#that and the last one because that's when I finally had a good idea how to draw this guy

[sturnsrecord]

CLIMB THROUGH MY WINDOW

PART THREE — [fuckboy!chris x smart!reader. alcohol, drugs, blowjob]. somethings changed between you and chris, but you’re a smart girl and you know what it is — telling yourself to ignore how you feel and what’s going on.

ʚ part one ɞ — ʚ part two ɞ

you walk around the house, desperately looking for bella. “oh my god, where have you been?” she looks up at you from her position on a random couch, her words slurring slightly. “i was with chris.” you mumble watching as her expression shifts to a sly grin. 

you roll your eyes at her insinuation. “shut up.” you huff, sitting down next to her.

“have you just been sat here alone?” you ask, subtly changing the subject. she scoffs, taking another swig of her drink which she definitely didn't need. “no- i was making out with some guy, but he left to get himself a drink.” she explains, her words a little jumbled.

you raise your eyebrows. “oooh, who is this guy?” you question, showing more interest in the hopes she doesn’t ask about chris. but she shuts it down, clearly more interested in your life than talking about her own.

“did you finally fuck him?” she asks, blurting out the words. you drop the act, letting out a sigh. “no, i didn't.” you mumble, pausing as you hesitate to continue. “he went down on me.” you add quietly.

she lets out a shriek, before gasping and grabbing your arm. “oh my god, was it good?” she leans in, whispering the last part.

you look over at her before slowly nodding your head, unable to hold back the grin on your face. her hand tightens on your arm. “holy shit! that good?” she questions, knowing that the way you responded meant it must’ve been really fucking good.

“would you calm down?” you usher, looking around to make sure no one was witnessing this interaction. she pulls back, a guilty look on her face as she motions locking her lips. 

“so when are you having sex?” she says quietly, clearly not abiding to shutting up. you roll your eyes at her nagging questions. to be honest, you had no idea, so you hesitate to answer.

“do you think your parents are having any effect on this?” she asks carefully. you frown. “what no?!” you exclaim wanting to deny it to the ends of the earth. but then you think, looking down as you fiddle with the bottom of your skirt. “i know i'm not gonna go to hell for having sex before marriage.” you mumble out.

bella sighs, leaning into your space. “yeah i know you know that- you’re not fuckin stupid.” you let out a little sigh at her reassuring yet slightly inconsiderate words. 

“i'm sayin, maybe you don’t wanna disappoint them.” she elaborates. 

you think for a second, her words taking you back a little. did she just completely hit the nail on the head? no, because you were gonna have sex with chris. right?

“i wouldn't disappoint them.” you mumble out. “cause i wouldn’t tell them.” you explain, trying your hardest to rationalise against bella. 

“so you’re saying you wouldn’t feel even a little guilty?” she pushes, holding her thumb and her index ever so close together.

you turn to her, pushing away her hand. “what do you know, you’re just a drunk girl with too many talking rights.” you mutter playfully.

she scoffs at your words slumping back against the couch as she crosses her arms over her chest. “wow.” she scoffs again, shaking her head. “i can't believe this.” she mumbles dramatically. 

she continues to complain, incoherently mumbling about how she was completely right and you were just stubborn. 

but you weren’t listening.

your attention was fixed on chris who you had spotted across the room. it’s like your mind and body just knew when he appeared, your gaze automatically shifting to him like an alert had gone off in your brain. 

you usually looked a few times, took note of what he was doing and then returned your attention back to whatever you were doing. 

but this time you were unable to look away, your stomach turning at the sight of him talking to another girl. 

it’s not like you’d never seen him do this before, in fact you’d probably be able to completely mimic the way he flirts just by the copious amount of times you've seen him do it.

what made you feel nauseous right now wasn't the thought of him with another girl but rather the fact that your stomach dropped at the sight. 

you’d never cared before, and that was easy. 

but watching him right now, smiling every time that stupid girl put her hands on him, ‘mindlessly’ grabbing his arm- it made you feel sick to your stomach. 

you weren’t naive, it was obviously jealousy, which came from a place that you were willing to ignore. 

“hello- i swear to god you actually just don’t fucking listen to me, like holy hell.” bella complains beside you, which makes you turn back to her.

“sorry, i'm here.” you mumble. she lifts her head back up, looking over to where your gaze was before, taking in the scene of chris flirting with some girl. 

“you told him you didn’t care if he fucked other girls.” she mumbles out unhelpfully.

you playfully smack her arm, although she’s completely right. “yeah because i didn’t.” you huff, still looking his way. 

“past tense… interesting.” she mumbles, pretending to be in deep thought. you turn back to her, your mouth slightly open in shock. “would you stop analysing me, it’s freaking me out.” you tell her, not loving her drunk personality right now. 

she holds her hands up in surrender, letting out a small giggle at your situation. “i hate you right now.” you mumble, letting your head fall to your hands.

“no you don’t.” she mumbles, pulling you into a hug. “you love me.” she mocks, dragging you down so that the both of you are slouched into the sofa, half your body on hers.

at this point you've given up the grumpy facade, giggling with her. but you both quieten down when someone approaches, a drink in their hand.

“uh, bella?”

you turn to see an attractive man with a confused look on his face. “oh my god.” she chuckles beside you as you awkwardly sit up. “this is the guy i was talking about.” she shrieks, one hand gripping his top whilst the other held onto your arm like she was introducing the two of you. 

you smile up at him awkwardly as he gives you a little nod of acknowledgement, although his attention quickly returns to bella as she tugs on his shirt.

you're not sure how it happens, but when you look up from fixing your skirt his drink is on the side and his lips are on hers.

“oh, wow.” you mutter in slight shock, shuffling along the couch as they begin to make out. “jesus.” you sigh under your breath before standing up and leaving.

you never enjoyed walking around a party alone. and sober.

you found it so awkward, especially when you were mindlessly walking with no place to be, just hoping you'd find a situation you could involve yourself in.

what you hated even more was feeling like a complete loser when the guy you'd just gotten with was taking a girl upstairs right before your eyes.

you stood in the other room, looking through the doorway as she led him up the stairs, watching like some creep at their every interaction for all of five seconds.

you told yourself you were fine, that it didn't bother you. you tried your hardest to jump back into your precious carefree mindset, trying to hone in on the old feeling.

but something had changed.

something had switched in you because all you could feel was pure jealousy and most of all dread.

was he gonna fuck her? was he gonna do exactly what he did with you? was he gonna enjoy it more?

the thoughts rattled in your head. you knew you were overthinking, but it was hard to combat the intense feeling in you with rational thoughts.

you decided on a cup of straight vodka and a cig out front, sat alone on the steps to the house.

occasionally people would walk past, either leaving or joining the party. maybe it was the increasing alcohol intake or the lack of acknowledgement from others, but for once you weren’t embarrassed to be seen alone.

“you sat all alone?”

you turn to see chris, hands in his pockets as he looked down at you with a smirk. you give him a weak nod before looking back down at your feet.

“you good?” he asked, concern in his voice as he sat down beside you. “yeah, i'm fine.” you mumble, smiling a little, usually the move that would make chris actually believe you.

“you got an almost empty cup of somethin,” he peers down at it in your hand. “and you're smokin.” he points out, making a point against your pathetic stand.

you shrug like this is your usual state. “what's wrong?” he presses, his voice slightly softer.

you're taken back by his unusual care and attention to your emotions, used to him usually just moving on when you told him you were fine.

but now how could you tell him what was wrong.

you think, swirling around the remaining vodka in the cup. now would've been a great time for him to not care.

“is this neat vodka?” he questions with a frown. you zone back in, looking over at him. “...yeah.” you mumble out. he motions towards it before gently taking it from your grasp.

he takes a swig, wincing at the taste. “you’re fucking insane.” he tells you before handing whatever was left back. 

“you're also upset.” he circles back. “or y’know- not doin too hot.” he says, evidently not very good with comforting words.

“not doing too hot?” you question, subtly trying to avoid answering the question.

he shakes his head, giving you a look. “y;know what i mean.” he huffs, his gaze turning into warmth, like he was trying to coax the information out of you with a look.

you shrug again, rummaging through your mind for an excuse, or another reason why you would feel shit. but as you think, horrendous images of chris and that girl pop up into your brain, stilling your train of thought for a second as well as your heart.

“you don’t have to talk t’me bout’ your issues.” he mumbles, reassuring a little as he pulled out a paper to roll a joint. 

you look over, snapping back into reality and out of your stupid thoughts. “it's not that- i just���” you sigh, unable to explain yourself. 

“m’just not used to you asking me shit like that.” you mumble out meekly.

the corner of his lips turn up, his eyes remaining on the half rolled joint in his hands. you take note of the small, amused reaction. “are you only asking me what's wrong because you're coked?” you blurt out, an almost shot in the dark.

he frowns a little, but the amusement on his face never leaves. “nah.” he shakes his head, denying your accusation. “might be why i'm persistently askin’.” he admits.

“big word for you chris.” you hum, mocking him in retaliation. he rolls his eyes, biting back a smile, but you could see it seeping through. the way he genuinely found you funny, even though he liked to keep you in check by never admitting it. 

“shut the fuck up.” he chuckles, shaking his head as he speaks. 

a peaceful silence settles between you as he delicately licks the paper, smoothing it over into a perfect cone. despite what he was doing, she admired how good he was. 

“i could teach ya y’know.” he says, clearly taking notice of her attention. “i don't wanna learn how to do that.” you tell him.

he shrugs, fiddling with it as he looks over at you. “why not?” he asks, like you were crazy for turning that down. “just don't.” you mumble, looking over at him.

you'd forgotten how close he'd sat, the both of you looking at one another shining a light on the lack of space between your bodies.

close enough to kiss him.

the thought flashes through you before you can even think, and now your lips are on his in a soft delicate kiss. 

you can't tell if he's shocked and frozen or just kissing back so gently it almost felt like nothing. but then his free hand wraps around your waist, caressing the skin through your top.

it's a slow careful kiss, with no intention of anything further.

he pulls away, clearing his throat a little before his hand comes back to the joint. he shifts to find a lighter, almost trying to do something to distract his mind from that kiss. 

you on the other hand stare at his very move, almost infatuated with him. it's like that kiss had put a spell on you, completely consuming your mind.

you craved the feeling, wanting nothing more than to feel that soft touch from him again. but you know it won't happen again. like you'd both  been caught in a loophole, into another universe where you weren't you and chris… but you also were.

he brings the zoot to his lips, lighting it before he takes a long toke, exhaling it as his body relaxed.

you want to speak, break the silence before it becomes awkward, but it never does. the two of you sat there not exchanging a single word, which made you think that he felt it too. 

he passes the joint to you, brushing the tobacco crumbs off his lap with his other hand as he holds it out for you.

you raise your eyebrows before taking it from him, taking a small puff as he leans his elbows on his knees. “don't have too much, y’already tipsy.” he suggests.

it's not an order or a demand but rather a playful comment from a place of care. “i'm not tipsy.” you scoff, keeping up the light conversation. 

“ok fine, drunk.” he huffs, correcting himself sarcastically as he rolls his eyes. you smack his arm lightly. “i'm fine, practically sober.” you tell him, lying straight through your teeth. 

he shakes his head a little, clearly debating between staying quiet or continuing the conversation. “you initiated a kiss- you ain't sober.” he says, lightly mocking you for being tipsy.

you roll your eyes at his light insult, looking over at him before talking. “you think i wouldn't kiss you sober?” you question, your voice quiet yet clear.

his eyebrows raise at the change in vibe of the conversation as he motions for you to pass the joint back. “not like that.” he responds before inhaling. 

you squint your eyes, the corner of your mouth tugging up. “like what?” you ask, your voice barely loud enough for him to hear.  

he lets out a small chuckle at your teasing tone, loving the way you were testing him. but he doesn't respond, giving you a small look which said everything and more. 

“you're funny when y’drunk.” he mumbles with a small smile, clearly finding this whole ordeal very funny. “m’not-”

“yeah, yeah- i know.” he interrupts, motioning you to stop, not wanting to hear you defend yourself anymore. 

he focuses in on smoking as you finish the last sip of your vodka, earning a judgemental glare from him. you watch as he hesitates to speak, clearly ready to say something.

“can i take y’home?” he asks, his tone making it obvious that he was trying to keep it casual. “i'm sleeping over at bellas.” you respond in a whisper, feeling bad for indirectly rejecting his offer. 

but he just nods, not showing a single care in the world that you didn't immediately say yes. “you guys gettin’ an uber?” he asks, although it's more of a suggestion. 

you press your lips together, nodding.

“good.” he muttered before taking another toke, watching the smoke as it left his lips. 

you sit in another calm silence, something that had been happening more often. you thought that it was because of all the unspoken words between you that you would be saying in these times. but you didn't talk- at least not in the way you should be. letting every tension-filled moment pass until it faded into the past. 

he takes a final toke, flicking the butt to the floor before he stood. “lemme know if your plans change, yeah?” he mumbles out as he walks back in, leaving you sat alone again.

you go to respond but he's gone, his offer hanging heavy in the air. for once you felt yourself buckling at his words, the sudden urge to put him above all else looming over you, like he was in your head. 

did he know how to get in there? was this all a mind fuck to get you at his demand?

you turn your head to the door, almost as if you were looking at him again. god did you feel stupid for wanting him so badly, a silly little fuck boy who gave you just enough attention to get you hooked.

of course you knew all about his ways before getting yourself here, you just thought you were smart enough to not fall for it. 

but did chris’s mysterious, charming personality really trump your intelligence and self respect? 

“wait, why can't you go home?” he asks as the both of you walk down the road, you explaining that you couldn't just walk into your house this late at night. 

“because i told my parents i was sleeping over at bellas.” you say, watching as he rolls you a cigarette whilst walking. he nods a little, but it's obvious he doesn't completely understand.

“you always smoke this much when you're drunk?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he hands you the cig. you put on a thinking face, slotting the cig between your lips as you search your bag for a lighter. “difficult to answer.” you ponder. “considering i'm not drunk.” you say with certainty, giving him a look.

“sorry, how could i forget.” he mumbles, bringing a lighter to the end of the cigarette. you watch as the flame lights the paper, blowing in and out to get it lit. 

you’d caved.

going back into the party to find chris, subtly hinting that you did want him to take you home. bella was more than ok with it, getting excited for you. (which you shut down quickly).

but here you were, on your way to sleep over at a boys house. chris’s house. you'd never been in his room before, and quite frankly you were shocked he even agreed to take you to his house.

but there was something comforting about how he let you in, not shutting you out, and if anything encouraging to spend more time with you. 

after walking in silence for a while, he motions you to pass the cigarette to him. “you always smoke this much when you're drunk?” you mimic his previous question as he rolls his eyes. 

“shut up.” he scoffs, holding it between his fingers as he exhaled. “m’not drunk.” he mumbles under his breath before bringing the cigarette back up to his lips. 

“huh, sure.” you scoff back to annoy him. he rolls his eyes again in response as he passes the cig back. “m’actually not drunk- so zip it.” he snarks.

“yes you are.” you tease, pointing your hand at him, smoke trickling out of the cigarette. “you wouldn't be letting me sleep over if you werent.” you continue, raising an eyebrow as you brought your hand back to your own personal space.

“would’ya stop mimickin’ our entire convo from earlier?” he accuses, his brows scrunching together. “wha- what?” you halt, holding your arms out dramatically. 

“keep walkin.” he huffs, motioning you to get a move on. but you took it as avoidance, to move away from his previous statement. 

“what convo?” you mumble as you catch up to him, a look of confusion on your face. he shakes his head, as if that's a response. then it clicks in your brain. “when you said i wouldn't kiss you like that if i was sober?” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips as you look across to him.

he lets out a sigh, like he's given up when it comes to light conversation with you. and like he knew what you were about to say next.

“so what did you mean by that again?” you tease, pushing his buttons a little. he shrugs, playing it off as he casually slips his hands into his jean pockets.

“that it was a random kiss is all.” he responds. “but you said ‘like that’- what does ‘like that’ mean?” you press.

he lets out a small chuckle. “was a good kiss.” he shrugs, looking over at you. you send him a sweet smile, letting the soft compliment seep in. “oh shut up- dont look at me like that.” he huffs, turning to look the other way, but not before you spot the soft blush across his face.

no fucking way. 

“like what?” you question after a beat, just pushing him further. “okay, we're movin’ on.” he tells you warningly.

“ok, ok.” you nod, watching as he relaxes a little. you both walk in silence for a bit, abiding by his wish to stop talking.

“so what did you and that girl do?” you mumble quietly, and oh so stupidly. your words leaving your mouth before you could think, probably because of the alcohol in your system. (not that you'd admit it).

he scoffs, an amused look on his face. you couldn't tell if he was shocked that you'd asked, or somewhat admired it. but he gave the same back, answering your question just as bluntly as you'd asked it.

“she sucked m’dick.” he mumbles, looking over to gauge your reaction. 

it was hard to hide your own shock that he’d actually answered, not beating around the bush. but you nod a little, looking ahead. 

he hesitates for a second before speaking again. “why, you jealous or somethin?” he asks with a sly grin.

“do you want me to be?” you respond, just as cocky. 

he's taken back a little but doesnt let it show, shrugging yet again. he goes to say yes, but stops himself realising how that looks. “nah.” he shakes his head, looking down for a second. 

“then i'm not.” you hum, passing what's left of the cig back to him. he takes a toke, clearly thinking for a second as the both of you walk. “you don't have to be.” he mumbles, peering over at you, clearly not believing you. “could always just, y’know.” he looks down at his crotch, the suggestion clear as day.

you smack his arm, scoffing at his audacity. “you serious? is this how you get girls to do shit, use their jealousy against them?” you question, only partially joking, because of course you wanted to. 

“so you are jealous.” he points out with a cocky smirk, flicking the butt to the road. you roll your eyes, looking away momentarily. 

“fuck off.” you mutter, your cocky facade crumbling as you feel your shyness take over again. he nudges you a little, a grin plastered on his face. “don't get shy on me.” he teases. 

you simply blush at his words, only getting more and more timid. but he smiles, finding it sweet as he hangs his arm over your shoulder.

you get to chris's house, following behind him as he unlocks the front door and walks in. it's a nice house, similar to yours. 

you quietly creep up the stairs behind him, taking in his room as he opens the door. it's a typical teenage boys room, but with more posters and decorations than you thought there’d be.

“will your parents care that i'm here?” you mindlessly ask as your eyes roam over the room. he shakes his head as he empties out his pockets onto his desk that's already piled with junk. “nah, they won't come in.” he responds. 

you nod, walking over to his unmade bed to sit, taking a closer look at his bedside table, noticing a picture stuck to his wall. “you have a sister?” you question.

he whips his head round in confusion before noticing what you were looking at. “yeah, but she's in college.” he says, taking his coat off to throw it onto his chair. 

“huh.” you nod, wondering why he'd never spoken about her. but then again, when did you and chris ever sit down and talk about your family trees?

“you can borrow a t-shirt or somethin’.” he says, motioning towards his draws. your gaze follows, taking in the furniture, some of the bottom drawers not fully closed because of how stuffed they are. 

you stand, opening the top drawers to find his socks and boxers. you shut it before opening the next ones down, pulling out a random t-shirt. 

“pornstar?” you question, reading out the graphic on the shirt. he cocks his head round from where he's sat at his desk, raising an eyebrow as well as the corner of his lip. “what? you dont fuck with it?” he taunts.

you shake your head with a smile, shutting the drawer before taking your current top off to slip into his t-shirt. “got any pyjama bottoms?” you ask.

“uh, nah.” he responds, looking your legs up and down, clearly wanting you to not cover up. “don't own any.” he teases wickedly.

you roll your eyes, slipping your denim skirt off to leave you in just his t-shirt and underwear. he smirks before returning his attention back to his desk. 

“what’re you doing?” you question, walking over as you rest your hand on the back of his chair. the view of him rolling a joint answers your question as you nod, raising your eyebrows. 

you weren't one to comment on someone else's habits, but it was honestly impressive how much he smoked. 

you stand behind him, watching as he does his thing. “wanna sit?” your eyes tune in immediately, your hand dropping from the back of the chair. “oh sorry.” you mumble out, backing away to go sit back on the bed.

he turns, face contorted in confusion. “the fuck you doin’?”

“huh, i was jus-” you go to explain but he cuts you off. “meant on m’lap.” he explains, amused at your misunderstanding. 

your face heats up slightly before you stand up. “gladly.” you mumble, sauntering over to sit sideways across his lap, chris's upper body leaning back slightly to give you space. 

then he leans forward into your space, continuing his previous activity. your arm wraps around his shoulders, the other leaning against his desk that was digging into your side ever so slightly.

“you wanna crumble some in?” he offers, holding out the clay-like chunk of hash. you take it from him, observing it curiously. “you giving me a tutorial?” you tease, removing your arm from around his shoulders, leaning further onto the desk.

“somethin’ like that.” he murmurs, his eyes darting down to your ass, nothing but your black lacy underwear covering it. 

“ok, so what do i do?” you frown, completely oblivious to his ogling. “uh, jus’ use your fingers to pick small pieces off.” he instructs, now looking over your shoulder to watch your movements. “yeah, yeah. jus’ like that.” he praises as you crumble small pieces over the line of tobacco in the paper. 

he watches you closely. “make sure it's even across the tobacco.” he tells you.

“like this?” you question, crumbling more at the front and end. “uh-huh.” he nods, before his gaze lingers back down to your ass, his hand following suit as he gently squeezes the flesh.

you smile as you feel his hand on you, his fingers digging into your ass. “is this why you wanted me on your lap?” you ask, your attention focussed on what you were doing. 

he shrugs, a lazy grin on his face. “jus’ an added bonus.” he mumbles, tilting his head back to get a better look. 

“hmm, sure.” you hum back, knowing that it was all calculated. not that you minded the groping. 

“s’that good?” you ask, handing back the chunk of hash. he turns his attention back, his hands returning to the table. 

“mhm.” he hums, picking up the paper to roll it into a neat cone. you keep your arms on your lap, watching as he licks the paper and does whatever. then he taps your thigh, telling you to get off.

you scooch off his lap, chris standing up with a sigh before he lightly slaps your ass, 

“awfully touchy today.” you taunt, following as he sits on his bed, opening the window. “shut up.” he scoffs in response, clearly not wanting to address it. 

you climb onto the bed, sitting by the window opposite him, legs crossed. he lights the joint, making no effort to keep it out of the window. it was obvious that he did this a lot. 

you smoke in silence for a while, chris passing it to you before leaning against the wall. “you still drunk?” he chimes, an undertone of care and worry in his voice.

you shrug, exhaling out of the window unlike chris had been doing. “i was never drunk.” you mumble, looking over at him with a teasing glare. 

“hmm.” he nods. “so you're still keepin’ that up.” he mocks. you shake your head slightly, rolling your eyes.

“i was tipsy at most.” you huff, ashing the zoot on the window ledge. he raises his eyebrows. “so you admit it.” he retorts. you playfully shove him a little, only spurring on his cocky grin.

“you're so annoying.” you sigh, handing him the joint. “you love it.” he murmurs under his breath, taking a toke. 

you pull a face, furrowing your brows as if to deny his accusation. but you both knew it was true. 

“so how was she?” you ask, pettiness drowning out your words. he scoffs, his tongue darting out in his cheek.

“what? don’t wanna talk about it?” you taunt stupidly. maybe you were lying about not being drunk, or you just liked to prod and push him in ways he didn't like. 

“don't do that shit.” he scoffs, not quite as amused as you. but you don’t let out, just shrugging at him. “god, y’really know what to say.” he mutters sarcastically, shaking his head. 

it was stupid of you to bring it up again, especially like this. you’d told chris from the start you didn't care about other girls, yet here you were. acting like a bratty, petty girl, desperate to be his no.1 in a swarm of girls. 

“m’just curious.” you mumble, lying through your teeth.

he scoffs again, getting slightly annoyed at your attitude you were keeping up. “you're curious?” he echos, raising an eyebrow. “curious about another girl suckin’ my dick?” he snaps, his voice slightly harsher than usual.

“yeah.” you sigh, acting like this was a normal conversation, or that it hadn’t come out of the blue. he takes a toke of the joint before passing it back to you, refusing to answer by staying quiet. 

“we're friends, i don't care.” you shrug, inhaling some of the joint. “just curious.” you repeat.

he lets out a huff, reluctantly answering. “was alright, nothin’ special.” he mumbles, looking over to see your reaction.

“did you come?” you blurt out, choosing to prioritise your curiosity over the logical idea to stay quiet, absentmindedly ignoring what chris does with his dick.

he chuckles under his breath, now finding it funny how serious you were. “no.” he responds, looking over at you. 

“so, can’t have been that good.” you tease. he raises his eyebrows, letting out an amused chuckle. he didn't know if he loved or hated this side of you.

“you're on one right now.” he says, shaking his head as he motions for you to pass the zoot. 

“why?” you chuckle, acting innocent in your intentions of the horrid conversation you had started. he takes it from your hand, taking a toke before speaking. “cause you ain’t even sucked a dick before.” he retorts, knocking you down a peg or two.

you pull a face, shrugging. then something takes over your body, the same thing that has made you act like this in the first place. 

you shift in your spot on the bed, leaning forward to begin unbuckling his belt. he kisses his teeth, rolling his eyes. “the fuck you doin’?” he questions, thinking you were teasing him or pulling his leg.

“what do you think?” you whisper back, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. 

he looks down, watching your hands. almost waiting for you to stop and say that you were messing with him.

but then your hand dips below his boxers as you tug out his soft dick like you'd done it a million times. “seriously, what're you doin’?” he scoffs, thinking you wouldn't go through with it considering you’d made it pretty clear that you weren't exactly up for everything.

you sigh, looking up at him with all seriousness. “sucking your dick.” you say as if he was stupid for even asking.

his throat goes dry realising you're serious, his dick twitching as it immediately begins to grow hard as the words leave your mouth.

you wrap your hand around his cock, pumping it a few times, before you scooch back to give yourself more space. you bring your mouth to the tip of his half hard dick, experimentally licking the slit.

he takes a toke of the joint, watching you with dark eyes, watching as he takes in the fact you weren’t bluffing.

he doesn't say anything, letting you do what you want at your own pace, turned on by the fact you'd never done this before. 

you take his dick further, going about half way as you slowly slide it in and out of your mouth. he takes in a sharp breath, his dick stiffening fully now that he was in your mouth. 

he tries not to speak, but his desperation gets the better of him. “go further.” he mumbles, his voice hoarse. 

you look up at him through your lashes before abiding, taking his dick further down your throat until you feel the need to gag, pulling off before you do.

you recover quickly though, collecting the saliva in your mouth as you duck your head back down, sucking this time, your cheeks hollowed. you don't go as deep, instead stopping before you can gag, as you bob your head up and down.

“oh shiit-” he groans, the unexpected change in pace driving him crazy. you wrap your hand around the base, pumping it as you suck him hard. “fuck, you sure you never done this before?” he breathes out, taking another look at you. 

you mumble around his dick, sending shivers down his spine.

you'd never done this before, and you were making it up as you went along. maybe part of the motivation was to prove yourself, a petty part of you wanting to make sure this was ten times better than what any other girl could give him. and maybe that extra motivation is exactly what made this a mind blowing blowjob. 

“holy fuck – you’re good at that.” he breathes out, his free hand threading through your hair, whilst he held the other out of the window with the now forgotten joint.

his praise only spurs you on, bringing out something within you that just made you want to please him, and make him feel good. 

he lets out low groans and breaths as you continue, taking on whatever he told you to do. catering to how he wanted it. 

it had been about ten minutes and you were already doing a lot more, your wrist twisting in rhythm as you harshly sucked him, your tongue occasionally darting out delicately over the tip, the way he told you he liked it.

“mgh, so fuckin’ good.” he groaned,the hand that wasnt in your hair gripping onto his duvet beneath him. the joint now out and resting on the window ledge. 

you shift your position, your ass now up, as you got into a sort of doggy position between his legs. 

“shit, that’s fuckin’ hot.” he breathes out, looking over at your ass in those lacy black panties. the ones that had been consuming his mind the entire night.

you mumble around his dick again which just pushes him further to the edge. his eyes shutting tight as he tries to hold off his orgasm in order to enjoy the feeling of your mouth on him longer. 

“you're gonna make me cum.” he moans, his voice breathy and rough. you feel your stomach bubble at his words, your brain going back to the fact that that other girl hadn't, and here you were, about to push him over the edge despite the fact you'd never given a blowjob before.

you suck harder, if that were possible, motivated to make him come. you wanted to make him feel good, better than any other girl ever had or could.

it consumed your mind like a plague. you hated how much you had begun to care, but right now you were ignoring that. focusing on chris's dick instead.

“oh fuck -” he whines, his hips thrusting up ever so slightly, making you gag. you pull off reluctantly to avoid throwing up as he removes his hand from your hair, your eyes now watering. 

“jesus christ.” he breathes. you finally get a look at him, and he looks hot – completely fucked out. “i'm so close.” he mumbles out shamelessly, his usual casual demeanour completely gone.

“sorry.” you mumble, swiping your thumb across your bottom lip to remove the excess saliva. 

“no no, you're good.” he says, his voice horse and desperate. you take his dick in your hand, jerking him off as you catch your breath for a second. “i can cum like this.” he mumbles, his chest rising and falling ever so slightly as he leans back.

you shake your head. “you can cum in my mouth y’know.” you tell him, not thinking twice about the offer.

his eyes widen a little. it's not like he'd never come down a girl's throat before, but he hadn't expected you to be so willing to do so.

“you sure?” he whispers. you don't respond, simply taking him into your mouth again which causes his mouth to fall open, his head tilting back slightly. 

it only takes a few more minutes before he's rutting his hips upwards ever so slightly, his breaths coming out rugged. 

“gonna cum.” he mumbles, letting you know. you continue the same rhythmic movements, wishing you could see him coming apart right now.

then he lets out a strangled moan as you feel the warm salty liquid spurt into your mouth. you wince your eyes a little at the taste, sucking it out of him until there's no more. then you swallow, pulling off him, immediately looking around the room for some water. 

“holy fuck.” he breathes, falling back on the bed as his limp dick rests on his abdomen. 

you hop off the bed, taking a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table. 

“i don't even know whatta say.” he sighs, brushing his hair off his forehead. you swallow the water as you look over at him laid on the bed. “was it good?” you ask.

he scoffs. “shut the fuck up.” he huffs, eventually tucking his dick back into his boxers before sitting up. he picks the joint off the ledge, lighting it as he takes a toke. 

you crawl back onto the bed, crossing your legs under, holding your fingers out for him to pass the zoot.

“youre somethin’ else - fuckin’ hell.” he says, still in an orgasmic bliss. he hands you the joint before gently grabbing the side of your head to press a soft kiss to your forehead. 

you let out a small chuckle at his touchiness and affection. “i should make you jealous more often.” he murmurs, his cocky attitude returning promptly. 

you roll your eyes before, playfully smacking his arm, giving him a stern look. “why would you do that when you know what i can do?”

he lets out a soft chuckle at your comment, smirking to himself in pride of your skills. “good point.” he agrees, looking you up and down as if he's still trying to process what just happened.

it's like something had switched between the both of you, new territories of vulnerability seeping through. you had done more than you told him you would, and to be truthfully honest, he cared about you more than he'd like to admit. the both of you acting like you were fucking dating.

©sturnsrecord

notes . finally posted the next part, hope everyone from my previous account manages to find this. enjoy xx

tag list . @iizzyyy @sophsturns @strnilolover @sturniolossss

[vidavalor]

Love reading your thoughts, @masnadies! Have some in return on the shop metaphor and why I think Aziraphale does attempt sleep at times, if you or anyone else is interested. No pressure. 😊

Cute excuse, too, for one of my favorites of @mimisempai's correctly "incorrect" gifs 😊

<<If we can be bookshops (and honestly, I can't think of much I'd rather be), then all the mementos are memories, and all the books are what? knowledge? also memories? ideas? Intriguing, in any case, as the bookshop is full of clutter and rare, valuable books, none of that cheap stuff but it's everywhere all mixed up and nobody can figure it out. All of that is lovely for metaphor of Aziraphale.>>

I can't think of anything I'd rather be than a bookshop, either. 😊 i think Aziraphale is the bookshop on two, different-but-interconnected levels, I think. One is the metaphorical one we're talking about here; the other is the characters' sexually euphemistic one, which I think exists in the dialogue, in part, to help us see the metaphorical use of the bookshop for Aziraphale. It makes it more interesting, though, because Aziraphale using the bookshop as a stand-in for himself in innuendo means that he and Crowley are self-aware of the metaphor, which allows the characters themselves to be seen playing with it as metaphor and not just as innuendo as well.

So, we have the innuendo-laden things like "Just as that bookshop, technically, is my shop, but we both get plenty of use out of it, don't we?" and the "you like waiting inside" and the "get thee behind me, foul fiend-- after you!"... but we also have Crowley and Aziraphale aware that what is, technically, each their own, is also one another's, because they are a couple. So, The Bentley is Aziraphale's and the bookshop is Crowley's, and that means that it's "Fells' Bookshop" and "no more old bookshops" and "you can't leave this bookshop", etc..

I think that there is a slight difference in understanding between the main characters on this. Not when it comes to the innuendo-- they both get that. It's actually more in how Crowley uses it sometimes and it comes down to how they each see Aziraphale. Aziraphale sees the bookshop like how he sees himself-- not good enough, a compromise when Crowley deserves more-- while Crowley sees the bookshop as clever and safe and home. The same thing that Aziraphale sees as the best he could offer Crowley when he wants to give him more is something that Crowley sees as the most romantic of gestures and evocative of their love for each other and the life they're trying to make together. Aziraphale has still not fully seen this, I don't think. It's the root of the confusion of "you can't leave this bookshop" in 2.06. I think we can all see that Crowley means that Aziraphale can't leave him and their life together but, ironically, Aziraphale had spent the whole season low key trying to figure out how to get them the fuck out of the damn bookshop lol.

Crowley had been struggling to feel safe in there since the fire and why even run it anymore when Heaven hadn't shown up in years and Aziraphale never wanted to run a bookshop? I think he was struggling to figure out whether or not he had an obligation to keep the embassy open or if he could just pack it in and tell Crowley about the cottage and just go live like normal people. He didn't know how to handle that with threats of Heaven and Hell and Armageddon still looming-- The Finale'll solve the rest of that-- but he was circling asking Crowley to go with him to the South Downs. So, when Crowley is all "you can't leave this bookshop" and means him and their life, he thinks Aziraphale was breaking up with him when Aziraphale replies with that (brutal lol) "oh, Crowley, nothing lasts forever." Because Aziraphale thinks they're talking about the actual bookshop because, like The Baby Swap was in S1, The Final 15 is a series of miscommunications based around how no one can understand each other because they're all too in their own heads when it comes to what they're thinking/worrying about to fully recognize what the other person is saying.

I think that all of the Whickber Street Shopkeepers & Traders represent different things in the story based on their personalities and on what kind of businesses they run but, running under all of that, is the fact that Aziraphale actually has two businesses on Whickber Street. He's also a landlord. He owns the land and many of the buildings on and in which the people on Whickber Street are working/living, which means that, metaphorically-speaking? They're all Aziraphale's businesses, too. Aziraphale and Crowley's because they're both the bookshop and Whickber Street. The shopkeepers and traders exist in their own rights but they also exist to highlight stuff about Crowley and Aziraphale and their story.

The two angels who come into the shop in S2-- Gabriel and Muriel-- help further define the books metaphor, imho. Muriel, established to be really lonely, asks Crowley at the end if they can "take a book" with them because "books are like people, only portable." Gabriel spends the season trying to rearrange the books in what winds up being metaphorical for how he sees people. He doesn't need categories or labels or genres and he doesn't judge by their covers-- it's just open up the book, read what it's saying, and group it alongside others by its words. Yes, it gets you some wild bookshelves and possibly the inability to ever find any book ever again lol but, if we're talking about people? It's a great idea. Gabriel and Muriel see books as people because that's who wrote them-- they're the ideas of other living beings and represent their lives. Aziraphale being an avid collector of books and protective of them and careful in preserving their history is, to me, reflecting how much he loves humanity and his ongoing quest to understand life-- pretty much in the same way that us humans love books.

Agreed on the clutter and the million desks and everything in the shop being symbolic of Aziraphale's inner state. I'd also say that it's actually also symbolic of Crowley's, too-- more than it might appear at first to be. He was never really safe in his Hell-owned flat in S1. The bookshop is his home, too--and also, I'd wager, why he never got another flat after Shax took his old one. He could have just gotten another flat or we could have seen him living in a hotel or something in S2. Instead, he's fooling Hell into thinking that he's living entirely in his car while he's really only there for a couple of hours in the morning because it also serves to make it look like he's saying "look at poor me here in my car! I'm definitely not living with the angel!" 😂 I think it's also why Aziraphale never notices that Crowley lost his flat. Why would he when Crowley just basically lives in the shop most nights, all Romeo sneaking out of Juliet's bed before dawn (one of the things which "no nightingales" references being that bit of Shakespeare's play, likely really written by one of them, probably Aziraphale)?

Crowley stays most of the night and goes out the side door before the sun comes up to avoid them getting caught. Those are basically "the rules" of their relationship that Aziraphale refers to in Lockdown, I think. If we go back up to the pictures of the bookshop that the OP was kind enough to provide, we can see that side door on the right-- built in as part of Aziraphale's design in the part of the shop that opens into the alleyway, not on Whickber Street. The bookshop was likely built on an angle just for that purpose. The bookshop's side door is directly opposite Mrs. Sandwich's building and that's probably how she and Crowley became friendly-- they ran into each other in the alley at night. It's a bit of sleight-of-hand from our no-stranger-to-the-art-of-prestidigitation magician. Anyone watching Aziraphale would be looking at the front door of the bookshop and be far less likely to notice Crowley slip out the side door in the dark. No Bentley parked in front of the shop when Crowley's staying past business hours, as well, as what else could scream "totally fucking" more than Crowley's ridiculously recognizable car on the curb in front of the shop at 3am?

Also why/how Crowley was in his car on a side street a fast two minute drive away from the bookshop first thing in the morning in 2.01. The way these two just want to wake up together and have breakfast in peace... 😢

<<It also works with the fire and the reconstitution of the bookshop going with the discorporation and re-constitution via Adam of Aziraphale and the book shop (and the Bentley, that is interesting as Crowley did not die, hmm, further thought perhaps there for me)>>

Yes! That's what I think, too. The Bentley burning is interesting because Crowley's kind of going through a paralleling kind of thing but maybe not quite the same thing. The Bentley goes on fire because Crowley drives it through the ring of fire around the M-25, right? As he's about to, we flashback and see that Crowley influenced the building of the M-25--so, the highway is symbolic of Crowley having made his own mess and him having to get himself out of it. If he didn't, it would have eventually consumed him because he was literally trapped inside it. He's breaking free of his own stuff versus Aziraphale getting kind of accidentally caught in his own web a bit.

The bookshop is Aziraphale's M-25-- it's the "same daily round" that he's stuck in, like the horoscope God read. I'm sure he didn't want it to burn entirely. It is his home and he loves his books and all of his things and wouldn't have wanted to have lost all of them but you know that scene for which they made that concept art but then cut out of the end of 2.02? The one where the bookshop is the only thing that's survived an apocalypse and was supposed to be someone's dream?

Yeah, I bet that was going to be Aziraphale's dream. His nightmare, really. He's seen so many horrors in the whole history of Earth and remained past so much death and his nightmare would be having to see Earth destroyed so the bookshop kind of representing him there in the dream in that way, maybe? But also a nightmare in the sense that Aziraphale feels like he cannot get the hell out of the bookshop. He feels trapped in it because of how it represents how he tries to balance all the different facets of his life. His whole breakdown comes about as a result of basically just being like fuck this, I can't take it anymore-- everyone come on in at once, we're having a party! and then promptly, understandably, having an anxiety attack over exactly that. It's the angel who is going too fast in S2, not the demon.

<<but I also like to believe he doesn't sleep, in my opinion due to trauma, and I can't quite figure that bit out yet. Is it lazy writing or did he exaggerate or have pyjamas for show?>>

I'll agree with you that I don't think that Aziraphale sleeps well a lot of the time. I can definitely see that and for the same trauma-related reasons you mentioned. He has problems sleeping at times-- nightmares, etc.. Like a lot of people, he also likely doesn't sleep or sleep very well when in one of his fasting (actually: depression) periods.

I believe the main thing that causes people to believe that Aziraphale doesn't sleep at all is the bit from the book where he's talking about how he and Crowley don't "need sleep" but... just read it again below and look at how Crowley phrases the last line of his reply:

Aziraphale didn’t rise to it. “What are we going to do now?”

“Try and get some sleep.”

“You don’t need sleep. I don’t need sleep. Evil never sleeps, and Virtue is ever-vigilant.”

“Evil in general, maybe. This specific part of it has got into the habit of getting its head down occasionally.”

I can practically hear Aziraphale's flirty/teasing tone here and the idea that that is what's happening is reinforced by the last line of Crowley's reply above. It's more common in most places, even if it sometimes happens in Britain, to say "laying your head down" to refer to sleep, as opposed to saying "getting [your] head down." If you lay your head down, you're going to sleep. If you get your head down, you're simply moving your head down to a lower position... do you see where I'm going with this? 😂

Now, add into it that he also uses in the sentence the word habit, which isn't just something one does consistently but the head covering of a nun... and now take a little trip around things like how we say that people who are lovers are "sleeping together" and sleep being phrased as to "rest your head" while still also the head being not just the place where the brain is stored but the tip of the penis and getting that "down" would be to satisfy an erection and "to get/give head" being slang for oral sex and we're circling what the sleep paragraph in the book is really more about than just actual sleep.

Crowley does sleep but he's referring more to the fact that he's "gotten in the habit" of "getting his head down"-- aka going down on Aziraphale. That's the kind of rest he's suggesting they have, beyond some actual shut-eye-- probably a bit of both.

Crowley also uses the word occasionally here-- a word that comes from the Latin cadere, which means... to fall. If you were a pair of wordplay-happy supernatural entities who ushered in the so-called Fall of Man together-- and one of you is a fallen angel and the other is called Mr. Fell and you both fell in love with one another a long time ago-- you'd absolutely love flirting using words that link to the verb meaning to fall as euphemistic for making love, particularly for falling/going down on one another.

As such, when Crowley uses occasionally in this part of the book, it doesn't mean 'every once in a while' so much as it means 'as the occasion calls for it' and there's plenty of reason to assume that it there are plenty of occasions...

This word is also in the series. It's in Aziraphale's innuendo-laden, verbally italicized use of "special occasions" in 1.01:

Around the 14th and 15th centuries, special actually meant a person's lover or romantic partner. It's really only sort-of survived into today in use of the phrase "special someone" and that is slightly different than calling someone your "special", the way it was apparently done in those earlier centuries. A "special occasion", in Ineffable Husbands Speak, would definitely be a reason to celebrate outside of the usual ones, yes, but it also appears to be going down on your sweetheart, which is what Aziraphale is expressing interesting in doing in that 1.01 scene.

Here's where we can just say now after S2 that the above "special occasions" scene is even funnier because Aziraphale isn't telling Crowley anything about the wine that he doesn't already know, as he and Aziraphale were drinking from that stash of Chateauneuf-de-Pape back in 1941, Part 2. Aziraphale was likely bringing it up in that 1.01 moment, in part, so he can say the words around it. How many cases did Aziraphale pick up for his "occasions" with his special? A "sleep"-relevant number: a dozen. 😂 That joke has apparently grown on him since when Crowley made it in 1601...

This also all gets even funnier when you add in the other, descriptive passage about Crowley and sleep from the book, which has lines like: Crowley likes sleep, it was one of the pleasures of the world. True of both sleep and sex and the rest of the paragraph talks about sleep but using sentences the word choice for which makes them alternately appear to be about sleep and sex or worded in such a way as to be applicable both at once, all reinforcing the idea of sleep having an euphemistic layer to it.

Aziraphale's response to Crowley's suggestion that they "try to get some sleep" in the book is often taken really literally, I think, when the tone is actually kind of light and flirty. It's basically the same tone as this, similar scene from the series:

In the book, it's more clever use of puns. Virtue-- Aziraphale, here-- is a word that just originally a human man and "manliness" and then came to mean good moral character. Virtue, says Aziraphale with tongue-in-cheek, is "ever-vigilant." Vigilant means-- literally-- to be awake. Virtue is a word used in religious circles with a nod towards chastity and "purity"-- the opposite of "sin", like that of Adam and Eve-- so Aziraphale seems to be dryly saying that, as an angel, he's supposed to be Virtue itself-- the epitome of virtuosity-- but he's more of the word's original definition of a human man... one who might supposed to be "ever-vigilant"-- always awake, so, euphemistically, never getting any wink wink sleep-- but they both know that's not true because, as we've learned, Crowley's gotten in the habit of getting his head down on frequent occasions.

Adding to the Adam and Eve/Fall of Man & "occasionally" meaning to fall theme is that they're prompted by Aziraphale using the idiom "evil never sleeps" as a joke about Crowley-- referencing Eve in there. Evil sounding phonetically like "Eve-il". Another, similar joke in which they are paralleling themselves to Adam & Eve is them going off to have lunch (and "lunch") at the end of 1.06, with Crowley referring to them going to have food and sex together by saying: "Time to leave The Garden. Let me tempt you to a spot of lunch?"

So, anyway, the bit of the book that people use to justify the idea that Aziraphale doesn't sleep isn't really saying that he doesn't, imho, and there's nothing in the tv series that suggests that, either. Sleep-- and I'm just talking about sleep now here lol-- is obviously restorative and it can be peaceful. Technically, Aziraphale is correct that they don't "need" it. They could, theoretically, probably survive for all of eternity without ever sleeping a wink, etc.... but that's what they'd be doing-- just surviving. There's a big difference between living and just not dying. Being able to subsist without having something is not the same thing as not needing it.

What I think Crowley and Aziraphale have discovered in living on Earth for all this time is that their their human bodies like and need what other a lot of human bodies like and/or need. Even if they can, technically, survive without these things, they also realize that doing so is not actually healthy or pleasurable or really living. If they didn't have the capacity to need and enjoy living like humans, they wouldn't have human bodies. The things that exist for the humans and are necessary for them exist for them, too. Their bodies work better and they feel better when they breathe and eat and sleep and talk with one another. They need nature and art and companionship the same way that the humans do. Like some humans do, they both enjoy sex and feel romantic love. They could, technically, remain alive without all of these things but being alive is not the same thing as living.

Aziraphale knows that he needs to eat to feel healthy-- that food can affect how his mind and body feel and perform-- as much as he just enjoys eating. I think sleep might be the same thing for him. He struggles with it a lot in ways similar to any person who has been through traumatic events and has related mental health issues but I think he does try to sleep. I honestly cannot imagine being completely awake for over six millennia without a break from the world. Aziraphale is also an introvert so I think he might find the idea of taking a rest from people for awhile extra-appealing, even if he might have felt guilty about wanting to sometimes. I think he probably didn't sleep for the first couple of thousand years, though-- if he hadn't tried food until 2500 B.C., it's probably likely that he hadn't allowed himself to try to sleep prior to that either. He might have needed Crowley to show him how or at least help him give himself permission to try it at some point.

Aziraphale also likes to eat and drink and fuck and there's a certain threshold of those activities that, when crossed, requires at least a nap lol. There's also maybe just Crowley's sleeping habits as a potential suggestion of Aziraphale's. When Aziraphale comes back from Edinburgh in S2, Crowley tells him that he didn't sleep at all the prior night while Aziraphale was gone.

This is suggestive of what other things, like Lockdown, suggest, which is that Crowley has a human sleep routine, more or less. He can survive without a night's sleep probably better than any of us can but he does feel the effects of it if he doesn't sleep. So, this being who technically doesn't need sleep--or has been told to think such a thing is true, anyway-- knows he really does and goes to bed at night most nights the same way that we do. It's also healthy for him to at least try to do so. He has PTSD and an anxiety disorder-- he needs sleep to manage that, even if sleep is often the first thing to be disturbed by it, which is basically what Crowley says happened while Aziraphale was in Edinburgh. (How much of the reason why Crowley couldn't sleep was Gabriel-related anxiety and how much was Crowley having trouble sleeping without Aziraphale is debatable...)

So, if we go with the idea that Crowley basically lives in the bookshop at night until before dawn and that he has been doing that most nights for awhile now and if we add in that he also canonically sleeps for a bit at night each night, then Crowley goes to bed like a human at some point each night in the bookshop. It seems likely that Aziraphale goes to bed with him. They both would inevitably sleep better with one another nearby.

Aziraphale staying in that bed after Crowley leaves in the early morning, though, is probably another story. I tend to think that he struggles with the bed if Crowley's not there and will get up after he's gone and have tea or go to Give Me Coffee or do basically anything to try to distract himself from the misery of his Crowley-free mornings.

I'm sure what had him reject Crowley hunkering down during the lockdowns was just that he didn't think he could handle having Crowley there in the mornings, only to have to go back to him leaving after the lockdowns were over. I'm still not totally sure that they didn't actually wind up maybe doing that anyway-- at minimum, I think Crowley apparated over after the phone call, but I don't know that he stayed-- but, either way, this is why they just need to get to the South Downs Cottage, dammit.

Speaking of the bookshop, theories on what could be upstairs?

ooooo the BIG QUESTION.

so we can see a bit of the second floor in all these pics:

basically all we know for sure is there are A LOT MORE BOOKS, both stacked around the railing and on the circle of shelves. neil has decided not to comment on what else might be there (YET 👀) but he’s confirmed that much.

apart from that, we can see from the outside that there are six windows on the second floor:

i’m going to assume they’re part of the shop because they’re Very On Fire when the rest of the shop is on fire. SO. taking all that into account, you end up with something like this:

where the thin grey circle is the railing and the brown one is the bookshelves (as you can see in the first pic, it doesn’t circle all the way around!)

the rest is a complete mystery. i mean i’m sure the actual set was empty because they didn’t need to fill it, but in theory there’s room for some interesting stuff! with the first floor for scale i can imagine a whole flat built around that circle of shelves — a bed aziraphale never sleeps in, comfy chairs, every other angel knick-knack he’s encountered in his life. in my personal headcanon it’s all books and hoarded items covered in dust, which he leaves for authenticity.

thank you for asking!! i’d love to hear other people’s thoughts if they want to share :)

[winchesterwild78]

Heaven

Master List

Characters: Dean x Reader (wife), Sam x Reader (in-laws)

Warnings: Mention of deaths, nothing too major, some fluffy stuff 

A/N: I got this idea from a post I saw @jackles010378 post. Dean has died and he meets you, his wife on the bridge. When Sammy comes, you give them their time. 

Very short story 

All work is my own, don’t take it. Reblogs and shares are welcome 

Minors DNI 18+ 

I sat on the porch of the bar with Bobby, drinking a beer. The two of us reminisced about how we met, and how he introduced me to Dean. 

It was love at first sight for me. Who wouldn’t fall for the one and only Dean Winchester. He was an amazing hunter, an incredible protector, and damn was he good looking. His jeans fit him perfectly, his shirt was just tight enough to show off his toned chest, and his biceps and bowed legs made me weak in the knees. 

Dean had so many walls up when I first met him. Who could honestly blame him? He had been through hell and back and shouldered so much from a young age. I never got the chance to meet John, and that was a good thing, because honestly, I definitely had some choice words for him. 

The day Dean finally let some of his walls down, was after a particularly hard hunt. I had gotten hurt and Dean was angry. At first I thought he was angry with me, but quickly I realized he was angry at himself for letting me get hurt. “Dean, it wasn’t your fault. It was mine. It’s not your responsibility to protect me all the time. Going left when I should have gone right was my choice, and my choice alone.” I remember touching his chest and feeling his heart beat wildly and his breath hitch. The look in his eyes had me holding my breath, and then he kissed me.

That was almost ten years ago. We had been through so much together, and after that night, we were inseparable. Dean and I had sex that night. No, it wasn’t making love or taking our time. It was primal and full of need and desire. It was raw, messy and loud. All the years of hunting together, the tension that had built and the angst from the hunt, just poured out in between those sheets that night. 

Dean took me in ways I’d never been taken, and I fell deeper in love with him. I was sure the morning light would bring regret from Dean, but I was wrong. The next morning when I woke up in his arms, he told me he didn’t want anyone else but me. We had been together ever since. 

About a year after that night Dean and I got married. We tried to have children, but it wasn’t in the cards for us. The biggest reason, I died in a car accident about a year ago. 

Dean tried to make a deal to bring me back, but no demon would deal with him. Jack let me go back and see him, I begged him to move on. Jack gave me 24 hours to be with Dean to say our goodbyes. We spent the whole time together, most of it in bed. We made love, over and over again, and Dean took pictures of the both of us together. He said he wanted to make sure he had pictures to hold on to if he couldn’t hold me. 

When it was time to say goodbye, Dean kissed me and told me he’d see me soon. I told him I didn’t want to see him too soon. “Dean, please move on. Live your life. Fall in love again, and have those babies we wanted. You deserve that, Dean. I want that for you. I love you.” Dean cupped my face, “Baby, I don’t want anyone else. You’re it for me. I love you, Y/N.” He kissed my lips one last time and then it was time for me to go. 

When I got to Heaven and Jack had taken over, I ran into Bobby. Seeing me was met with a mixture of excitement and sadness. He knew since I was there, that meant Dean was alone. Bobby pulled me into a big hug, “Hey, baby girl. I wasn’t expecting you here so soon.” “Yeah, I was in a car accident, I was hit by a truck running a red light. Imagine that, a hunter dying in a car accident and not on a hunt.” 

I made my rounds seeing loved ones and visiting different places in Heaven. Jack appeared on one of my walks, “Hey, Y/N. Go to the bridge. You have a visitor.” I looked at Jack oddly, but started to walk towards the bridge. As I approached I saw her…Baby. The beautiful, sleek, black car that held so many memories for Dean and me. Then I saw him, leaning against the side.

A soft gasp leaving my lips, “Dean.” He turned and looked at me with a smile on his face, “Hey sweetheart.” I ran to him and leaped in his arms. “Dean! I’ve missed you so much baby.” He looked exactly the same, strong jaw, beautiful green eyes, strong arms and so incredibly handsome.

He pulled me tight and close to him, “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart. So much.” “Dean, what happened? Why are you here so soon?” Dean sighed, “It was a hunt gone wrong, we saved the kids, but I misstepped and ended up impaled on a piece of rusty rebar. It went right through me.” 

A tear slipped out, “Oh Dean, I’m so sorry baby. As much as I love that you’re here I know Sammy misses you.” “Yeah, I’m sure he does, but he’s got Eileen and I’m betting he’s going to marry her. You would have loved her. She’s so good for him.”

I smiled softly, “Well maybe he will get out of the life and they live a normal life.” He smiled and nodded, thinking about his baby brother getting out of the life and living the life he deserved.

Dean and I spend the rest of the afternoon talking and catching up. We climbed in Baby and went for a drive. 

The windows rolled down, music up, Dean’s hand in mine and me  sitting next to him. This was definitely Heaven. 

Dean parked the car and had me slide closer to him. His lips on mine and hands in my hair. “God I missed you sweetheart. It’s been too long since I’ve felt your lips on mine. I’m so sorry we never had those babies we wanted. We would have made some beautiful kids.” Dean chuckled. 

I cupped his face, “Dean, it’s okay. I had you and that was enough. Besides, if we had kids and I died, you would have been left with them to raise alone. Now with you gone, who would have taken care of them? My life with you was incredible. With or without children. I had you, and you were enough.”  

“You were enough too, sweetheart. More than enough. I feel so incredibly lucky to have you as my wife. I love you.”

A few minutes later we slipped into the backseat to make up for lost time. It was incredible and felt even better than I remembered. A few hours later we were dressed again, kissed and slipped back into the front seat. 

Dean put the car in drive and we drove towards the bridge again. We climbed out of the car and he leaned against the door, pulling me into his arms. My back was to his chest and his arms wrapped around me tightly..

We talked about everything and then silence. Dean and I could always be with each other in comfortable silence. He just held me. An occasional kiss to my neck or head. 

As the sun was starting to set, Dean looked up and smiled. I looked over to where he was and saw Sam. “Hey Sammy.” Dean said with a slight chuckle. “Hey Dean, Y/N.” 

Dean’s arms let me go and I walked over to Sam and hugged him. Then Dean pulled him in for a hug. I smiled when I saw the brothers embrace. 

Sam began telling us about his life after Dean died. What felt like minutes to us was over 40 years on Earth. 

Sam told us he left the life, went back to Stanford and became an attorney. He and Eileen got married and had a little boy they named Dean. Dean smiled when he heard that. Then he told us he died as an old man surrounded by his family. 

Dean beamed with pride. Sam was Dean’s first son and everyone knew it. I kissed Dean and hugged Sam. “I’m gonna let you two catch up. I’ll meet you later at Harvells, Dean.” 

Dean pulled me close, “I love you, sweetheart.” “I love you too, Dean.” As I started to walk away I turned and looked back at my husband and his baby brother. They smiled and nodded at me. I knew they needed time together. 

I had plenty of time left to spend with Dean and in his arms. After all, this was Heaven. 

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[daisymbin]

hi! could you do fluff prompt #37 with hoshi but its yn who brings hoshi flowers AAAAAAAAAA maybe because yn knows how hard this cb has been for hoshi so they surprise him with flowers after practice ><

WHY IS THIS CUTE!!!!! thank you for requesting lovely 🤍

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fluff prompt #37: "you brought me flowers? just because?"

soonyoung was getting frustrated. he had been trying to nail down the choreography for the last hour, but it wasn’t clicking. his movements were stiff, and the steps felt off. it wasn’t even about the difficulty of the routine—he was just getting too worked up over the smallest things. his temper was hot, his mind too cluttered to focus.

mingyu and seungkwan were there too, leaning against the wall and watching him with amused looks. neither of them said anything, knowing well that interrupting soonyoung when he was in this mood was a terrible idea.

just as soonyoung was about to shout in frustration, the door to the practice room opened. he watches as you stepped in, carrying a small bouquet of bright flowers, and the atmosphere immediately shifted.

soonyoung stopped mid-movement, his eyes snapping to the flowers in your hands. his irritation faded for a split second, replaced by a flash of confusion. who’s giving her flowers? he thought, his chest tightening. is it her crush?

he stared at you for a moment, his gaze slightly narrowing. “who gave those to you?” he asked, his tone a little more annoyed than usual, though he tried to mask it.

you blinked, taken aback by the question. “uh... no one,” you said softly, holding the bouquet out toward him. “i got them for you.”

for a moment, soonyoung didn’t know how to process that. “for me?” his voice was barely above a whisper as he looked at the flowers, then back to you. “why?”

his ears began to burn a little, the tips turning a shade of red that was impossible to hide. he wasn’t used to this, to being the center of your attention like this. he could feel his heart racing slightly as he tried to make sense of it. why would you get me flowers?

“just because,” you replied with a shrug, offering him a soft smile.

soonyoung stared at the flowers again, the blush creeping further across his cheeks. “you... got me flowers? just because?” his voice dropped, quieter now, a little more vulnerable. he could feel his own heart hammering in his chest.

before you could respond, mingyu, ever the troublemaker, jumped in with a grin plastered on his face. “you got soonyoung hyung flowers? what about me? what about us? we want flowers too!"

"they're just flowers, friends can give each other flowers! calm down." you answered, trying to calm your hammering heart.

seungkwan chimed in, barely able to contain his laughter. “just flowers? just because? this is a whole new level of romance,”

soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his ears turned even redder as he shot both of them a glare. “shut up,” he mumbled, his words barely audible. he was trying to keep his composure, but it was hard with mingyu and seungkwan giving him no mercy.

you, on the other hand, felt your stomach twist with nerves. you had no idea what was going on, but it sounded like they were making fun of you. was it that obvious? you thought, trying not to fidget with your hands. maybe bringing him flowers wasn’t such a good idea after all.

soonyoung, still flustered and now very much aware of how loud mingyu and seungkwan were being, took a deep breath and finally looked back at you. “thanks... really. i, uh... i appreciate it.”

you gave him a small smile, but you could feel the tension between you two. “no problem,” you said, shifting awkwardly. “well, i’ve got some errands to run. i should go.”

as you turned to leave, soonyoung’s eyes followed you, his mind racing. what am i doing? he thought. just tell her you like her already, you idiot.

mingyu and seungkwan shared a knowing look, and as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, they wasted no time.

“you’re such an idiot,” mingyu said, his voice dripping with teasing. “how much more obvious can it be? flowers? just because? come on.”

seungkwan snorted. “seriously, how can you not see it? she brought you flowers, you’ve gotta make a move, or she’s gonna think you’re either completely stupid & clueless or you just don't have feelings for her.”

soonyoung’s face was burning now, his fists clenching at his sides. “i know, okay? it’s not that simple.”

mingyu rolled his eyes. “it’s not that complicated, you just need to get your act together. you’re lucky she even likes you.”

soonyoung didn’t say anything more. he was too embarrassed to admit just how nervous he was about the whole thing. he didnt want to admit that something as simple as flowers got to him, but something in him clicked, and without another word, he turned and rushed for the door.

he dashed down the stairs, his mind made up in an instant.

you were just outside the building, walking down the street with your head slightly lowered. soonyoung caught sight of you and nearly tripped in his haste to catch up. “hey!” he called out, his voice breathless. “wait up!”

you stopped and turned to face him, eyes wide. “soonyoung? did i leave something behind?”

he ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. "no, uh," he took a deep breath, then blurted out the question he had been dying to ask. “do you have time tonight? for dinner? and maybe a movie?” his eyes shifted to yours, trying to read your expression.

you blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness of his words. “dinner and movie? like... outside?"

he nodded quickly, his nervousness creeping back in. “yeah, like... outside.”

your eyes flicked between him and the ground, trying to process what was happening. “like... a date?”

soonyoung’s heart skipped a beat, and he nodded again, more confident now as a smile creeps onto his face, “yeah. like, a date.”

[starclancy]

Hello :)

I was wondering if you'd be willing to write a reader x Sanji fic where reader is homesick and wants their parents' cooking. Sanji tries to re-create the dish based on reader's description, but after many attempts, is struck with horror when he finally realizes what reader wants is low-key an abomination. Something like ketchup, milk, and parsley being reader's idea of tomato bisque or something else wild

This was so fun to write! Ty!

~ A Taste Of Home ~

PAIRING: Fem!Reader/Sanji

CONTENTS: 🩷 - fluff

WORDCOUNT: 700

Request status: Open (PLS)

The Merry’s kitchen was warm, the scent of sautéed onions and garlic filling the air as Sanji worked his magic. But tonight, his usual confidence was laced with determination and just a hint of worry. Across the room, you sat at the table, your chin resting on your hand, eyes glassy with the haze of homesickness.

“I can’t believe I miss it so much,” you murmured. “My mom used to make it whenever I felt sick or sad. It’s the ultimate comfort food.”

Sanji, always the gentleman, turned toward you with a reassuring smile. “Anything for you, love. Just tell me what it is, and I’ll whip it up perfectly.”

You hesitated, a faint blush dusting your cheeks. “It’s kind of...simple. Tomato bisque. But the way my mom made it is...different.”

His brow furrowed with intrigue. “Different, how?”

“Well...” You wrinkled your nose, trying to recall the details. “It’s kind of creamy, but not too heavy. There’s this tangy sweetness, you know? And a little kick of something fresh, like parsley. Oh! And she’d always stir in milk instead of cream to make it lighter.”

Sanji nodded, pulling out his notebook. “Creamy, tangy, sweet, fresh, and light. Got it. Anything else?”

You brightened. “She always swore by ketchup. Said it was the secret ingredient!”

The pen in Sanji’s hand froze mid-word. “...Ketchup?”

“Yeah!” you said with a nostalgic sigh. “It’s what makes it so...unique.”

A bead of sweat formed on Sanji’s temple, but he quickly composed himself. “Alright, no problem. I’ll have it ready before you can say ‘ketchup bisque.’”

Attempt #1: Sanji’s first creation was a masterpiece of refined French cuisine—silky tomato bisque with fresh cream, a hint of basil, and homemade croutons.

You took one sip, your face falling instantly. “This is...too good.”

“Too good?” Sanji echoed, his cigarette nearly falling from his lips.

“It’s just not...homey enough.”

Attempt #4: He swapped out the cream for milk, begrudgingly added a dab of ketchup, and toned down the herbs.

You tilted your head after a taste. “Closer, but still not right.”

Attempt #9: The pot on the stove bubbled ominously. Sanji had gone through three bottles of ketchup, two gallons of milk, and his last shred of sanity. He tasted the concoction, his face twisting into something between despair and betrayal.

“This...isn’t food,” he muttered to himself.

When you entered the kitchen, he froze, a guilty look on his face.

“Is it done?” you asked hopefully.

Sanji hesitated, then sighed. “Darling...I think I need to know something. Did your mother hate chefs?”

You frowned. “What? No! Why would you say that?”

He gestured at the pot, his voice cracking. “Because this—this monstrosity—isn’t bisque! It’s ketchup soup! It’s milk and parsley and pain!”

You blinked, then burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh, Sanji! I told you it was weird! That’s why it’s comfort food—it’s bad but in the best way!”

He stared at you, a mix of disbelief and exasperation on his face. “You could’ve led with that.”

The Final Bowl: Despite his culinary pride, Sanji made one last attempt, embracing the chaos of your childhood recipe. When he set the bowl in front of you, it looked just like you remembered—simple, strange, and oddly inviting.

You took a sip and lit up immediately. “This is perfect!”

Sanji watched you with a mix of horror and adoration. “I’ve never been so ashamed of something I’ve cooked...but if it makes you happy, I’ll take it.”

You grinned, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “Thanks, Sanji. You’ve got a knack for making people feel at home—even if home tastes like ketchup and milk.”

He groaned but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Anything for you, love. Just...please don’t tell Zoro about this.”

[tswwwit]

I was very amused by a specific joke in Cipher's Personal Portable Portal when I wrote it, so I decided to write Bill's POV of that part of the fic!

Here's a short thing:

Despite the annoyance, the interloping, and a pair of completely ruined shoes -

Holy crap, it must be Bill's lucky day!

Bill chuckles, taking this human's face in both hands as he watches him struggle. Kid's putting up one heck of a fight, considering the position he's in.

And man, is it adorable!

Here Bill was, thinking it'd be a full week or worse until he finally managed to drag his fun-times partner into an actual date. Dipper's been a real stubborn goody-two-shoes cookie, with more brains than common sense. Convincing him of anything is almost impossible, even when it's a great idea.

Bill had resigned himself for a bit of a wait. Who knew how long it'd be until that stubborn little jerk finally gave in to some good ol' fashioned hedonism, and took a break? Or maybe he'd catch that 'criminal', finally, and they could get back to the fun stuff.

Turns out, he didn't need to! No scheduling was even involved, because his date took the opportunity to show up all on his own!

Though for a minute, Bill thought he was the other guy.

Not that getting attention from his other suitor was bad, at the outset Having a guy chase after you that hard? Keeping up with every scheme and tracking all your plots? Putting on a full blown pursuit, just for you, heedless of any other major threats? It's almost enough to make a guy blush!

All that faded to the background with his awful friggin' timing.

This asshole only caught up to him, meeting him for real - AFTER Bill already found a cutie to basically go steady with! Now THAT was real rich of him. Months of pursuit - flattering, hilarious chases, some truly annoying thwarts - and for what? Stubborn jackass human couldn't the decency to do this before the position was filled? Seriously? It's like he was designed to be the most irritating human being in the universe.

Too bad for his prospective suitor, though. Too little, too late shoulda been his motto, because Bill had a new squeeze, and a sharp and sassy one at that! Someone much more fun, equally clever, and adorably feisty. He really had a mouth on him, in more ways than one, a combo impossible to resist.

And this loser showed up at the exact right time to throw wrenches into their first friggin' date.

Jealous stalkers apparently get the best luck in the universe, when it comes to ruining a good thing. Soap operas have less dramatic timing than this asshole did!

If he knew how he'd kept Bill up the last week, pacing and wondering how to best slam the door in his face without sending the wrong signals - or worse, having to alert his soon-to-be date that some other guy was after Bill's ass -

And he had the absolute temerity to be incredibly physically cute, while he was at it. That crap really rankled.

But that's all in the past. For once, Bill can let bygones be bygones.

Because surprise, surprise! Turns out the hot nerd and the annoying stalker... are the same guy! No need to choose when the whole package is right here!

Man, what a fluke. Bill could date around for a million years and never manage this much luck again.

From the ground, Dipper makes clinking sounds as he pulls against the chains. There's banked fury in his expression, eyes narrowing in Bill's direction like he wants to spit.

Bill beams back down at him. He pinches the cheek again, and grins wider at the sight.

And there's the second-best part - his cutie-pie is a cutie-pie! The lack of visual through the portal had him totally missing out.

Look at that face! The shape of his jaw, the big brown eyes, the look of true irritation - the way he snaps at Bill's fingers like he wants to bite them off -

Great sight, ten outta ten! Bill could stare at it for a thousand years, unblinking, and never get bored.

He also can't stop touching it.

The very first squeeze confirmed what he already knew - yep, this is the guy he'd been fooling around with for a while, the shape of him memorized after the first check out. Now he traces over his human's cheeks, and along his jaw, just for the feel of it.

Every inch of his human is made clearer now that Bill can see as well as touch. The twin senses are fantastic together, peanut butter and chocolate and anchovies, a delicious combination. Trailing down over his neck, and around the back of his ear. His skin is smooth and soft, sending little tingles of his magic tingling under Bill's touch.

Overall, this human's super great for petting! Soft brown hair runs through Bill's fingers, damp from rain. It's delightfully messy and made more so by Bill's intervention.

A particularly enthusiastic stroke slides it away from the mortal's forehead - and Bill raises an eyebrow.

Aha! So there's where the name comes from!

Figures, really. That kinda appellation doesn't come from nowhere. A cute little birthmark cherry on top of this delectable human sundae.

The motion really seems to bug the guy, too! A bonus, in Bill's eye.

Dipper strains against his chains, hissing through his teeth. Arms struggle in their confines, neck twisting to bare an arc of pale skin. Muscles shift under the thin material of his t-shirt. The damp, rain-soaked fabric clings to his chest, leaving basically nothing to the imagination.

Bill grins wider. Hell, he nearly whistles.

Very, very nice! That lean body of his has seen its share of fights, alright. Mostly running by the look of it, but it's done him a bunch of favors!

Mind you, the mind was plenty on its own. Total smokeshow of a neural network, feisty and quick on the draw. Now Bill can toss in the stubborn, defiant bits from the stalker as well! And Knowing the way he fights. Irritating and clever in equal parts, while being totally willing to pull some downright dirty tricks? Bill nearly wants to give him a round of applause.

Now take all that - plus all this?

Today really went from the most miserable bullshit slog to totally great!

And there might be more, if he plays his cards right.

Bill hums in thought, idly petting his squirmy little human as he makes cute little annoyed grunts.

Now. How to introduce himself?

Obviously the kid's unaware of who he's dealing with. Which has so much potential for fun - but should he make the guy wait, or go right for it?

Both options are tempting, with his human completely at his mercy. Wriggling around in an eye-catching way, equal parts fury and exasperation. Dipper's expecting torture, probably! Or, pow, getting one right in the kisser.

Ha! He might just get one, too - but not in the way he expects! That'd be delightfully ironic! Tilt his head up, wait for his mouth to be less bitey, then Bill can make his move. It'll totally shock him into silence! Maybe even make his mouth drop open a bit, enough to find out if he tastes as good as he-

Then his human twists away, head jerking out of his grip.

"You lay another finger on me," Dipper glares daggers at him, tense and furious. Leaning away as far as he can get, which isn't much! "And my boyfriend will kick your ass."

"Boyfriend," Bill repeats.

Wait a sec, Pine Tree here said he was single! No dalliances or affairs, AND that he was bad at sharing.

Was that wrong? Is he that good a liar? It'd be a credit to him if it wasn't such a kick in the pants.

What the hell, Bill didn't detect THIS one coming. Guess the date couldn't go off completely without a hitch, adding the first unpleasant surprise to the mix.

Who's his human gotten close to? Another human? It's gotta be, there's no other demons sniffing around - and there's no way he's totally lacking in attention, with those looks.

Of course someone else would be after Bill's hard-won prize. Friggin' competition. Now Bill has to find this loser and make sure there's only one in the running.

And another thing - that's a stupid threat. This guy knows he's facing off against a full-fledged demon, here. The kid's not delusional, and they just fought. He knows how hard it'd be to take Bill down. Whose dick is he sucking that's smart enough, and powerful enough, to kick THAT much -

Bill blinks twice.

Then he grins.

"Aha!" He exclaims, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. "Boyfriend, you say!"

Of course. Of course!

Obviously it's Bill, who else could it be?

Takes a demon to threaten a demon after all, and the kid's too sharp to pull anything else. Dipper here HAS been sucking some real incredible dick from a very intelligent and handsome being!

Pulling on that relationship makes for a way better threat. A little presumptuous to toss Bill's name around like that, but eh, he gets a pass. As far as he knows it's a life-or-death deal going on right now. Plus, the assumption's not even wrong! Bill would obliterate any loser who touched a hair on his head, since they're -

'Boyfriend', huh. Whoo, THAT'S not a phrase that comes outta nowhere.

This guy's brain's been lingering on the word, hasn't it. Practically marinating in the concept of Bill Cipher and 'boyfriend', together in the same mental picture!

Hell, Bill would bet good money that this cutie's been obsessed! He totally thinks Bill's so cool, and smart, and powerful, that he dreams of being Bill's boyfriend, wanting to tie him down along with tying him up. Imagining dates with the impossibly amazing demon he's been chatting with. Sighing with longing as he awaits their first kiss. His whole mind flooded with thoughts of them together, kicking his legs and fluttering his long eyelashes with gooey feelings in his squishy mortal heart. Bill bets if he dug through that crummy notebook he saw earlier, he'd read 'Dipper Cipher' scribbled all over it with kiss marks on the pages.

And hey, if his mortal wants to make things 'official', then there's Bill's in! No scheming needed! The prize has been handed to him on a silver platter, just the way he likes it.

Everything's falling into place, like a perfectly toppled building.

This human's a rare one, that's for sure. Practically unique! Too cute, too fun. Too annoying and smart. Bill really landed one hell of a looker with the brains to boot, and in a way better than he'd hoped!

So yeah, he can be generous, and grant his human's wish. They've practically been going steady already!

And he's gonna get a smooch when he makes it solid between 'em, for sure. Ten smooches, even! With tongue! It'll be great.

What a day this has been.

Annoying stubborn interloper, amusing banter, then a fantastic fight with multiple surprises, each one more entertaining than the last. A total whirlwhind of fun and romance - AND they both get what they want in the end!

Which officially makes this the best first date ever.

[koji-haru]

I'll be with you

[For @inubaki! Happy birthday!! I hope your day was amazing! ❤️]

This fucking sucks. Adam groaned loudly as he slumped in his seat, face looking tiredly up at the red ceiling. Red. Before he didn’t care much for the colour, but now, with red painted everywhere he went as if he wore red tinted sunglasses all the time, he had come to hate the colour with a passion. Charlie went around the group, letting them choose which journal they wanted. The princess had talked everyone’s ear off with her lengthy speech about gratitude and taking things for granted, except Vaggie because of course she always supported any of Charlie’s exercises no matter good or bad of an idea it was. 

Unfortunately for Adam, he was the second last person in the group circle, with Alastor just after him. When Charlie finally got to him, he only had two options: one had ‘Live. Love. Laugh’ written on it in cursive with rainbows in the background, and the other was a plain beige journal with ‘My Life’ written on it. Adam quickly chose the beige journal, better the boring one instead of sparkly rainbows. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Alastor’s smile twitch a little when Charlie handed him the remaining journal. 

“Oh, thank you dear,” Alastor said as he slipped the journal into the shadows, most likely never to be seen again. 

“No problem at all!,” Charlie beamed.

Honestly, Adam wasn't sure how she managed to stay so bright and cheerful in such a miserable shithole of a place that was Hell, but props to her, he supposed, but that didn’t mean he was going down the same delusion. Adam looked down at the journal in his hand. Three things he was grateful for everyday, huh? 

It has been almost two months since Adam died in the failed Extermination, revived as a sinner, and was now a resident at the very same hotel he tried to destroy trying to redeem himself back to Heaven. Well, ‘trying’ would be an exaggeration, more like forced to stay at the Hotel by Sera and Lucifer. Sera just wanted him back as an angel in Heaven to stop the others from wondering where the first man disappeared to; really, she just wanted to keep the ‘mess’ he made under the rug. And Lucifer, well, he just wanted to keep his precious princess happy. If Adam could be redeemed back to Heaven, then maybe Charlie could even get Heaven’s support for her hotel since Sir Pentious’ redemption apparently only made them decide to at least leave the hotel and its residents alone. No news about the possibility of future exterminations yet though. 

In reality, Adam wasn’t even sure if he wanted to get redeemed. Don’t get him wrong, he hated being in Hell, the place was absolutely vile and disgusting in ways he never thought was even possible. But he was kind of glad to have some of the weight be lifted off his shoulders. He would have preferred to have all of the weight be lifted off him when he thought he finally, truly died at the battlefield, but it seemed that God had other plans for him. He already lived long lives in both Earth and Heaven, as a human and as an angel, but now he also had to live a life in Hell as a sinner. It was wearing him out. He just wanted to be relieved of any duties; he just wanted to finally be done with everything. Being in Hell, he was constantly reminded of his failure in the garden of Eden, how he also bit the apple despite knowing he shouldn’t just so he could selfishly remain with Eve. Sinners themselves were proof of the filth he knowingly allowed into the world, and as much as he hated killing his own descendants, the Exterminations were truly the only way he could clean up his mess. Or at least that was what he believed; when news of Sir Pentious being redeemed reached the hotel, Adam thought he was going to die a third time. This entire time he spilled the blood of his children, thinking that that was the only way for him to make up for his mistakes as well as, in a twisted way, saving them from an eternal life in Hell, it was all for naught. Redemption was possible. Some of those souls didn’t need to be erased…

Adam flipped the journal open. He had so many regrets in his eternally long life that all good things seem to simply fade into the background. Well, almost all the good things. He still wasn’t sure how it came to be, but somehow, he managed to earn Michael’s love that even led to a promise of eternal devotion. Yes, the archangel Michael, Lucifer’s very own brother. It was certainly an odd twist of fate, but his union with the archangel was something Adam would never ever regret no matter how many lives he would end up living. Michael was the only reason Adam was even sort of trying this redemption thing, otherwise he would simply tell Sera to fuck off and leave him to suffer in Hell. Despite the strong urge of giving up, Adam wanted to at least see Michael one more time. He knew he didn’t deserve it, especially with their stark differences in, well, everything important, but he couldn’t help it. He was just a human needing to be with the love of his life.

Yeah, he was grateful for Michael’s love even though he didn’t deserve it. He could write that in the journal. He would write that everyday.

Just as the group was about to get up from their seats and off to whatever they wanted to do for the day, a loud and purposeful knock on the hotel door sounded throughout the lobby. Charlie perked up from where she stood, somehow managing to look even happier as she excitedly made her way to the door. Everyone was currently present at the lobby for her activity, even her father, that knock could only mean one thing…

Charlie pulled the door open, beaming brightly as she greeted her new guest, “Welcome to the Happy Ho..tel…” 

The words quickly died in her throat as her jaw simply dropped at the sight before her. What was such a being doing in Hell, especially at her hotel?! In front of Charlie was the most divine angel she had ever seen, with such celestial presence exuding off of him as if the very Heavens had gone down to visit Hell.

The angel gave Charlie a small smile as he stepped closer towards the now open door. “Hello young lady, sorry but I’m looking for Adam, the first man. I heard he was staying here?”

“Oh, uh, y-yes,” stammered Charlie, still stunned at the presence before her, as she took a step to the side, letting the angel into the hotel. “Just this way.”

“Thank you,” the angel thanked with a quick nod of his head before entering the hotel with quick, determined strides. He stopped by the lobby, looking around briefly until his eyes landed on a group of people gathered in a circle, and then zoning in on a specific sinner, looking different and yet all too familiar. The large black horns, blackened gold wings, floppy brown ears, and the long fluffy brown tail, swinging back and forth in impatience, did nothing to obscure the fact who the supposed sinner was. 

Before Lucifer could even react to the sudden guest’s presence, the angel already made his way towards the group, angelic presence heavy and almost burning, stopping just beside Adam and looking extremely displeased.

“Adam.” 

“Wuh?” Adam turned and swore he nearly died a third time as shock ran through his heart at the sight of the person in front of him. There, he sat dumbly on the carpeted floor, looking up at the new guest, both happy and confused. “Michael? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” Michael stood over Adam, arms crossed and a rare scowl painted over his normally gentle face. “I didn’t think your annual ‘day trip’ with your exorcists included you dying, becoming a sinner, and staying in a redemptive hotel for almost two months.”

“Um…,” was all that Adam could say, still completely baffled at his husband’s presence here. At the hotel. In Hell. How did he find out in the first place anyway? Adam could do nothing but look down, unable to meet Michael’s eyes anymore as guilt resurfaced only to drag him back down. He had already accepted it long ago that the archangel was too good for him, but now, after having everything vile and revolting about him exposed, he felt he didn’t even deserve to be in his presence. 

“...I’m sorry…,” he said, quiet and apologetic, his torn heart visible for Michael to see.

“Aaawkward!!,” yelled Angel out from across them, followed by a pained yelp and a hiss when Vaggie smacked the back of his head to quickly shut him up. 

Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the air settle in his lungs for a moment before releasing them back out. A much softer look replaced his stern gaze once he opened his eyes again as he leaned down and offered a hand to Adam. “We’ll get through this, okay? Together this time.”

His angel really did come for him. Starting from the garden, throughout his hardships on Earth, his afterlife in Heaven, and even when he had fallen to Hell, Michael remained Adam’s guardian angel, steadfast in his devotion and, for some reason Adam couldn’t fathom, desired to forever remain by his side. It was a bit much really, for someone like him, especially now that he was nothing but a lowly sinner. So instead, Adam kept his eyes glued to the red carpet he was sat on, opting to pick himself up instead as he always had and always should. Just as he was about to push himself off the floor, Michael crouched down instead, going down to his level, and cupped his face with the softest hand Adam had ever felt. Michael’s blue eyes looked straight into him, not piercing but gently knocking, asking with all the tenderness of the world. 

“Come on, let’s get you back up, okay?”

Adam felt his heart creak at those words, and yet he couldn’t help the relief that washed over him as a small smile crept on his lips. It seemed that his angel was adamant about staying by his side; Michael was just weird like that, he supposed, to be so attached to him. In the end, Adam ended up timidly accepting the hand offered to him, whether he deserved it or not. 

“Um, sooo…,” Lucifer coughed into his fist, looking awkwardly around the lobby. “...long time no see, huh? Michael…”

“Wait,” Charlie cut in as she finally stepped into the lobby after letting the scene earlier pass by first. “Michael, as in THE archangel Michael? Angel of justice and warrior of God Michael?”

Now that he was a bit calmer, Michael finally let the awkward and strange situation he forced himself into fully sink in. And, oh, how out of place was he. “That’s me,” he replied. 

“Ooh, a bigshot from Heaven. I wonder how big you really are~” Angel pondered aloud for everyone to hear, earning him another smack to the head from Vaggie. “Ow! I was just asking!”

“Or, I don’t know, he could just be my brother?” Lucifer rolled his eyes. 

The sparkle in Charlie’s eyes brightened up even more, rivalling even that of Heaven’s image in the sky. “Oh my gosh!!,” she squealed as she bounced on her heels. “I can’t believe this! Uhh, oh gosh we were not prepared for your visit, uhm.” 

Within a span of a few seconds Charlie went from eagerly shaking Michael’s hand to fussing and worrying about the state of the hotel.

“The hotel’s fine my dear. Spotless even!” Alastor said, the smile on his face as wide as ever, though the look in his eyes told otherwise. The presence of another angelic being from Heaven was certainly unwelcome to him. That, and he wasn’t going to accept any critiques on the hotel he had worked so hard to upkeep, especially not from some spoilt angel! “There’s no need to worry so much.”

For once Lucifer found himself agreeing with Alastor, even nodding slightly along with him. 

“I think so too, duckling,” tried to tell her, trying to ease her unnecessary worries away. Really, what was the fuss? Just because his brother was here. “Besides,” he turned his attention back to Michael, his gaze a little more serious. “He’s an unannounced guest.”

“Oh, I’m planning to stay in Hell, at the hotel, if you would have me,” Michael announced to a shocked still crowd. Even Adam, who was standing by his side, had his mouth agape, eyes wide in shock and face pale at what Michael had just casually revealed. 

“WHAT?!,” exclaimed everyone in the room except for Michael, who easily stood there so sure of his decision. 

“I wish to have Adam back in Heaven, and so I’m staying to ensure that,” he explained, turning his gaze back to Adam, a small smile on his face, though Adam could immediately tell that even though there was still love in it, the tenderness plastered on that smile hid a blazing holy flame. “We’ll have to carefully plan your progress, right Adam?,” he asked, smile brightening up even more, Adam could almost feel the blaze from where he stood. 

“R-right…,” Adam reluctantly agreed, afraid of the talk they would definitely be having later. Michael hadn’t been mad at him for years; the archangel held a lot of restraint when it came to most things, and it often took a lot for him to even become irritated. But for him to be upset and mad? That was when Adam knew he truly fucked up. Michael was going to untangle him, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever be ready for that; more than a millennia’s worth of tangled fibres of his being was not going to be easy to unravel and sort out, nor would the effort be worth it, if he had a choice in the matter. 

“You can’t just–,” Lucifer tried to interject but was soon cut off by Charlie’s excited squeal.

“Of course you can stay!”

“Charlie, sweetie–”

“Then you have my thanks,” Michael said with a small bow. “I’ll make sure to put in a good word about your hotel to Heaven.”

“Wait–”

Charlie gasped, exhilaration flowing in her veins. Support from someone like Michael might just be what she needed for her hotel to be taken more seriously by Heaven. Just the thought of her hotel being official in Heaven’s eyes and her dream finally becoming true sent an electric joy through every fibre of her being, leaking out into the world outside her in the form of bright happy sparkles. 

“That would mean so much to me..!,” she sniffled, tears now pricking her eyes like  sparkling jewels from sheer joy.

And just like that, it was decided that Michael could stay at the Hazbin Hotel.

[alexanderwales]

Notes on 3000 miles

Last year my doctor told me that I had high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and a high resting heartrate. So I started biking on an exercise bike, and by my best estimations, I'm either close to hitting 3000 miles or have already gone past that.

I should clarify that this wasn't all at once. I took many breaks.

So here are some notes.

When I started, I was on an exercise bike that my wife had gotten from her work. It wasn't the best, but it was free, and I made a deal with myself that if I biked every day for a month, then I could justify getting something better. I really really did not want to buy a piece of exercise equipment that would just sit in the house gathering dust, because that would feel awful ... but I do kind of wish that I had gotten the better bike sooner, because it removed some of the "friction" of exercise, where it felt like there were too many reasons not to get on the bike. The new exercise bike (a refurbished Peleton off Facebook marketplace that my wife got me for Christmas) really does just feel and move better. I think the general principle of not doing costly monetary commitments until you've shown costly personal commitment is a good one, however.

Blood pressure is in normal range. Cholesterol is in normal range. Resting heartrate is in normal range. This was all the case three months in, and this level of cardio is more than enough to maintain it.

Right now, I bike for thirty minutes a day, going 8-10 miles according to the bike. That range is enormous, because it represents vastly different amounts of work. Going 10 miles in 30 minutes is 20 miles an hour, and I keep the resistance relatively high, so by the end of it I'm always panting. By contrast, going 8 miles makes me feel like I didn't put in enough work.

My goal every day is sweat-based and completely qualitative. I want to soak through a shirt. This means that doing more laundry than I'd prefer to, which is an unanticipated consequence of the biking. It's also, compared to all the metrics the bike gives me, a very clear sign that I am actually exercising my body "properly" in a way that's achieving something.

I did some of the Peleton classes, and found a lot of the metrics to be motivating, but ... eh. Exercise is mostly about being healthy and maintaining my body, so my current strategy, for the last six months, has been to either shut the brain down or keep it fully engaged in something that passes the exercise time. Usually this means a TV show, especially a foreign one with subtitles, which need slightly more brainpower.

The final two minutes is always the worst. I'm just ready to be done with it. Sometimes there's gas left in the tank, but I still feel sweaty, thirsty, and overheated. I have a water bottle, and I drink from it while I bike, and I have a fan pointed at me that I turn on once I'm warmed up, but I always have a sense, in those last two minutes, of "finally I'm done". I tried the thinking man's solution, only biking for 28 minutes, and this did not help. In my entire year of biking a half hour a day, I didn't ever elect to go into overtime.

I initially lost ten pounds, then slowly gained it back. I am, in fact, overweight, but I'm holding more or less steady now, and there have definitely been some body composition changes, with muscle replacing fat. I went down about four inches at the waist. I've changed very little about how I eat (which is 90% meals that I cook myself, and a daily coffee drink of some kind, usually made myself with sugar/cream/chocolate). Biking amounts to 300-400 calories a day or something like that, so I'm presumably eating more to compensate and just not realizing it.

Mental health has been rocky, but that's just sort of how it is for me. I definitely feel less mentally well on days that I don't bike, and feel better afterward, but I have no idea how tight the correlation is, and if I had been keeping track on a mood tracker, I'm not sure I would be able to sus out from self-reported mood alone whether or not I was biking.

During the summer I replaced a lot of indoor exercise bike stuff with outdoor biking. My son has only recently learned to bike, so he's been with me many of these times. Usually that means that we're either biking a lot less distance, or we're biking for a lot longer time at much lower intensity, sometimes both. There's a bike path that's downhill from our house which goes for maybe six miles, with some good, clear turn back points, but that means a fairly arduous uphill to get back home. If I lived in a place where the weather wasn't frigid for almost half the year, I would probably be doing outdoor biking more.

I think the most important thing, if you're doing exercise every day, is making sure that you're doing it in such a way that it's sustainable and virtually incapable of injuring you. This mostly means proper form. Early on, I had a habit of pressing down the right pedal with the outside edge of my foot, and after fifteen minutes of doing that, the muscles in the foot would be aching and uncomfortable. I'm not sure why I was doing that, but it was difficult to get myself to bike in a way that wouldn't be putting strain on me.

I think it's okay to skip a day ... if it's for the right reason. Of the days that I've skipped, I always try to make sure the reason isn't "fuck it, I don't want to". I should either be feeling sick, feeling like I need to rest, or replacing biking with some other form of exercise like a hike in the woods or some weightlifting or something. If I start skipping days because I just don't feel like it, that's where the whole scheme falls apart.

I am currently sort of wondering how long this is going to go on for, and I think the answer is "for the rest of my life", or at least until I'm unable to keep it up for whatever reason. I don't think there's any particular reason to prefer an exercise bike (or regular bike) over running or rowing or some other form of cardio, but I think I have proven to myself that this is cardio I can do daily and stick with it to the level that is probably necessary for me to stay healthy. I'm not committed to doing it for the rest of my life, since in theory some other form of cardio might come along and sweep me off my feet.

I do wish that I had started earlier in my life, even if daily exercise has not been the panacea for mental health that I had been kind of hoping it would be. I hope that I have the willpower and wisdom to keep up with it indefinitely.

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Twenty Seven: RUE WHEN WAS THIS? SS: 14 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2.1K (total) Content Warnings: Hayun being a bad driver, Minho having the patience of a saint, joking mention of a gun kink Previous Next Masterlist

Minho leans casually against Hayun’s doorframe, arms crossed and an unmistakable, mischievous glint in his eyes. "Princess, you’ve got a learner’s permit, right?"

Hayun, sprawled across her bed in black yoga shorts, an oversized black jumper, and Hufflepuff socks, looks up at him, eyebrows knitted in suspicion. “Uh, yeah? But I haven’t exactly used it since I failed my driving test for the fifth time.”

"Perfect." He smirks, holding up a pair of L plates. “Because today, I’m teaching you how to drive.”

Hayun’s face contorts with a mix of horror and disbelief. “Oh no. Minho, no. That’s a terrible idea. Seriously.”

Outside her room, Jeongin and Felix perk up, catching wind of the conversation. Jeongin pokes his head in, laughing already. “Are you serious? Hayun’s the worst driver I’ve ever seen. Jisung and Hayun have collectively failed their tests like… ten times. They’re practically legends.” He looks over at Hayun, snickering. “Remember the time one of your instructors quit right after your test?”

Felix bursts out laughing. "That guy handed in his license and moved to the countryside. He’s probably raising chickens now, all because of you two."

Minho grins, unfazed by their commentary. “Guess what? You’re still learning. Get up.” He tosses her a pair of Converse, the determination in his gaze making it clear she has no choice.

Hayun lets out an exaggerated groan and flops back onto her pillows, covering her face with her hands. “Nooo, you can’t make me. I’m a fucking disaster behind the wheel, Minho. A public safety hazard.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Minho strides over, bending down to her level as he begins slipping her shoes onto her feet. “Oh, we’re doing this.” He tugs the laces tight, ignoring her half-hearted attempts to scoot away. “The more you resist, the more it convinces me to make you an expert just to prove a point. Consider it a favor.”

“I don’t want your favour,” she grumbles, her last-ditch attempt at pulling away thwarted as he grabs her by the ankles and drags her right back to the edge of the bed.

“Come on, princess,” he insists, helping her to her feet. “We’re getting you behind that wheel.”

Jisung appears in the doorway, a horrified expression on his face. “What’s this? Minho’s trying to get Hayun to drive?” He dramatically clutches his chest. “Hayun and I were not put on this earth to drive. We’re here to look good in the passenger seat, people. That’s our destiny!”

“Exactly,” Hayun agrees, slapping a high-five into Jisung’s hand. “The only car I should be behind the wheel of is an Autobot. You know, like Bumblebee. Something with enough sense to drive itself so there's no chance of a crash.”

Minho rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Tell you what. If you actually make it out the door, I’ll buy you coffee. Deal?”

Hayun narrows her eyes, as if weighing the promise of caffeine against the looming threat of vehicular disaster. “Is this part of your grand romantic scheme, Minho? Because if so, there are way less dangerous date ideas. How is death by my driving appealing?”

“Think of it as a modern Romeo and Juliet,” he quips with a grin. “If you crash, we’ll die in a blaze of glory. Very poetic.”

“Not exactly the romance I had in mind, but points for creativity,” she says, shaking her head with a laugh.

He grins wider, leading her down the stairs as she drags her feet dramatically on every step. “This is cruel and unusual punishment, Minho,” she complains, clutching the railing as though it’s her last lifeline.

“Only the best for you, princess.”

When they finally make it outside with Minho dragging Hayun from the house, he guides her toward the car and gestures to the passenger side. "Get in. I’ll drive us somewhere quiet before I let you anywhere near the wheel."

Hayun mutters under her breath, but eventually plops down in the passenger seat with a heavy sigh. “Just so you know, if this ends in disaster, you’re paying for the damages.”

Minho chuckles as he slides into the driver’s seat. "Got it covered. You’re officially on my insurance as a learner," He flashes her a confident grin. “Thought of everything, see?”

“Impressive,” she mumbles, buckling herself in. “But just so we’re clear, I was born for the passenger seat life. I’m here to sip coffee, pick the music, and look cute, not steer a death machine.”

He snorts. “We’ll see. If you’re really that bad, I’ll reconsider. But let’s just test that theory.”

Hayun snorts but watches him, a sliver of nervousness in her eyes as they drive to an abandoned airstrip. When they arrive, he pulls to a stop in the middle of the wide, empty space and gives her an encouraging smile.

“Alright, Hayun,” he says, turning the car off and tossing her the keys. “Show me what you got.”

She looks down at the keys in her hand, the weight of the responsibility sinking in. "I’m telling you, this is a mistake," she mutters, but she slides over to the driver’s seat with all the reluctance of a kid being forced to eat vegetables.

Minho jogs around the car before sliding into the passenger seat. “You’ve got this,” he reassures her, his voice calm but laced with excitement.

Hayun takes a deep breath, clutching the steering wheel with a death grip. She fumbles with the keys, finally managing to start the car. She presses the gas pedal tentatively, and the car lurches forward in fits and starts as she overcorrects, her knuckles turning white against the wheel.

“Relax, just take it easy,” Minho instructs, trying to keep his tone even as the car sways left, then right, then left again as she fights to keep it steady. "Just be calm"

“I am taking it easy!” she exclaims, voice tight with anxiety. “This is me being calm!”

They jolt forward, the car skidding slightly as she speeds up, her foot pressing too hard on the pedal.

“Okay, now slow down. Slowly,” Minho says, clutching the seat as the car edges too close to the grass at the side of the strip. “Ease into it-”

“I am easing!” she yelps, her voice panicked as she jerks the wheel in the wrong direction.

“Left!” he shouts, his own voice rising as he grabs onto the door handle.

She swerves hard to the right, her confusion audible in her cry. “This is left, Minho!”

“That’s right, not left!” he yells, gripping the dashboard with one hand, barely holding his calm. “Hayun! That’s right!”

“Oh my god, I don’t know my left from my right!” she blurts out, her voice reaching a high-pitched, frantic tone. “I have to do the hand trick, Minho, the L thing with my fingers-”

“You’re nineteen years old and you don’t know your left from your right?!”

“I know, okay?” she snaps back, desperation creeping into her voice. “I just forget when I’m about to die!”

For what feels like a small eternity, the car continues its erratic, swerving journey, with Minho’s directions and Hayun’s panicked responses blurring into one chaotic mess.

Finally, with a final, screeching halt, she slams on the brakes, the car coming to an unsteady stop right in the middle of the airstrip.

Minho releases a long, shaky breath, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Alright, enough. We’re done. Forever.”

Hayun slumps over the steering wheel, a mix of laughter and nervous relief spilling from her. “I told you I’m a bad driver! I warned you!”

“I thought you were exaggerating!” Minho says, rubbing his temples. His hand moves to her thigh, his touch grounding her and surprisingly comforting in the aftermath of the chaos. “But no. You’re actually terrifying behind the wheel.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her hands still gripping the steering wheel tightly. “So, you’re officially volunteering to be my chauffeur?”

Minho chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “After that experience? Absolutely. Consider it a key part of my romance plan. Because, Hayun, you are never getting behind the wheel again.”

Her laughter grows, full and genuine, and she finally releases the wheel, leaning back in the seat. “Deal. I officially accept the passenger seat as my destiny.”

They both get out of the car, and Minho walks around to the driver’s side as Hayun slides over the centre console with a grin, plopping herself back into the passenger seat where, she has to admit, she feels much more at home.

As he settles into the driver’s seat, he glances over at her, a fond smile lingering on his face. “Alright, princess. Let’s get you back to the life you were made for. Coffee, good music, and some much safer driving.”

As they pull into the drive-through, Minho rolls down his window, his voice steady as he orders, “One iced americano, please,” He glances at Hayun, a subtle tilt of his head signalling her turn.

She leans over, resting her chin on his shoulder as she peers up at the menu, her voice gentle and warm. “And a hazelnut honeycomb latte with an extra shot of coffee, please.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, a smirk already forming as he looks down at her. “Not going for your usual frappuccino? What’s the deal?”

Hayun sighs dramatically, sinking back into her seat as if the weight of the world is pressing down on her. “Fear has frozen my insides, Minho. It’s like rigor mortis has set in. I need warmth, not ice.”

He chuckles, inching the car forward as they wait in line. “Speaking of fear, can we just circle back to the fact that you actually had to make an ‘L’ with your hands to tell your left from your right? How exactly did you make it to nineteen without mastering that?”

Hayun groans, pressing her hands over her face. “I know my directions! Most of the time! It’s just harder for some people, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, dragging out the word with exaggerated patience, “some people, like, I don't know, off the top of my head, children.”

“Minho!” she protests, letting out a muffled whine from behind her hands, attempting to shield herself from his teasing.

With a soft laugh, he reaches over, gently prying her hands away from her face. His fingers linger just a second longer than necessary as he holds her wrists, forcing her to meet his gaze. “C’mon, it’s not that bad. Honestly, I think it’s cute. Just adds to the charm.”

She slumps further down, sliding low in the seat, trying to hide the blush now heating her cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”

He just laughs, giving her hands a gentle squeeze before letting them go, and they move up in line, reaching the window. The barista hands over their drinks with a grin, clearly entertained by the pair’s antics. Hayun squints at her latte as if it holds some secret wisdom, letting its warmth seep into her hands.

As they pull out of the drive-through, she takes a slow, careful sip, visibly savouring the heat. “Okay,” she breathes, relaxing for what feels like the first time all day. “I needed this. I feel human again.”

Minho glances over, watching the relief spread across her face as she clutches the cup. “You were seriously that freaked out?”

She rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, actually. Minho, I’ve never felt less competent in my life.” She lets out a dramatic sigh. “I am a god-awful driver. It's my one true weakness.”

Minho chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, now that I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing it firsthand, I can confirm that, yeah, you’re officially banned from the driver’s seat. For life.”

“Fine by me,” she quips, raising her coffee like she’s making a toast. “Passenger princess forever.”

Minho drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they hit a red light, taking a sip of his americano. “Oh, and just so we’re clear, I am absolutely going to hold this over your head for the rest of your life. Every single time we’re in a car together.”

She throws him a sidelong glance, a glint of mischief lighting up her eyes as she lets her words linger in the air. “You’d better be there for that long, then.”

The words catch him off guard, and for a split second, his playful smirk fades, replaced by something softer, more sincere. He meets her gaze, his voice quieter, laced with a subtle warmth. “Yeah, I plan on it.”

She gives him a small, shy smile. The red light turns green, and Minho’s gaze flicks back to the road, but the warmth between them lingers, a soft and steady undercurrent, something unspoken settling comfortably into place.

As they drive, the silence between them feels different, heavy with a sense of possibility. She sips her latte, savouring the sweetness, and he drums his fingers on the wheel in a steady rhythm, a quiet smile still tugging at his lips.

I confess that I still do the hand thing at my big age of 20 and my partner is just like Minho in the teasing

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

[dumpywrites]

Osculate - Jung Hoseok / J-Hope

Prompt: You kissed someone at the party last night… but who?

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: friends to lovers, producer! Hobi, slight drama, slow burn(?), mentions of cheating ex

Pairing: Hoseok x she/her reader

a/n: Welcome back Hobi <3 this is my first time writing about him! Also this turns to be longer than expected but we love the drama hehe

The gentle touch. 

The soft feel of a pair of lips touching yours for a brief moment. 

You kissed someone at the party last night… but who?

The thoughts were going on circles in your head. 

The first thing you realized when you woke up was a pang of headache. Of course, you were supposed to listen to your friends. Maybe drinking gin straight from the bottle wasn’t such a good idea. Of course it was not, but your ex was in the function.

The worse part was that he couldn’t even be considered as an ex. It had been a little over six months since the whole drama with Jaehyun. You went through somewhat of a situationship with him. Honestly, you liked the guy, couldn’t exactly say you had strong feelings for him, but you both agreed to enjoy the flow and get to know each other at a slow pace. For two months you both did all things couples do without any label, but it was not the main problem cause you had a conversation before about it… right? WRONG. He had a girlfriend the whole time. What a joke. 

Truth to be told, you were not that upset to see his face there. To you, even though he had basically ruined your perspective of men forever, it was all in the past. You couldn’t forgive him but there was nothing you could really do, life was just like that sometimes. What disheartened you was your friends inviting him in the first place. 

You had only ever told the whole story to two of them, that being Namjoon and Jungkook. Namjoon was the one who you called the first second you found out, and Jungkook the next day since you knew Jaehyun from him after all. You hoped that telling him would at least make him consider their friendship and to not trust him anymore, but you continued to see him occasionally in the photos of their stories.

Maybe Namjoon and Jungkook never told the others about it, it wasn’t their fault that Taehyung didn’t know and decided to invite him to his birthday party. Who knows, who cares. You were on your sixth shot of the night and you were feeling emotional. Fuck your friends for being insensitive really. 

Soon after the shots turned into drinking directly from the bottle, the memories were quick to fade away in a blur. 

“How did I even get here…” You mumbled to yourself. You still had the mini dress from last night on, but you were wearing your hoodie on top of it. You wondered if this happened because the person who helped you knew where you kept your hoodies. Coming from the party, the only people who could possibly knew that information were probably Namjoon, but that man couldn’t drive to safe his life. Was it Jin? After all he also had been to your place a few times before to play some video games, at least he knew where your bedroom was. 

The noise coming from your kitchen did sound suspicious though. 

“Hoseok?!”

You were very surprised to find him, considering he had never been to your place before and you couldn’t remember any major interaction with him the night before. 

“Finally!” His smile almost blinded you. “You alright? Sorry I had to use your kitchen, but I made us some pancakes.”

“I’m fine, thank you… I uh… what happened?” You said, sitting down on your dining table. 

“You got super drunk last night, long story short I got you here. Namjoon helped but he had to leave. We were worried to leave you alone, so that's why I'm here. Thank God you got your keys on a carabiner on your belt, or else we wouldn’t be here.”

“Gosh, what happened in between?”

“Nothing much, you were just dancing around, spilled drink on Taehyung and his girlfriend, not sure it was an accident though, and unfortunately you couldn’t make it to the ladies restroom so you puked right in front of the door.”

“Shit…” You facepalmed. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“Come on, I’ve seen you drunk before it’s fine.” He said while placing the pancakes on two different plates. 

“But it wasn’t like this.” You shook your head. 

“It’s fine.” He smiled, somehow the look in his eyes softened. “After what happened with Jaehyun, honestly… I get it.” 

“Oh.” You looked down to your lap. “Did Namjoon tell you?” 

He paused, finally taking a seat next to you on your small dining table. “You kinda told me last night…”

“Of course I did.” You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Sorry for trauma dumping, I guess.” 

“You don’t remember anything?!” 

“I don’t remember anything after I finished that bottle of Bombay Sapphire.” You shrugged, bitting your inner cheek. 

“That’s… unfortunate.” He flashed a disappointed grin. “Although I must say, I’ve always secretly hated that guy for no reason, glad to finally have one.” He sneered. 

You looked at him amusingly. “Why didn’t you tell me before?!”

“Dunno, I just feel like I don’t have anything to backup my opinion and I saw how you looked at him. I just knew you wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”

“Fair.” You said with a spoonful of pancake in your mouth. 

“Hey, I’ve told you this yesterday but I’m gonna repeat myself again since you don’t remember anything,” He smiled, moving his body to face your direction. “It’s not your fault. He did that because he’s a bad person and that has nothing to do with your quality as a human being.”

You sighed. “Seems like I done told you my insecurities as well.” You threw a sad smile. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“If you ever need validation again, come to me. But I’ll be charging you next time.” He grinned and proudly opened his arms. 

You laughed. “The pancake’s lowkey fire though, I must say. I’ll treat you a meal next time.”

You ended up ordering some Chinese food while watching old Harry Potter movies in the background. Somehow the conversation just kept going and you didn’t know before that hanging with Hoseok was this much of fun. You even let him borrow an oversized T-shirt of yours before going home, since you felt bad that he was still with what he wore yesterday. 

You had fun and the question of a faint memory soon left your mind. Why bother? It was probably just a stranger that you would rather not know about. 

From later getting the meal you promised him, the friendship only continued to blossom more from there. 

**

It was a random day after work when you decided to join Yoongi and Namjoon in their studio. Hoseok was supposed to join later after visiting his parents. The cool thing about having producer friends was that you could basically get free early listen to various singers’ songs. And their studio being very cozy and spacious was also a plus point. The company they worked for was also quite chill about visitors. 

“Jimin just texted me, he said he wants to join just for the preview of the song I’m writing for Megan Thee Stallion.” Namjoon said after reading his text. 

“Isn’t his dance class not done until eight or something?” You asked. 

“He recently switched to morning shift, I heard. Something about being too old to teach in that hour.” Yoongi chuckled. 

“He always say that, but I just know he’s gonna be the healthiest when we are old, cause all of us have jobs that requires multiple hours of sitting down. Unlike him.” You said. 

“Ain’t that right.” Yoongi groaned, suddenly fixing his posture. “By the way, where’s Hobi?” 

“Didn’t he tell you? He’s visiting his parents so he’ll be a little late.” You replied. 

“Just found out about that now.” Namjoon replied, suddenly eyeing Yoongi suspiciously. 

“Well, he’ll probably just be an hour late so don’t worry.”

“You’ve been hanging out with him a lot, I see.” Namjoon said. “Even heard you calling him Hobi now too.”

“All thanks to that drunk accident, I found out over trauma dumping that I actually like hanging out with him.” You shrugged.

“Geez, don’t remind me. It was so hard to convince you to come home that day.” Joon complained. 

“Wait, speaking of that day…”

You had heard the story about when you got drunk and what happened in between. But none of their stories ever mentioned about you kissing someone, which was ironic considering that was actually the only part that you faintly remembered about that night. You were sure you were not dreaming, fantasizing even. You knew it was real. You just needed to know with whom it happened, if any chance your friend witnessed the scene. 

“Did you guys see me kissing anyone that night?” You looked at the guys back and forth. 

“You kissed someone?!” Namjoon gaped. “This is another news to me.”

“I didn’t even see you half of the party cause you were mostly at the dance floor and I never even left the table.” Yoongi said. 

You sighed. “I guess it’s probably just some stranger then. I just hope it’s not Jaehyun, because hell no.” You scrunched your nose in disgust. 

“Can’t be him, he was also mostly at our table. Only left after you spilled drink all over Tae and his girl. We got you home right after that.” Namjoon explained. 

“I need to thank you for that, cause heaven knows that fucker wouldn’t stop talking about his new job and how much pay he gets now. Like dude, shut up.” Yoongi rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t know if Joon or Jungkook ever told you but… something horrible happened between me and Jaehyun.” You looked at Yoongi. 

“I never told them, neither did Jungkook. We thought it wasn’t our place to say so. Looking back at what happened though, we should’ve said something. I’m sorry.” The taller guy said, looking at you with concern in his eyes. 

“It’s fine, I totally get it.” You assured Namjoon. “Me and Jaehyun used to have this situationship thing going on, until I found out that he has a girlfriend.” You said to Yoongi. 

“He has a girlfriend?!” Yoongi asked with widened eyes. You knew it was serious when he started to show a big reaction. 

“Yeah, I don’t think he intends to tell you guys about it too, to maintain his image and all.” 

“That shithead told us he only has two exes and barely go on dates.” Yoongi gritted his teeth. “Why are we still friends with him??? This is fucked up!”

“Jungkook didn’t know the whole story, it’s my fault.” Namjoon spoke again. 

“Guys, it’s fine… I don’t expect you to stop hanging out with someone just because they wronged me.” 

“Uh, you should???” Yoongi protested. “You are our friend too.” 

Your heart softened at the reaction. “I don’t want you guys to fight though…”

“We could just stop inviting him to our hangout.” Yoongi shrugged. 

“We need to tell the others about this, are you sure you’re okay with that?” Namjoon asked, his right hand patting your shoulder. 

“I guess it’s about time.” You sighed. “Just please promise me you’ll hold Jin down in case he wants to throw hands.” You folded your arms, holding back a smile. 

Namjoon laughed. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Just seconds later, you heard the door cracked open. 

“You guys are gossiping without me???” 

Hobi spoke as he entered the studio. He was wearing a jacket, which he took off right upon entering the room, revealing his black T-shirt that now seemed to be slowly transforming into a compression tee with him going to the gym lately. 

“Does he know?” Yoongi asked. 

You nodded. 

“What? What are you talking abou— Oh… don’t tell me it’s about that loser…”

Yoongi’s lips popped a “yup” while Namjoon just sighed. 

“We can finally agree that we should never invite him ever again now, right?” Hoseok said as he took his designated chair. 

“One hundred percent.” Namjoon said, nodding. “By the way, have you ask Hobi if he saw?” The guy pointed at Hoseok while looking at you. 

“Oh.” Your eyebrows raised. “Actually no, I haven’t. Hobi, did you see me kiss anyone at the party?”

Suddenly, the said guy choked on nothing. He quickly fixed his tinted sunglasses, only to then awkwardly take them off, putting them on the table next to his keyboard. 

“I’m sorry, what?!” Hoseok straightened his posture. 

“I’m sure it’s not that much of a surprise, you’re overreacting.” You chuckled. 

“I don’t know… maybe? Who knows. Do you even remember where it happened?” 

You looked at the guy with slight skepticism. “I don’t know. I can’t even remember the face. I remember the feeling??? If that’s not TMI.” You faked a cartoonish shiver. 

“Did you not… like it?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You tilted your head slightly, pondering. “I remember feeling really soft lips, and I actually don’t remember disliking it in any way. But I don’t even know if I was the one who initiated the kiss.” 

“I see.” The guy turned away to face his computer screen. “At least you liked it.” 

“I guess so.” You shrugged. 

Jimin later joined as promised. Both of you quietly listened as the three producers continued on their work. You went out for dinner afterwards and Hobi offered to drive you home, since you used public transport.

There was a bit of oddity in his action’s that night towards you but you couldn’t put a finger on what. He just seemed a like he was holding back something and you didn’t know why. 

You also wondered since when did you start to notice how attractive Hoseok was. Had he always been this way? You were sure he did not change that much from the first day you got to know him. Because lately, he had been glowing, his smile looked extra bright, and the hair looked extra fluffy. 

Sure his fashion taste had developed over the years but he still looked pretty much the same. Maybe you were just dumb not to realize it sooner. Or maybe it’s the new workout routine. Yes, it must be that.

**

You found yourself hanging out yet again at the three’s studio. This time with only Hoseok, since he got something he needed to revise. You were nearby and decided to drop by with some pizzas, knowing how often these guys forgot to eat while working. After texting the group chat, you found out Hobi was the only one there, but the pizza had been bought anyway so you wouldn’t want it to go to waste. 

“Man, remember when you used to be such a fanboy for J.cole? Can’t believe you’re producing for him now. I’m so proud of you, man.” You took a bite of the slice of pepperoni pizza in your hand. 

“I know right? I can’t believe he randomly came across my SoundCloud archive.” He grinned happily. 

“You should try, you know… being an artist? You even dance well. Jimin’s words not mine.” 

“Nah, I don’t think I can handle the fame.” He shooed. “Besides, I don’t think I look good enough to be an idol.” He laughed. 

“Are you kidding me?!”

That sounded way too loud from what you intended. 

“Why? You actually think I look handsome or something???” He said with a judgy expression, almost as if he couldn’t believe you. 

“Hasn’t anyone actually told you that?”

“Uh… no, I don’t think so— why though???” He seemed truly curious. His eyes visibly widened and he scoffed closer with his chair. 

“Don’t fucking ask why!” You retrieved, actually moving away slightly on the couch. “It just crossed my mind, okay?”

He chuckled. “Are you actually being shy right now?” 

“No, I’m not!” You widened your eyes in horror when he got up from his seat, seemingly moving to sit next to you. 

“It’s fine, I get that you don’t actually wanna admit that I’m hot.” He smirked. 

“Aren’t you the same person who literally seconds ago said that he isn’t good looking enough???” You rolled your eyes. 

He took a slice and munched a big bite. He shrugged at you with a downturned smirk. 

“Forget I ever said that.” You scoffed. 

“You too.” He said after swallowing the food. “I think you’re attractive as well.”

You paused. The atmosphere had now suddenly turned thick. Your lips went tiny bit ajar, starring at him with an unbelievable look. 

“It hasn’t changed since the first time I met you. I’ve always thought you’re attractive.”

“Do not say stuff like that.” You looked away, feeling your body burning up, stomach roamed with butterflies. “You’re making me feel weird.” 

You didn’t know what you did but something changed in his eyes after you said that. His face was now only inches away from you. You didn’t think you had seen him looking this serious before ever in the whole time knowing him. 

It felt too weird, so weird that the back of your mind was quietly suggesting to claim his lips. The idea sounded odd but somehow not unheard at the same time. Should you be weirded out that you were thinking of kissing your friend or should you be weirded out by the fact that the thought of kissing him didn’t sound that preposterous to you? Your silly little brain could only handle so much. 

The sound of door knob turning saved you, or maybe not. Both of you instantly jolted and faced the direction of the entrance. 

“Am I interrupting?” Namjoon peeked. 

“N-No.” You awkwardly scooted away from Hoseok. “I thought you won’t be coming?”

“I left my hard drive.” The tall guy said as he moved towards his desk and grabbing the said item. 

“I see… Uh, do you want pizza? We still have some.”  

“Nah, just had dinner at home. You guys have fun though!” He gave a thumb up before exiting through the door. 

“Yeah, that’s weird.” Hoseok said, putting down his unfinished slice of pizza that he still had in his hand the whole time. “I’m sorry.” He giggled awkwardly. 

“I know right?” You laughed as well, but it sounded so fake that you internally gagged. 

That night the thought of his eyes looking at yours sent electricity down your spine. The butterflies in your belly kept you awake. 

**

After that, the mystery kiss never really crossed your mind again. At the end of the day, you were just glad it was not he who shall not be named. 

Just when your mental state was heading towards a better direction, your luck decided that you had to bump into the said guy, Voldemort himself, Jaehyun. God forbid a woman just wanted to grab herself some snack at a nearby convince store. Of course his new job was near your home, because why wouldn’t it be. The universe just loved to toy with you like that. 

“Y/N? Here let me get that for you…”

“No, thank you.” You forced a smile and shook your head at the cashier, signaling the lady to take your card. 

“It’s fine, they’re just biscuits anyway.”

“And I can pay them myself.” You said and quickly stormed away, hoping you would be left alone. 

“Wait!” He called, but you continued to walk out the store, unbothered. 

You squirmed in disgust when you felt his hand stopping you by your wrist. You stopped but shook his hand off immediately. “What?”

“Can we talk? I’ll be quick I promise.” He said, sounding almost begging. 

“No, there’s literally nothing in this world that can excuse what you did to me so I don’t want any further explanation.” 

“I… I feel so guilty. The past few months I’ve been so grossed out about myself…” He spoke out anyway. He looked at you with a pathetic expression. 

“You did something bad so of course you were supposed to feel awful about it. What part of this is my problem?” 

“I think you deserve a proper apology. So… I’m sorry.” 

“Are you still dating that girl?” You asked sternly. 

“No, we broke up due to distance.”

“Good. That innocent woman doesn’t deserve a lying and cheating fucker like you.” You folded your arms. “Is that it?! I would like to leave now.”

“Are you with Hoseok now?”

“What do you mean??? Are you out of your mind?! What made you thi—”

“I saw both of you kissing at Taehyung’s party.”

A few circuits in your brain just snapped because what in the fresh hell was that. All this time, the mystery man was Hoseok all along??? But he never once told you anything about it, even after you mentioned it. Is it embarrassing for him? Did he regret it? And worse, did you force yourself on him??? There were so many questions pilling up in your head. 

Seeing your zero response, he spoke again. “So, you’re not dating him then?”

“It’s literally none of your business.” You simply said before moving your feet to leave him in a flash. 

You were walking, running maybe? You couldn’t even think straight. You had not even reached your apartment complex yet, but you already took your phone out, calling Hoseok without giving it a second thought. 

“What’s up?” You heard the man picking up the call. “You don’t usually call…”

“I kissed you.”

The line went silent for some good second, before you heard him clearing his throat. “You finally remember?”

“Why didn’t you tell me???” You raised your voice. “I even asked you before!”

“It’s a lot more complicated than what you think.” He sighed. “And correction, we kissed. I kissed you back so you weren’t the only one doing the kissing here.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. 

“Are you home? Can I come over?” You heard him sighing again. 

“Uh, yeah I am.” You bit your lips, feeling extremely nervous all of the sudden. “Sure, I guess…”

“Okay.” Was all he said before hanging up the call. 

You were now pacing back and forth at your apartment lobby. The security was already giving you funny looks and so did some of the passerby. You couldn’t care less though, because truthfully, your mind was filled with endless possibilities of what happened and how it happened. Deep down you were glad it was him, but the real question was did he feel the same?

By the time Hoseok arrived you were already sitting on the lobby sofa, clasping your hands together out of cold. The aircon and night air were not such a big help with your nervous sweaty palms. Not to mentioned Hobi in his casual clothes… you might be biased but still!

The walk to the lift and to your room was silent. You wanted so badly to make a small talk, but you couldn’t make yourself to open your lips. And the man who you knew as one of the most cheerful person out there, was dead silent as well, which was killing you. 

“Do you want to drink something?” You finally said after a few minutes of unwieldy silence between the two of you. 

“N-No need!” He shook his head. Did he just stutter?

“Okay.” You took a seat on your couch, in which he followed shortly. 

He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “At first I saw you crying silently near the toilet. You just left after the whole drink-spill accident and clearly were not walking straight. I was worried so I followed you there. By the time I reached you, you had already puked…”

“I’m sorry.” You cringed at the thought of him seeing you puke. 

“It’s alright. Fortunately, you didn’t dirty your clothes from it.” He smiled. “I helped you walk out from the club, and that was when you started telling me everything. I feel so bad that I couldn’t do anything about it other than listening to your cries. But a few minutes later, Jaehyun showed up.”

Your eyes widened. “What did he do?”

“Apparently he was looking to talk with you privately but never got the chance.”

“And what happened?”

“I told him to scram.” He chuckled. “Honestly, I’m proud of myself for not punching him in the face that day. How dare he appear right in front of me just minutes after I found out how much of an ass he is?!!” He said in disbelief. “But he refused to leave.”

“Oh…” You began to see where this was going. 

“He was saying a bunch of nonsense I couldn’t even recall, and just out of the blue, you grabbed me by the collar and just… kissed me.”

You blushed upon hearing the words coming out from Hoseok’s mouth. 

There seemed to be a light shade of pink on his cheeks. “I was so taken aback I didn’t know what to do. I mean… I couldn’t believe the girl I’ve been secretly crushing on just kissed me!”

Wait, what?

**FLASHBACK**

“I just want to talk to her!!!” Jaehyun insists. 

“She’s too drunk right now, so fuck off.” Hoseok spat out. 

“Then I’ll take her home.”

“Over my dead body.” 

And that was when you suddenly pulled him for a kiss. It all happened so quick, that even Jaehyun was also at loss for words, but Hoseok kissed you back, eagerly. That of course made Jaehyun even more uncomfortable, enough to make him finally leave the scene. 

The two of you didn’t stop kissing though. Not for a while. Despite being the sober one, Hoseok lost track of time by the touch of your lips. For a moment it was just you, and your friend, making out in front of a club entrance. The club was at the fifth floor of a building, so you were just kissing each other intensely, next to the elevator, against the glass window, like a couple of hormonal teenagers hungry for each other.

Anyone could see you, in fact, one of your friends might caught you on the act, but that did not stop Hoseok. What stopped him was the thought of you being heavily intoxicated. He did not want to take advantage of you, and clearly did not want you to think about him that way in any shape or form. And so he pulled away. 

“I’m sorry… that shouldn’t have happened.”

Your eyes looked glistening, cheeks red, and your lips were swollen. It took Hoseok almost everything in him to not just grab you and go back to kissing you like crazy. 

You looked up, staring at him with droppy eyes and started tearing up again. You just looked so helpless in his eyes. He was so desperate to ease your pain, but he had no idea how, or even if he were allowed to in the first place. 

“Hey, it’s not your fault… you know.” He sighed and took your right hand, intertwining it with his. “He’s a horrible person and that has nothing to do with you. You’re wonderful. You’re one of the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

You only continued to sob, so he pulled you in and hugged you softly. He let you cry for a while before Namjoon and Jimin found both of you outside. They decided it was best if he took her home so Namjoon told him your address and followed Hoseok to his car. 

It was quite the struggle, supporting you and helping you walk to your apartment unit. By this time you were passed out already, so Namjoon offered to carry you, in which Hoseok volunteered in instant. 

Thankfully, your keys were attached to your belt, dangling by a hook carabiner you always liked to use, so it wasn’t hard opening the door. Namjoon opened the door and Hoseok laid you down on the sofa. He took off your shoes carefully before setting them aside. It didn’t seem right to just leave you like that so both of them thought it would be best if someone stayed. 

Long story short, Hoseok carried you to your bedroom. Saw your hoodie laying around and decided to put it on you and leave you in your room. The tiredness then caught up to him, so he crashed out on your couch. 

**

“And that’s all!” The man smiled at you. 

“Hobi, I…” You were speechless. “Thank you… first of all.”

“Don’t mention it. I was happy to help.”

“I didn’t know you have a crush on me…” You said while awkwardly avoiding eye contact. 

“At this point I don’t think it’s still a crush anymore…” He breathed out. “I like you, like a lot now.” He grinned happily.

You were once again too stunned to speak. 

“Well, now that it’s out of the bag, I hope it won’t make things weird between us…” He scratched the back of his head. 

“Jung Hoseok, I literally like you too.” You finally said, making you flushed so red that it reached your ears. 

“You do??? Forreal???” He grabbed both of your hands. 

“Yes, for real.” You giggled, still blushing. “Should we kiss again to seal the deal?” 

“Say no more!”

He stood up, which made you raised your eyebrow at him. But a yelp soon escaped your mouth when he suddenly lift you up, twirling you around before kissing you on your lips passionately. You smiled through it, kissing him back with equal devotion. His lips felt so familiar, but not because you had kissed him before. In fact, you barely remembered how it happened. It was because his touch made you felt secured, so safe, like you were finally at home. 

Thank you for reading! 🪩

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— it’s the little things —

Warnings: fluff, some angst

Summary: There’s some harder questions to answer about Jason.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

A/N: An idea that popped up when I couldn’t answer a niece’s question about her father’s job (he’s a firefighter). Enjoy!

"Momma, why doesn't daddy smile a lot?" He looked up at you, his young face serious, as if pondering some profound thought.

Six year old Owen was sitting at the dining table, a picture book sprawled open in front of him. While he often asked about Jason’s “work”, this time his questioning took a different turn.

You looked at him, your movements slowing down as you mulled over your answer. “He does, baby. He smiles when you play with him, remember?” You turned the tap on, washing off the soap on the plate.

Owen shrugged, his young mind processing the answer, his fingers idly tracing the pictures in the open book.

“But it's not like yours,” he pointed out. The pure innocence and simplicity of his remark struck at your heart. He looked back up at you, his eyes curious and childlike. “Why aren't his smiles like yours? You smile a lot.”

You tilted your head a bit. “Wanna explain a bit?” You asked gently, trying to both pry into his question and buy yourself time to find a good answer for him.

Owen thought for a moment, his young mind struggling to put his thoughts into words. He paused as he looked at the picture book, then back at you.

He finally spoke, his voice filled with innocence and curiosity. “Daddy's smiles are different. They're small and quick, like he's not really happy.”

He paused, his little brow furrowing as he continued. “Your smiles are big and warm. It's like you're really, really happy,” he added with lilt in his tone as if he thought it was his fault somehow.

You hummed in a contemplative manner. “I guess he does do those quick smiles, doesn’t he?” You were still stalling. You knew Owen had questions about his father, but you didn’t think you’d get this question while Jason was out for evening patrol.

You turned off the tap. Owen nodded, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Yeah... and he doesn't laugh often either, like you do when you watch funny movies.” His small lips pursing as if in thought. “Why is that, momma? Why does daddy laugh and smile less than you do?”

You started drying the dishes, thinking over your answer before you said something that wouldn’t make sense to a six year old. “He’s… not unhappy, Owen. He’s just…” you trailed off, searching for the right words.

You found it hard to find the right words to explain the complexity of Jason’s emotional state to an innocent and curious child.

“Just…?” Owen prompted, his young eyes fixed on you, silently urging you to continue.

You looked down at the dishes for a moment, prolonging your next words. “You know how he tells you about those adventures he goes on during work?” You breathed in deeply as Owen’s eyes lit up.

Owen nodded, his interest piqued. “Yeah, the ones where he's a super cool hero who beats up the bad guys.”

You hummed in agreement. “Sometimes, there’s bad people who hurt good people,” you started slowly, watching his reaction to your carefully crafted words. “And sometimes, your daddy can’t help all of them get better.”

Owen's expression turned pensive, his young mind trying to grasp the concept. His little fingers traced the same picture in the open book, as if trying to make sense of the world.

He looked back up at you, his voice soft. “Why can't daddy help them all get better, momma?”

“Because he can’t be everywhere all at once, right?” You put away the last plate and wiped your hands on a towel before sitting down on the kitchen island stool beside Owen.

Owen nodded, his young mind slowly processing your words. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze again fixed on the picture book in front of him.

Then, looking up at you, he spoke, his voice soft and a hint of concern in his eyes. "Does that make daddy sad? That he can't help everybody?"

You nodded. “It does, baby,” you confirmed with a gentle yet sad smile. “It makes him sad, but then he comes home to us and we make him feel better.” You raked a hand through his dark hair gently.

Owen's face softened at your touch, leaning slightly into your hand. He looked up at you, his eyes now filled with a mixture of understanding and love.

He nodded silently, his tiny hand reaching out to hold yours for a moment. The weight of your words seemed to sink in, his young mind grappling with the reality of his father's job and the complicated emotions it brought about.

“Your momma’s right,” Jason’s voice came from behind. Both you and Owen looked over to the doorway to see Jason standing there, leaning against the doorframe, his tired eyes observing the two of you.

Owen brightened visibly at the sight of his father, his usual energetic self returning momentarily. “Daddy! You're home early!”

Jason pushed off the doorframe and approached you both, his weariness momentarily replaced by a hint of warmth as he looked at Owen. He spoke, his rough voice slightly hoarse. “Yeah, buddy. Patrol wrapped up a bit earlier than expected.”

His eyes darted to you for a brief moment, eyes conveying his appreciation for your way of explaining his feelings in a way he couldn’t himself comprehend.

“You kicked some bad guys' butts, right, daddy?”Owen smiled widely, his innocent excitement at seeing his father evident. He looked up at Jason with a sense of admiration that only a child could feel.

Jason grinned, albeit a bit strained. He ruffled Owen’s hair. “Heck yeah, I did.”

[yveshiver]

Rafe Cameron - Late.

Lana Del Rey - Pretty When You Cry

The weekend was awful and you wanted to talk to someone that saturday night. Not just someone, but him. Yet you know the rules that both of you have set: no texting, no calling, no meetings. No need to repeat the past mistakes, but you just know you can't keep yourself off him. Today you need him, to feel yourself falling into his strong arms and feel as if nothing else exists in the world. No wondering how you didn't crash to some random car on the road since your head was full of other matters. Your mind drove you to his new little place, the apartment he got on the Silence Road. The phone showed the time 01:13, a bit too late for the friendly visit, and yet again, you are nowhere to be friends, not anymore. You got out of the car, the nights were getting cold and you stood there thinkin it over and over again, "Am I ready to lose him one more time?". And then you made one step closer to the entrance door, one more and few more. Two knocks at the door and no reply, you knocked again. "Yeah, it was fucking stupid I should just leave before anyone notices" and you start to stride back to the car breathless.

-No way. - He showed at the door in shorts only, topless and barefoot. His buzzcut was getting a little long, the goosebumps from the cold showed on the muscles all over the body and you noticed a little tattoo of a boat on the rib.

-I am sorry, I should have not come here. - Your tears started to show. - And you were asleep and it's late and we agreed not to ever.. do this.. again.. I'm… - You were lost of breath, the panic was getting you, it felt as if the ground beneath your feet was dissapearing and you were ready to fall.

-Hey, princess, I'm here, hey.. - He stepped closer to you.

-You can't go out like this, you'll catch a cold, it's very…

-Hey, it's ok, don't worry about me catching a cold, hey… - He was so close, he got your face into his hands trying to find the reason for this sudden appearance.

-Rafe, I'm sorry. - You couldn't look into his eyes. - I'm so sorry for being here, I know that we… - Tears were streaming down the face.

-It's ok, hey, look at me. Please, baby, look at me, I need to know what happened, you are safe with me, ok? It's ok, c'mhere. - He held you in his arms as close as it was humanly possible. He placed your head onto his chest, his arms were cuddled to you. For the first time this day you felt safe, it was such a liberating feeling. You stood there with your eyes closed knowing you can finally relax in his arms.

-Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby, ok? You are safe here, you know that. It's ok. I do wish you told me the reason of the tears tho. - He got your face into his hands once again, you always loved when he did that.

-I feel so helpless, I know I can't bother you with my things.

-Hey, your things are my things, I got you. - He put your strands of hair behind your ears, his fingers brushed through you hair as you tilted you head to his hand. You looked straight into his eyes, the striking blueness of them always swept you away. The colour of the sea, the colour of the sky, the colour of everything that gave you hope and comfort. Now they shined brighter in the night. You wanted the moment to last forever, but you knew you only had this night. You got out of his arms, took the breath of fresh air. He noticed you getting away and looked so worried.

-Hey, why don't you come inside and tell me everyhing, huh? - You felt as if he didn't want you to go away.

-Rafe, do you think it's a good idea?

-Sure. - He tried to seem unbothered, putting his hands into the pockets of the shorts. - Why not, and it is really chilly outside. - He shugged the shoulders. You noticed the freckes on them, oh God how much you loved these freckles.

-Why not, I can't let you get cold because of me, right? He started walking to the door checking if you were following. All you knew is how much you wanted this night to last forever, how much you wanted to feel him close to you, to look into his eyes, to have his hands holding you. You might not have another day with him, but at least you have tonight, right?

[lemonisntreal]

I spent like 3 hours just drawing these guys and nothing else while I watched Trollhunters the other day. My computer's being stupid again so digital art's on hold but you know what I still have my fucking hands you can't stop me

And Dictatious

[facelesspassport]

One of my firmest beliefs is that "safe spaces for men" will not solve the issue of male radicalization and patriarchy. If you want men to stop becoming terrorists you need to target the true source of misogyny: male socialization. Once a young boy is taught by his parents that women are inferior to him he is doomed to bigotry, because he lives in a world that will constantly reinforce this idea and reward him for agreeing. As for adult men who are already misogynists, the only way to convert them to feminism is to stop coddling them (and yes, I see all of the "safe spaces for men"/"male mental health" discourse as coddling). Coddling abusers only enables them (and yes, bigots are inherently abusers)! You can not convince an abuser to change by coddling/gentle guidance as this will only embolden them. We can only make men change by holding them accountable for their behavior as a class, period. I think that the best way to do this on a mass scale would be via reeducation camps, but we all know that westerners would see that as unethical somehow. So, our next best bet would be forcing our governments to create feminist programs that aim to do the following: stop domestic violence, "reform" abusers and rapists with court mandated abuser counseling, and educate young people on gender studies, safe sex, and relationship practices. China has a program called "the Ministry of Health and Family" which was created to stop misogynistic violence, and once it was instated their domestic violence rates plummeted. China did not create safe spaces for men to reduce terrorism- they held them accountable and it worked. We should follow in their footsteps. EDIT: I added screenshots and whatnot. nothing to see here, really Im just kinda seething.

I took screenshots of these comments that i made under the original post because I just knew that OP would block me after I wrote this- not because its any harsher than the other replies (in fact mine was pretty tame compared to some of the responses) but because I am spitting straight facts and OP is a misogynist. I just wanted to repost them here for my own safe keeping and sanity ig. I didnt care for the idea of discussing this with OP directly since I knew they wouldnt be interested in a feminist POV, but I was hoping that my comments would be seen by the audience. It bothers me when people make these huge discourse posts and then block certain commenters solely because they dont want their friends to see the opposing responses. It especially bothers me in this case because as we speak OP is fiercely & performatively "debating" with TERFs who obviously wont change their minds- yet they blocked me immediately (though I wasnt interested in directly speaking with them) because they knew my comments made them look bad, and Im willing to bet that they told themselves they "felt unsafe" or something to justify it.

Like, just say you hate women and go... :EDIT over

There should be actual self-help spaces for men (and especially young men) that aren’t just alt-right recruitment centers.

As a person who was a dude the places I wanted to go to with kind people (usually queer people) had at least a few people saying that “men are trash” or “men are inherent dangers” with no pushback and it scared me.

I’m decently emotionally mature and realized that just because some outliers were assholes didn’t mean the whole place was terrible but what about younger or less emotionally mature boys? They see “oh men are trash” and see no pushback then think “Oh. These people do not like me for something I cannot change. These other people (Jordan Peterson fans) like me for who I am (they don’t but they say they do). I will go to the place I feel safer and happier.”

Without a kind safe space for boys then they will go to these toxic places. I used to read a good amount of posts on r/Teachers and a lot of them are saying the boys don’t respect them, love people like Andrew Tate, so on and so forth. This is what happens when the only “safe spaces” for boys aren’t actually safe.

[hecksupremechips]

Ooooooghhhhhhhhh stressed 🥺

[dollfacefantasy]

MAKE HIM DO WHAT I SAY ♡

pairing: older bf!!logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan make a little bet. who can last longer without sex? as much as he wants to deny it, he's starting to think the answer might be you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief daddy kink (one mention)

a/n: a commission for my sweet @sleepyluxe who i love so very much <33 this fic takes place after the events of dofp when things are fixed.

Seven days. One week. A quarter of a month. That's how long it had been since Logan and you had fucked.

It was brutal. Some may say he's being dramatic, but that's because they've never had the luxury of you. They couldn't understand losing a paradise they've never experienced. The past several days he's felt like a man wandering through a barren desert, the oasis in sight but never close enough to drink from. Absolute torture.

Unfortunately, this situation came about because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

You'd been getting some work done late last Sunday evening. Just a few plans for the upcoming school week. Your fingers punched away at your computer while Logan lay on the bed twirling a stray cigar between his fingers.

"How many more pages you got?" he asked, boosting his head up to glance at you.

At the sound of his voice, you spun your chair around to face him. "Not that many. Just finalizing a few details for the field trip they're taking the kids on next weekend," you said.

"You're not even going. Why're they making you do that?"

The fat stick of tobacco continued to glide between his digits. One of your legs crossed over the other as you watched him.

"I'm not going because I offered to do all the planning," you reminded him. 

Your eyes stayed on the tantalizing movements of his fingers.

"You know you can't smoke in here, so don't even think about it," you said.

He rolled his eyes and puffed air through his pursed lips as if that was an outrageous warning. Sitting up, he put the cigar back in the drawer on his side of the bed. He rose to his feet and began to cross the room in your direction.

"Maybe you should give me something else to do with my mouth then," he teased, his voice lowering to the octave that reverberated with want for you.

Then it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned your chair back toward the desk and continued grazing your fingertips over the raised letters.

It didn't deter him though. He kept on in your direction, stopping only when he was directly behind the backing of your seat.

His hands landed on your shoulders, fingers massaging the tight muscles fanning out from your neck. He leaned forward so his head hovered beside yours. You could hear each breath he took. The smell of that cigar lingered around his form even if he hadn't lit up tonight.

"C'mon, babydoll. You've been working so hard. A little break won't hurt you," he murmured, lips pressing against your cheekbone.

"I have to have these done by tomorrow morning. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be done for the night and completely focused on you," you'd rebuffed him gently.

But that didn't satisfy Logan. When he wanted you, he got you. He proceeded with his tender touches and luring pecks. You remained focused on your work though. He figured he should vary his approach.

"Just let me make you feel good then, honey. Give you some extra motivation," he whispered. His dedicated hands drifted to your waist, squeezing in a way that teased the idea of lifting you up and putting you on his lap. As good as it would've felt to be full of him, you knew you had to get this done.

"You're so bad," you said with a smile, head falling back a little as his mouth moved to your neck, "You act like you haven't gotten any in decades."

"Is that your way of telling me you're getting tired of me?" he teased.

"No. I'm just saying you're insatiable. It's getting to the point where I don't think you could live without me," you responded with a tone matching his in arrogance.

His eyebrow raised, and he pulled back a little to laugh. "That so?"

"Mhm," you nodded. Your sweet eyes stared him down, begging him to disagree.

Looking back, he wishes he could travel through time again to slap any further words out of his mouth. He should've just agreed! Should've told you that you were absolutely right. That he can't live without you, can't survive this life if he doesn't get to slip inside of you at the end of each day. He should've waited the fifteen minutes it would've taken you to finish your paperwork and then gotten laid.

But he didn't do any of that. He had to keep going and dig himself into a deeper hole.

"Don't act so innocent, princess. You're just as bad as me," he'd said.

"No way," you'd huffed, smirking with amusement, "I want you a totally normal amount. You want me like every second of the day. If you could, I don't think you'd ever let me do anything. You'd probably keep me chained to the bed, yours for the taking at all times of the day.

"Like you wouldn't love that. I'm not the one pawing at you every morning, whining about how bad I need it," he taunted.

"Oh shut up, that's happened like a couple times. Every day you're right in my ear, feeling me up. You practically drag me away from what I'm doing when you wanna fuck," you fired back, "I am nowhere near as bad as you."

And then he'd spoken the three cursed words that launched him into this predicament.

"You wanna bet?"

You laughed more at that and nodded again. "Sure. Because I know I'll win."

And that unofficial vow of celibacy was why the two of you had been dancing around each other for the past week. He was starting to feel like that old love song counting the amount of time it'd been since he had you beneath him last. Fifteen hours and seven days or however it went.

You didn't make this trying time any easier for him either. That night he went to sleep with blue balls. The next morning, he woke up to you getting ready. You weren't dressed in your usual style of clothing though. Instead, you had on a dress, Logan's favorite dress of yours. You'd styled your hair real pretty too, letting it compliment your features in the best way.

As his heavy lids blinked open to consciousness, he watched you fasten a shimmering necklace over your collarbone. It sat just above the neckline of the chiffon fabric that adorned your bust.

You caught his waking eyes with your own in the reflective glass, turning to look at him with a bright smile. 

Despite his bleary vision, he could hear the light steps of you prancing over to him. The mattress dipped with your weight as you sat down and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your fingers slid through his dark hair just the way he likes, with your nails scratching his scalp a little. Worst of all, that close, the scent of your perfume became all consuming. It hit him harder than normal. He wasn't sure if he should blame you or himself for predicting the trials of the coming days.

He hummed in acknowledgement of your presence and nuzzled into your palm.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you cooed, your voice extra soft and sweet. It was too caring to be seductive, but of course, that's where his mind went anyways.

"Hey, baby," he'd mumbled.

"I gotta go drop off that paperwork, but I'll see you later. I love you," you whispered in return before laying one more column of kisses from the tip of his nose back to his forehead.

Then you'd left, leaving him half-hard and yearning for you. A pattern that would plague him over the next week.

Each day it was some new form of torture. The day after that, you'd worked extra hard in the danger room, coming back to him at night covered in a light sheen of sweat. Your heady natural scent filled the bedroom in moments.

The following afternoon, you wanted to cuddle when you both had some free time. The fact that you draped your leg over his torso, slotting your clothed cunt right against his hip, inches away from his cock, was pure accident of course.

Over the last few days, your games have become less specific. You peppered your speech with innuendo. Looked at him with your fuck-me eyes and spoke in the tone you always used seconds before he ended up bending you over the nearest surface.

He tried to fight back, he really did. He stopped wearing a shirt in your shared room. Every time he talked to you, he made sure to rub your ass or stroke your cheek. He was so desperate he stooped to embarrassing levels of lovey-dovey when the two of you were alone. But no matter what he tried, it seemed like you'd been right. Of your pair, you had the superior restraint.

With each passing hour, his frustration grew.

Today, it reaches its zenith.

The mansion is empty because it's Sunday. All the students and other teachers are out on the trip to the observatory today. You and Logan are the only remaining residents in the school. He ended up not having to tag along with the rest of the group after volunteering to fix the sprinklers bordering the school's patio. Babysitting kids had never been his forte even with all the practice he gets at it now. Simple handiwork he could do no problem.

The two of you take the morning to sleep in. This was a rare occasion where no early meetings or classes occupied your schedules. You stay tangled up together well past sunrise.

Logan is the first to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace. He pulls himself from the nest of pillows and blankets, stretching his limbs out as he does. He rubs the tiredness from his features before rising and heading to the wardrobe to pull on some clothes.

In addition to his normal black t-shirt and jeans, he grabs the tool belt on his way out to the lawn. He slings it around his hips before walking through the back door. Heading past the basketball court and rows of hedges, he finds the line of leaking sprinklers besides them. It would probably take him a while given that he had to first identify the source of the problem and then recalibrate all of them with the adjustment.

He sighs but gets to work. At least he'd have a distraction from the desires haunting him.

Crouching in the dewy grass next to the little faucets, he begins examining the hard plastic shells. To his surprise, scanning for breaks does attach his mind to the task and give him a brief reprieve. It's quiet outside. Besides a small chirp from a distant bird or a grunt out of him, no other sounds echo over the open space. The sun shines in the sky, but it's not beating down on him. The air tickles his skin with warmth but not to the point of being miserably humid.

All the conditions meet in the perfect middle to keep him calm. It's the most peace he's had since he agreed to this bet between the two of you.

But all that tranquility is shattered about a half hour later when he hears the patter of footsteps against the stone pathway. From around the tall thicket of green foliage, comes you. Your face breaks out into a smile the second you burst into his vision. He would look the same if not for what you'd decided to wear.

You trot over to him across the grass in a pair of tiny black shorts with lacy frills on the hems. They sway with each of your movements, highlighting the shape of your legs. A gray camisole graces your upper half; a delicate white bow sits at the center of the collar, dead center between your breasts. The fit of the garment displays the contour of your chest just right. He feels like he's gonna start drooling before you make it near.

Despite his reaction, the outfit wasn't that provocative. It wasn't like you'd strutted out in lingerie. But he was so pent up that a flash of your ankle in the proper lighting could probably get him hard.

Bounding up to him, you wrap his body in a tight hug. Every curve of your form presses up against him.

"Look at you, working so hard," you praise playfully with a kiss to his cheek.

He laughs it off, returning the hug in an attempt to be normal, so you wouldn't see how vulnerable he was right now, how this was the perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't let you know that in this moment, he could easily become the prey.

"Were you missing me already?" he asks, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine.

"Mhm. Woke up and you were gone," you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, planting a few electric kisses on his skin.

"I didn't wanna wake you. You're pretty cute when you're sleeping," he mutters.

"Well now I'm gonna be cute out here with you," you say and pull back. You peck his lips one more time before plopping down in the grass behind him.

He glances back at you to see what that means. All you're doing is sitting there. Your legs extend out in front of you, straightened for his eyes to rake over. You lean back with your palms against the moist greenery below you.

"You don't got anything better to do with your day off?" he asks.

That earns him a small pout. "If you want me to leave, I will. I just wanna spend time with you."

He can tell by your tone that your intentions aren't so innocent. You're leading him into allowing your presence. But denying his girlfriend has never been one of the wolverine's strengths so of course, he acquiesces.

"Relax. I'm not telling you to go anywhere," he says as he turns back to his work, "I just don't think this will be that interesting to you."

"Watching you do anything is interesting to me," you joke back.

He rolls his eyes and gets back to work.

At first, things are smooth as before. He continues messing with the small, bendy pipes. You're quiet behind him. Almost too quiet, but he lets it go for now since he thinks he's found the source of the malfunction.

It doesn't take long to patch up. The more difficult part is going to each individual head and fixing the tightness. His fingers twist the little knobs to the correct settings. He then turns to you when he's finally done.

The sight of you feels like a gust of fresh air filling his lungs. You're laid out where you were before, but you've reclined across the ground. One of your arms is sprawled outwards, soaking up the sunlight while the other lazily covers your eyes. Your shadow outlines your figure against the emerald blades below you.

You look luscious and ripe, like a precious fruit ready to be picked and devoured. In any other circumstance, that's exactly what he'd do. He'd spread you out further for him and take you apart piece by piece. He wanted your nectar running down his chin with each savoring lap of his tongue. He craved the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, your walls massaging his shaft during every punishing thrust.

Imagining it now only gets the blood pumping down South to his hardening length.

He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. Why didn't he do that now? What was the point of this stupid fucking contest? It's not like there was anything on the line. The only stake was his pride, which to be honest, he'd already compromised for you multiple times over the course of your relationship.

Unbuckling the leather from his waist, he discards the tool belt. Next he peels his shirt from his body and tosses it to the side.

He makes his way to you on the grass. He drops to his knees and leans forward. His muscular frame cages you in against the ground. Starting at your navel, he drags his nose up your body. He coasts over the valley between your breasts and past your collar bone. His soft exhales breeze across your throat before he finally reaches your cheek. With a gentle pull, he clears your arm from your face.

Your eyes flutter to adjust to the sunlight beaming down on them again. They take in the vision of him so close to you and the way he gazes down with adoration.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice much softer than it'd been before, "You falling asleep on me?"

His thumb rubs over your jawline while the other strokes the crown of your head. A smile blooms across your lips. You can't help it with how he's behaving.

"No... well, maybe a little. I think you were right. Sprinklers are pretty boring," you say.

He grins and leans in to kiss your lips. With the exchange he hopes to communicate everything he doesn't want to say. I give up. You win.

You reach up and cup his scruffy cheeks. Your tongue swipes against his lips, sensing his longing for intimacy. He allows you in, and you deepen the connection. A long breath oozes from your nostrils.

He presses you down against the ground further as your hands slide over the little white streaks in his hair. Your fingers embed themselves in his locks. You feel his hands sliding down your body. They stop at your hips and give the plush flesh a squeeze.

It's obvious what he wants, but in case there was any doubt, his digits then hook around the top of your shorts and give them a tug.

A giggle bubbles up out of you against his mouth. You pull back to look at him with smug eyes.

"Is that your way of admitting I was right?" you ask.

He grumbles and ducks his head down to start kissing your neck. "Don't get cocky or I'll change my mind."

That makes you laugh more. You yank on his hair and pull him back up to look at you. 

"No you won't," you tease and brush your noses together. Looking into his eyes again, you can see how bad he wants this. "Just say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you're giving in. And that I win. And that you can't live without me."

He gives you a blank stare. Silently, he contemplates if there's any way around this. He wonders if there's a way he can avoid utter humiliation.

"C'mon, baby. Throw an old dog a bone," he grumbles.

Giggling, you shake your head. "Nuh uh. I wanna hear you say it."

He sighs and rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips with learned ease. Your smile glows from this angle. The sunlight above cascades over your frame and only further accentuates your body in your tight clothes. He rubs his hands up and down your sides. His dick is already at half-mast under the denim that covers his lower body. Your heat rests right on top of it, teasing him through the barriers of cloth. It dangles what he could have if he gives you what you want right before him.

The words that challenged you and created this trap for himself came out so easy. Why couldn't these be the same?

To coax him along, you grind down the slightest bit. The pressure's so light and gentle, a mere graze of your mound on the outline of his growing bulge. He hisses at the feeling.

"Just admit it," you say, planting your palms on his chest, "Just say I was right and you were wrong."

He watches you above him, knowing you're not going to drop this. If he wanted this self-invoked dry spell to end, he'd have to make it happen.

You roll your hips down with more force, impatient to hear him comply with your request. A small whimper leaks out of you. He can tell from that sound alone that you're getting worked up. That arousal is beginning to collect between your thighs.

The thought of it makes his need for you almost biological. His hands clamp around your waist and press you down harder. He rocks his up a little to meet your own movements.

"I need you so bad, princess," he sighs, his eyes shutting as he takes in the dull pleasure of you on top of him.

"Then you can say what I told you," you tease.

"What was it again?" he asks as he continues dragging your covered pussy back and forth along his now fully hard shaft.

"Say you're giving in. That I win. And that you can't live without me," you remind him, visibly proud of your victory.

With a sigh, he repeats, "I'm giving in. You win. I can't live without you."

You smile and laugh as if it was the best thing you'd ever heard. Your head falls back with glee before coming up so you can see his face again.

"Actually, can you say that again? I'm gonna grab my phone. That way I can film it this time. I just wanna have a record-" you continue to tease, but you're cut off by your own squeal when he grabs you and flips you back over onto your back. He keeps you quiet by smashing his lips against yours as your back thuds against the grass.

This kiss burns hotter than the last one. His mouth moves with bruising passion as he pulls your shorts down your legs for real. You help him by kicking them loose. His hands roam around over your smooth skin.

He glances down and finds what he thought he felt. No panties.

Eyes flitting back up to you, he shakes his head. "You were gonna give in anyways," he accuses.

"Yeah, but you gave in first," you giggle.

A small growl rumbles in his chest, but he still leans in to pull your tank top up. He brings it across your stomach, letting your breasts fall free as he bunches the material above them. He cups the plump flesh, taking a look at the beauty he holds in his palms. You watch him in the fleeting interval in which you're forced to separate.

"So... since I win, what do I get?" you continue to gloat.

"My dick inside you," he answers as his fingers yank his zipper open and shove down his pants in a similar fashion to your shorts.

"But I'm gonna get that anyways. I think I should get a real prize," you say, aiming to stoke the flames higher.

Your hips get hauled closer across the grass, so fast that you're in danger of having green smeared across your skin.

"I don't think you'll be complaining in a few minutes, ya little brat," he mumbles.

His fist pumps over his cock as he lines it up between your legs. The leaky tip smears some precum over your folds before he slides inside. He groans as he sinks in, cherishing the feeling after the week of its absence.

You're quick to adjust to the stretch. With a sharp breath, your back arches off the grass. He had already snapped back and slammed in again. You knew he wouldn't be patient after being deprived of this. Watching him above you, your eyes study how his chest puffs in and out with harsh breaths. His strong arms extend down on either side of your head, his fists holding clumps of grass between them. 

It's a gorgeous view, but you know it can't beat the feeling.

"Closer..." you whine and grab at his shoulders, pulling him down so he's right on you and smothering your body against the turf, "Missed you, old man."

"How many times have I told you to quit it with that?" he asks as his pelvis begins setting a rhythm.

"Enough to know that I'm never gonna," you say. It's the last thing you can get out before moans shatter your plans to speak.

His warm flesh pounds against yours over and over. Your body rocks with the bounce of him on top of you. It feels so good. The world feels bright again, like you'd transitioned from an existence of black and white to living in color. It was so open out here but also so empty. Like you and him were the only two people on earth.

Your voice tapers off. Words become second to whimpers of pleasure. His hands grope the swell of your ass before returning to your sides for steady leverage.

"We'll have to work on that then," he grunts, "If you're not gonna stop, I'll just have to make sure you can't speak at all."

You preen at the idea, clutching at his muscular shoulders and back. He pants right next to your ear. Each stroke drives deep into you, brushing a spot that had ached for him to touch it again.

"Never wanna go that long again," you babble around whines.

"Me neither, baby. Think you were right. Not being able to feel this pretty little pussy every day almost killed me," he says.

A rush of euphoria flows through you upon hearing that. Your moans become more breathy, more full of need for him. You grab one of his wrists and tug his hand off your hip, pushing it in between your legs.

He knows what you want. His fingers apply some pressure and rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. Immediately, he's rewarded with a whine out of you and a buck from your hips.

"Impatient," he huffs between a set of deep thrusts.

"I won," you retort, "I get to do what I want."

Even in the heat of the moment, he chuckles at your petulant tone. His hips keep rutting against you on the grass. He's sure his next task of yard-work will be covering the mysterious indents in the soil out here.

"I needa cum, Logan," you whine several seconds later, "So close."

"Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need to let it out after keeping it from me for so long?"

Your head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Please, please, please."

"Well, it's like you said. You won. So I think you can finish when you're ready."

"Mmmm- o- ok..." you whimper out.

Your hips roll up and down to reciprocate the fast pace of his own. He's battering right up against that special spot inside you that makes your mind blank and your eyes gloss up.

With a handful of whimpers, you cum. Your face scrunches as your cunt tightens around him. His fingers keep up the same rhythm on your clit, swirling around the little bud through your pleasure high.

"That's my girl," he praises, "Let it all out for daddy."

Your body seizes up at that command. Every cell of your being somehow knows to obey. You stumble over words and let them leave your lips half formed.

He keeps driving into you as you're coming down, chasing his own release. You're well into the territory of overstimulation now, all parts of you fizzling like a lit sparkler.  Your thighs quiver against his sides violently. They lock around his waist when you finally feel him slam in and drain himself.

A loud groan erupts from him. He makes no effort to restrain it given that only the two of you are here to hear it. He fucks it into you, ricocheting himself against your center a couple more times and letting every last drop pour into your dripping hole.

When he feels sated, at least for the moment, he reluctantly pulls out. He takes a couple deep breaths as he watches a bit of his cum ooze out of you. It didn't matter though. That wouldn't be the last load you took today.

His body topples over next to yours on the natural ground. You both lie there for a few moments catching your breath before you roll onto your side to look at him.

You just stare for a few moments. Your eyes roam along the shape of his face to the slope of his jaw and the curve of his chest. Leaning in, you kiss the space below his ear.

He responds to the touch by curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

His head turns to meet your loving gaze.

"I think we have some more time to make up for," he says.

You respond with an eager nod and hop up to your feet. Both of you pull on the basics of the clothes you'd been wearing before and rush back into the mansion, giggling as you stumble through the halls like a couple of lovesick teenagers.

The door to your room stays shut for the rest of the day. You spend the remaining hours you have enmeshed in each other; intertwined with him enough to recover from the lack you'd put yourself through.

Logan doesn't venture beyond the barrier of your shared sanctuary until the sun has gone down and darkness coats the halls of the mansion.  He walks quietly, taking his steps carefully to ensure none of the wooden planks beneath him creak.

All he had to do was go downstairs and grab you some water. In and out. Five minutes. But as he rounds the turn into the room, Scott's already there, looking through the fridge. He freezes and stands there awkwardly in his black tank top and loose sweatpants.

Having heard the sounds of his footsteps, the other man glances over at him. 

"There you are. Didn't see you around when I got back," he says simply.

Logan shrugs, trying to play it casual. He walks across the room toward the cupboard that holds the glasses. The other man's eyes follow him. He can feel that even through the scarlet shades on his face.

"Haven't seen your other half either," Scott continues.

Logan can tell from the tone of his voice where this is going. 

"Don't call her that," he scoffs, forever downplaying his attachment to you, "She's tired. She's upstairs sleeping."

"On her day off? I wonder what would have her so drained," Scott replies. His tone is flat in contrast to the little smirk on his face.

"Don't start," Logan says. He goes to the fridge to fill your cup with water. The trickle of the fluid is the only sound in the room until Scott keeps going.

"I didn't say anything," he says, raising his hands in surrender, "Only that this is the best mood you've been in all week."

"A couple hours without you around does wonders for me," Logan grumbles, wishing the liquid would pour a little faster.

"I'm sure. A couple hours with no one else around. Just the two of you after you've both been stiff the whole week," he taunts, "It's ok to admit you're whipped."

Finally, the cup is full. Logan takes it and turns away, holding one finger up as he walks from the kitchen.

"See you tomorrow, Scott."

"Yeah. Tell her if she's feeling sore, she can skip the early meeting," he says with a little laugh.