’s not proud of it.

the smile on his face gives him away, doesn’t give him enough time to fake a reaction, to play up being terrified:

“nothing?” your shoulders slump, “i didn’t scare you at all?”

look, he’d beat up anyone who even implied this, knows how cliche it is but the world is less scary with you by his side-isn’t on edge like before, isn’t always waiting for the other foot to drop.

“you didn’t even give me a chance to react!”

his giggle is loud as he reaches over to elbow you.

“reacting is your whole ass job!” you argue, moving out of the way as he tries to pull you close and plant a kiss on your forehead like he always does when you arrive at his side.

your face is bright red as he finally pulls you in close, another kiss to your cheek-

“cmon,” he giggles, “give me another chance.”

instead, you reach up, messing up his hair: “your time is coming.”

three

“i’m not much of a dancer.”

his voice is low as he drawls on, but as you stand with

“our kitchen would say differently,” you shush him, “come on.”

he groans, knows there’s no way he’ll get out of this, better to just shut up and follow what you say-you haven’t led him astray before.

“i’m going to embarrass you,” he all but whispers as he wraps his arms around your core, as you rest your head against his chest, “i’m going to step on your feet and it’s going to be horribly embarrassing.”

“shh.”

he leads, a gentle box as he’s careful to not step on your toes, grumbling and trying to act like he hates it-grateful you can’t see the pink across his face.

+ 1

“what is this?”

his giggle gives him away, proves he’s actually enjoying this.

“it’s a surprise, hasan.” you tsk at him, your hands shield over this eyes so all he can see is dark in front of him, “just-“

you pause, a sigh before kicking your lips:

“listen,” you counter, “do you trust me?”

there’s weight there, where he could play dumb or say the wrong thing and act like he doesn’t trust you-

“yes.” he says instantly, before he can even overthink it, his hands over yours as you guide him

“good,” you settle on, can hear your feet behind him as he smirks, his hands in front of him as he tries to make out a house he once knew by heart. “now shut up, and act like you’re enjoying this.”

you can’t see it as he rolls his eyes, as he tries to play up this act of someone who hates everything, hates this.

“okay, don’t open your eyes.”

there’s struggle for a second as one hand drops, he can tell by the difference in the lightning that you flicked a light on-

“okay. one, two-“

he can hear the deep breath you take as your hands drop. the second he can’t feel you anymore his hands scamper in the air, unsatisfied until they come back into contact with your hand, until his fingers are laced into your hand.

i’m the kitchen now lays half deflated balloons, a half hanging up happy birthday banner-

“it’s not great,” you sigh at your side, “I’m so sorry. i’ll make it up to you, i promise. the store-“

“hey.”

your head snaps up when you hear his voice, when his forefinger connects with your chin to lift it up so it strains, when you can finally make eye contact with him.

“this is perfect-“

“hasan,” you sigh, “you lie so badly-“

“i’ve literally never lied in my life,” he laughs, “this is perfect.”

you don’t believe him until he pulls you close to him, when your belly collided with the side of his legs, his hand outstretched as he points out the little things you spent all the time doing-

“this is perfect,” he insists, the smile never leaving his side, “you’re perfect.”

pink raises on your face as you shake it: “cliche.”

“shut up.”

he pulls you in for a final kiss.

[kittykat-25]

One Of The Guys

Pairings: Hongjoong x F! Reader

Genre: idol au, Friends x Lovers, angst

Summary: You tried really hard not to be a cliché, falling love with your best friend. How unoriginal. But when your best friend is Kim Hongjoong what are you supposed to do?

Now Playing: One Of The Guys- Jessia

Word Count: 1.6k

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Epilogue

Being friends with Hongjoong had led to you meeting the rest of his members. And soon enough you were the ninth person of the friend group. While you cared about and respected all of them, Wooyoung and Mingi had taken it upon themselves to be your pillars. The two who kept you sane and standing. They quickly caught on to how you felt about their captain. The others had as well but they chose to respect your privacy, Woo and Mingi; not so much. You were grateful for the two dorks who kept you on your toes and only left your side when needed. Hongjoong loved that his members had taken you in so quickly. He knew they all adored you and would look after you when he couldn’t. Y/n had always been a comforting presence to him, he knew Hwa called you when he got too far into his head. You would show up, make him take a break and relax and then sit down and help until he felt confident in his work. You had started taking care of the kids too at some point, bringing food when they practiced late, making sure the fridge at the studio was stocked of their favorite snacks and drinks. The staff had told him of you coming by early on the way into work to drop off treats for them. You cared about everyone one around you, so he had made it his mission to be that person for you as well. A protector, a friend, a big brother of sorts. Little did he know he was breaking your heart in the process.

Saturday night you made your way up the stairs of the dorm, take out bags lining your arms. You stop at a door and give it a few swift kicks alerting the eight men inside. Yunho throws the door open, looking down at you. "Need help with that shorty?" you threw him a glare, "I can take your food and give it to Woo." Yunho reached out and took some bags leading her inside. "Y/N's here." He called into the apartment. You started unpacking food containers onto the counter when a massive hand came down onto your head, "Thanks cupcake!" Ming said while ruffling your hair. "Anything for you Princess." You smirked back and you elbowed him away from you. “Leave Y/N alone, they were nice enough to bring us food.” You heard the oldest boy call as he walked into the kitchen. “At least one of you has some manners.” You said as you handed Seonghwa his food. “Yah I offered to cook but noooo I just go bullied for suggesting it.” Wooyoung said plopping his chin down on top of your head. “Poor little baby, getting bullied?” You fake pout. Wooyoung dug his chin into your head. “Owh Woo!!” You said swatting at the menace. “Have some respect for your elders Hyung.” Jongho said as he sat down next to Yunho on the couch. “Oh because you do that so well?!” Wooyoung called back. You laughed as you grabbed the eighth container. The boys bickering getting quieter as you head down the hallway to Hongjoong’s room.

You knocked on the door, a muffled “yeah?” came through. “Joongie?” You called opened the door into a dark room. You looked over at the only light source, Hongjoong sitting in front of his laptop, his silhouette sending butterflies through your body. “You know you have to eat to stay alive right?” You said softly as you sat the container in front of him. He looked up at you “I just need to finish this clip for Eden Hyung.” Eyes focused back on the screen. “Joong, you can’t finish it if you’re unconscious from lack of food. When was the last time you ate?” He spun his chair around to face you as you sat on the edge of his bed, “I ate breakfast this morning.” You looked down at your watch, “it’s 11pm. You haven’t eaten in over twelve hours.” He turned his chair back around, “thank you for the food y/n-ie. Go eat with the others, I’ll join in a bit.” Y/n looked at the back of his head and stood up and walked to the door. Looking back at the man who had no clue that he held your heart in his hands. “Let’s not lie, we both know you aren’t leaving until you’re satisfied. Just make sure you eat please Joong.” You said quietly before shutting the door.

You made your way back into the main room, curling up in the couch beside Wooyoung. They had started a movie and everyone was hyper fixated on it. Wooyoung nudged you in the side lightly, nodding towards the kitchen. You got up and followed him out of the room. Leaning against the counter you watched him clean up the take out containers. “What happened?” He asked quietly. “What do you mean?” He stopped and looked down at you, eyes soft and full of pity. “Bubs you have the same defeated look as when your book doesn’t end the way you want. What happened?” You twisted the ends of your hair, another sign to Woo that something was wrong. Being friend with them the past 7 years he learned to pick up your anxious habits. “Nothing happened, same Joong as always.” Wooyoung nodded his head, he opened his mouth to speak when Mingi walked in. “Y/n do you think you should just tell him how you feel?” He said casually as he set his cup in the sink. “Going straight for kill aren’t you Minki?” Woo said trying to lighten the mood. “And do what? Ruin my friendship? Lose all of you? No thank you. I’m happy to sit here in misery.” You said while picking at the hem of your shirt. Mingi grabbed your hands “you wouldn’t lose us cupcake.” He said softly. “Yah y/n you can’t lose me, I’m like glitter. I never leave.” Wooyoung said. He threw his arm around your shoulder “besides who else is going to protect me from all of them.” He whispered as he lead you back into the living room.

You woke up on the couch, a blanket thrown over you and Wooyoung sprawled out on the floor beside you. You looked around taking in the guys sleeping peacefully around the room. Noticing one blonde haired man missing you pulled yourself up wrapping the blanket around you and trudged down the hall to his room. You lightly knocked before opening the door and found him asleep at his desk. Quietly walked to him, making sure the clip was saved; you gently shook his shoulder. Hoongjoongs eyes shot open, calming down when he saw your face. “Bed now don’t even try to object Kim Hongjoong.” You said before he could defend himself. He stood and walked over to his bed throwing the blankets back and climbing in.

He patted the pillow beside his and you hesitantly laid down next to him. You had shared a bed before but every time it messed with your head. “Do you work today?” He asked, his eyes scanning your face. “No Joongie, it’s Sunday.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. He pulled your blanket up and softly patted the top of your head, “then get some rest.” You calmed yourself to where your cheeks wouldn’t glow red, glad his eyes were closed. “You need it more than I do.” He hummed quietly in answer. You laid there until his breathing evened out and you knew he was asleep before slipped silently off the bed and back into the living room. You could hear someone moving around the kitchen, cooling your features you walked in there. “Hey shorty, sleep well?” Yunho said as you make your way into the space. You nodded your head, “I’m probably going to head out soon.” You croaked, voice laced with emotions you wanted to shove down. Yunho looked at you and the direction you came from and nodded his head. “Do you need me to walk you home? Or wake up Mings to do it?” You shook your head, “I’m good but thanks Yuyu. I’ll see you all later.” You laid your blanket over Wooyoung and gathered your things, looking back down the dark hallway towards his room once more before walking to the door and letting it close behind you.

You made your way down the street to a convenience store to grab a coffee before started the walk back to your place. You heard someone calling your name and saw Wooyoung and San jogging down the street after you. “You were sleeping when I left?! Not even five minutes ago!” You said once the two men got close enough. “Yunho woke me up, he was worried about you.” Wooyoung said while catching his breath. You moved your eyes over to San, “Woo stepped on me as he was leaving.” You started laughing “of course he did. Well let’s go get you both some food and I need caffeine.” You made your way into a café and ordered. Chit chatting about plans for the day and soaking up quality time together. “I’m meeting Changbin later at a game room later if you want to join?” Wooyoung suggested as you walked down the street, “it could be fun?” You shook your head, “I’m terrible at computer games Woo.” Wooyoung gave you his best pout face “please.” You rolled your eyes, “no I have things I need to get done today.” He jutted out his lip even more “I’ll buy you lunch, please Bin is nicer to me when you’re there.” You laughed and shook your head, “fine, fine. But I want lunch and a coffee.” Wooyoung tackled you into a hug as you stopped in front of your apartment building. “Be ready around 1, I’ll come get you.” You gave a thumbs up as you walked into the building. Feeling much lighter than you did this morning.

Taglist🥰

@vampzity @sanslovesblog @sundaybossanova @skzline @edenesth @owmoiralover @scarfac3 @mingisbbokari

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Like a lamb led to slaughter (my heart held in your hands)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: fluff? angst? kinda hurt/comfort?

warnings: this is the enemies part of the enemies to lovers so they're kinda mean and hateful, reader pulls a knife on damian at the beginning but it's pretty chill, also angsty ending in this but future parts where they're together and in love are already up and in my masterlist <3

a/n: enjoy xoxo

Damian pauses, holding his breath as the knife that's been suddenly pressed against his throat gets pressed a little harder. The wind blows the sand around his feet gently and he listens, straining for a hint as to who his attacker is.

"Damian Al Ghul, caught by surprise… you're getting slow," your voice makes him relax - much to his annoyance, his jaw clenching as he exhales slowly. You pull the knife away from him, ignoring the small trickle of blood that runs down his neck as you stand in front of him. 

"You shouldn't be here," he snaps harshly.

"Neither should you," you quip back.

"This is my -"

"For now," you interrupt, your grin wicked. "This war of ours isn't over yet, Al Ghul. I wouldn't claim the winning prize for yourself just yet - not when you're the one who's been caught off guard." Damian's fists clench, his eyes hard as he stares at you through the darkness of night, the stars dripping pinpricks of light onto the two of you.

"This is League territory. You are outcast. You're not welcome here, and neither are any of the others who follow you," he says viciously. You smile.

"So sure I won't beat you still," you say, a mocking edge in your voice that makes him huff. "So sure it'll be you leading the League one day, and not me."

Damian doesn't bite back, though. He opens his mouth to, but then seems to think better of it, opting instead to step away from you and plant himself on the sandy ground while the clouds part, the moon shining through. You think you hear him muttering, "why don't you just kill me and get it over with, then?"

You blink at his behaviour, following him cautiously and standing in front of him, blocking the light of the moon and shrouding him in darkness where he's sitting, knees pulled up to his chest.

"What's wrong with you?" You ask, toeing at his side with your shoe, jostling him slightly. He just clenches his fists tighter.

"You're blocking out the sky," he says bitterly. "And you stabbed me." You arch a brow.

"You're stargazing now? How novel. And I didn't stab you - don't be dramatic. It was just a little cut… you've given me worse," you point out.

"You deserve worse," he snaps. You straighten back and away from him, moving to let the light of the moon shine down on him as you sit next to him.

"You know I'd never kill you on a night like this," you say, a softness in your voice that makes you both queasy. You feel the weight of the knife in its sheath against your leg and press your hand to it. You could try to kill him - you probably should. God knows there are enough people waiting for you to.

"Not enough of an audience?" Damian says dryly. You kick a pile of sand near your foot.

"Why didn't you fight back? You could just as easily try to kill me tonight. But you wouldn't because we've been at this far too long to let it end in private… just the two of us." The end of your sentence is murmured, your eyes trained on his face while he stares up at the night sky. It takes him longer than you'd like for him to tear his gaze away from the full moon and look back at you, the light shining on one half of his face while the other now sits in shadow. You imagine you look much the same, half bathed in light, half shrouded. 

"What do you think will happen?" His question finally cuts through the silence. "When one of us finally kills the other." You pull your hand away from your knife like it's burned you. 

"When I kill you?" You say haughtily. "The League will be mine."

"And when I kill you?" Damian snaps back. You seem to mull over your answer for a moment too long, Damian huffing and turning back up to the sky.

"Then you win," you say quietly. "And you're rid of me." Something in your heart twinges at that and you grit your teeth.

"What would I do?" He says it so softly you're sure you wouldn't hear him if you hadn't spent so many years learning him. You fix him with a hard look, but he keeps his eyes pointedly on the stars and not at you. "What would I do without you?"

"What would I do without you?" Your response is so wavering and hushed that you think he must have missed it. It must have simply been caught in the wind and carried away to somewhere where the two of you could be anything other than what you are now. The way Damian turns to look at you, eyes wide and vulnerable and hurting, tells you he heard you just fine. 

"I don't want to kill you," he says it like kindness is a crime.

"You have to," you respond, like a lamb led to slaughter. "It's what we're made for, you and me. To be each other's end - each other's undoing. Only one of us is making it out of this alive." There's a weight in your words that goes unsaid. A part of me will die with you. Neither one of us will make it out of this and stay whole. A part of me belongs to you.

Damian stands suddenly, sand flying at where you sit as he shoots to his feet. You brush it off of you with a sigh and crane your neck to look up at him where he's standing tall, fists clenched and shoulders back, his feet planted firmly and holding him steady. You assume there's a determination in his eyes that you're intimately familiar with to go with his stance. He's blocked out the moon with his figure, leaving the two of you in shadow with a blinding halo around his silhouette, but you don't need to see his face to know what look he's wearing - you haven't needed to for a long time.

"There's a way around this, I'm sure," he says. You sigh and a breeze floats by, ruffling through him and into you. Your nose burns when you pick up the faintest whiff of his scent and you wonder, just for a moment, if he can detect the same from you… if he knows you the way you know him.

"You don't want that," you say flatly.

"Don't tell me what I want," he snaps back, voice hard. "You don't get to decide how this ends." You shoot up at his words, standing chest to chest with him, so close that you bump into each other.

"I decide just as much as you do." Your voice mimics the steel in his own. "This is about us, not you, and… and," whatever you were saying dies out as you look at Damian, his eyes staring back at you intensely. You hadn't really realized, in your anger and haste, how close to him you'd shoved yourself, but you can feel his breath on your skin and see the flecks of colour in his deep brown eyes.

"And… what?" He prompts, scowl still on his face. He seems to take no notice of the way his nose brushes against yours. That is, until your eyes flick down to his lips for a split second too long.

He lurches away from you, stepping back to create distance and holding a hand out in surrender, as if the close proximity to you just then had been more threatening than all the times you'd pointed a sword to his chest. The way your heart thumps behind your ribs and your breath catches, you're inclined to agree.

"I'm going to fix this," he says breathlessly.

"Fix what? There's nothing to fix, Damian." His name burns your tongue, like it's an intimacy you shouldn't indulge in. "There's nothing to fix. This is the way it's supposed to go."

"I won't kill you," he's all but yelling at you now. "And I won't let you kill me." You make the mistake of closing your eyes, hanging your head slightly and sighing as you prepare yourself for another fight. It's a moment of weakness that you would never allow in front of any enemy other than him - a moment of vulnerability that could cost you your life. But you hear it, ever so slightly, the whisper of him moving with a stealth that only the two of you know. By the time you open your eyes, he's gone.

You realize, in the days following the incident, that you'd never gone so long without seeing Damian before. At first, you were shoved against each other by your respective sides in never-ending fights to see who would triumph. Then, as time passed and the two of you grew, your skills matched and fights ending in draws over and over, you started seeking each other out on your own. To know your enemy, you'd always told yourself. You're sure he'd always tried to convince himself of the same. 

But now? Now days have gone by without a whisper, without a flickering shadow or a hushed breath. Eventually, you go looking, silent and hidden and so desperately hopeful. But that's when you hear it - the rumours.

Damian Al Ghul is gone - gone to live with his father and train with him. He'll be back, you promise yourself. He'll come back to me. 

But he doesn't. Time passes and he remains gone, the rumours spreading.

Damian Al Ghul has found a home beyond this war, beyond you. You're sure that only makes you so nauseous because now you'll never get the chance to kill him.

Damian Al Ghul has no interest in fighting a war that isn't his anymore, you hear. Damian Al Ghul has no need for a vicious prophecy or a never-ending rivalry.  Damian Al Ghul has found a home, apparently, and it's somewhere far… far away from you.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Bad For Business: Level One

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.3K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

“You’re late.”

“No I’m not.”

You were. Twenty five minutes, in fact, and your stomach was still swirling from the night before, remnants of cheap beer and cheaper vodka mixing unhappily with the cold, strawberry pop-tart you’d force fed yourself on the way to work. 

Steve Harrington leant against the wall with a grin as he watched you struggle to clock in, the old machine chewing up your employee card before it finally stamped it. You pushed past him, shoulder into his in a way that was awfully familiar now. The blunt words, the eye rolls, the semi serious acts of violence all part of your work day and they had been since last summer. He didn’t give in to you, arms colliding, the smell of his cologne now on your T-shirt too. 

“Hungover?” Steve asked, enjoying the way you squinted against the harsh, fluorescent strip lights. 

The office was much quieter than the arcade outside of the staff doors and you were trying your best to stay away from the sounds of Super Mario and Pac-Man for as long as you could. Except Steve wasn’t making it easy. 

“No,” you lied again. You were so hungover, stupidly hungover. And tired. You’d barely managed to crawl back through your bedroom window when the sun was beginning to rise, the summer outside starting back up as the sky turned apricot and the birds sang. Eddie had walked you home, both of you sharing the last dregs from a lukewarm beer before he bent at the waist and let you use his back as a footstool, groaning and swearing at you as you took too long to grab the end of the broken trellis. “What’s with the fucking interrogation, Harrington? Did Murray die and leave you in charge?”

Outside the office, the arcade machines jingled, beeping and ringing with each win and loss, the constant clinkclinkclink of quarters being dropped into the coin slots, the yells of sugared up kids making your head pound. 

“Nah,” Steve’s grin only widened, an almost smirk that made you grit your teeth together. You busied yourself at your locker, shoving your bag into the too small space, the rattle of the metal hurting your very being. “Seeing you each morning is just the best part of my day.” 

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s blatant lie, snorting at the possibility you could both be anything close to friends. Steve Harrington lived to annoy you, and had done since middle school. He spent the first couple of grades annoying you at recess, pulling your hair and snickering with his friends when you yelled, all pink cheeked and shocked looking when you stomped towards him, indignant, shoving the heel of your buttercup yellow shoe into his toes. 

It went on like that, spitballs launched from each end of the classroom, backs of chairs kicked and faces pulled at the other during presentations. Then you both got older and the words got colder, scathing remarks made in the hallway, lockers defaced with semi serious insults and potential dates ruined by mocking comments said in front of crushes. 

Then high school was over, Hawkins seemed to get smaller and the only job available to get you enough cash to leave the tiny, backwater town was a position beside Steve at Upside Down Arcade. Run by someone who everyone only knew as Murray - a man who had absolutely no time for anyone under the age of twenty five and was utterly inept with technology - the arcade was a staple in Hawkins. As permanent a feature as the community pool, the town hall and the library; the brown brick building looked bland from the street outside, but stepping in the doors led kids into a maze of gaming machines, air hockey tables and neon lights. 

The carpets had seen better days, the Space Invaders themed pattern a headache of dulled yellows, purples reds and greens, the painted black walls barely seen behind the rows and rows of games, all brightly light and beeping, illuminations flashing pink and blue, leaderboard charts mocking on the screens. 

It smelled like burnt sugar and stale popcorn, despite the machine not having worked for over a decade. A heavy mix of all things bad for you: sour candy, old hotdogs, cherry slush stains and pre-teen hormones. 

“If I’m somehow even bringing you the slightest bit of joy with my presence, Harrington,” you deadpanned, “then I’m doing it wrong.” You slammed the locker door shut and smirked when Steve had to yank his hand back, fingers narrowly avoided. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, moving only to grab his name badge from the board, making sure he knocked yours onto the floor when he shoved the bundle of keys into his pocket that opened up all the coin slots. 

“Murray’s not in until later, Donkey Kong is fried and oh,” he clicked his fingers and pointed a digit at you, all faux sympathy making his face soften. “I knocked you off the top spot on Dig Dug. Again.”

You glared. Steve grinned. 

 You wanted to say something sharp, something witty and mean, but your head was still pounding and your throat felt like the Sahara Desert. “Bite me, Steven,” you muttered instead, shoving past the boy so you could get out the door first, for no other reason than simply to feel like you’d won something. 

Steve was too close behind you when he answered, all charm and flirt, the cadence of his voice dropped to the level he used when he flirted with the older girls that brought in their baby siblings. 

“Bend over then, Princess Peach,” he cooed, “at least lemme see what I’m working with.” His voice was at your ear, his stupid hair tickling at your cheek. 

The stupid nickname made your nostrils flare, but the suggestive comment before it had your toes curling. You scoffed, shocked, because as the summer crawled by and the heat got higher, you and Steve’s snipes were getting more and more below the belt.

But that was his bravest yet. 

You didn’t bother turning round, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, and Jesus, you were sure your cheeks were flushed - but if he dared comment on it, you would’ve blamed it on the hangover you told him you didn’t have. 

“You’re a pig,” you bit out, ignoring how he kept close behind you as you finally braved opening the door. 

The arcade was already full to the brim, bursting with kids, a line of them at the desk, ticket stubs clutched in sticky hands, dollar bills ready to be exchanged for bags full of coins. The door almost hit Steve when you let it go behind you, his hands barely catching it as he scowled at your retreating figure. You planned to lurk in the darkest corner of the arcade for your entire shift, maybe sipping on a stolen slurpee, biding your time and waiting for your headache to soften enough in order to conjure a formulated attack on the Dig Dug machine. 

You turned around just before Steve served the first customer, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. He was already behind the cash register, Erica Sinclairs bundle of tickets in his hands as the girl pointed at a toy sword in the cabinet. 

“And don’t even try and pretend you haven’t looked before,” you called back to him, smug and referring to his lewd comment before. “Oh, ‘lemme see what I’m working with’,” you mimicked. “You’re not sly, asshole.”

A few kids tittered at the insult, Dustin Henderson snorting especially loud, but some gasped at how you cursed in front of them, a sure fire way to know there’d be a hand written complaint about on Murray’s desk tomorrow. You’d hoped your jab would make Steve shrink, maybe blush like he used to when you got all brave and bold with him. Shit, maybe he’d even had the right to look ashamed. 

But he simply shrugged, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking at you but his expression was still the same. 

Pleased. Too cocky. Challenging. 

You went straight to Dig Dug. 

[catsukiiee]

# LINK UP.

౨ৎ prohero!hanta sero x fem!reader

౨ৎ pov: sero cannot stop thinking about you after a recent argument between you two, getting to the point where he’s out of his bed and driving to your house, knowing damn well he has patrols later.

wordcount ; 766

paragraphs ; 16

sentences ; 34

songs used ; link up by avenoir

tropes ; friends with benefits, messy love.

content ; makeup sex.

note ;

hanta sero is nineteen here instead of his canon age of 24.

japanese and hispanic mix sero <3

The last conversation you had with Sero ended in tears, your throat raw from the screams you unleashed at him for being a jerk and toying with your emotions. You still felt a twinge of embarrassment over that outburst, but deep down, you believed your anger was warranted.

You weren’t officially a couple; you just spent time together and occasionally fucked each other.

Unfortunately, those casual hangouts and fuck sessions led you to develop feelings, those feelings causing you to spiral and crash out whenever Sero posted pictures of himself with other girls at UA college parties.

In retaliation, you began doing the same—hitting up parties and posting yourself with other guys. Sero’s response was always predictable: he’d flood your phone with messages and calls, asking where you were, then he'd show up at your place to argue, then it would either end with you kicking him out your house or his head between your legs.

Now, you stood in your dark living room, your phone's brightness being the only source of light as you reread his messages, the word "mama's" making thighs clench. He knew how to break down your defenses in an instant.

He was barely a foot inside the front door when you wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning forward on the tips of your toes to reach his lips, roughly pulling him into a kiss. “Fuck, hello.” he chuckled into the kiss, pressing you against the now-closed door. One hand grabbed a handful of your ass, the other tangled in your hair, pressing his body into yours.

No words needed to be spoken; this was a toxic cycle that both of you were far too familiar with. “Hey, mamas.” He groaned, moving his hand from your hair to grab at your throat, pulling you from the kiss.

“Missed me?”  

“Fuck yes.”

He was on his knees as soon as he got the answer he was waiting for, slinging one leg over his shoulder. You had made sure to take off your underwear before he arrived. All he had to do was raise your shirt and jump straight in, his tongue lapping at your clit, his tongue piercing dragging on it every time. "Fuck, Sero." With a gasp, you removed your shirt completely to look at him better, running your fingers in his hair, combing back his dark curls.

He continued to eat your pussy until you came against his tongue, your nails dragging through his hair, almost pushing his face away completely when he kept going. Groaning loudly against you, he finally let you push him away; even in the dark, you could see how dilated his pupils were. “You’re such a whiner, I was just eating your pussy.” He teased as he stood up, grinning down at you widely. You wanted to smack that grin off his face so bad.

“Come here and get a taste.” He grabbed you by the nape of your neck, towering over you once more, slamming his lips against yours. The kiss was nothing more than a kiss of teeth and tongue, messy open-mouthed kisses as his hands roamed all over your body, breathy moans fueling throaty groans.

"Did you come here to kiss me or to fuck me, Hanta." There it was, the sass that always turned him on much to your annoyance.

Sero was quick to get your ass up those stairs and face-first into your pillows, pushing your face deeper into them when you started getting loud. He loved how your body reacted, how your back arched and your pussy clenched when his hands came down on your ass, hitting the same spot until it was all bruised. “Damn, you sound amazing, mamas.”

This was what he loved: no back talk, no attitude, no eye rolls when he said something that annoyed you—just your shaky moans and cries. “Yeah, baby?” He laughed when you complained that he was going too deep, grabbing your hand when you tried to push against his hips. “Nah, just take it.” He teased, moving your hand away.

"Look at you, mamas, creaming all over my dick." He slowed down, pulling out just enough to see the mess you two made, then pushed back in deep, making you squirm. "Ugh, don’t do that," you gasped, reaching back. "Don’t do what?" he teased, grabbing your hand and pinning it behind your back, going balls deep again and staying still, grinning as your legs quivered, your body tensing as you gasped and moaned out into your pillows. "Did you just cum from that? Am I fucking you that good ma?"

He's such a fucking asshole but goddamn is his dick good.

strong believer of japanese and hispanic sero 🫶 i was giggling a bit too hard writing this.

MESSAGES WERE DONE BY MEEEEE!! I do NAWT have an iPhone unfortunately so I used an app for these messages. 😞✊...

[discount-shades]

Contract Spouse Chapter 10

Chapter 10: The Divorce Papers

A/N: Just the epilogue to go!

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning:  Angst,  

Length: 2400 ish

Summary:  Pip is massively hungover.  

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The roiling in your stomach wakes you and you push off Jake’s arm and stumble to the bathroom before hunching over the toilet and emptying the contents of your stomach. Spitting, you flush and collapse to the floor and rest against the bathtub, unwilling to move with your stomach still so upset. You can feel the sweat beading your forehead, and you push your hair out of your face before wiping your mouth. Judging by how you feel you are likely still drunk. 

This is why you rarely drank. If you ever had more than three drinks you would without fail be vomiting in the morning. You hear movement from the bed and groan, shame filling you at the reason you drank. 

You had been so sure that Jake wanted to kiss you. You had initially been so proud of the fact you had taken the chance, never being one to make the first move. You had been elated when he kissed you back and heartbroken when he pulled away. Romance novels had led you astray. In real life just because a guy looks at your lips does not mean he wants you to kiss him. 

When the light outside the bathroom flicks on you look up to see Jake in his boxers, staring blearily down at you from the doorway. You hide your face and kick the door shut on his face, unable to look at him. Despite just having woken up his reflexes are fast and he catches the edge before it closes. 

You stare at his fingers curled around the edge of the door but he doesn’t open it. “Are you ok?” His voice is scratchy with sleep. 

“Fucking peachy.” You grind out, hating the fact that he was checking on you and wishing he was still asleep. 

“I’ll get you some water.” 

“Don’t bother.” He either doesn't hear you or doesn’t listen. You watch his shadow leave the doorway, knowing it will be hours before you can drink water without throwing up, let alone eat anything. But Jake is a do-er, a protector. It’s why he married you. He would always go out of his way to help others. 

You watch his hand enter the open doorway and awkwardly flail a bit before he is able to place the bottle on the counter. “Thanks,” you mutter trying to keep the resentment out of your voice. 

“Can I come in?” You shake your head back and forth before the motion turns your stomach and you realize he can't see you. 

“No.” At your answer you can hear him sigh in defeat. 

“Can we talk about earlier?” 

“No.” 

“Ok.” You hear movement and you know without seeing that he is sitting on the floor outside the bathroom. You inch your way closer to the door and press it closed with your toe before grabbing a towel to use as a pillow and lying down on the floor. The tile feels good against your overheated skin. 

– – –

Gentle knocking wakes you. “Pip? Honey? Checkout is in an hour.” You groan and try to force your stiff muscles into cooperation after hours on the cold, hard floor. You mumble a response before dragging yourself into the shower. After trading off with Jake and letting him into the bathroom you follow him into the lobby for check out, both of your bags slung over his shoulders. 

You stand back observing him at the counter with a dead look on your face. Natasha wanders over. “How was your night?" she asks.

“Fine,” you try to give her a smile, but fail.

She pulls you into a hug and you return it, trying not to collapse into her arms. “You’re going to be ok,” she whispers. You know she is right. It will hurt like hell, but you will get over Jake. 

“Do you want to get breakfast?” Jake asks as you climb into the passenger seat of his truck. 

“I can’t eat anything, I just want to sleep.” You stare out the window, deliberately avoiding Jake’s gaze. 

“We should talk—”

“No we shouldn't.” You cut in still deliberately staring out the window. “It was a stupid mistake. Let’s pretend it never happened.”

“But-–”

“No Jake, just drop it.” You can’t relive your humiliation. If he keeps talking, plugging your ears and humming loudly is a childish, but very real possibility. Thankfully he drops the conversation but you can feel his eyes every time he looks at you. When you get home you are out of the truck before it is even in park. 

Jake meets you in the entrance way as you struggle with your shoes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to make you something to eat?” 

You shake your head and walk into your bedroom, closing the door and flipping the lock. You strip, leaving a trail of clothes across the room before pulling on the shirt Jake had worn to sleep the last night he slept in your bed. 

As much as you hate it, you have made up your mind. You pull the fabric up to your nose, taking comfort in the scent of Jake for what feels like the last time, and crawling into bed. You hug his pillow to your chest as you drift off to sleep. 

It is late afternoon when you finally emerge from your room. You creep into the kitchen, listening and watching for Jake. When you find the room empty you make yourself a grilled cheese sandwich, adding extra cheese because you can and all the while downing glass after glass of water. 

You are finishing your sandwich when Jake walks in the door carrying butter chicken from your favorite place. Your stomach growls despite the fact you just ate, and you dig in when he slides it across the table to you. The food keeps you from fleeing back to your room. 

“It was a beautiful wedding.” Jake finally breaks the silence. 

You hum in agreement, barely pausing in shoveling food into your mouth. The awkward silence returns and you focus on eating. When you are finally full you stand and put the leftovers in the fridge.

“We need to talk about the kiss Pip.”

“No we don’t, it was a mistake and I regret it.” You stand on either side of the island, staring at each other, and will power is the only thing that keeps you from breaking down. Jake isn’t as successful at keeping his emotions off of his face but his expression is changing too quickly to get a read on his feelings. 

“You’re wearing my shirt.” Jake is the one to break the silence again and you can not tell by his tone what the meaning is behind the words. 

 “Yeah sorry,” you say in a rush, “I was half asleep this morning.” Panic grips you at what you know you have to do tomorrow, and knowing you have to make a clean break of it, you take off the shirt and toss it to Jake, avoiding his eyes and careful to keep your back to him as you flee the room. “Won’t happen again.” you say as you rush back to your bedroom, the air cool on your naked skin. 

“Pip, that's not what I meant!” You hear Jake groan as you hurry to shut the door to your bedroom behind you. 

– – – 

He fucked everything up. At first, he wasn’t sure if your reluctance to talk was the result of the alcohol. Now he knew you regretted the kiss. The kiss that was the best thing that ever happened to him. His back was still stiff from where he had slept leaning against the bathroom door of the hotel room. 

It’s too early for sleep and he can’t bring himself to go to bed alone so he sits on the couch, staring at your bedroom door until his lack of sleep catches up with him and he slumps sideways unconscious. 

When he wakes the next morning he is covered in one of the throw blankets you keep on the back of the couch and he knows you are the one who covered him. He also knows you are not home.  He can’t explain it, but the house just feels different when you are not in it. There is a stillness to everything. When he walks into the kitchen he sees the papers on the counter. A blue pen sitting neatly beside them. 

Divorce papers. 

His stomach drops and he runs to your room. Everything you own is still there. Nothing moved or packed. The twisted knot in his stomach relaxes slightly at this. He returns to the kitchen and sees the note you had left him. ‘I thought we could sign these and get it over with so they are ready to file in a few months.’ 

He looks at the papers. Your name is neatly signed on your lines and there are little red ‘sign here’ arrows everywhere his signature is required. Jake buries his head in his arms and cries. When the initial sharp pain recedes he looks at the document. No matter what he wanted he had to respect your wishes. 

In all your years together he has never read a single paper you put in front of him to sign. But today, wanting to delay the inevitable he painstakingly reads every line over and over again. Wanting to drag it out. When he is done he picks up the blue pen and shakily adds his signatures. 

When he signs the final line he just sits there hollow, staring at the papers in front of him. You would want to know it was done. He pulls out his phone to text you but that feels too impersonal. Instead he flips to the location tracking app, fiddling with it to get it working. You had both shared your locations with each other years ago and this was the first time he had ever used it. 

You've driven to a secluded beach north of the city. He grabs his keys and the papers and gets in his truck. Heart heavy the whole time. 

He finds you sitting on the beach, hugging your knees and staring at the horizon. He calls your name softly and when you glance at him and don’t run he approaches and sits down beside you. 

“I never knew I would love the ocean so much.” It’s the first thing you have said to him that isn’t you trying to avoid a conversation. “It’s calming, I’m going to miss it.”

Jake’s plan to just hand over the papers and wish you luck goes out the window as he stares at your red rimmed eyes. The cheap wedding band he bought you is still on your finger and he watches you wiggle it back and forth, the sun catching on the small diamonds. “I don’t want to get divorced,” he blurts out. 

“I don’t think we will get away with a second investigation.” Your sad smile breaks his heart. “I don’t think the money and benefits are worth it.”

“That’s not what I…” Jake takes a deep breath and runs his hands over his face. He stares at the papers in his lap and hands them over to you trying to keep the tremble out of his fingers. He watches you stare down at the pages, eyes sliding over his signature. You press your lips together and he thinks he sees tears in your eyes. 

“I’m in love with you Pip.” He stares out at the water unable to look at you, but he has to tell you. You have to know. “You are everything to me and I didn't realize it until marriage counseling and I want you to stay, I want it to be real. I want the whole thing, white picket fence, the 2.3 kids, and the dog. I want to come home to you and tell you about my day and hear about yours, and cook together, and do dishes together. I want to kiss you goodnight and wake up with you in my arms. And it is so unfair to you but I have to tell you.” 

“Jake,” your voice breaks as you say his name.

“No, I have to say this, let me finish,” Jake tries to clear his throat. “I’m not saying this to guilt you into anything. I’m going to be ok, I’ll keep going to therapy. You don’t owe me anything, you’ve done enough.” The tears are streaming down his face and when he looks at you he sees that you are crying too. “I can do the rest on my own. I just… I have to tell you that marrying you was the best thing I have ever done and I’ll always love you so much. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

At your muffled sob he pulls you into a sideways hug and you immediately wrap your arms around him and collapse into his side. “I would like to be your friend, if I could, that’s all I ask.” When you squeeze him tighter he feels the clenching in his heart loosen. As long as you were in his life in some way he would be ok. 

You pull away and face him on your knees. “Why didn’t you kiss me back at the wedding if you love me?” Your eyes are searching his, and he can see the insecurity in them. 

“I thought you were drunk,” he sighs, “and I didn’t want to take advantage of you, then Fanboy said you weren’t drinking.”

“I was sober when I kissed you.” Your soft voice is almost drowned out by the waves and he leans closer so he can hear you. “If you had known I was sober would that have changed things?” 

Hope sparks in his chest. “It would have changed everything.” 

– – – 

He is staring at your lips again. His eyes that had moments ago been heartbroken and streaming tears had a light in them. A flicker of hope. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. It had been beating that way since he started talking and said everything you wanted to hear. 

You tentatively raise your hand and still the tremble in your fingers when you press it to his cheek. Jake’s eyes flutter closed as you gently rub your thumb against his cheekbone, swiping away the remnants of the tears. “What if I kissed you now?” You press your lips together trying to hide how scared you were despite everything you heard him say. 

“Darlin’, only if you want everything I want.” His green eyes open and you can see the hope and uncertainty you feel reflected in them. A thousand possible outcomes of your and Jake’s relationship fade away and the future you both want solidifies as you lean forward to press your lips to his.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Beach Day | Cassian x Reader

Summary: During a lengthy visit to Day Court with the Inner Circle, so Rhys and Feyre can discuss political matters with Helion, you and the Inner Circle find more entertaining things to do, such as have a beach day.

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: None! Other than cass slamming his toes into rocks

A/N: Another little fluffy drabble for @cassianappreciationweek , hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

There were few days when Cassian was able to simply lay back and relax, but luckily today, it was one of them.

Rhys and Feyre were busy in Day Court with Helion, and so naturally, most if not all of his Inner Circle was dragged along, especially Cassian and Azriel. Whenever they’d arrived, Helion had only given the two a wink as he’d led the High Lord and Lady of Night Court into his personal office, declaring that it would be a “Private conversation.”

Azriel had bristled at that, but with a lazy grin and a hand on his shoulder, Cassian had gently led him away and out of their palace. If there was one thing Day Court was notorious for along with Dawn Court, it was the beaches on their shores. Velaris didn’t have such beaches in general, only the rocky shores that lined Night Court.

“C’mon Az, if we’re gonna be stuck here waiting for Rhys, we might as well enjoy it.”

Cassian said, giving his brother a pleasing look. Azriel only sighed, shadows wielding, excited at the prospect of swimming, as it wasn’t something they often did.

“Fine. Go swim with the rest of them.”

He grumbled, but before he could object, Cassian grinned and picked Azriel up, already bounding down the streets of Day Court (getting many weird looks from the locals on the way) to the little nearly vacant home Helion had provided for Rhys and the rest of your menagerie while they were here.

As he opened the door, finally setting Az down and giving him a look that said “Go get your swimsuit, or else.”, he was greeted by a distanced hug from you, his mate. He could already tell that you were overheating, too used to the constant soothing breeze and persisting chill of Velaris.

“We’re going swimming!”

He announced loudly enough for everyone to hear, including Mor and Amren who were lounging on the couch, fanning themselves with whatever was in hand. They gave exasperated groans.

“It’s hotter than hell out there, Cass.”

Mor complained, looking miserable.

“Yeah, well the water’ll cool you off, I’m sure.”

He said, rolling his eyes as he followed you to the bedroom that you two had claimed as your own, and he yanked his leathers off, his undergarments as well as he slid into a pair of shorts that were mostly water resistant and suitable for swimming. You had already changed into your swimsuit of choice, a bikini in the same shade of red as his siphons, one that would no doubt drive him crazy.

When they all got done changing, Azriel’s cheeks a light pink from the pink trunks Cassian had made him wear, being the only thing he had to swim in, everyone made Cassian carry their towels, and donned some sort of sandals as they walked outside into the suffocating heat of the summer sun, quickly walking down to the beaches of Day Court, and quickly wading into the water.

They only had a respite for the briefest of moments before Cassian splashed Azriel, and Azriel splashed back harder, accidentally getting you as well, until you were all splashing and thrashing like maniacs in the cool water. Mor and Amren didn’t seem to care much for the playing, both getting inflatables out of nowhere (and judging by the sounds of confused beachgoers, probably stole them) and floating on them, occasionally taking a dip in the water to cool off.

“I bet I can make a better sandcastle than you.”

Cassian declared to you, and you grinned ferociously back, both storming up to the beach to make the best sandcastle.

However, you already knew how Cassian played, so you made sure to include a layer of rocks in the bottom of yours covered by sand, and if anyone tried to kick it, their toes would meet jagged rock edges. You began building up layers, adding dry sand, then water, then compacting it, then wet sand, and then starting over again in a cycle.

Once your little cylinder-like shape was built up, you used seashells nearby to decorate the side, and tying some random part of a nearby plastic bag onto a thin, long stick, you made a tiny flag of trash and stuck it in the middle of your sandcastle on the very top.

You glanced over at Cassian’s sandcastle, it was more oval-shaped than anything, like a sad attempt at recreating a football, and it had some random shells strewn about on it.

“Done!”

He exclaimed, glancing over at yours as his grin turned to a playful scowl.

“Try-hard,”

He muttered under his breath, and you rolled your eyes, looking over at Azriel who was just standing in the water, watching, not seeming sure what to do. You beckoned him over.

“Come judge our sandcastles, Az!”

You called out, and he met your gaze, his own shining with amusement as he strode up and started examining your mate’s castle.

“Is the oval shape intentional?”

He asked in a dryly amused tone, and Cassian shot him a glare.

“Yes, it was.”

He said defensively, chest puffing out as you snorted, and Mor did too as she watched from the water. Azriel then moved to look at your sandcastle, observing it for all of two seconds before declaring his decision.

“Y/N won.”

He said, shaking his head in fond exasperation as he turned to move back into the water that shielded him from the harsh sun. That was when Cassian grumbled something under his breath, stomping over to your sandcastle even as you began following Az to the water.

You nudged Azriel with your elbow, both of you turning just in time to see Cassian’s foot go back and slam right into the rock base of your sandcastle as he howled and held his foot, glaring at you with a glimmer of begrudging respect for you somehow knowing what he was going to do.

Az quietly chuckled, even as Cassian huffed and hopped over to you on one foot, entering the water again.

“You’re going to pay for that once we get home,”

He murmured to you, and you only gave a lazy, sly smirk back.

“Worth it.”