#maybe it's writer's block?

[lyralit]

"life is good right now" prompts

running through the rain and friends not shrinking away at a hug

pressed flowers on the windowsill

legs tangled into each other, living quietly in each others' presence

raised brows of acknowledgement in the hallways

curved smiles and side looks

falling into a system without needing to speak

late nights and eager whispers

blasting an album you've tried before, disliked, and now love

late nights and early mornings but with a sense of purpose

talking to strangers over little things you love

seeing your friends do well

talking to an old friend you haven't spoken to in a while

finding conversation where you couldn't before

letting go of feelings and letting whatever comes your away come gently

starting to anticipate things again

starting to feel happy again

[muffinlance]

Do you get the impression the live action is treating us like utter morons?? Like I thought that making it aimed at an older audience would open the doors for more subtle story telling, but no, they're just using monologues to tell us eveything! Like in the second episode Katara's like 'oh his power isn't that he's the avatar, it's that he ~connects~ to people'. Girl we're not idiots we can see that!! And the first episode with Aang's goddawful 'I don't want this responsibility' monologue

THIS, YES. The word that keeps coming to mind is definitely "subtlety". The show for literal children? Had it. The remake for adults? Not so much.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

m'starting to get my groove back no emperor so here's a lil valentines day piece i wrote, hope yall enjoy ♡ ! ( a lil bit more love for the hopeless romantic singles like me, ppl in a relationship yall can get that from your s/o's..still love yall tho ♡)

fem reader, katsuki is a nervous lil thing, his friends don't help( they do end up helping him out tho), just pure fluffyness, bksquad boys are sassy towards each other but all in good fun, bkg is a softie, kirimina kinda hinted but eiji shuts it down take it how u wanna, food n takeout mentions,dude talk written by a girl trying her best, kirishima's sheets smell bad lemme know if i missed sum else ♡ !! (no friends to lovers mentioned in this one btw..starting to feel myself goin thru withdrawal already..), not rlly reader oriented like usual but i thought this was cute lol i like the idea of katsuki caring about us so much he goes out his way to ask for help from others (despite hating doing so)teehee (also i like the idea of these silly guys interacting and i like hc-ing them okay okay i'll stop rambling okay-)

the last thing kirishima expected at 9.34 pm was someone basically busting down his door with how hard they were knocking on it.

eijirou opens the door urgently and is even more suprised to see his foul mouthed best friend on the other side of the door.

"woah, bakugou, man !" he exclaims seeing the state his friend was in. his eyes looked droopy and his clothes were wrinkled up like he had done a lot of moving around. usually, he would've assumed his friend had just awoken from a good nap, but his restless expression said otherwise. "what happened to you ? you look—"

" 'm fine." bakugou gruffs hoarsely, taking a deep breath at his friends widened eyes, softening up his demeanor just slightly " i'm good," he rephrased "just—you gonna let me in or what ?"

eijirou sputters out an "of course, of course" only for his friend let himself in before he could even move aside. though he immediately freezes when he sees-

"woah, kacchan's gone nutso ! " denki exclaims, face turning red from laying upside down on kirishima's bean bag for way too long.

"and he's up past 8 ? must be the apocalypse or somethin' " sero chuckles from his place on the floor near the dresser.

bakugou groans has he flops onto eijirou’s bed "of course you losers are here" his complaint is muffled against the pillows, but not muffled enough to where the rest of the boys can't hear.

"hey ! we were here before you ! 'f anythin', you're the one intruding—!" denki gulps, eyebrows furrowed. he quickly spins around to lay right when he feels the blood rushing to his head, taking a deep breath afterwards. sero chuckles and bakugou deadpans at kaminari for a good fourty seconds before slamming his head back down and groans even louder.

kirishima decides he's at a safe enough distance to sit down on his own bed, without making any sudden moves so as not to anger the beast that is an angry, sleepy bakugou. he places a hand near his friends leg, where he deems he's at safe to ask "what's up man ? you're usually in bed by this time.." he hears sero make a noise in agreement.

"yeah, or he's havin' kissy-kissy time with his giiiirrrlffrrieeeend.." kaminari sings, kicking his feet in the air jokingly. bakugou, to everyones suprise, flinches at the mention of you, then slams his head against kirishima's pillow harder and groaning even louder.

all three friends share a curious-somewhat worried look. kirishima nudges his head in bakugou's direction, silently begging his friends to say something. said friends adamantly shake their heads, as if synchronized, making a cross motion with their arms. kirishima sighs to himself, some friends.

yet again, he is the first one to speak up " did..did something happen between you two, didja fight or something ?" he asks carefully, his entire body is strained and the air in the room is so heavy, everybody present ready to get a big portion of the great lord explodo-bomberkill's anger.

only to be met with bakugou turning around to lay on his back eyebrows strained slightly and eyes absent, thinking about something they don't know "what ? course we didn't fuckin fight, idiot." he answers simply.

the three friends all let out an obnoxious sigh of relief, to katsuki's slight confusion.

"hoo, okay." kirishima answered relieved. he knows you and bakugou don't fight very much (which he thinks is super manly) but he knows that when it happens bakugou get's extremely—EXTREMELY—irritable, so it's best to stay away from him while he has his heart broken for a little bit, unless he reaches out by himself, but that only happens when he feels really bad and came to ask for advice on how to get his boyfriend priviledges back. "soo.." eijirou sings "what happened then ?"

bakugou's face hardens and the group stiffens again, preparing for a latent explosion--perhaps the volcano was still dormant and was about to be set off. the three boys hold their breaths.

bakugou takes a deep breath, a sour expression on his face.

3..

bakugou huffs out a sigh.

2...

he opens his mouth to speak and—his cheeks are turning pink ?

"valentine's day's after tomorrow and i don't know what the fuck to get her."

the three boys slump over and kaminari does so so hard his face bangs against the floor. kirishima feels like he's in a sitcom or some gag anime.

" that's it ?" sero chuckles to himself "what ? you're worried for valentine's day ?" sero mocks, gladly taking the opportunity to mess with the blond "that shit's easy man." he cackles, leaning against the dresser more comfortably.

"yeah dude, all you gotta do is get her some chocolates and like—a teddy bear or somethin' girls love that typa stuff !" kaminari piped up, having lifted his head up from the floor. sero nods and bakugou lifts himself up to scoff at them. it feels like it comes from the deepest depth of his very being and kirishima feels a little hurt, despite not being the target of the attack.

"this is why you losers don't have girlfriends yourselves, so i don't wanna hear anythin' from you." kaminari chokes out an "ouch, dude !" " sides, i'm not just gonna settle for that boring ass shit for my girl. no chance in hell." bakugou concludes gruffly.

"yeah, yeah we get it you're the perfect boyfriend" sero quips bitterly, rolling his eyes. " why'd you come here to ask us if, according to you, we get none ?" he questioned raising an eyebrow.

"i came here for shitty hair, not you bastards." the blond spits, rolling his eyes as well before turning to kirishima, who jumps a little at his friends slightly desperate eyes on him.

"woah, i don't have—what makes you think i would be any help ?" the redhead splutters, waving his hands around.

"don't you have something goin' on with alien chick ?"

"what ?! no dude, we're just friends !"

at that, bakugou's eyes widen the slightest bit before he groans for what feels like the 5Oth time tonight, and flops back onto the bed dramatically, turning his head away from his friend " your fuckin' useless too, then." his friend grumbles angrily.

"hey !" kirishima exclaims "mean ! i help you with your girlfriend troubles all the time without having one !"

bakugou turns to face his friend again with narrowed eyes, before exhaling a frustrated sigh and lifting himself up again, eyebrows furrowed. "your sheets smell like ass by the way." he chides, nose scrunched slightly.

"h-hey !" kirishima reiterates " i was gonna wash 'em !"

bakugou gives him an incredulous look, before shaking his head, sighing.

"well look, how about you just get her something you know she likes, isn't that good enough ?" sero offers, shrugging to himself.

"ou ! i saw a guy on tiktok ask his girlfriend out with wingstop, you could like-" kaminari, despite getting lightheaded before has apparently not learned his lesson as he flips around on his back again "—ask her to be your valentines with some fast food chain she likes, and those cute pink heart balloons they sell at the mall, y'know !"

the boys all hum at kaminari's suprisingly helpful idea. kirishima doesn't wanna say it out loud but he really hadn't expected such a cute idea from his electric friend.

"y'know, i was gonna say you were just hungry with the wingstop thing, but that's actually not a bad idea kaminari." sero hums absentmindedly with an impressed expression on his face. kirishima sweatdrops at his lack of tact but isn't really suprised.

"fuck you, man ! you guys never trust me with this stuff." kaminari whines mostly to himself. "yer track record isn't really the best when it comes to scoring girls, is it ?" sero retorts.

kirishima shakes his head seeing his friends start to bicker. he decides to ignore them and turn to his spiky haired friend, who seems deep in thought "well, what about it ? that sound like a good idea ?" he asks.

"s'not half bad.." his friend mutters in response " it's a good start, i guess."i if he notices how kaminari presses a hand to his chest with a heartfelt look on his face, he doesn't comment on it.

"oh, maybe try the take-out and a movie, i'm assuming you're not trynna have a whole celebration, yeah ?" bakugou grunts in response, his nose scrunches as he cringes thinking about the idea. he shakes his head "no, want it to be..about just the two of us, y'know ?" he utters honestly, in a way that sounds way too out of character from him.

a symphony of awwwss resonates around the room and katsuki feels his cheeks heat up hard as he harshly tells his friends to shut up.

" but seriously i'm curious, you guys are already together right ? why would you need to ask her to be your valentine anyway—shouldn’t that be a given ? " sero wonders.

"i don’t fuckin know, my old hag says it’s about the principal or some shit like that." bakugou sighs, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm up over his eyes, it seemed like being up so late was affecting him.

"no way dude, you called your mom ?" kaminari asks, jaw practically reaching the floor (or the ceiling..?) in shock. bakugou flushes and splutters as he hears his friends reaction to this apparently shocking news.

“shut up.” he growls “she says it’s important to show i care.. my old man does it an' they're still together right now so he must be doin' something right.

"woah man.." kirishima uttered in awe " you're goin so far to make your girlfriend happy.." he clenches his fist "s-so manly !" bakugou simply grumbles to himself in response.

"honestly..i didn't expect that from you..like at all."

"fuck off !"

"like genuinely, at all. or maybe like, 0.00003 percent cha-"

" i'll fuckin' kill you tape arms !" bakugou barked, small sparks shooting out of his palms as he kneeled at the foot of kirishima's bed in pursuit of the black haired boy. kirishima swiftly swoops in and grabs his friends arm, quickly putting his finger over his mouth

"shhhh, man !" kirishima shushes. " if we're loud, class rep's gonna hear us !" he hisses.

"or worse, mr. aizawa..." kaminari whimpered.

all four boys share a shiver.

afterwards, bakugou sighs, acting as if him almost literally blowing up at his friend a minute ago hadn't happened and gets up to sit on the side of the bed.

"well whatever, i'm satisfied." he says, a little yawn leaving him "my folks gave me some ideas so i'll use those too." his eyes zip around the room and back to the floor, then he closes his eyes and speaks so quietly kirishima barely catches it

"you guys' idea isn't horrible either so i'll keep it in mind..thanks." he utters a quick " 'r whatever." before suddenly getting up and practically sprinting to the door.

it's quiet in the room as everyone sits stunned and kirishima is the first to speak again "o-oh yeah, no problem man, anytime !" he beamed, though still slightly shocked.

"yeah, no problem..!" kaminari can't seemed to decide if he wants to smile or be stunned. his mouth stuck in an awkward half-smile-half- '°O°-' face.

" course." sero raises a thumbs up and a small smile.

bakugou grunts to himself, graces his friends with a simple "night." then pulling the door open quietly, looking around the hallway quickly before swiftly creeping out the room, closing the door behind him. the boys quickly reciprocate the goodnight quietly before he can fully close it. he stutters at the door for a second longer and kirishima knows he heard them then, so he's satisfied.

it's quiet in the room for about 5 seconds after bakugou's left.

"dude, for some reason that made me feel all warm inside..is that just me ?" kaminari hummed, pressing a hand to his chest.

"nope, me too" sero admits, sighing to himself.

"yeah, same here" kirishima says as well, smiling to himself " he really cares about yn, huh ?"

"i can give him that, yeah" sero stretches, getting up so he can jump onto kirishima's bed.

"dude" he lifts his head up "your sheets do smell like ass." sero snickers.

" I- AM-GONNA-WASH-THEM !! "

afterwards valentines day comes around. the boys don't have valentines of their own but when they see you and katsuki hand in hand, with you holding onto those cute pink heart balloons from the mall, wearing a sweater a little too big for you and a valentines day gift bag in your one hand, with bakugou holding onto a bag of take-out and offering them a single side glance and a nod with a half smirk on his lips, they feel extremely proud of themselves. bakugou reminds himself to tell his friends he owes them one.

[joontroverted]

thinking about sweet single dad satoru who you could never tell is a single dad. 

this is HELLA unedited and just a brain dump lol. 

you probably should not be out tonight, especially not this late. but that's the beauty of being your own employer right, you have no boss! the only person who's gonna be holding you responsible is yourself but that's not tonight's problem. that's tomorrow you's problem.

so you're out the house too damn late, spinning on the bar stool, waiting for the bartender to fix your drink, and you spin right into the chest of someone tall. soft hands gently hold your shoulders, lifting you off of him with a melodious laugh, and you turn to see such a pretty man. just stupidly pretty. pale skin standing out in the darkness of the club and white hair slightly spiky with sweat, with his blue eyes trained on yours.

“whoa there, are you okay?” he leans in to your ear to ask.

you apologize immediately, and you see that you've made him spill his drink, causing you to apologize even more, offering up your concoction in exchange. he laughs and says that it's not even alcohol, just sprite. he even pays for your drink! you still insist on him having your drink because of how mortified you are, and after a second of consideration, he gulps it down.  

if that wasn't enough, he spend the entire night with you, hovering around you, tucking your hair behind you ear, and when you finally hit the dance floor, he dances with you like he's drunk, spinning you about and dipping you every chance he gets, no real semblance of coordination, but his charm and earnest have you beaming and blushing. 

he's flirting right? he's definitely flirting.

you ask if he's drunk once you see the pink flush spreading across his face, to which he responds saying that he’s a lightweight and doesn't even enjoy drinking. when you ask him why he accepted your drink and why he's in the club alone at all, he giggles and says he just wanted to keep talking to the pretty woman who bumped into him, silly! also it's been a long day, and he's had some family trouble, which he just wants to cool off from.

you nod, rubbing his back and out of nowhere he blurts out “my son told me i'm both clingy and avoidant at the same time, like a teenager that never developed so i better start acting like my millennial age.”

you have no idea what to say to that. 

“and funnily enough we have a father son bonding activity planned tomorrow morning and i don't even know how the fuck to go about it after that.”

“today morning,” you supply unhelpfully.

“what?” 

“it's almost 3 am, it's already tomorrow.”

“what?” he repeats, incredulously, staring into his chunky sparkly watch that looks too expensive to be here in the trenches with you. “it's fucking three am? what the fuck?? i am a stupid teenager who never grew up!” 

and in under a minute, he's up and gone.

you uber yourself home, completely sober, wondering what the fuck you just bumped into. as you near home, as pretty and charming as he was, you're glad you’re not messing with that train wreck. a dad with a whole son old enough to roast him like that? let alone the fact that he probably has some poor woman or significant other waiting at home for him as he makes poor decisions with you of all people. you really dodged a bullet with that one, you chuckle. 

***

you smile at the newest student and direct them to their seat. it's a beautiful morning, and you truly love your job. the sun is out, the birds are chirping and the flowers are fresh! you don't have even a drop of tipsiness in your body and you are well rested and excited for the class. you look up with a smile as the bell tinkles and the door opens, to welcome in the last of the students, and you see a familiar tall man's white head of hair accompanied by a sulky black haired teenager, arguing. 

“now if you could just talk to me and let us bond over these fucking flowers, that would be great! and we're already late, which is- “ his eyes meet yours. “oh.”

the teenager doesn't even bother being surprised, as he looks between the two of you with a flat look. 

“hello! good morning!” you say, trying not to sound odd.

“hi,” replies the man, blinking at you.

the teenager looks at him, and then at you again. “he has a wife,” he says before walking in and taking a seat.

“no i don't!” sputters the man. “i don't!” he insists to you, and you can't be fucked to deal with this nonsense. taking a deep breath, you gather your composure and push into the class. 

the art of flower arrangement is not something to be taken lightly. it is an art, something soothing yet there is a system to it. it's important to find your style and flow as you go through it, and you've mastered it over the years, and you hope that your students take something they can cherish from your 1 day work shop. or at least fix their father son bond. in silence.

you learn that his name is gojo satoru, and his son is megumi. you can't lie, they're good students. quiet and dedicated, listening to you explain and following your every step and instructions. you catch them helping each other out here and there and you're glad that this cheating man can actually create some beauty, despite his flaws. 

the class draws to an end in a few hours, and you’re glad to see that everyone's had a good time, from all the pictures they're taking and how almost each of them personally came up to you and commended you, some even taking your business cards. you look up and see that megumi has made his way up to you.

“he's single. no wife. just me.” 

“did he ask you to tell me that?” you snort.

“yeah. but i said i wouldn't do it.” he shrugs. “he’s a good guy. and i really enjoyed the class. thank you,” he adds awkwardly, before turning and rushing out.

that leaves you with just gojo satoru.

he's sheepish, but the boyish charm from last night is still present and as you break the ice with what megumi said, the conversation moves rather smoothly. smooth enough that even though the environment in your shop is vastly different from that of the club last night, the energy between you is the same. light and flirty at first, but he doesn't show any signs of leaving, helping, no doing most of the cleaning up of the set up, his blue eyes following and lingering on you as you flit around him. he takes every opportunity to abuse his height privilidge in helping you put things away and is surprisingly strong despite his slim build. 

you can't help but look at the strip of stomach that shows as he lifts his arms and how his forearms flex as he moves about. 

by the time you've cleared everything up, both of your stomachs are growling in hunger for lunch. he has both his and megumi's flower arrangement to take home, and you're leaning into each other's personal space and that's not even talking about how he has a large hand placed on your waist, blue eyes piercing into yours.

you're barely done eating the ramen he's cooked before you're on his lap, his hands coming up from under your shirt, kissing sloppily. he picks you up and takes you to his bedroom in his too big apartment that is neat but sparse save for the flower arrangements set at the table.

the two of you roll around in his bed, him seemingly obsessed with mapping out every inch of your body from the crook of your neck to the cushion of your soft thighs. it's not in your nature to ever move this quickly with a man, especially one that has an entire son, but soon enough you are rid of your panties as he is sinking into your heat. long and hard, he pumps into you, slowly eyes never leaving each other as he whimpers when he settles into you. what started out as slow soon becomes hurried and desperate, the cool sheets clinging to you as he buries his head in your shoulder, biting it in frustration as he has to pull out and come on your stomach. 

he’s not done with you though. mouth latched onto your clit, he sucks and sucks, pulling two orgasms out of you in quick succession till you have to push him off of your pussy, causing him to whine. 

after he cleans you up and your snuggling, he has his head on your chest 

you giggle. “megumi's not wrong. you are clingy.”

“forgive me for wanting to rest on your tits,” he grumbles, only snuggling in closer. “can we not talk about my son after we've fucked?”

you laugh and nod. “okay.”

there's some silence between you as you run your fingers up and down his spine, scritching his scalp and ruffling his hair. he almost purrs like a big happy cat.

“you know megumi's not biologically mine, right?”

“hmm, i figured,” you reply, thinking about how they more or less look nothing alike except for their hairstyle, and even that was a reach. 

“his father dumped him on me when i was eighteen and fucked off. megumi was like barely four. his father was a distant cousin. which would make megumi my distant nephew. i tried telling megumi that, so i could be like… his cool uncle. most unhelpful thing ever. i could have told him i was jesus christ himself and that wouldn't have stopped him from launching his school bag at my head at every minor inconvenience.”

the thought of anyone let alone a small angry kid you had no urge to care for throwing a school bag at your head at a whim sounds like actual hell, but satoru (what a beautiful name) has a fond smile on his face as he recalls the memory.

“you think he's moody now? oh this is nothing in comparison to what he had going on back then. he was such an angry baby. so sulky. so moody. and so unwilling to speak to me. and i had no patience for him either. we used to have these screaming matches and it's crazy to think about now. i was screaming back to an actual kid who had completed only a grand total of four trips around the sun. and here i was. eighteen and looming over him, also moody and fresh off of a break up, wondering how the hell this kid had the audacity to hate me so much.”

you press a little kiss on his forehead. “aww, you were an angsty little teenager too! like father like son!”

he pouts, pushing his nose further into your soft breast. “that's why i was so annoyed with what he said last night. i'd like to think i've gotten better. and megumi actually took it back and we did bond today. thanks to your class.”

that makes you feel warm and happy. people don't usually, well ever, see the importance in your craft, invalidating and degrading it too often. you're glad that both satoru and megumi not only enjoyed the class and did well, but also could make a good memory out of it.

“you're welcome.” you whisper, pressing a kiss on his hair.

“we've gotten through much worse without any flowers to help us through it, me and gumi. you know once he took a hammer to school and threatened to smash some kid's head in because he kept pulling the local stray dog's tail. and that was the day i was elbow deep in work and decided to put my phone on silent, and i forgot to pick him up from school. imagine the screaming match we had when we got home after i checked my phone to see 24 missed calls and had to get yet yelled at by his principal. and mid way through it he just burst into tears. and then so did i. and then we cried together as he told me that the stray was his only friend and he missed his family… that's when i finally saw that he wasn't just some annoying kid dropped off on my doorstep. he was just a baby.”

you pull back to look at him. his big doe eyes and unblemished skin, his hand kneading your breast as he thinks back fondly. you think of how gentle he was with megumi in class and how sweetly he speaks of him. you think of the past, a younger, gangly, angsty version of him.

“so were you” you say softly, brushing his hair back. you can feel him breathe in and out against your body.

“huh?” he says, looking up at you.

“you were just a baby. and you're not even thirty now. people have kids when they're past thirty and they still think they're too young. and here you are doing an amazing job! but... you're still just a baby,” you tell him gently, holding him against you.

satoru feels naked under your caring, thorough gaze. vulnerable and safe. his eyes widen as he feels comfort spreading through his body, tangling his legs with yours even more. he continues watching you as the room darkens and your eyes shut, drowsiness taking over you. 

he feels like he’s been given a miracle in hands, not for the first time in his life. and as he snuggles into your warm embrace, he decides not to resist falling this time. 

[passivenovember]

thinking real hard about Billy and Steve finding each other years after they've settled into themselves.

Billy's gone to therapy and he lives in a little house on the shoreline. Steve makes it to California. Doesn't have the six nuggets, yet. He's working insane hours at a job that isn't very lucrative, but he never had to sell his soul to his old man--

So. Point is. They're happy. Content, almost.

And then they find each other.

--

Steve's burning a pot of water when the phone rings.

It's like a knife through the air. A thorn in his side, pain and annoyance ramping up to an 11 as he yanks the receiver from the wall. "Yeah, now's not a great time," He says, because the goddamn smoke alarm's gonna start wailing any second now, and Steve's neighbor is real trigger-happy when it comes to alerting the fire department. "Look, I'll call you--"

"--Why answer the phone?"

Steve would know Billy's voice anywhere, the rough and tumble drag of someone who used to live fast and hard but doesn't, anymore. "I," Steve says, "I don't--"

"--It's like. Why answer the phone if it's not a good time to talk?"

"I don't like being impolite."

Billy hums, smoke and lightning on the end of the line. "So, you weren't waiting for me to call?"

"No," Steve says. But he was. Has been since high school and all the weird, boring, disheartening years that followed until Billy appeared at the dive bar on Saturday. Like a vision. An angel.

"Damn. And here I was, taking a full 72 hours to figure out what I should say," Billy tells him.

Steve can hear a smile.

Aches to taste it, but-- "That's kinda lame, Hargrove."

"So what?"

"So. You're kinda lame, I guess."

Billy laughs at him, then, high and bright. It shoots confetti into Steve's kitchen, the curling tendrils nearly catching on fire as Steve comes back to himself. He pulls the pan of water and dumps it into the sink, killing the flame on the stove.

"Yeah, I'm a disaster. Maxine tells me all the time," Billy says, "It's just. How weird, y'know?"

"What? You?"

"No, you," Billy tells him, chuckling again. "Fell outta the sky, or something. Into a shitty dive bar."

"So did you--"

"--Fell outta my dreams."

"So did you," Steve says, and his stomach twists. Tumbles. Washing-machine guts still soiled with the bloody red spots of a decade-long crush.

"Huh. You're kinda forward, Harrington."

Steve shrugs, face burning. "Long as I'm not as lame as you are."

"Dude, I didn't say you weren't lame."

"Sure, you didn't."

Billy's next laugh Steve feels in his gut, heat pooling behind the thatch of curly down at his pelvis. "Still such a bitch, pretty boy."

"I'm just being honest. We aren't getting any younger, I'm not really interested in playing it cool, anymore."

Something rustles as Billy shifts his weight, "You were cool, once?"

"Ha-ha."

"I don't wanna play it cool, either," Billy tells him, as serious as a heart attack, "Look, can I be honest? You mind?"

Steve nods and then remembers Billy can't see him. "Go ahead."

"I can't stop thinking about you."

Steve peers through the kitchen window, trying to imagine Billy somewhere on the edge of town with sunlight in his hair. Smoking in bed, naked gold until the duvet pulls him under hips first.

"Harrington, I need to see you again."

"Need is kind of dramatic."

"Maybe I'm feeling dramatic."

"Thought this was honesty hour, Hargrove?"

"It is. Honestly? I wanna kiss you," Billy tells him. "At midnight. In the pouring rain because I was too chicken-shit to do it after our first date."

Steve focuses on not swallowing his tongue. Damn near fails. "Was that a date?"

"No, it was bigger. It was the stars aligning, the start of--"

"--God, you are feeling dramatic."

"When can I see you?"

"I dunno," Steve says, fiddling with the lip of the sink, "When are we expecting rain?"

"Not sure."

Steve can hear his smile. Aches to sink into the softness. "I need a window to commit."

"Tonight. I'll make it rain."

Steve snorts, light as air. "You're crazy."

"I've had ten years to plan for this, Steve."

"Alright, lemme--" Steve pads over to the refrigerator, peering at his Kittens and Firefighters calendar. May is covered in birthdays, vacations, late nights at work, and roll-over plans from April, all hacked into the cardstock in striking red.

Steve groans and flips to June. "--Can you still make it rain in a month?"

"A month," Billy demands, "Fuck. You're hot shit but I didn't think--"

"--I have a full-time job. And friends who want to hang out when I'm not at work, but since I use all my energy at work I cancel on them, and things get moved around and--"

"--You can't make an exception for the guy who wants to eat you out?"

The pages of the calendar flutter, May settling heavy in the room. Steve swallows and his throat clicks. "Uh. My friends--"

"--Aren't gonna eat you out."

"They would. If I asked them to, at least one of them would."

"I'm not really loving that idea, pretty boy," Billy says, teasing. "What about over a lunch break?"

"You want to eat my ass over a lunch break?" Steve snorts, "I'm not a hooker."

"What's wrong with--"

"--I'm not," Steve says, "And even if I was, I'm not cheap. You couldn't afford the hour, and we'd need more than that, anyway."

"What about a sleep over?"

"A sleepover?" Steve says, turning from the refrigerator. "Like, where I come over to your house and stay until the morning?"

"Or I come over to yours, yeah."

"But--"

"Actually, let's do yours. Maxine's place is getting fumigated, so she and Lucas are staying in the guest house."

"You have a guest house?" Steve doesn't remember mention of that during their first date, but. He was distracted.

Billy laughs, "Bet I could afford your hour, pretty boy."

"I thought," Steve says, twirling the phone cord around his hand, "In high school, I remember you telling Becky Gordes that you don't do sleepovers."

"I'm gay."

"Okay, but what about Eddie Munson? The whole school thought you were fucking him, did he ever sleep--"

"--No, my dad would've killed both of us," Billy tells him, and. Something in his voice makes Steve's blood run cold. Makes him believe it.

So he shifts gears, "But. Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"Who said anything about a sleepover tonight," Billy says. Steve imagines the look on his face. Shit-eating grin bright and sharp and beautiful as always. "Unless you want me to come over tonight?"

"I never said that."

"I can work wherever I want. I don't have to go in at all, if I don't want to."

Steve pads over to his junk drawer, digging around for a red pen. "What does Saturday look like for you?" He bites the cap off, holding it like a straw in the curl of his tongue.

Billy laughs, "I thought you said you weren't free until next month?"

Steve chews on the cap for a moment, pen shaking over the cardstock surface of his calendar. He imagines Billy like he was that night. Different but exactly the same. Charming and soft in a way that only comes from the toil of regeneration. Years and years shedding skin.

He'd been funny and smart. Quick wittted.

Sweet. Like cotton fuckin' candy.

Steve remembers not wanting the date to end, not believing that the universe would give him Billy with no strings attached and laying awake that night, hoping Billy would call, and that they'd get their chance, and now--

"Shit. What the fuck am I doing?" Steve asks, but it comes out garbled and messy and wrong. Comes out sounding like, she whale the food ham ding dong.

Billy laughs at him, again, anyway. "What?"

Steve spits the pen cap onto the counter. "You really want to eat me out tonight?"

"Damn--"

"--Because. I was too fucking stupid to realize what was happening between us in high school. Or. What was happening to me when I saw you in high school, and this is important to me," Steve says in a rush. Fuck being subtle, right? "We're not getting any younger. And I haven't slept with anyone for a long time, much less someone who I've wanted for as long as I can remember, so if you're going to come over here and fuck me--"

"Or talk," Billy says gently. "We could talk more. Get to know each other."

Steve listens to the static on the other end of the line.

"I want to get to know you again, Steve," Billy says.

And Steve cracks. Like a bowl in the microwave, curdling under pressure and heat. "Alright, just. Do you have a pen and paper?"

"For what?"

"My address," Steve says, leaning against the sink, "I want to get to know you, too."

"Tonight," Billy asks, digging around for something.

"Tonight," Steve says. "What the hell."

"Great."

"You've got something to write with?"

"Yeah," Billy says, sounding like he's barely holding it together. "Yeah, just. Whenever you're ready."

--

That night, after, just as Steve falls asleep in Billy's arms--

It rains.

[nondelphic]

writing dialogue: me: okay, how would a normal person respond here? brain: i dunno, we’ve never been normal, let’s make them say something weird.

[enluv]

— just a thought.

the excessive amount of hate writers have been getting lately is actually terrible?? it blows my mind that people can be so bold and mean on anon but if that anon button was not available they’d NEVER think to send that hate. it’s actually crazy to think that people believe writers owe them anything, yes we’re thankful that you support and read our stories but we are also human, we have feelings and lives too!! please remember that and remember to be kind to your favorite writers (all writers at that) because they work hard to provide you with amazing stories and writings everyday!!

[tender-rosiey]

RAMADAN KAREEM EVERYONE 🫶🫶🫶

[lordsukunas]

vampire!choso who likes watching humans bc he thinks their lives r interesting, but he finds u especially beautiful :3

he doesn't hide his vampire side from anyone, but it's not like he could if he wanted to. he's pale asf, dark eyeshadow around his eyes, dark stringy hair, and has fangs. it's pretty obvious lol

despite that, he doesn't wanna scare u away. so he makes sure to try and hide his fangs, to look a little more alive and less corpse-y, and he does his absolute best not to stare at your throat. he really, really does. he can't help a little glance every once in a while tho bc it just looks so yummy n enticing, kind of like the pastries he watches u take bites out of

n its rlly awkward bc u can tell he's trying not to smile w his teeth but u don't really get why. vampires r kinda like myth n nobody takes them too srsly bc theyre never out and about. thankfully for choso u find his awkward smiles and absolutely dead, pale complexion a little endearing

u also notice him staring super hard at ur neck sometimes and u have to go "???" before he snaps out of it with a buncha apologies. kinda weird dude but ok!

anyway hes just a silly little vampire guy who has a crush on u pls give him a chance. pls.

[eqt-95]

a new kind of romance, pt 1

🕯️ | s'mores

Kara had been talking about graham crackers.

Correction: she’d been talking about s’mores which were currently scattered in various states of completion across a very polished and very expensive coffee table because Lena Luthor, genius, billionaire, and the most thoughtful very best friend in the whole world set up a bunsen burner in her living room while the three magical ingredients were delivered lightning fast when Kara, nostalgic and sharing about her favorite Kryptonian dessert, explained s’mores were the most comparable earth treat. 

Then she dove into a very impassioned and detailed history of graham crackers.

Which was very in character.

What was also in character was how she managed to eat no less than twelve s’mores at a rate that challenged the poor little bunsen burner’s flame power.

So absorbed by her own explanation, she failed to notice the weight of cushions shift next to her until a thumb brushed against Kara’s chin. 

Voice screeching to a stammering halt, eyes widened, and cheeks flushing the color of the forgotten flame, the Girl of Steel could do nothing but watch as a very soft Lena, clad in sweats (Kara’s) and a scooped neck sweater that hung low and revealing (Lena’s), crawled into her personal space.

She crawled like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like it didn’t send Kara’s heart sky-rocketing with uncontained and undefinable excitement.

And then.

Then.

The pad of Lena’s thumb rubbed at the skin just to the left of Kara’s mouth with focused intensity while her own mouth broke into the tiniest grin of adoration. And before Kara could process any of it, the touch was gone and the digit slipped between Lena’s perfect lips and against her swirling tongue. 

“Marshmallow,” Lena explained when her thumb popped out, slick and cleaned of the sugary threads that had just been shellacked across Kara’s face. She settled back into her side of the couch, snatching a blank graham cracker to munch on before asking, “You were saying?”

And, golly, Kara didn’t have a clue.

- - - part 2 | purple purple part 3 | zippers part 4 | frosting part 5 | could we? wood we?

[primalmagic]

Taylor is tired.

It’s Friday, which means that she is pretty much begging to get out of school. It doesn’t help that Tyler’s sick today, which in turn means there’s no one she can gossip to in this class. 

She closes her eyes and waits till third period ends, her eyes trained on the old wooden wall clock above her history teacher’s desk.

Her mind flickers back to a disturbing memory, one from… then, and she promptly tries to kick it out of her mind. Today wasn’t going to be any more of a bad day. 

“Class dismissed,” she hears Mr. Thomas say, his voice sounding somewhat foggy and faraway, “I will see you all on Monday. Please read pages 122 and 123 over the weekend.”

The bell must have rung, she thought. 

She moves, grabbing her calculator and notebook and stuffing it back inside of her already stuffed bag. Normally, she loved keeping it organized, but today was just not it.

“Taylor?” Aiden’s voice floats in from the doorway. His class is right next to hers, and normally, she’s the one out first, “You okay?”

She looks around the room, suddenly aware that there isn’t anyone else here. 

“I’ve been yelling for years-” He grumbles, rolling his eyes, but his shit-eating grin never disappears.

She can’t help but smile back softly, “Sorry, give me a second.”

She gets up, one hand slinging her bag over her shoulder and the other one with her still-open phone texting Tyler, and reaches where Aiden is standing- hands crossed and leaning against the doorframe, tapping his foot impatiently.

He punches her shoulder playfully, but lighter than he usually does, “Dude, you look like shit. Are you okay?” 

“Thanks Aiden,” she mumbles, and he grins back, “Tyler got sick as hell last night, and mom had a late night shift, so I guess I didn’t get to sleep at all,” She admits, one hand brushing her uncombed hair out of her eyes.

“You guess ,” He snorts, “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t remember,” she groans, as they approach the cafeteria.

“You don’t remember… if you slept or not?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Oh. On the positive side, maybe that’s a good thing? I mean, no more,” he shrugs, “Y’know.”

She does know. Nightmares. The ones that you remember every single detail from, the ones that still haunt you while you’re awake, the ones that have plagued every single one of them for months. 

She nods, so tired that she can barely hold a conversation.

Aiden frowns, “Hold up, I’ll meet you at the table.”

“Where are you going?”

“First, I’m going to grab you an energy drink. Then, I’m going to text Ashlyn to get out of the library, because I swear she always forgets that lunch exists. And then, we’re all going to live happily ever after.”

She laughs, “I don’t have any money on me though.”

“I’m not making the depressed mom pay for herself while she’s about to faint any second,” He scoffs, “How scandalous .”

She shakes her head, still smiling, “I’m pretty sure we all know that Tyler’s the mom here.”

“Well, of course, but he’s on leave, so you’re like, secondary mom. Do we need to make a ranking list or something? I’ll do that tonight.”

“Aiden no-” She doesn’t bother finishing, because Aiden is already running away. She chuckles, and, unbeknownst to herself, is somehow feeling a bit better.

—

When she reaches the table, two pairs of eyes look up at her in unison. 

“Uh, hey guys?” She waves, sitting down at her usual seat. 

Ben nods and gives her a soft smile- one that she sends back, then goes back to typing something on his phone, while Logan looks up and waves back.

She looks down at her own phone, and notices a few notifications from their group chat, sent only a few minutes ago.

dangeR, entr this at ur own risk

Aiden : beware: tay iz not doing well. 

Aiden : b nice.

(Logan reacted with :Thumbs Up:) 

Ashlyn : Bold coming from you. Are you okay, Taylor?

Aiden : meal

Aiden : *sean

Aiden : *mean

Ben is typing . . .

She smiles again, thanking whoever the hell gave her the best friends ever, then shuts her phone and pulls out her suspiciously light lunchbox- suddenly remembering that she’d somehow forgotten to pack her lunch as well. 

God, she was never such a scatterbrain, what was wrong with her today?

Logan wordlessly hands her an apple and frowns, “Aiden was right, you look like you haven’t slept for days.”

Taylor raises her eyebrows and takes the apple, silently thanking him, “You literally saw me yesterday.” 

“Yeah, but you look like you haven’t slept for days, today . What happened?”

She sighs, “Nothing much, my mom just had to go for a quick business trip yesterday and Tyler caught a bad stomach bug. He kept insisting that he was fine, but he was throwing up every hour and wasn’t able to sleep at all, so, well, obviously I stayed up as well.”

Logan’s brows furrow, “Is he home by himself right now?”

“Yeah, my mom is going to come back this evening, but Tyler refused to let me stay home with him ‘cause I had a big math test today. Kept insisting that he’s suffered through worse alone and that I need to stop worrying about him,” She groans, “Shoot, I forgot I had to meet up with the engineering teacher today after school. She’ll be so pissed I have to cancel on such short notice… I can’t leave Tyler alone though.”

Ben taps his screen, and an electronic voice buzzes out. Me and Logan can go after school and stay for a bit, if Logan’s up for it. I don’t have anything to do anyway.

“It’s okay,” Taylor smiles, “I don’t want to ask too much of you guys. I’ll figure it out. Besides, the weekend’s in only a few hours, it’ll be fine.”

Logan shakes his head, “No, no, I literally don’t have anything to do either. You’re not asking too much from us, besides, Tyler’s our friend too. Go figure out your stuff, we’ll head over with food after last period.”

He says it decisively, like he knows if he gives her an option, she’ll deny the help.

Ben nods, typing something else. Besides, you’d be doing us a favor. Ms. Smith is the last person on earth you want to upset. 

“I second that,” A familiar voice replies from behind her, “Don’t know what favor y’all are talking about, but she’s scary.”

She turns around right as Aiden and Ashlyn walk up towards them.

“Sorry we took so long, Ashlyn was having a very important conversation with a creep.” Aiden continues.

“He’s not a creep, idiot,” Ashlyn rolls her eyes, “He’s the TA. Besides, I’m trying to be less… standoffish, is the word you used? You’re the one that told me to interact with more people, and you never said who it should be. Suck it up and deal with it.”

She takes a seat next to Taylor, and hands her the energy drink. 

“Thanks,” she smiles, taking it from the girl. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Aiden frowns, “I’m the one who got it! Don’t I get a thanks too?”

Taylor laughs, “Thank you Aiden, really.”

He takes a seat, and begins ranting to Logan about being stuck with some idiot for a school project.

Something pokes her, and she looks over to see Ashlyn handing over half a sandwich. “Oh, no, I’m okay-” She tries to shake her head, but is rewarded with a slightly painful kick.

“Take it. I’m not that hungry.” 

She pauses for a second, studying her face. Taylor knows that’s Ashlyn’s way of caring, so she doesn’t try to fight it. “Thanks, Ash,” she nods after a heartbeat, taking the sandwich. She is, in fact, incredibly hungry- even after the apple. 

“Don’t mention it,” the other girl shrugs, going back to eating her own sandwich, “It’s not like you haven’t done the same before.”

Affection swarms inside her chest for all her friends, threatening to spill over the edge, “Thank you all so much,” she mumbles, “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ashlyn repeats, smiling ever so slightly. Ben turns to look at her and hesitates, like he’s contemplating something.

He takes Taylor’s hand slowly, and places his phone in it- which, in hindsight, was completely unnecessary, as he could have played the sound from his own hand and she would have heard it, but she wasn’t exactly thinking at the moment.

Look, it’s natural, okay? It’s completely natural to blush when someone touches your hand. Especially with how Ben touches hers- lightly, calmly, like she means something. Like he cares that she’s upset and he’s trying to help.

The electronic voice speaks up again, and Taylor can only barely hear it above her overthinking.

We don’t know what we would do without you too.

—

When lunch ends, Taylor feels like only seconds have passed. But saying she felt better was an understatement, it felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulder. She messages Tyler a quick reminder to drink water and eat something, because even though he knew how to handle himself, he was absolutely terrible at remembering that humans need water to survive.

He texts back within seconds, with a swift, Thanks . Logan already reminded me. 

There’s a pause, and then her twin is typing again. Saw the gc, are you okay? If you aren’t feeling well you should have stayed, I didn’t know you were sick or something too.

I’m okay, She types back, Just a little tired.

Tyler answers quickly, Are you sure? 

Taylor sighs at her brother’s stubbornness, Yes, I promise. Seriously, just take care of yourself. 

If you say so. Cya soon, sis.

She puts her phone into her pocket and speedwalks ahead, already slightly late. Walking to her next class always felt lonely, more so today, because the rest of the group all walked in the opposite direction to get to fourth period. It was so close to the end of the day, but so far.

Personally, she didn’t mind English class, but her teacher could get really boring sometimes. Actually, a lot of people thought she was quite good at the subject. Her teacher the previous year had tried to convince her to tutor, but she just didn’t have the time for it. She helped her friends out with papers whenever they needed it though.

It was a little funny, wanting to be a mechanic and loving english. Most people thought it just “didn’t fit” into her vibe, or whatever. Not that she cared- reading and writing were comforts she could never get rid of. 

She enters class a bit more rejuvenated than the morning, and notices her chair upside down in an odd position. It looked as if the person who had sat in her seat the previous period had knocked the chair over completely. Huh.

She shrugs it off and picks it up, sitting down at her desk and opening up her notebook. They’re analyzing more poetry now, something she quite enjoys doing. 

Her teacher walks up to the board, her heels clicking with a sharp ksh sound, scraping the floor little by little. “So, I know we’re in the middle of a unit, but I thought it would be cool to try something new. Bear with me for a bit Richard- we thought we’d add some more room for… well, creativity. Tommy, please be quiet. Our next assignment is going to be simple. We’re going to be writing… gosh, something you’d like to share with the class, Lily? No? Thank you! Anyway, we’re going to be writing letters.” She finishes in a quick breath, clearly reading to get this over with.

A chorus of confused questions arise from the class, and her teacher shushes them all, “It’s a simple project, truly. You write a letter to someone who is important to you. It can be anything. You write the letter simply as what you think, and then you compare the writing to what you would say to the person to their face. I’d like to read them all, but I understand that some could be private, so I would appreciate it if everyone kept theirs anonymous and didn’t write their name. I think it’s an interesting experiment that goes really well with the poetry anthology we’ll be reading next- which is more of a small collection of letters. Due date is by Monday- but I’m sure you can finish today.”

Well, Taylor wasn’t one to procrastinate too much, and she was rational enough to know she wouldn’t have any time or energy to do this during the weekend, no matter how easy the assignment was. So, she gets started.

Dear Mama,

I’m supposed to write a letter to someone who is important to me, and I chose you, I guess. I would show you this immediately, but I’m not allowed to show the letters to the person I’m writing them to- according to my teacher. Oh well. I know that what I would say to your face and what I am writing would be the same, because I always want to tell you how amazing you are. You’re the second strongest person I know, honestly, and you’re getting real close to Tyler too! Shoot, I’m so glad you’ll never see that. You both are so strong. Sometimes I wish I was as strong as you. I mean, Tyler’s the one sick, and I’m the one having a bad day? It feels weak.

She hasn’t meant for it to turn into a rant, and pauses suddenly, remembering the “anonymous rule.” She erases Tyler’s name and adds a few more sentences, random thoughts and emotions pouring out of her head she knew she could never tell her mother. Not because she didn’t trust her, but because Taylor wasn’t going to burden their mom anymore- not when she was already so hurt. 

The phantom realm scared her mother, a lot. 

Taylor remembers what she said once, I lost your dad, and then I almost lost Tyler. And then you, and then Tyler again? I’m not losing you guys again. I’m not doing it. Get away from the Ashlyn girl, if that’s what keeps you safe. God, just- just stop. Please, Taylor, Please.

It took a bit of explaining to get her to understand that there was nothing they could do but fight back. And it sucked, watching her mom always feel so skittish, always afraid that something was going to happen to them.

Taylor finishes the letter and folds it neatly, handing it to the teacher only a few minutes before the bell. She walks back to her seat and promptly lays her head on her hands, closing her eyes for as long as she can get.

That’s when she notices a white piece of paper- inside of the little cubby under the desk surface. She pulls her head up, shifting the desk in the process. The white crumpled ball falls out and onto the ground, rolling around in a slightly tilted angle.

She leans down to pick it up, as if it's trash, until she sees remnants of ballpoint pen on the outside.

That gets her curious.

Taylor unfolds it, hoping it isn’t someone’s History essay or adoption papers or something. That would be pretty unfortunate. But it’s crumpled up weirdly, like someone was about to throw it away. 

Good. Not important, The back of her mind supplies.

She then hesitates, because was this moral? She had a pretty strict moral code and wasn’t about to break it for anything stupid. What if it was something personal? A letter from a previous class period?

You’re overthinking , her brain supplies once more. Which leads her to slightly panic, and then slightly panic harder, because why was she overthinking overthinking ?

She forces herself to calm down, telling herself that it doesn’t matter. Besides, her “strict moral code” had been broken before. Nevermind that it was when they were almost being killed and attacked by phantoms, as well as forced to stay in weird correctional facilities. 

She gently opens it, her eyes focusing on the first two words on the page.

And drops it.

Because the first two words on that piece of paper are:

“Dear Taylor”

—

Her first thought is what the hell.

Her second thought is that maybe it’s a different Taylor. Surely there was another Taylor in this school- it was a pretty popular name, after all. 

Curiosity grabs a hold of her, and she opens it again, telling herself she just needs to make sure it isn’t about her.

Her eyes chase down the page, hands slightly chilly as she grips it.

Dear Taylor,

I wish I could tell you how pretty you are. And smart. You’re really smart. You are. I think.- It feels kind of weird to admit I like you in any other place than my head. It feels  It’s almost like it’s more real. Well, it’s always been real. I think. So might as well. Maybe. I really, really like you, Taylor Hernandez. I don’t think you feel the same way, and honestly, I don’t believe I’ll ever tell you. You’d probably hate me afterwards anyway. You’re one of the most important people in my life and I don’t think I could lose you. You’re always so 

The letter trails off, seemingly unfinished. It’s ripped at the edges and still crumpled, like someone gave up on it, and Taylor really doesn’t know how to feel about that.

She doesn’t know how to feel about anything.

Someone likes her.

Oh god.

Oh my fucking god.

Taylor Hernandez does not curse. Taylor Hernandez has cursed three times in her life, and all when someone she loved was in mortal danger. 

But that does not stop her from stating it out loud, in a weird monotone voice that is just so, so unlike her: “What the fuck.”

The bell rings at that moment, drowning her moment of revelation and shocking Taylor back into reality.

Someone wrote Taylor Hernandez a love letter.

And the culprit sat in her very seat, in either periods one, two, or three.

I’m dreaming, she thinks, because the letter makes her heart flutter and giggle and she doesn’t even know who wrote it.

Hell, it could be... Barron. Barron!

( Please don’t let it be Barron , she prays)

– 

The first thing she does after she rings the doorbell is text the group chat, because she has no clue what to do with the letter and what it means.

dangeR, entr this at ur own risk

Taylor : hypothetically, if i find out someone is apparently hopelessly in love with me, but i don’t know who that said person is because i probably wasn't even supposed to see their written confession that was crumpled up on my desk, what should i do?

Aiden : TAYLOR ARE YOU GETTING BITCHES

Ashlyn: Spill the tea. Now.

Tyler: Tay what the hell??

Taylor: tomorrow at lunch, i promise. i have to go rn.

The door doesn’t open, and she presses the doorbell again, the small voice in the back of her mind insisting that Logan and Ben forgot and left Tyler alone, and something terrible happened.

But naturally- and thankfully- she’s wrong. Ben opens the door half a second later, raising his eyebrows. She waves at him sheepishly, “Hey Ben. Where’s Logan?”

He pauses and reaches out for his phone- which is always in his back pocket- frowning a bit as he does. You just missed him. He left a few minutes ago- said his parents were calling.

She nods in understanding, “Yeah, sorry I got a bit late. Is Tyler doing alright?”

She walks inside as Ben closes the door. He’s fine. We played Uno for a while and then did homework. He says he’s feeling better.

Taylor raises an eyebrow, “Riiight. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

She walks to Tyler’s room, careful not to trip on any of the random items thrown around the house. When she reaches their bedroom, she gives the door a soft knock.

More like three knocks, actually. Two quick, soft ones followed by one harsh, loud one. They’d started it when they were young, according to their mom- they’d gotten mad at their dad one day and refused to talk to him. He’d tricked Tyler into letting him in after pretending to be Taylor, which had infuriated the young child so much he wouldn’t answer to anyone. Eventually, the knock came into place, something that nobody else really paid enough attention to copy. Taylor doesn’t remember any of its origin, but that was alright. It was just… their thing.

“Can I come in?”

���Mh hm,” He mumbles, struggling to unlock the door from the other side. Once it’s open, Taylor is met with the slightly-green face of her older brother.

Yeah…

He was definitely not feeling better.

“What happened?” She sighs, pulling him onto his bed.

“I went to get groceries,” He groans, “And when I came back Ben and Logan were here so I just… tried to push away the sick? Bad idea, it came back to hit me tenfold.”

“Why were you getting groceries?” She huffs, “I told you to stay home.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t ever listen to me either, Tay,” he snorts, and then winces at the pain in his nose, “We didn’t have anything in the fridge and it was bugging me.”

He looks away, but Taylor knows what’s going on.

“I could have picked something up,” she says, softly.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” He slurs his words and falls into the mattress, “Logan said you were with Ms. Smith.”

“Ty…”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, “I know what you’re going to say- that I need to stop sacrificing myself and shit- but I’m not. Stop acting like my mother,” he grins as best as he can with the energy he has, and she drops it, because well… It's Tyler. If he’s done with the conversation, there isn’t much she can do.

“I’ll grab a glass of water,” she changes the topic, “Be right back.”

She walks slowly, each one of her steps feeling a little bit heavier.

It wasn’t right, was it, to feel betrayed?

That even after all this time, it was like Tyler still thought she needed to be protected. That she couldn’t help out as well. Instead, she was stuck in a constant cycle of watching him pressure himself too much and then blame himself for everything. 

It wasn’t fair. They’d gone through so much together. They’d literally gone through hell and back, but Tyler still wasn’t done.

She wishes so badly that she could do something, that she wasn’t so. Fucking. Useless.

God, there was at least one thing her “secret admirer” had gotten wrong. Taylor wasn’t smart- she was just… ignorant. It was easier to manage things when you didn’t believe they were real.

She got to live her little daydreams and normal life while Tyler was faced with the real stuff. And it had been killing him, once.

It’s killing him now .

The damages done to their house and their reputations after the phantom realm only meant Taylor’s mom had to work harder to fix their mistakes, barely coming home for longer than an hour a day. That Tyler had to work harder to fix the gap she’d left beyond.

Everything was so goddamn-

Taylor?

She looks up suddenly, realizing that she's already in the kitchen, the counter’s cold marble digging into her hand.

You’ve been standing there for a while.

“Oh,” she mutters, “Water. Right.”

But Ben blocks her from the cabinet, hastily typing with one hand. Are you okay?

She nods, closing her eyes. “Yeah, yep, I just… tired, you know?”

She thinks that’ll make him drop it, but instead, he simply moves closer. I’ll get the water for Tyler. You should go to sleep now.

She shakes her head, "We share a room anyway, I’ll just give him the water. Thanks for offering though.”

Still, he doesn’t move.

You said he was up all night, right? If you sleep in the same room as him, you might not be able to rest again. 

“I need to be there for him, Ben,” she smiles tiredly, “He would do it for me.”

You’ll be a lot more help to Tyler if you’re not falling asleep in my arms. He raises an eyebrow, and Taylor turns feels a flush rise up her neck. 

“I’m not falling asleep in your arms !” 

Really? So I won’t have to carry you to the couch then?

She splutters, caught off guard, and Ben only smiles. Before she can process what’s going on, she feels arms around her waist.

Almost on instinct, she lets herself rest on his shoulder, feeling a little bit of tension disappear. He holds her for a few seconds, minutes, moments that feel like hours.

It’s a simple gesture, but it makes her feel so much better. Wrapped in his arms, she lets herself feel warm.

Ben is safe, she knows.

She is safe.

She’s not alone .

“Thanks,” she whispers, pulling away. His hands are still around her though, she notes. And then forces herself to stop noting because she highly doubts her mind can handle that right now.

She’s really fighting to stay awake now, and she knows Ben can see it. “Might have to take up your offer of carrying me,” Taylor jokes, “I think I might fall asleep here.”

She can’t hear him chuckle, but she can feel it, reverberating under her pulse.

She smiles as she looks up, "Anyway, I do really need to get that wat-” 

Oh.

Oh.

Oh my god.

It is safe to say that Taylor is caught completely off guard as Ben picks her up.

Bridal style. 

Oh.

She’s pretty sure she’s combusting. 

A few thoughts cross her mind, one of them being:

Oh, he’s strong. 

And:

He’s carrying me. Why? Right. I said that. Right. Fuck. Words. What do I say? Um.

She opts to stay silent, because any sound that leaves her right now will probably sound like one of Alvin’s chipmunks. 

He carries her to the couch, then settles her down slowly. Taylor watches him in a daze, feeling a little bit otherworldly- as if she’s watching the entire scene in third person- and is somehow more awake then she’s been all day.

Go to sleep, Tay. I’ll figure it out, alright? You deserve to rest.

Half of her tries to stay awake, but the other half doesn’t need to be told twice.

Her eyes close immediately, her mind focusing on the steady (but slightly rushed?) heartbeat of the boy next to her. She lets it drift her away, away from her exhaustion and into a dreamless sleep.

Before she falls, she swears she feels lips brushing her temple, a soft, sweet touch- one that reminds her of the kisses her mother used to give to her as a child.

She’s imagining it, she knows. But it makes her feel at home all the same.

– 

When she wakes up, it’s dark outside. The lights are dimmed and there’s a shawl wrapped around her. She looks up, and notices Ben is still awake, on his phone on the chair next to her. 

“Ben?”

Ben looks up, suddenly, as if he’s surprised she’s even awake. He flushes, I hope you don’t mind that I stayed. It was getting late and Tyler was having it rough. I can leave though, I don’t mean to intru-

She cuts off the continuing text-to-speech, and shakes her head, “No, no, it’s fine! I don’t mind. Is… is Tyler okay?” She feels her stomach clench, her fear of being asleep while her brother is hurting evident on her face.

He’s okay! He threw up a few times and then eventually went to sleep.

She groans, “You should have woken me up.”

Ben doesn’t reply to that, just shrugs and gives her a soft smile.

A few moments pass, and Taylor isn’t sure if this is what people call “comfortable silence”. It’s not awkward, sure, but she has an urge to fill the gaps- to say something , if anything.

“Have you ever thought of learning sign language?” She blurts out and he tilts his head, as if seriously considering it. He types for a second, then clicks the button.

Once in a while. But nobody would understand me unless they learned it too. And I can’t really ask anyone to do that for me. 

He looks upset, his eyes downcast, like he truly believes it.

“I would,” she blurts out again because he’s started to lean a little bit too close and her sleep-addled brain is screaming warning signs, “I would learn it for you. Uh, with you. I would learn it with you.” 

He smiles- a true, genuine smile that has her smiling too.

A few quiet seconds pass, as Ben makes his way from the chair to the coach, sitting down right next to her.

And then. 

Then he leans on her shoulder, his hair tickling her neck, and her heart just about combusts right there and then. Not able to help it, she utters out a simple “Um-”

He doesn’t move, but instead faces his phone to her, not bothering to make it speak out loud . It reads: Is this okay?

“Yep!” She laughs, a little too forcefully, “Peachy. Totally okay. I’m fine. You should, uh, go to sleep too. It’s late already and we have- oh shoot - we have school tomorrow. Are you sure your parents are alright with you staying over on a school night?”

She's rambling, but she can't bring herself to mind.

He nods into her shoulder, and Taylor tries to go through her options. 

Option one: She can let Ben go to sleep and then leave (awkward, because there’s no way he's going to sleep while leaning on her. Also, being awake means she’s going to stare at him the entire time, so…)

Option two: She can just get up and leave, go back to her’s and Tyler’s room, and let Ben fall asleep on the couch.

Option three: She stays. Which would be weird- and she doesn’t want to face that embarrassment in the morning.

“Do you, uh, want me to move?”

He sighs, then shrugs. She raises her eyebrows, “No? So you don't want to move?”

He looks a little lost, and then shakes his head, humming a slight affirmation. Still, she needs to make sure, “You sure?”

He nods again, and then squeezes her wrist, as if to assure her that it's fine. 

But right as Taylor is about to get up, he traces something with his index finger onto her arm. Letters , she realizes. Four letters. 

Stay.

It’s not as awkward as she thought I'd be.

-

reposting this chapter even though i've shared it before because i need motivation. thanks to everyone who liked it <33

here it is on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57313345

[redbootsindoriath]

Apparently in my absence this post had its 1000-notes-iversary.

This time we get to see the culprit responsible for ruining our heroes' lives as well.

I've really missed you guys, by the way. I know I've said that already, but I'm serious. Once or twice this year I've been right on the brink of coming back but schedule stuff always keeps me from letting myself commit to that again, and that in turn has kept me from posting anything at all. But I've been in an unexpected drawing mood lately and so if I can get enough stuff to set up a queue we might pretend I'm back for a month or so sometime this year. Maybe. Hopefully. We'll see. No promises though. That's why I'm hiding this paragraph under the cut.

Transcription:

[Beren:] "Uhhh...barkeep...I think he's had enough now..." [Tolkien:] "No, I don't think he has...!"

[shukruut]

???

[royreads]

I know in the game Gale and Astarion are about the same height (5'11"/179cm) but in your HEART your SOUL what height is Gale really?

[quillkiller]

microfic: effiebarty, 1.3k words, mature.

age gap (barty 22, effie 46), cheating, referenced abuse (barty’s father), mild sexual content

Barty huffed out a not-so-surprised laugh when his back hit the couch, looking up at the lust filled brown eyes that, in turn, were looking down at him. Christ, he thought. He was in way over his head. 

Nowhere else he'd rather be, though. 

It had been his fathers idea– to help out at the Potter’s. Maybe befriend Fleamont Potter’s only son, James Potter, the loud arrogant fucker. The most important task at hand, though, was to be at Mr. Potters side. Offer your assistance, his father said. Whatever he wants, and maybe something will become of you. 

Barty had expected Mr. Potter to open the goddamn gates to the pretentious fucking mansion he was living in, but instead he was met with the Missus. It was early in the morning and she had been wearing a mint green silk robe and not much else. Hair a little messy and unkempt, unimpressed look on her face. Twenty years Barty’s senior, at the very least. 

“Fuck me,” Barty had exhaled, inelegant and inappropriate. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but in his defense his father always did say he couldn’t beat him into a proper young man.

Certainly didn’t stop him from trying though. 

Mrs. Potter raised one single eyebrow, raised her coffee cup to her lips and watched him as his eyes followed the motion, and then stepped aside to let him in. She laughed, a quiet mischievous little thing, when his breath caught in his throat. 

“Fuck me,” he repeated through a breathy laugh. 

“Unlikely.” an amused Mrs. Potter said. 

Barty did whatever Mr. Potter told him to, which were all bullshit jobs that certainly wouldn’t help the bloody career he didn’t even care about in the first place. He brought him coffees, cleaned their giant fucking pool, ran errands– and on some, very rare, occasions he was to follow James around. Take notes, Mr. Potter said. 

Barty had punched people for a lot fucking less. 

It could’ve been worse, though. His anger simmered away immediately when he entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Potter already there, standing by the kitchen island. She’d pour him a cup of coffee and ask him how he takes it. She was a bloody goddess, too good for this house, in the early morning sun peeking through the large kitchen windows. 

Barty would say something stupid like: your husband is waiting for me. 

Mrs. Potter would grin and say: you’d rather drink your coffee with him? 

Fuck no, he’d laugh. He figured he could steal five minutes of the day, just to share them with the Missus of the house. Mr. Potter wouldn’t miss him, certainly. Maybe Barty would even survive this bullshit not-even-a-job without breaking something if Mrs. Potter would continue to indulge him. If she’d let his greedy eyes watch her. He felt like a stain in her presence, afraid to get too close and infect her with his filth. 

She stepped closer, entering his personal space, and raised the cup of coffee for him to grab. Their fingers brushed when he took it. She hadn’t flinched at the touch. Hadn’t wrinkled her nose in disgust. She let her fingers linger, just a little, before removing them. 

Good boy, she’d said. 

Barty nearly dropped the coffee cup on the floor.

Since then, she would always wait for him in the kitchen when he came down. Or at least he’d like to think she was waiting. For him. And when he was cleaning their pool, she’d come out and offer him a cold drink. Sometimes she’d stay, lower herself onto one of the tanning chairs with a book. Sneak a glance or two, and maybe, just maybe, Barty would throw his shirt off. Claiming it’s too bloody hot out. Maybe Mrs. Potter’s glances would increase after that.

Yeah, it could’ve been worse. 

“Why are you here, anyway?” Mrs. Potter asked one afternoon, outstretched on her tanning chair in a white silk robe and another book in her hands. She liked books. Maybe Barty would bring her one of his own someday. 

“Why are you?” Barty challenged, and fished a cigarette from out of his back pocket. He raised his eyebrows towards the older woman, as if to ask do you mind? 

Mrs Potter shrugged, “My husband wouldn’t like it if he knew,” 

Barty didn’t know which question she was answering, but he lit up the cigarette and brought it to his lips. Mrs Potter watched him do it. “And you?” he asked. 

Mrs. Potter laughed, a bright thing Barty wanted to hear more of. He felt the burning heat of jealousy bubbling up in his chest at the thought that Mr. Potter got to hear it. Probably a lot, even. Maybe from their shared marital bed, where he touched her in ways he didn’t fucking deserve.

“You’re cocky, you know that?” 

“I’ve been accused of worse things.” 

“I’m sure you can be a good boy,” Mrs Potter teased, “when you want to be,” 

Barty fought the urge to drop to his knees and crawl over to her on all fours. He wasn’t completely sure he wasn’t salivating, like a dog with a bone just out of reach. He wondered if Mrs. Potter was doing it on purpose, dangling it infront of him like this. It certainly didn’t stop his imagination from running wild. 

They held each other's gaze, tension heavy in the air. Barty knew he was blushing, but he didn’t look away. His knees would buckle, though, any second now, he was sure of it. The thought only made him blush further. He wouldn’t mind falling to his knees in front of Mrs. Potter. Wouldn’t mind submitting to her every whim, really, if that’s what she wanted 

Mrs. Potter bit her lip and lowered her gaze just slightly. She put her book down on the ground, ever so slowly— and allowed her legs to part, her silk robe loosening sinfully as her legs continued to spread. 

The cigarette fell from Barty’s lips, long since forgotten. He was about to say something, to maybe possibly object. Remind her of her bore of a useless husband, before he realised he absolutely didn’t care. Couldn’t care less, really, as his gaze lowered and watched as Mrs. Potter’s fingers reached the hem of her swim wear. 

“Mrs–” 

“Effie,” she interrupted. 

Heat pooled in his chest, his belly— his entire body. He swallowed tightly as her fingers dipped even lower. Someone would kill him for this, he thought. If they ever found out. 

He bit his own lip until he could taste the metallic tang of blood. Mrs Potter - Effie, he corrected - moaned as her hand disappeared between her legs, not looking away from him once.  

His knees buckled. 

“Watch,” Effie commanded, “no touching,” 

He’d die a lucky fucking man, though. He’d let Effie herself kill him, gladly, if that’s what she wanted. Whatever she fucking wanted. He’d lay his head down on her knee, like someone would lay their head on the execution block, and he’d look up at her so fucking sweetly. 

That’s how he had ended up here, with his back against the couch– in a pool house with a married woman. Not knowing or caring where her husband was. His fathers words echoed in his mind, demanding Barty do whatever Mr. Potter asked of him. Offer your assistance, his father had said. 

Effie straddled him, hand around his throat and robe falling off her shoulders. Sure, Mr. Potter hadn’t asked him to do this, but if that idiot couldn’t keep his wife satisfied then someone would have to do it for him. A woman like Effie should always be satisfied. Should have whatever she fucking wanted, whenever she wanted it. He was simply offering his assistance. 

Effie closed her hands around his wrists, keeping them above his head. “Will you keep them there?” she whispered, gently rolling her hips. “for me?” 

Way, way over his fucking head. 

“Anything,” he stuttered. 

“Good boy.”