#under counter washer

[chloeeruby]

Bathroom 3/4 Bath Cottage with a medium-sized corner shower porcelain tile and 3/4 gray tile Idea for a porcelain tile corner shower with gray walls, an undermount sink, granite countertops, raised-panel cabinets, distressed cabinets, a two-piece toilet, and raised panels.

[isthatcoolkeith]

Laundry - Multiuse Example of a large transitional galley white floor and porcelain tile utility room design with an integrated sink, recessed-panel cabinets, gray cabinets, beige backsplash, white walls, a side-by-side washer/dryer, beige countertops and terrazzo countertops

[ulrikmyrtue]

Laundry Vancouver Mid-sized craftsman l-shaped dedicated laundry room with travertine flooring and shaker cabinets, granite countertops, a side-by-side washer and dryer, beige cabinets, and gray walls.

[jezebelblues]

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 | 𝐇.𝐒 | 𝟏 *ੈ𑁍༘⋆

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭, 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥.

pt 1, pt 2 (completed)

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐂𝐖: drug usage/selling, angst, college!harry, fem!reader, smut in pt2 if that’s what ur here for, allusions to violence, friends to lovers if u squint

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 13.8k

❏ i was trying to compress this into only being one part but i felt like each piece of them growing closer was too important to the plot to be deleted </3 but i’m posting pt 2 like right after this so !! btw this is so fratrry coded but bro is not in a frat. he’s just a broke college student that sells drugs fr

masterlist

off campus housing was a curse sometimes.

but, if you had the option between dorming it out or paying for an apartment yourself, maybe it could be categorized as both a blessing and a curse.

but for YN and harry, it’s just a curse.

a dorm wasn’t in the cards for them in general—it was hard enough drowning in loans for tuition itself, and adding thousands more for shitty campus housing was just overboard.

but still, the illusion of choice would’ve been nice.

they lived in carson hall, off campus apartments that were filled to the brim with students. there might’ve been a few tenants in the building that weren’t a student, but they were probably there for the same reason as everyone else—affordability.

$850 per month felt like a rarity, and it was pretty much unheard of in new york. so, if you were a broke student that couldn’t dorm, this was your saving grace.

if the walls in the unit weren’t brick, it was cheap drywall that had the paint chipping off. there was a radiator that broke every month like clockwork, sat right underneath a window with glass so thin it shook with the breeze.

there was no carpet except for in the main lobby, everything else was either tiled linoleum and creaky wooden floors installed in the 90’s. there was a communal laundry unit in the basement that required four quarters exactly, nothing else. sometimes it’d swallow the coins, sometimes it wouldn’t, and sometimes it’d eat their coins and wouldn’t turn on at all.

there was a maintenance man that lived on the first floor—living there for half the rent since he was on call 24/7 on the weekdays to fix anything the apartment complex needed—but you’d have to be the luckiest person on earth for him to respond. if the washer ate your quarters, chances are, you won’t be getting them back. and if the sink continued to drip water in rhythm with your heartbeat, you’d be better off watching a youtube tutorial on plumbing basics than calling for the maintenance guy.

but, it was four walls and a roof—not to mention, it was only a five minute walk from the dining hall (the heart of campus, obviously).

YN and harry didn’t know each other, not exactly. they lived on the same floor, and harry was the guy that was known for dealing to make rent and loan payments.

and YN was the girl that always had sleepy eyes and smelt of vanilla and cinnamon—sugar and spice.

but that was it between them, fleeting glances of acknowledgment and the lingering scent of vanilla laced with weed in the hallway.

all until the first knock tapped against his door at one-thirty in the morning.

it was one of those nights where the due dates of assignments pressed down heavy, like it was daring you to breathe under the weight.

harry’s radiator was hissing again, spitting steam into his tiny apartment, a kind of mocking applause for everything breaking down. his desk was cluttered with blueprints—half-sketched, smudged, unfinished—and on the counter, the last edible he'd cut sat wrapped in foil, waiting for whoever was desperate enough to buy it.

the knock was soft. hesitant. not the kind of knock that screamed cops or where's the party? harry almost didn't get up. whatever it was, it could wait.

but something about it—how it lingered, quiet but insistent—dragged him to the door. barefoot, wearing nothing but a ratty tshirt and sweatpants, he swung it open without bothering to check who it was.

YN.

the girl who always smelled like a fucking christmas cookie. she stood in the hallway like she'd been arguing with herself for hours, her arms wrapped around her torso to keep warm. she didn't say anything right away, just looked at him with wide, tired eyes.

harry leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "are y’lost?"

her voice came out softer than he expected. “i need…something.”

he raised an eyebrow, scanning her quickly—her pink sweatpants, the hoodie that was two sizes too big, the way she kept glancing at the floor like she hated being here. "that's specific. milk? a lightbulb? help moving a body?"

"for my roommate," she rushed, ignoring the bite in his tone. "she's—she's having a panic attack or something, some stupid argument with her boyfriend i think—and i don't have anything that can help."

harry stared at her.

her voice cracked, the desperation cutting through the cool front she was trying to hold. "it's late, and the pharmacies are closed, and i just—someone said you might have something."

"someone.” he repeated, pushing off the doorframe, his tone sharp enough to slice through her composure.

"please."

something about that word caught him off guard. not the word itself, but the way she said it—like she was embarrassed to use it, like it physically hurt to ask him for anything. harry sighed, stepping back. "wait there."

he crossed the room to the counter, digging through the shoebox that held the operation he kept as low-key as possible. the old baggie of edibles rustled faintly in his hands, and for a second, he thought about saying no. this wasn't his problem.

but he grabbed one anyway, turning back to find her still standing in the hallway, arms wrapped tighter around herself. he shoved the baggie into her hand. "take this and go."

she hesitated, looking down at it. "is it safe?"

harry's laugh came out sharp and humorless. "you knock on my door at one in the morning, asking for something t’fix a panic attack, and you're worried about FDA approval? yeah, it's safe. s’low-dose."

her fingers curled around the bag. "how much do i owe you?"

he shook his head, already tired of this conversation. "don't worry about it. just go."

YN started to turn, but her gaze caught on the cluttered desk in the corner—blueprints stacked in uneven piles, a half-empty coffee cup balancing on the edge. "what's all that?" she asked, her voice quiet but curious.

"none of your business."

he stepped forward and shut the door before she could ask anything else. the lock clicked, and for a long second, he stood there, staring at the closed door, wondering why the hell he'd helped her at all.

*

friday nights strained. not the kind that made you feel like you’d accomplished something. no, this was the other kind. the kind that made harry want to throw his phone into the east river and spend the rest of the weekend in bed, ignoring the world.

by eight pm, the texts started rolling in like they always did.

can u drop to sigma chi?

emergency. we need molly asap. paying extra if u can get here by 10.

it wasn’t glamorous. it wasn’t even fun. but it paid the rent.

harry sat at his desk, staring at the mess of blueprints he hadn’t touched all week, his phone lighting up next to him with another text. the math was simple: weed, molly, shrooms, lsd. nothing heavy, nothing messy, and no one under twenty-one.

he grabbed his backpack, already packed from the night before—a hollowed-out calculus textbook buried inside. it was beat to shit, but nobody looked twice at a guy carrying around a heavy book and a bookbag on campus.

the first stop was sigma chi. always sigma chi.

by the time he got there, the party was in full swing. the air reeked of spilled beer and too much cologne, bass pounding through the walls like a heartbeat that refused to die. harry slipped in through the side door, past a crowd of girls laughing too loudly and holding plastic cups like they were accessories.

the guy waiting for him was leaned against the fridge, his baseball cap turned backwards, a grin plastered on his face. “harry, my man!”

he didn’t answer. didn’t smile. instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small baggie, handing it over like he was exchanging a pack of gum. the guy shoved some crumpled twenties into harry’s hand, already too distracted by his phone to say anything else.

“you’re a lifesaver, bro.”

he left through the back door without another word.

weekends were always like this. frat houses, dorm rooms, random street corners. most fridays, he had ten stops, maybe more if people got desperate.

his phone buzzed constantly. texts rolling in every fifteen minutes:

can you meet by the bodega?

do u have anything stronger? asking for a friend.

the last one made him roll his eyes. he didn’t do stronger. stronger got people killed, got cops asking questions. harry wasn’t stupid. this wasn’t about partying or fun; it was money.

he started dealing during his first year at nyu. not because he wanted to, but because the scholarships didn’t cover everything, and student loans only went so far.

at first, it was just weed. his guy, jeff, lived in brooklyn—a family man with a college degree, a wife, and two kids. harry used to think guys like jeff had it figured out: the house in a decent neighborhood, the minivan parked out front, the soccer games on weekends. but his life was no more stable than harry’s.

jeff’s business wasn’t just selling weed—it was growing it, right in his basement. his wife knew, of course. they kept it far from the kids, locked up tight behind a door that might as well have been a vault.

he hadn’t started out as a dealer, either. he ran his own small business—some business marketing firm that couldn’t compete with the bigger guys. now, the basement was his fallback, extra income, and harry couldn’t help but see a version of himself in jeff. same fire, same hustle, same gnawing ache of more, more, more.

“this isn’t enough,” he had said one night, halfway through weighing a fresh batch. the house smelled faintly of citrus and pine, a scent jeff swore masked the weed smell. “you ever thought about branching out?”

harry frowned, leaning back against the workbench “branching out how?”

“psychedelics—shrooms, lsd. same crowd, bigger profit. no one’s getting hooked, no one’s overdosing. it’s clean.”

harry’s gut twisted. he didn’t like the sound of it—too messy, too big. “i dunno, mate. weed’s easy. i don’t want t’get in deeper.”

jeff leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “i get it. but you’re already in. and if you play it smart, you don’t have to worry about the cops, or junkies, or any of that shit. i know a guy in the bronx—mutual friend. you’d like him. solid guy, clean product.”

he hesitated, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table. “y’really think it’s worth it?”

jeff smiled faintly, shrugging. “depends on what you want. if it’s just enough to scrape by, keep doing what you’re doing. but if you want to breathe a little? yeah. it’s worth it.”

harry didn’t jump in right away.

it took a few weeks of thinking, weighing the risks against the reward. but eventually, he made the trip to the bronx. the guy jeff pointed him to was older, late thirties maybe, with a clean apartment and a habit of over-explaining. harry liked him immediately.

the product was good. better than he expected. shrooms, lsd tabs, packaged clean and easy to move. the kind of stuff that sold itself to the right crowd.

molly came later.

it started with frat guys asking for it at parties, offering triple what harry charged for weed. at first, he turned them down. molly was different—harder to control, riskier. but the money kept knocking at his door, and harry, tired of scraping by, finally let it in.

his guy in the bronx knew a supplier. harry kept it lowkey—low doses, clean product, no bullshit. but it still weighed on him, the way every step deeper into this life felt like standing on thin ice.

jeff always said this kind of hustle didn’t last forever. harry just hoped he’d find a way out before it swallowed him whole.

his voice stayed in his head more than he liked to admit—you can’t do this forever, kid. something’s gotta give.

but that was the problem, wasn’t it? harry didn’t know what would give first—his luck, his sanity, or the thin line he kept walking between survival and collapse.

the deeper he got into dealing, the more he saw how easy it was for people to lose themselves in it. not just the buyers—people like jeff, too.

there was this one night, months after harry started moving psychedelics. jeff had called him over, saying he had some fresh product he wanted harry to try. he drove out to brooklyn, expecting the usual.

but when he got there, he looked different. tired in a way that felt heavier.

“you good?” he had asked, leaning against the workbench.

he nodded, but his hands trembled slightly as he sealed a bag. “yeah, just a long week. car broke down, furnace is acting up… you know how it is.”

he did. too well.

when he left that night, the bag of weed tucked into his backpack, he couldn’t shake the thought—this doesn’t end well. jeff had everything harry thought he wanted—a family, a house, a life that looked solid from the outside. and still, it wasn’t enough.

he lit a cigarette as he drove back to the city, the smoke curling around him in the dark car. he couldn’t let this life be all there was. couldn’t let it pull him down the same way it was pulling jeff.

but even as he told himself he’d find a way out, harry’s phone buzzed with another text, another buyer, another deal.

just enough was never enough.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. he was tired. bone-tired. the kind of tired that lived in his spine and refused to leave, no matter how much sleep he got.

but he typed back anyway.

because this was life. grinding himself into the ground so someone else could forget their bullshit for a night.

and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t afford to.

*

the rain wasn’t letting up. the kind that soaked you through in seconds, cold and sharp like a thousand tiny needles stabbing your skin. the stairwell in the building was already a deathtrap on the best days—cheap tiles, no traction, old wood.

he was on the couch when he heard it. a thud, heavy and hollow, like someone had dropped a bag of bricks—or fallen. then the curses followed, muffled but furious, the kind of sound that pulled him out of the half-sleep he’d been drifting into.

he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. for a second, he thought about ignoring it. again, wasn’t his problem. but something about the sound got under his skin.

grabbing the sweatshirt hanging off the back of the couch, he pulled it on and opened the door, peering out into the dimly lit hallway.

that’s when he saw her.

sprawled on the stairs, her sweater soaked through, hair sticking to her face, and an armful of books scattered around her like shrapnel.

fucking christ, harry thought, leaning against the doorframe. he crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you always this graceful, or is it a wednesday night special?”

she looked up, and if looks could kill, he’d have been dead on the spot. her cheeks were flushed, probably from a mix of frustration and exertion, and her jaw was clenched tight enough to crack. “are you always this much of an asshole, or do i just bring it out in you?”

harry let the smirk grow into something closer to a grin. “you okay?” he asked, his tone half-mocking, half-genuine.

YN didn’t answer right away. she was too busy untangling herself, her knee hitting the step as she tried to gather the mess of books and papers that had spilled everywhere.

harry sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “hold on.”

he jogged down the stairs, crouching to pick up a book near her feet. the cover was soaked, the pages already curling at the edges. he flipped it over in his hand, inspecting the damage. “you’re gonna fail with this,” he said, holding it up. “this thing’s toast.”

she snatched the book from him, glaring. “you’re toast.”

he chuckled under his breath, bending to pick up another one. this time, it was a notebook—thick, overstuffed, with half the pages threatening to fall out. “what are you even carrying all this for?”

“this is college, is it not?”

harry straightened, stacking the notebook on top of the book in her arms. “you’re gonna wreck your back lugging all this around.”

“not everyone has money for a decent bag.” she muttered, not looking at him as she grabbed the papers from his hand.

that made him pause. his jaw tightened, his usual sarcasm flickering into something harder, heavier. he opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it just as fast.

he shifted, handing her the last book. “here. try not to break your neck next time.”

she snorted, a bitter laugh slipping out before she could stop it. she pushed herself up, wincing as she shifted her weight onto her right leg.

“you sure you’re okay?” harry asked again, watching the way she was favoring her left leg.

“i’m fine.”

“right.” harry muttered, crossing his arms as she started up the stairs. he followed her halfway up, more out of habit than concern, and watched as she struggled to balance her books against the wet fabric of her sweater.

when they reached the landing, she stopped, glancing back at him. “thanks,” she said, the word sounding like it physically hurt her to say.

harry shrugged. “don’t mention it.”

as she turned to head toward her apartment, she added over her shoulder, “no, seriously. don’t.”

he smirked again, shaking his head as he watched her limp away. he didn’t respond, just leaned against the wall, waiting until she disappeared into her unit before heading back to his own.

he dropped onto the couch, dragging a worn notebook off the coffee table and flipping it open. but his focus was shot. all he could picture was her on the stairs—soaked, pissed, and too stubborn to admit she wasn’t fine.

her comment stuck with him, too. not everyone has money for a decent bag. harry hated how much that hit home.

the world didn’t give a shit if you couldn’t afford what you needed. if you didn’t have it, you improvised. it was why he was out here selling weed and molly to spoiled frat boys and girls with trust funds so deep they could drown in them.

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. his phone buzzed on the armrest beside him, breaking the silence.

it was one of his regulars, some sophomore who thought a couple grams of shrooms would make her weekend transformative.

yeah. same spot. 9pm.

he tossed the phone onto the table, leaning back against the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. this was the life: fixing busted radiators, chasing down half-earned engineering credits, and grinding himself into the ground so some kid could take a trip they’d forget by monday morning.

later that night, he was back out, a ballcap sat over his curls, backpack slung over his shoulder, heading to the usual corner just off washington square park. it wasn’t raining anymore, but the streets were still slick, reflecting the city lights like oil spills.

he spotted the girl waiting for him, leaning against a lamppost with her arms crossed. she waved when she saw him, a little too eager.

the exchange was quick, the shrooms passing from his hand to hers, the cash tucked into his pocket in one smooth motion. no small talk, no lingering.

when he got home, the hallway was quiet, except for the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead. YN’s door was closed, no sounds coming from the other side.

he paused for a second, staring at it. he shook his head, unlocking his door and stepping inside. the idea that popped into his brain was stupid, irrational. he didn’t owe her anything. she was just the girl down the hall, who gave as much shit as she took.

but still, he dug into his closet, pulling out the old army surplus bag he’d stopped using after high school. it wasn’t much, but it was better than what she had now.

the next morning, harry slipped out of his apartment early, the bag in hand. he dropped it just outside her door, no note, no explanation, before heading out to his first lecture of the day.

when YN found it later, she stared at it for a long moment, her brows knitting together. she didn’t have to ask who left it. and even though she muttered asshole under her breath, she brought it inside with a faint smile.

because she needed it. and harry—whether he’d admit it or not—knew that.

the next time they saw each other, he was coming up the stairs, his backpack slung low, the smell of rain clinging to his sweatshirt. it was late—nearly eleven—and he was tired, the kind of exhaustion that sank into his chest and refused to let go.

YN was coming down, her new bag bouncing lightly against her hip. she was in scrubs and a college hoodie, hair tied back, but there was a tension in her face that hadn’t been there before. maybe it was the late hour, or maybe it was the unmistakable look of someone dragging themselves through another brutal shift.

they almost passed each other without a word. almost.

but as they crossed paths, she stopped, her hand gripping the railing. “hey.”

harry stopped mid-step, turning to look at her. “hey,” he echoed, noncommittal.

she tilted her head toward the bag. “this you?”

he leaned against the railing, shrugging like it was no big deal. “needed something better, right?”

her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure out if he was messing with her. finally, she shook her head, letting out a dry laugh. “why, though? why do you care?”

he blinked, caught off guard. he didn’t have an answer for that—at least not one he could say out loud. instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging again. “call it charity,” he said. “or don’t. i don’t really care.”

YN stared at him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. then she nodded, her grip on the railing loosening. “thanks,” she muttered, her tone softer this time.

“don’t mention it.”

but before he could take another step, she smiled—the tiniest twitch upward. “no, seriously. don’t.”

he smirked at that, glancing back over his shoulder. “you’re welcome, cinnamon.”

her brows shot up at the nickname, her mouth opening to protest, but harry didn’t stick around to hear it. he was already heading back to his apartment, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

that should’ve been the end of it.

but the next day, when harry opened his door to grab the mail, there was a coffee cup sitting just outside, still warm, with no note or explanation.

he frowned, picking it up and staring at it like it might explode.

then, from down the hall, YN’s door opened, and she leaned out, raising an eyebrow at him. “drink it or don’t—i don’t care.”

he held up the cup, smirking. “what’s this? donations?”

“no,” she grinned, already retreating back inside. “just paying it forward, asshole.”

the door clicked shut, and he stood there, shaking his head, the faintest chuckle escaping him as he sipped the coffee.

*

their classes in south hall were evening ones, usually letting out at nine pm sharp.

YN stepped out of the biology lab first, tugging her sleeves down against the chill that crept into the building after dark. her bag was slung over her shoulders, the college crewneck rumpled from hours of sitting in the same chair. her jeans were stiff from the cold, her shoes scuffed with wear, and her hair fell loose around her face, sticking slightly to her cheek. she brushed it back absently, her eyes on the door ahead.

harry caught sight of her from the second-floor stairwell as he left his chemistry lecture—a rolling stones hoodie hung loose on his frame, sweatpants sitting low on his hips, his green sambas (that he bought second hand, his proudest find) practically falling apart at the seams.

he hadn’t planned on saying anything. hell, he wasn’t even sure she’d noticed him. but as he watched her push through the doors, her breath fogging in the cold, he felt something tug at him.

he hesitated for half a second before jogging down the stairs, his curls bouncing slightly as he caught up to her “hey.”

she glanced over her shoulder, her steps slowing just enough to register him. her brows furrowed when she saw him. “you’re in chemistry,” she said, like it was an accusation.

harry blinked, a bit confused as to what she was hinting at—but going with it anyway. “m’yeah. good observation, sherlock.”

“no, i mean,” she gestured vaguely behind her. “your class is upstairs. what’re you doing down here?”

harry shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “walking home. duh. our lectures must end at the same time.”

YN gave him a skeptical look, her pace picking up again as they stepped into the night. “you don’t have to do that,” she said quickly, her tone dismissive. “i’m fine.”

he fell into step beside her anyway, the straps of his backpack swinging slightly as he walked. “cool. didn’t ask.”

her jaw tightened, and she shot him a look. “seriously, i don’t need a babysitter.”

“good,” harry muttered, unbothered. “’cause I’m not volunteering.”

she sighed, tugging her bag closer to her body as they trudged through campus. the sound of their shoes against the pavement filled the space between them.

as they turned the corner, the streetlight flickered above, casting long, uneven shadows across the sidewalk. harry noticed the guy first.

it wasn’t unusual to be sketched out by randoms over here, their apartment was on the edge of campus—lots of stragglers where university police didn’t quite patrol.

he was leaning against a stop sign, his cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. his gaze was lazy, his posture too casual, the way people got when they wanted you to feel like they were watching you without actually looking.

harry stepped closer to YN without thinking, his shoulder brushing hers as he moved between her and the road.

“seriously?” she muttered, stopping mid-step to glare at him.

harry didn’t look at her, his eyes locked forward as they passed. “what?” he asked, voice calm. “said i’d walk with you. didn’t say i wouldn’t get in the way.”

she scoffed, but she didn’t pull away. he brushed it off, and in a way, she appreciated that—the way he acknowledged her nerves but didn’t say anything. the way he acted like it was just a miss-step rather than a reassurance.

when they reached the entrance of their apartment building, YN stopped, finally turning to face him. her arms were crossed now, her expression sharp. “you didn’t have to do that.”

“you’re welcome.” his eyebrows knit together in stifled laughter, looking straight past her as he opened the heavy door to their building, holding it open for her to walk through.

they went up the narrow stairwell quietly, each step creaking under their weight.

she pursed her lips, stepping past him to unlock her door. but just before she disappeared inside, she glanced back at him, her tone softer this time. “thanks, i guess.”

harry tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “don’t mention it.”

the door clicked shut behind her, and harry lingered for a second, staring at the empty hallway beyond. then he shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, turned, and headed to his own door. his rings clicked against his keys as he unlocked it, the faintest smirk still on his lips.

*

the walk back from the hospital felt longer tonight.

the clock had just ticked past ten, but the streets were alive with people heading to bars, parties, anywhere but where she’d been. YN tugged on the sleeves of her hoodie, pulling them down farther, the fabric worn soft from too many washes. her scrub pants swished faintly as she walked, her badge clipped to her pocket, catching the glow of passing headlights.

her shift had been hell. the kind of night where you didn’t have time to think, let alone breathe. a kid came in after a bad bike crash, his face pale, his leg bent in a way it shouldn’t have been. then there was guy that coughed up blood over her sneakers—not to mention running around the er the entire rest of shift to do the work the nurses couldn’t get to.

her feet dragged as she pushed through the door to her building, climbing the stairs to the second floor one step at a time.

the music hit her first.

it wasn’t loud, just a faint rhythm seeping through the crack of harry’s door. something easy, mellow.

as she walked past his door, her steps slowed, her gaze flicking toward it. for a second, she lingered, her pulse ticking faster than it should’ve. but then she kept walking.

she tried to focus on her own door, just a few steps away, but her mind wouldn’t settle. work had been brutal. her roommate would be on a two hour facetime with her boyfriend, giggling about nothing. her friends were either pulling late shifts or at some frat house, three beers deep by now. and the quiet—god, the quiet—was going to eat her alive.

before she even realized what she was doing, she spun on her heel, walking back the way she came. her hand hesitated over harry’s door, her fingers curling into a loose fist before she knocked.

the door swung open after a moment, and there he was.

he stood there in loose jeans and an old band tee, his curls falling into his face like he hadn’t bothered to push them back. the rings on his fingers glinted faintly in the dim light behind him, chipped black polish catching her eye.

“cinnamon,” he grinned, leaning one arm against the doorframe. his voice was low, amused. “what’s up?”

behind him, she saw the room wasn’t empty.

lounging on harry’s couch was louis, a guy she vaguely recognized from her english lecture—he was always late, always cracking jokes that somehow landed. and in the kitchen, leaning lazily against the counter, was a tall guy she didn’t quite recognize.

she took the smallest step back, shaking her head. “sorry,” she mumbled quickly. “didn’t realize you had people over. never-mind.”

he raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking from her to the empty hallway behind her. “y’sure? you look…” he trailed off, his lips quirking slightly. “rough.”

she glared at him. “thanks. really needed that.”

he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “you’re knocking on my door at ten o’clock, cinnamon. that’s gotta be for a reason, yeah?”

she hesitated, her fingers twitching at her side. the guy in the kitchen glanced over briefly, then went back to whatever he was doing, and louis didn’t seem to notice her at all. “forget it,” she muttered, stepping back again. “i’m fine.”

he didn’t move, his eyes narrowed as they locked onto hers. “bullshit.”

her jaw tightened, her shoulders straightening. “i was just gonna ask if you had anything. you know, to…” she gestured vaguely, avoiding his eyes. “take the edge off.”

his smile returned, slow and knowing. “didn’t peg you as the type.”

YN glared again, her cheeks flushing slightly. “for a dealer, you’re really bad at pushing sales.” she said flatly, spinning on her heel.

he chuckled lightly, stepping out into the hallway a bit. “hold on a sec.”

she paused, turning halfway back to face him.

he glanced over his shoulder, toward the couch and the kitchen, before meeting her eyes again. “come back in ten,” he nodded. “i’ll get rid of ‘em.”

she blinked, caught off guard. “you don’t have to—”

“i said ten.” he cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument.

before she could say anything else, he stepped back into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. YN stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door like it might open again. she bit the inside of her lip, fidgeting with her key and going inside.

and at exactly 10 minutes, she was back in front of harry’s door.

this time, she didn’t hesitate. she knocked twice, easier than before.

the door opened almost immediately.

harry stood there again, his curls pushed back out of his face this time. his expression was unreadable, somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “told you ten minutes.” he stepped back, leaving the door open for her. “c’mon.”

his apartment wasn’t what she expected, though she wasn’t sure what she’d pictured. it was small, dimly lit by a single desk lamp in the corner. the faint scent of weed hung in the air, but the room was surprisingly neat, except for a pile of papers and notebooks on the table.

lounging on the couch, louis was pulling on his jacket, his face lighting up in surprise when he saw her. “oh, hey. you’re…” he snapped his fingers, squinting. “chem lab, right? morning lecture?”

YN nodded stiffly, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. “english,” she corrected. “i see you there sometimes.”

“right, right,” louis said, grinning. he turned to harry. “new buyer? good taste, man.”

harry rolled his eyes, stifling his own smile. “out.” he muttered, shoving a hand toward the door.

louis smirked but didn’t argue. he grabbed his bag, tossing a wink at YN before stepping into the hallway. the guy in the kitchen followed, slipping past her without so much as a glance, the scent of cheap cologne trailing behind him.

he shut the door with a sharp click, locking it before turning to face her. “there. happy?”

she crossed her arms, leaning against the wall near the door. “i didn’t ask you to kick them out.”

“you didn’t have to.”

she sighed, her gaze shifting to the desk in the corner. the blueprints stacked there caught her attention—clean lines, precise calculations, a world that felt miles away from hers.

“you gonna tell me what you want, or are we just standing here all night?”

her eyes snapped back to his, the sharpness in his tone cutting through the haze of her thoughts. “got anything that’ll knock me out for a few hours?”

he raised an eyebrow, walking past her to the desk. he opened a drawer, rummaging around before pulling out a small baggie with a single edible inside. “low-dose,” he said, holding it up. “won’t knock you out, but it’ll take the edge off.”

YN hesitated, glancing between him and the baggie. “how much?”

harry shook his head, tossing it onto the counter. “on the house.”

“i’m not—”

“just take it,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “call it a favor. or a bribe. whatever makes you feel better.”

she stepped closer, picking up the baggie with careful fingers. her eyes flicked to his, searching for something she wasn’t sure she’d find. “thanks.” she muttered, her voice quieter now.

harry leaned against the edge of the counter, his arms crossed. “you look like shit, by the way.”

she huffed, shoving the baggie into her hoodie pocket. “and you’re still a dick.” she shot back, heading for the door.

“fair enough.” he muttered. but just as she reached for the handle, his voice stopped her. “hey, cinnamon.”

she turned, her brow furrowed. “what?”

harry’s smirk softened slightly, the easy confidence in his tone faltering just enough to feel real. “you ever wanna talk, you know where i live.”

YN didn’t respond, didn’t trust herself to. she just nodded once and slipped out the door, her footsteps fading down the hall.

the next day, it was closer to four pm when YN got home from work.

she barely noticed the faint buzz of her roommate’s call as she slipped into the bathroom, peeling off her scrubs and stepping under the hot spray of the shower. the water hit her like a reset button, the ache in her shoulders easing as the steam curled around her.

when she finally emerged, her hair damp and loose, she threw on a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized sweater—something warm, something safe. the apartment was quiet now, her roommate having left a while ago, probably off to see her boyfriend.

it was around six when the knock came.

YN glanced up from her laptop, her brows furrowing. she wasn’t expecting anyone. she hesitated for a second, debating if she even wanted to answer, but curiosity won out.

when she opened the door, harry was leaning against the frame, his usual smirk softened into something more uncertain. he looked like he’d been pacing before this, his curls slightly disheveled, his hoodie hanging loose over a pair of black sweatpants.

“hey.”

YN raised an eyebrow. “hey.”

“you any good at chem?”

she blinked, “chemistry?”

he nodded, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “yeah. like, the basics. stoichiometry, balancing equations, all that shit.”

she tilted her head, leaning against the doorframe to mirror him. “i passed it with like an 85% so, i guess?”

he smiled, “fantastic. y’busy right now?”

“why?”

“thought maybe you could help me out. i’ve got a test coming up, and i’m…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “not great at it.”

“you want me to tutor you?”

he beamed, sarcastic, knowing. “sweet of you t’offer. let’s go.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. she sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “fine. but if i’m doing this, we’re going to the library. your apartment smells like weed, and i can’t think in there.”

he chuckled, stepping back as she grabbed her bag from the couch. “fair enough, cinnamon.”

the campus library wasn’t crowded, the usual sunday night stragglers scattered across the tables in hushed clusters. harry led her to a table in the back, far from the main entrance, where the buzz of conversation faded into the quiet hum of fluorescent lights.

he dropped his backpack onto the table, pulling out a battered notebook and a copy of the textbook that looked like it had been through hell. “alright, professor,” he said, smirking as he slid into the chair across from her. “teach me.”

“this is gonna be painful, isn’t it?”

harry grinned, flipping open the textbook. “probably.”

she sighed, leaning forward. “okay, first question—how the hell did you even make it to college if you don’t know the basics?”

harry shrugged, unbothered. “charm and good looks.”

she groaned, dropping her pen onto the table. “you’re gonna fail.”

“no,” he drawled with a smile, “that’s why you’re here.”

despite herself, YN smiled, shaking her head as she reached for the textbook. “alright, let’s see what we can do.”

the first twenty minutes were pure pain.

she flipped through harry’s beat-up textbook, squinting at the faint pencil notes scrawled in the margins. “alright,” she muttered, tapping her pen against the page. “let’s start with balancing equations. that’s pretty straightforward.”

harry slouched in his chair, spinning his pen between his fingers like he was bored out of his mind already. (and he was. if he was honest, he didn’t need help with chem at all). “straightforward for you, maybe. i’m just here trying not to flunk out.”

she furrowed her eyebrows, shooting him a look. “you’re not gonna flunk out. you just need to—” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “try.”

“i’m trying right now. see? look at all this effort.” he gestured toward the open book in front of him.

she sighed, leaning across the table and grabbing the pen out of his hand. “no. this is you sitting there, being useless. pay attention, harry.”

“yes, ma’am.” he mumbled, sitting up slightly straighter. his voice carried the faintest edge of mockery, but he kept his eyes on her, watching as she wrote out a problem on a fresh sheet of paper.

after another ten minutes of stumbling through coefficients, YN thought she saw a flicker of understanding cross harry’s face. he pointed at the page. “so you just make the numbers match? like, both sides need the same amount of atoms?”

YN stared at him, deadpan. “yes. that’s literally it.”

he leaned back, running a hand through his curls. “jesus. why the hell does it sound so much harder in class?”

“because you don’t listen in class,” she laughed, “and i’m guessing you don’t read the textbook either.”

he grinned, leaning forward again. “why would i, when you’re clearly better at explaining it?”

she rolled her eyes, turning the page in the book. “charm and good looks only get you so far, harry. you’re gonna have to put some actual work into this.”

“oh, so you do think i’m charming.”

YN didn’t dignify that with a response. instead, she handed him the pen and pointed to the next problem. “solve it. no shortcuts, no guesses. i wanna see the work.”

he groaned but did as he was told, his brow furrowed as he scribbled on the page.

by the time the clock struck eight thirty, they’d managed to get through most of the chapter. YN had to admit—he wasn’t completely hopeless.

and all he could do was smile—she bought it. if engineering didn’t work out, he thought, maybe he could be an actor. or a pathological liar.

“see?” she said, leaning back in her chair. “you’re not terrible at this. just lazy.”

harry huffed a laugh, closing the textbook with a loud thud. “lazy? you wound me, cinnamon.”

“you’ll live. anyway, i think we’re done for tonight. unless you wanna keep going?”

they walked out of the library together, the crisp night air hitting them like a wall. the campus was quiet now, most of the students holed up in their dorms or off at whatever weekend plans they’d made.

as they reached the edge of the quad, he glanced at her. “thanks for helping me out.”

she shrugged, her hands tucked into her hoodie pocket. “no big deal. just don’t make it a habit.”

“what if i do?”

YN shot him a look, her brow furrowing slightly. “then you’re buying the coffee next time.”

harry chuckled, the sound low and warm in the cold air. “deal.”

they reached the entrance, and YN hesitated for a moment before heading inside. “night, harry.”

“night, cinnamon.”

as the door clicked shut behind her, harry lingered on the steps for a moment, lighting a cigarette.

he smiled to himself again, he couldn’t help it. he was proficient in math, one of his best subjects—bordering the edge of genius, basically. but she didn’t need to know that, not when he just stole a couple hours from her, not when it was the perfect excuse just to hang out with her.

it was wednesday when she next saw him.

the clock on YN’s laptop read 11:03 pm, the harsh blue light illuminating her tired eyes as she highlighted yet another passage in the dense textbook sprawled across her lap. the apartment was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle from her roommate’s room and the faint hum of traffic filtering in through the drafty window.

she hadn’t moved from her spot on the couch in over an hour, legs curled under her, a growing pile of sticky notes cluttering the coffee table. her focus was razor-sharp, though her back ached from the awkward position she’d settled into.

when the knock came, she didn’t flinch. didn’t even glance toward the door. she knew exactly who it was.

with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she set her laptop down carefully, nudging it closer to the stack of notes as she rose from the couch. her socked feet padded softly across the floor, her hand instinctively reaching for the lock. she swung the door open and leaned against the frame, her shoulder pressed into the wood as she tilted her head to the side.

“cinnamonnnn,” harry drawled, his voice almost melodic, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it had been hers all her life.

he stood there in a slightly oversized sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a pair of gray sweatpants that were smaller than the ones from the other day—joggers maybe. a green packers beanie was snug over his curls, though a few stray strands peeked out, curling against his forehead. his hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, and he rocked back on his heels like he had all the time in the world.

YN narrowed her eyes slightly, the faintest smile ghosting her lips. “harryyyy,” she mimicked, dragging out his name in the same exaggerated tone.

“you busy?”

yes. “no.”

his dimples deepened as his grin grew wider, like he knew she’d lie. “hang out with me for a bit then.”

she let out a quiet laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. “to do what? it’s almost midnight.”

“come walk with me.”

her lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping as she gave him a hesitant look. he didn’t push, just waited, the silence between them comfortable, expectant. “you’re such a bad influence,” she muttered, shaking her head as she turned back into the apartment.

“oh, yeah,” harry said, stepping forward to catch the door before it closed. “terrible.”

she tugged a sweater over her head, the fabric swallowing her as she slipped her feet into an old pair of sneakers. they were loose, the kind she could slip on without bothering with laces.

when she stepped past him, harry held the door open before letting it fall shut behind them as they ambled into the narrow hallway.

“where are we going?” YN asked as they descended the stairs, the cool air of the building’s lobby settling around them.

“you’ll see.”

she huffed, though the corners of her mouth tugged upward as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. he moved like the world waited for him, unhurried but purposeful, his long legs carrying him down the steps in easy strides.

when they pushed through the front door and into the night, the cold air hit her immediately, making her shiver as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

their path wound deeper into campus—the air quiet, save for the rustling of dead leaves underfoot and the occasional distant honk of a car. the faint glow of streetlights filtered through the thinning trees, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.

harry walked slightly ahead, shoulders hunched against the cool air. she walked beside him, somewhat, perhaps a step behind, though the edge of her elbow would brush against his arm every so often. it wasn’t an accident, not really.

their breaths puffed out in white clouds, swirling in the breeze before disappearing. the last of the dead leaves fell from the trees with a soft crackle, catching in the wind before tumbling to the ground.

his pace slowed slightly, letting her match him, and he nudged her with his shoulder—just enough to jostle her. she looked up, her brow furrowing as she glanced at him.

“what was that for?”

he smirked, his gaze flicking ahead. “thought you were fallin’ asleep over there.”

she rolled her eyes but let her shoulder bump into his lightly as they walked. “sure. ‘cause nothing screams excitement like following you into the middle of nowhere.”

he let out a low chuckle, his breath visible in the cold air. “you’re dramatic, you know that?”

“you didn’t answer the question earlier.”

“what question?”

“about where we’re going,” she said, her voice teasing. “you could be leading me astray so you can murder me without any witnesses.”

he turned his head to look at her, his brows lifting, “i did answer, you just didn’t accept it.” he paused, pursing his lips as if he was in thought. “it would be a good plan, though. quiet enough out here. no one’d hear a thing.”

she snorted, her steps faltering slightly as she tried not to laugh. “you’re a terrible murderer. you’d leave a trail of evidence a mile wide.”

“would not.”

“would too.”

he turned to her fully now, his eyes narrowing as he stepped backward in front of her. his hands were still stuffed in his pockets, his pace matching hers even as he walked in reverse.

“alright, then,” he said, his voice laced with mock seriousness. “if i were to murder you—and that’s a big if, by the way—how exactly would i screw it up?”

she bit back a smile, “well, for starters, you’d forget to hide the body properly. probably just leave me in the middle of the path, thinking no one would notice.”

he let out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking as he shook his head. “that’s ridiculous.”

“is it?” YN countered, raising a brow. “you’re the one who thinks this is a good place to kill someone.”

his grin widened, the faintest dimple appearing in his cheek. “you’re paranoid, cinnamon. that’s your problem.”

“and you’re too cocky. that’s yours.”

they fell into a rhythm again, walking side by side as the breeze picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of city streets and damp leaves. their arms brushed again, neither of them pulling away, the warmth of the contact lingering longer than it should.

harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the smirk on his lips softening slightly. “for the record,” he said, his voice quieter now, “i know exactly where i’m going.”

she smiled, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “good,” she said lightly. “cause i’d hate to have to come back and haunt you if you got me lost.”

their steps grew softer as the buildings behind them thinned out, replaced by clusters of trees swaying in the light breeze. the path curved slightly, the faint hum of traffic fading into the distance.

he walked slightly ahead, his head turning now and then to glance at the towering oaks that lined their path. the trees began to part, revealing the outline of icahn stadium in the near distance. the track and field stretched wide beneath the faint glow of a single overhead light, casting long shadows across the ground. the bleachers stood tall and imposing, their sea of blue seats reaching into the sky like a wave frozen in time.

harry slowed to a stop as they approached, the chain-link fence surrounding the stadium standing between them and the field. he didn’t guide her toward the gate, knowing it would be locked after hours. instead, he stepped closer to the fence, pulling his hand out of his pocket and giving one of the links an experimental tug.

she watched him, her brow furrowing slightly. “if you think we’re going on a run,” she said, her voice flat, “you’ve completely lost it.”

he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as his fingers curled around the chain link. he glanced at her over his shoulder, “shut up and c’mere, cinnamon.”

YN hesitated for half a second, then stepped forward, the grass folding beneath her sneakers. the light breeze brushed against her skin, carrying the faint scent of earth and damp metal. he stepped back slightly, giving her room as she reached for the fence. without waiting for further instruction, she started to climb, her hands gripping the cold metal tightly as she hauled herself upward.

he watched her movements closely, his hands hovering near her hips in case she wobbled. “i got you,” he muttered, his voice soft enough to blend with the wind.

she didn’t respond, focusing instead on the rhythmic pull of her arms as she reached the top of the fence. for a moment, she perched there, the view of the stadium stretching out before her, before swinging one leg over and carefully lowering herself to the other side.

harry gave the fence one last tug, then started climbing after her. his movements were quick and efficient, as though he’d done this a hundred times before. his sleeve bunched at his elbows as he reached the top, pausing briefly to glance down at her. “how’s the weather down there?”

she glanced up, brushing her hands off on her pants. “you’d better not fall. i’m not catching you.”

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he swung over the top and landed easily on the grass beside her. “wasn’t planning on it,” he breathed, brushing his hands off before shoving them back into his pockets.

they stood there for a moment, the quiet of the field settling around them like a blanket. the overhead light flickered slightly, casting their shadows long and thin against the ground.

she stared at him for a moment, then sighed, shaking her head as she followed him. “you’ve got way too much energy for this late at night.”

“and you were too stubborn t’say no.” harry shot back as he walked ahead, his steps light against the rubber surface. “used to hate running, y’know,” he breathed, glancing at YN as he spun around. he walked backward with an ease that made her slightly nervous, like he’d trip over himself any second but never actually would. “hated everything about it—your legs aching, your chest burnin’, that horrible feeling in your throat after.”

she caught up, her pace steady as she smiled faintly, her breath visible in the cool air. “now it’s your thing.”

he paused for a split second, his eyes catching hers in that unreadable way of his. then, to her surprise, he smiled. “yeah,” he nodded slightly. “now it’s my thing.”

the bleachers loomed ahead, their steel frame groaning faintly in the wind. harry reached them first, stepping aside to let her go up. “go on,” he muttered, gesturing upward with a nod. “all the way to the top.”

“what, you’re not going to race me?”

he smiled, his hand brushing against the cold metal railing. “wouldn’t be fair. your legs are shorter than mine.”

she narrowed her eyes but couldn’t help the faint laugh that slipped out. “wow. okay. guess i’ll just take my time then.”

she started up the concrete steps, her hands gripping the railings on either side. the cold bit at her palms, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of her feet against the uneven surface.

harry followed a few steps behind, his stride naturally longer than hers. “this is painful t’watch,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “are you always this slow, or is it just for me?”

YN stopped abruptly, her hands tightening around the railings as she shifted her weight. her hips jutted out slightly, throwing him off balance as he climbed.

he cursed under his breath, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady himself. his fingers found her hips, his grip firm but fleeting, as though he realized too late what he’d done. “jesus,” he muttered, pulling back as quickly as he’d touched her. “bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

she turned her head just enough to catch the faint flush creeping up his neck. she smirked, leaning her weight into the railing. “sorry—shorter legs and all.”

harry just blinked before the corner of his mouth twitched. he stepped back, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “you’re a child.”

she laughed softly, turning back to the stairs and continuing her climb. “yeah,” she called over her shoulder, her voice teasing. “but you’re still following me.”

they climbed higher, the steps echoing faintly beneath their feet, but harry's pace started to falter again—restlessness bleeding into his movements. "oh, for god's sake," he laughed, his patience snapping like a brittle thread. his fingers drummed against the railing briefly before he stopped altogether, grasping onto her wrist.

his grin was lopsided, dimples flashing as he let go of her hand and flung himself past her, his long legs taking the steps two at a time as he rushed toward the top. only a second and a half later, she met him up there, finding him standing there with a proud grin, his hands resting on his hips like he'd just conquered something monumental.

“impatience isn’t a virtue, by the way.”

he kept his smile, his dimples cutting deep as he lifted his hand in front of her face, palm out. his fingers wiggled dramatically, “talk to the hand, sista."

she paused, staring at him like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or push him off the railing. her expression cracked first, laughter spilling out before she could stop it. she swatted his hand away from her face as they leaned into each other, his own giggles breaking free in a low, rumbling sound that shook through him.

their laughter folded into each other, her shoulder pressing lightly into his chest as she tried to steady herself, his larger frame giving way slightly under the weight of their shared amusement.

harry’s laughter softened as he reached up, his fingers tugging at the edge of his packers beanie. his curls bounced free as he pulled it off, the cold air nipping at his now-exposed hair. without a word, he stretched his arm around her, carefully plopping the hat onto her head.

“what are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with with something delicate as she adjusted it, the oversized beanie swallowing her hair and tilting slightly to one side.

“you looked cold,” he said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. his fingers lingered at the edge of the beanie for just a second before he gave her forehead a gentle push with the flat of his palm.

it wasn’t hard—just enough to tip her head backward a little, like an afterthought, his grin barely contained as she blinked up at him.

“seriously?” YN smiled, tilting her head forward again, a faint laugh escaping as she fixed the hat and gave him a mock glare.

he didn’t reply, already stepping to his left with an exaggerated flourish, gesturing toward the narrow row of faded blue seats that stretched across the top of the bleachers. “c’mon.”

he slid into one of the seats first, his long legs folding awkwardly into the tight space as he leaned back and let out a contented sigh. he patted the seat beside him without looking at her.

she hesitated for a beat, brushing her hair out of her face before following him into the row. the cold metal of the seat pressed through her sweats as she sat down beside him, her knees brushing against his for just a second as she settled.

she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. harry’s beanie slipped forward slightly, brushing against her eyebrows, but she didn’t bother adjusting it. instead, she rested her chin on her knees, her gaze drifting across the empty field below as the wind whistled faintly through the bleachers.

he shifted beside her, digging into the pocket of his sweats. his movements were easy as he pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lime green lighter. sliding a cigarette between his lips, he leaned back, flicking the lighter once, twice

nothing.

his fingers were stiff from the cold, the wind catching the flame before it had a chance to hold. he tried again, his brows furrowing slightly as he muttered something under his breath.

YN turned her head, watching him with quiet curiosity. “you good over there?”

harry’s lips quirked around the cigarette. “just peachy,” he mumbled, his voice muffled as he tried one more time.

without a word, she reached over, her fingers brushing against his as she took the lighter from him. “hold still,” she murmured, leaning sideways as she cupped her hand over the cigarette perched between his lips, shielding it from the breeze.

her movements were practiced, easy, like she’d done this a hundred times before. she flicked the lighter once, and the small flame sprang to life, steady this time. she lit the end of the cigarette, her hand still shielding it from the wind as she glanced up at him. “there.”

harry took a drag, the ember glowing softly in the dim light, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. his gaze flicked to her, an unreadable expression crossing his face before his lips tilted into a small, lopsided grin.

she shifted back into her seat and pulled the beanie lower over her ears, her chin finding its place against her knees again. they sat in the quiet for a while, the whispers of the wind weaving around them, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or harry’s exhales.

she looked him over, the way his curls danced around his face, the way his lips wrapped around the cigarette, how the ember’s reflection flickered in his eyes. she bit the inside of her cheek before she muttered softly, almost to herself, “you’re british.”

he let out a breathy chuckle, the sound slipping through his nose as he took another pull from the cigarette. he sighed slowly, the smoke curling up into the cold night air before he turned his head toward her, his smirk faint but amused. “good eye, sherlock.”

she kissed her teeth, rolling her eyes as she prepared to retort, her lips parting—

but harry cut her off before she could. “—cheshire,” he breathed, the word rolling off his tongue in a way that caught her off guard, soft and lilting. “born there, anyway. mum moved me and my sister here when i was thirteen.”

“for a job or..?”

he nodded, the glow of the cigarette tip briefly lighting his features as he took another drag. “she got an offer she couldn’t turn down. packed us up, left everything behind. started over.”

YN tilted her head slightly, watching the way his gaze lingered on the field below, distant but steady. “must’ve been hard.”

he shrugged, “it was… weird. missing home, trying t’fit in here. but she did what she had to do. mum’s always been good at that—doing what has to be done.”

there was a warmth in his voice, a quiet admiration that made her chest tighten. she didn’t push for more, sensing that he’d already said more than he usually would. “your accent is starting to fade,” she said instead, her lips curving into a small smile.

he smiled faintly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “guess so. comes back strong when i’m drunk, though.”

she laughed softly, shaking her head as she turned her eyes back to the field.

he shifted slightly in his seat, his arm brushing hers as he glanced over, his cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. “what about you?”

she blinked, turning her head toward him. “me?”

“yes, you. where’s home?”

she hesitated for a moment, “about an hour north,” she mumbled, her voice carrying the faintest edge of something wistful. “right on the border between here and connecticut.”

he nodded, leaning back slightly as he tilted his head toward her. “family?”

YN huffed a quiet breath, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “brother’s in the army. mom and dad work all the time. and i’m just here.”

his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes studying her for a moment, thoughtful and quiet. “just here?”

she shrugged, hugging her knees closer to her chest as she rested her chin on them again. “yeah. they’re busy, you know? always have been. it’s not bad or anything, it’s just… how it is.”

harry didn’t respond right away, the glow of his cigarette catching the faint flicker of emotion in his gaze. “you don’t go home much, then.”

“no. they’re fine without me. and i’ve got everything i need here. school, this place… the occasional packers beanie to keep me warm.”

he chuckled gently at that, the sound low and warm as he reached out to tug the edge of the beanie further down over her ears.

YN tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the horizon as she broke the silence with a question that felt heavier than the moment. “ever fall in love?”

he turned to her, his brows furrowing slightly at the unexpectedness of it. he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, cigarette still lit between his fingers. “once or twice.”

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips twitching into a faint, almost knowing smile. “yeah,” she said softly. “me too. once or twice.”

his eyes lingered on her, studying the curve of her profile in the dim light. “what happened?”

“life, i guess. we grew apart, wanted different things.” she paused, her fingers idly tugging at her sleeves. “it wasn’t awful. just… wasn’t meant to be.”

he nodded slowly, his eyes drifting to the field below as he leaned back again, stretching his legs out in front of him.“same here.” he sighed. “things got complicated. fell apart before it could really go anywhere.”

YN turned to face him fully now, her cheek resting on her knees as she studied him. “do you think it’s worth it?”

“what, love?”

she nodded.

he was quiet for a beat, his features softening as he mulled over her question. “yeah,” he said finally, his voice low but certain. “for the right person.”

silence.

“—he treat you right?”

“what?”

he flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “the guy you loved. did he treat you right?”

she hesitated before she nodded, check still flush against her knees. “most of the time.”

his jaw twitched at her answer, “most of the time isn’t enough, y’know?”

“think you could do better?” she teased lightly, though there was an edge of genuine curiosity in her tone.

harry turned to her then, his eyes meeting hers, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest smirk. “yeah,” he said simply, taking another drag. “i know i could.”

her cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t look away. instead, she lifted her chin off her knees, her lips curving into a small, sly smile. “yeah right, harry.”

“i don’t say shit i don’t mean, cinnamon. not like that.”

YN didn’t respond, just shook her head faintly as she turned her head back to the field, her chest tightening in a way she didn’t quite know how to name.

he stayed quiet too, the silence settling over them again, but this time it felt heavier, charged with something unspoken that neither of them was ready to unpack.

he let the cigarette drop to the concrete, the faint glow of its ember dying as he ground it under his sneaker. the scrape of rubber against stone was sharp in the quiet, and then he straightened, towering over YN as her gaze followed him.

“let’s go,” he mumbled, his voice even but lacking the warmth it held earlier.

something had shifted.

it was subtle—barely a flicker—but she felt it. the easy banter from earlier seemed to pull back, replaced by something quieter, something more guarded.

she didn’t question it, though. not yet.

harry gestured toward the steps, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he waited for her to stand.

she sighed softly, pulling his packers beanie tighter over her ears as she rose, the cold biting at her cheeks while she fell into step beside him as they made their way back down the bleachers.

when they reached the chain-link fence again, harry stepped forward first, gripping the metal links as he tested its sturdiness like he had before. he didn’t say anything, only nodded toward the fence as he stepped aside to let her climb.

YN rolled her eyes but moved toward it anyway, her hands curling around the cold metal as she pulled herself up. harry’s hands hovered near her hips just as they had earlier.

she glanced down briefly to meet his eyes before she swung her leg over the top and climbed down the other side.

he followed quickly, his movements smooth and quick, landing on the grass beside her with barely a sound. they fell into step together on the walk back, the cool night air nipping at exposed skin as the distant hum of traffic filled the silence.

harry’s hands stayed buried in his pockets, his head slightly lowered as his long strides matched her shorter ones.

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, sensing the subtle shift in his demeanor. he wasn’t closed off, not entirely, but there was a distance now, like he was holding something back. "you okay?" she asked softly, her voice cutting through the silence.

"mm-hm,” he hummed, his tone even, but distant. "you?"

she nodded, even though something about his shift made her chest feel heavier. "yeah."

she didn’t press, didn’t push. instead, she let the silence stretch between them as their footsteps echoed softly against the pavement.

by the time they reached their building, the city felt quieter, the world around them settling into the stillness of the late night.

and though neither of them said a word as they split, the weight of the unspoken things between them lingered, threading itself into the space they shared.

another few days passed, and the walk back to the apartment felt lighter than usual.

YN had just said goodbye to a friend before rounding the corner to the building, her smile lingering as she adjusted the strap of her bag. it wasn’t often she felt this at ease.

but that lightness disappeared the moment she reached the stairwell.

as she climbed to their floor, her eyes landed on harry. he was standing at his door, his shoulders tense, his head down. his key trembled in his hand, the metal scraping against the lock as he missed the slot for what had to be the third time.

it was wrong. harry was steady. always steady. whether he was handing off a bag of weed or walking down the street like the world revolved around him, he had this uncanny knack for keeping his cool.

but not tonight.

she slowed her steps, her brow furrowing as she got closer. “harry?” her voice cut through the stillness, sharper than she intended.

his head snapped up. for a brief moment, she saw something raw in his eyes—panic, maybe—but it was gone as quickly as it came. his mouth twisted into a faint smile, the one he always wore like armor. “you’re back early.” his voice was rough, low, like he’d been grinding it against a wall.

she took a step closer, her eyes scanning him. “was about to say the same thing.” her gaze flicked to his hand, the one holding the key, the knuckles split and bruised.

“what happened to your hand?”

he stiffened, tucking the injured hand into his hoodie pocket. “nothing’.”

“bullshit,” she muttered, shoving her keys and phone into her pockets to free her hands. “let me see.”

he let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “don’t worry about it, cinnamon.”

the nickname barely registered; her focus stayed on him, on the tension in his shoulders, the blood crusting his knuckles. “harry,” she said, her tone firmer now. “you’re bleeding. just let me—”

“it’s fine!” he shouted, his voice cutting.

YN snapped her head back up, averting her gaze from his hidden hands, right to his eyes. his chest rose and fell, his breathing shallow and uneven. she didn’t speak, just stood there, watching the way his jaw tightened like he was trying to swallow something bitter.

he finally sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “fuck.”he mumbled, almost to himself.

she moved closer again, slower this time, her voice softer. “let me help.”

his eyes flicked to hers, guarded but not as sharp. his lips parted, like he wanted to argue, but no words came out.

inside her apartment, the air felt too still, too quiet.

harry sat stiffly at her small kitchen table, his hoodie now pushed back to reveal the messy curls tumbling over his forehead. he cradled his injured hand in his lap, his jaw set as YN dug through her cabinet for the first aid kit.

“you really don’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice low.

“yeah, well,” she sighed, pulling the kit down with a thud. “i’m doing it anyway.”

when she sat across from him, the silence between them grew heavy. she reached for his hand, but he hesitated, his fingers curling slightly.

“harry.”

he huffed but relented, letting her take his hand in hers.

the damage was worse up close. his knuckles were split and swollen, streaks of blood staining the spaces between his fingers. she inhaled sharply, her brows knitting as she reached for the antiseptic.

“jesus,” she muttered, shaking her head. “what the hell did you do?”

he didn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on the floor. when he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “ran into someone.”

she paused, the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball hovering over his knuckles. “like?”

“someone who didn’t want to pay up front.”

her stomach twisted. she pressed the cotton to his knuckles, and he hissed through his teeth, his fingers twitching under hers.

“hold still.” she murmured, her voice softer, airy.

he didn’t respond, just watched her work. her touch was careful but firm, her hands steady as she cleaned the cuts.

“you can’t keep doing this.” she said quietly, not looking up.

harry’s lips twitched, a dry laugh escaping him. “you worried about me?”

YN shot him a look, her expression somewhere between annoyance and concern. “maybe, harry. you ever think about that?”

his smile faded, and for a moment, his eyes softened—just a fraction, but enough for her to notice. “it’s nothing.”

“it’s not nothing.’” she countered, wrapping a clean bandage around his hand. “you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“maybe.” he whispered, watching her tie off the bandage.

“and you’re okay with that?”

his gaze flicked up to hers, and for a moment, something vulnerable passed between them—something unspoken but heavy. “depends on the day.”

she swallowed hard, her fingers lingering on the edge of the bandage before she leaned back.

“you’re an idiot.” she grumbled, standing to put the kit back in its place.

he grinned faintly, flexing his fingers against the bandage. “yeah, but you’re still patchin’ me up, aren’t you?”

she glanced over her shoulder, her lips pressing into a thin line. “someone has to.”

he stood, his frame filling the small kitchen as he neared the door.

“harry?”

he glanced back, his eyes soft as he looked at her expectantly.

“please be careful.”

his jaw clenched before he managed a tight nod, and then the door clicked shut behind him, leaving YN alone in the silence, the weight of his words—and his presence—lingering in the air.

it was thursday again, and the walk back from their evening lecture became an unspoken agreement.

it wasn’t something they talked about—there were no texts exchanged or plans made. but every tuesday and thursday, as the evening classes let out, they’d meet by the lecture hall’s exit. sometimes harry would already be there, leaning against the wall, pretending he wasn’t waiting. other times, YN would hang back near the doors, scrolling through her phone until she saw him.

tonight was no different.

harry was already outside when she came out of her bio lab, her bag slung over her shoulder and her hair a little messy from tying and retying it during the experiment. he fell into step beside her as they turned toward home, his bandaged hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his backpack slung low over one shoulder.

“that bad?” he asked, glancing at her as she adjusted her strap.

she sighed, shaking her head. “some idiot forgot to label their samples, so the whole lab got an extra hour of let’s go over the basics again.”

harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “you lot are a buncha losers, huh?”

“says the guy who’s probably failing chem,” she shot back, grinning.

he shrugged, unbothered—simply because it wasn’t true. “aggressively coasting.” he corrected.

what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

she rolled her eyes, giggling despite herself. the conversation drifted, easy and familiar, as they made their way through campus.

it was when they turned onto the last block before their building that harry stopped.

she noticed it immediately—the way his body went still, his eyes narrowing as they flicked to the other side of the street.

a man stood there, leaning against a lamppost, his hands shoved into the pockets of a heavy coat. he wasn’t doing anything—not technically—but there was something about the way he stared at the building’s exit that set harry on edge.

“go inside.”

she frowned, looking at him. “what?”

harry’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving the man across the street. “just go inside, YN.”

her confusion deepened as she followed his gaze. “harry, what’s going on?”

he turned to her then, his expression sharper than she’d ever seen it. “i said go the fuck inside.” he snapped, his voice low, biting—the words cutting through the cool evening air like glass.

she flinched, her eyes widening slightly. but before she could say anything, harry was already crossing the street, his shoulders squared and his hands shoved into his pockets.

she stayed where she was, her heart racing as she watched the scene unfold.

harry approached the man with a deliberate calm, his posture loose but his movements sharp. she couldn’t hear the first thing he said, but the man straightened immediately, his eyes narrowing as he looked harry up and down.

the conversation wasn’t loud, but it was tense—harry’s voice low, steady, while the man’s tone was sharper, more aggressive.

she could only catch snippets.

the man stepped closer, his hands twitching at his sides, and for a moment, YN thought it was going to escalate. but harry didn’t flinch. he held his ground, his voice even as he spoke again.

finally, the man pulled something from his pocket—a small bag, crumpled and poorly sealed—and shoved it into harry’s hand. he gave him a look, muttering something under his breath before turning on his heel.

he crossed the street, his shoulders tense, his face hard as stone. when he reached YN, he brushed past her—his shoulder catching hers, a silent signal that screamed follow me.

she hesitated, but only for a second before trailing after him. he didn’t look back as he pushed through the front door of their building, letting it slam shut behind them.

the silence between them stretched thin as they climbed the stairs, harry taking them two at a time, YN struggling to keep up with his longer stride.

“harry,” she started, her breath slightly uneven, “what the hell just happened?”

he didn’t answer, his hand gripping the stairwell railing tightly enough that his knuckles whitened.

“don’t ignore me,” she pressed, her voice sharper now. “who was that guy? why were you acting like—”

“drop it, YN.” he muttered, his voice sharp and clipped, but she wasn’t having it.

“no, i’m not dropping it!” she snapped, her tone cutting through the empty stairwell. “you don’t get to just walk away from this without explaining. i saw the way you looked at him. you knew him, didn’t you?”

he reached their floor and stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall, his back still to her.

“you knew he was trouble the second you saw him,” she continued, stepping closer. “so tell me why, harry. what’s going on—are you okay?”

he turned then, spinning on his heel so fast that she nearly bumped into him. his eyes were clouded, sharp, and for a moment, the force of his glare made her breath catch. “s��not your fucking concern, YN.” he spat, his voice cold and low, each word biting like frost. “it’s not like we’re friends. so just fucking stop.”

she froze mid-sentence, her jaw slack as the words sank in.

harry’s breathing was uneven, his hands balled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t look away.

she closed her mouth, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes stayed locked on his. after a long pause, she gave a single, curt nod. “got it.”

her voice was quiet but sharp, like the edge of a knife.

she stepped around him, her gaze never wavering as she turned toward her unit. the weight of her presence lingered, heavy and unforgiving, even as she unlocked her door and disappeared inside.

he stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hallway. his chest felt tight, his fists still clenched, but he didn’t move. he didn’t look for her.

because if he had, he would’ve followed her. and he wasn’t sure what he’d say—or if it would even make a difference.

[rueclfer]

i loved your housemates au you made for sero can you make one for bakugo? :)))) thank you!

EEP thank u for req bc i also love housemates au sososo much hehe

(sero's version + written under cut)

housemates // katsuki bakugou moodboard + hc

there's no way bakugou would willingly move in with a stranger so when the opportunity came, moving in with a family friend was his only option. your relationship with bakugou could've barely been classified as "acquaintances," but at least you had your mothers to vouch for the other.

in the beginning, he'd most definitely keep to himself in his bedroom. small talk wasn't exactly his strong suit, so it forced you to be the one to close the gap. it'd probably start with him coming home from a bad day at work and you hear a plate shattering in the kitchen. you'd come out to see him holding another plate for the smashing with the most deadpan "oops" you've ever heard. (you're grateful that he moved on from his wall punching phase from his teenage years)

after that night, you made it a habit to ask him about his day and let him complain to his heart's content. you then start to notice him lingering around the apartment more often- sitting at the bar while you're cooking your dinner, taking a seat on the opposite side of the dining room table with you while you work on your laptop, even sitting on the balcony with you with your cups of tea early in the morning.

the more comfortable he got with you, the more irritating he became. he'd do things to purposely piss you off, like drinking straight from the milk carton and sending you a photo of it, drawing explicit things on the condensation of the bathroom mirror for you to find after his shower, and leaving his socks haphazardly thrown around the apartment.

of course through his rudeness, you were quick to catch onto his love language. need some floating shelves installed? just pretend to struggle a bit and then next thing you know he's ripping the tools from your hands and telling you to go away while he got to work. having a late start? he already has your tea steeping on the kitchen counter. forgot to switch out your laundry? sure, he'll lecture you about leaving wet clothes in the washer for too long, but you'll come home to your dry clothes in your basket next to your bedroom door.

the romance would come slow. he'd come home late at night and you're up waiting to hear his grievances about his annoying boss and coworkers, and he'd sit back and hear about your stupid assignments and professors. when the conversation comes to a lul, you're both staring at each other, fingertips tingling, and thinking to yourselves about how you can't wait to do it all over again the next day.

[macfrog]

I miss our beloved scom family. How are they doing this fine day?

god, i miss them too. here's what they probably got up to today.

something blue 3.6k words | series masterlist warnings: y'all know the drill: being a mom.

Sarah leads Ellie, the way she always does, into the kitchen at seven a.m. sharp.

She stops by Joel first, squeezes into his size at the counter, and pushes onto her tiptoes. When he sidesteps to let her see (even though he point-blank refused to let you), she wraps two arms tight around her sister and hoists her up.

“Pancakes!” the three-year-old squeals, and loses her grip on her plastic dinosaur. He falls headfirst into the counter.

“Shh!” Sarah hisses, slinging Joel a disgruntled look. She sighs and swipes the T-Rex from his hand.

“The heck you lookin’ at me for?” he grumbles.

The girls eye you the entire walk over to the table. One as suspicious as the other. Sarah moves smooth, floats over to her spot with her chin skyward.

Ellie thumps at her heels, staring you down and almost stumbling into a chair.

“Careful, Nel,” you whisper, and her poker face cracks. You turn to Sarah. “I know it’s pancakes. It’s the only thing your dad ever figured out how not to burn.”

Joel’s shoulders jump. He swallows the laugh in his chest and says nothing.

Ellie sucks the chocolate clean from her dinosaur’s head. Last week, she decided his name was Bill. You, Joel, and Sarah are still trying to figure out where the hell she came up with it. Whoever he’s named after, she doesn’t like him much – not with the rate she lobs him around.

Kid’s an enigma. She suits it just fine.

She stares at you, still, as Sarah helps her up into her chair. Judders forward with each shove under the table. Comical, the two of them; like Pinky and the fucking Brain, you once told Joel – though you’re still not sure who’s who.

Your eyes drop to a stain on the toddler’s outfit. “You want me to wash that yet, Gagarin?”

She looks down. An arm swishes up to dab at the tangerine splotch. She grins, amused with herself, and shoves the dino back between her gums.

Sarah shakes her head. She turns back to you and flashes a trademark Joel frown. Eight years old and somehow, she manages to encapsulate the same fifty-six-year-old, unimpressed glower.

“Nel,” she turns, uttering between teeth, “You can’t wear dirty clothes today, remember?”

“I don’t think spacesuits are allowed at preschool,” you sigh as you push yourself up. “Much too sophisticated – huh, baby girl?”

Ellie giggles and flings her arms to the ceiling, sending Bill in a somersault across the table. She’s in nothing but pull-ups underneath the onesie – although it’s rare for her to ever be in much more than her pull-ups and, usually, one loose sock.

The suit means she’s feeling fancy. But what the fuck for?

All of Sarah’s leftover chaos, the magic she left in your veins after she was born, seems to have poured into her little sister. Smaller, mightier – more reckless, but not half as savvy.

Rarely seen without one of her prehistoric pals in her fist; evidence of what she had for lunch smeared around her lips. Chasing after Sarah, after Shimmer, after a butterfly that found itself trapped in her bedroom last month.

She scaled a chest of drawers trying to reach it. Joel caught her just in time. Some nights in bed, you can still feel his heart pounding from the scare she gave him.

Chalk and cheese. Sarah and Ellie. The former calm, composed. Candid and levelheaded, book smart and (alarmingly) wise beyond her years.

The latter – well.

It’s her first time on the planet, too, you try to remember.

You wander over to the washer, tossing the suit into the drum. You dig an elbow into Joel’s side and he flinches.

“Can I see yet?”

He turns, shielding whatever’s in front of him with a wide shoulder. “Not yet, baby. Not done.”

“You’re taking fuckin’ forever,” you mumble, pressing the words into his shoulder blade. From the corner of your eye, you watch the girls babbling to each other, scratching Shimmer between her floppy ears.

Joel twists, still hiding with his hands, and dots a tiny kiss on the tip of your nose. He smells like coffee and toothpaste. It still dizzies you every time he’s near enough for you to breathe it in.

“I’m almost done. Promise.”

You steal a kiss from his lips and smirk, stepping away. “Okay,” your eyes drift down to the counter, “If you say s…Alphabet sprinkles?”

His jaw slackens, moves like a bubbling fish. “Uh – they’re for – they’re for somethin’…Duck?” he clears his throat, “Tell your mom what they’re for, would ya?”

Sarah freezes. She stammers just like her dad. She does a lot just like him.

“A…a…a school project,” she says, and stares down at the dog.

“A – a – a school project?”

Your daughter nods. Still fixed on the smudges of sable around Shimmer’s eyes. “Bake sale.”

“You never told me about any bake sale,” you cross your arms, “What’d you make?”

She’s quick as lightning. “Cupcakes. But we haven’t made ‘em yet. Tonight, right, Dad?”

Joel’s voice is hoarse with panic. “Tonight,” he rasps.

You lean back against the counter, eyes shifting to the right. A different tactic. A rogue tactic, that’s for sure, but she has her moments. “…Nel?”

Your youngest looks up from her belly button.

“Not Nel,” Joel pleads, catching your eye for half a second.

“Why not Nel?”

His voice drops. “That kid would spill a state secret if you dangled a marshmallow in front of her.”

You tsk. “That’s mean. And wrong, anyways. The reason they have state secrets is ‘cause of kids like her. We should be proud, Miller.”

Ellie’s clutching the dinosaur when you look back over, chewing on his tail. She blinks back, and you wonder if there’s anything other than mastermind plans of mischief behind her eyes.

Joel says she has the same look in her eye that you do. Like you’re in on something the rest of the world has yet to catch up on. Twins, from the moment she stumbled ass over foot out of your body.

She talks just like you, and acts just like you, and – some nights, chatting sleepy gibberish under the slow turn of her rocket ship nightlight – you figure she must think just like you, too.

The perfect little riot.

Joel nudges you away, whispering, “Go on,” and you snicker, pushing off.

The sun combs through the room, glinting off cutlery and radiating from your daughters’ smiles. They chat and giggle and kick their feet; Sarah blows raspberries and Ellie sprays saliva all over the table when she tries to copy.

This is life, now.

You used to wake up to a silent house, sip your coffee and watch the oven clock count down the minutes until you had to leave for work.

You used to keep the radio on, even when you were out back – just to feel like someone was home with you. You used to sing to yourself as you flicked every light off at the end of the night.

Now, the laughter lives in the walls. It echoes even when you’re home alone. The oven clock counts down until there’s another pair of smaller hands in yours; until your man’s arms are back around your waist where they belong.

Come nightfall, you pluck odd socks and toy cars from under the couch. You tuck your children into bed, nuzzle your nose into their cheeks. You curl up beside Joel and trace shapes into his palm.

I love you, you write, some nights.

Dickhead, on others.

It takes a village, they all say. And sure, sometimes it does.

Sometimes, though, all it takes is two neighbors, a handshake deal, and a little bump named Duck.

“Woah, Nellie,” Joel chuckles, setting the first plate down. He clicks his teeth and taps a light knuckle on the girls’ hands, locked in a death grip. “Play nice. I got yours here, too, kiddo.”

Ellie straightens immediately. She watches, eyes fixed and glasslike, as her own breakfast is presented to her. And then she breaks into a wide grin, cheeks swelling. Her heels thud thud thud on the legs of her chair.

You lean over, cocking your head to see.

Two stacks of fluffy pancakes – a healthy dollop of chocolate spread on Sarah’s, and Ellie’s drizzled in golden syrup. Shards of strawberry and slices of banana scattered over the towers; blobs of whipped cream like clouds.

And on top of each, in clumsy sprinkle letters: Duckie and Nellie.

Sarah grins, two front teeth brand new and beautiful. She picks up her cutlery and raps them against the table, a nervous jitter about her.

You realize, just as her eyes flicker across yours, that she’s not beaming at her pancakes.

You realize, as he sways over to your side, that she’s beaming at him.

He’s holding two more plates. He sets his own down, a messy crater carved into the chocolate.

Your brows pull. “What happened –?”

“Bill happened,” he scoffs, shooting Ellie daggers.

She’s too busy tearing her stack apart, mixing a paste from syrup and cooked batter. There are few things the kid loves more than food and mess – and nothing she loves more than both at the same time.

She looks out of her mind happy, smothering the glossy mixture all over her cheeks, chewing in contentment.

“Like ‘em?” Joel asks, and you glance up.

“Yeah,” you laugh, eyes welling, “I love them. What’s the occasion, Miller?”

“Just…” his head wobbles as he considers it, “…we wanted to ask you somethin’.”

You turn to Sarah.

She’s still smiling, wider than you’ve ever seen. So bright that you worry she might shatter the glassware on the table.

“We?” you ask, smiling much the same.

She gives nothing away, and yet, at the same time – everything. Her knee bounces with excitement. Her breathing quickens.

“You wanna read yours?” Joel asks, tilting the plate in his hand.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No,” you sniff, “I’m scared.”

He lowers the plate.

The letters blur in and out of focus as you blink.

Red, green, yellow, pink. The second M is an upside-down W. The Rs lean into each other, chocolate pushing from the middle of the letters. A question mark crafted from a C and half of another letter.

Your lungs jump, though you knew it was coming. Though you’ve talked about it for months, now.

Let’s just get it outta the way, make it easier for the girls when we’re older. Few forms to fill out then it’s done. We don’t gotta make a big deal of it.

Can’t afford to make a big deal of it, anyway.

Wouldn’t want to make a big deal of it.

You’ve never been one for big deals.

This is a big deal. This is a big fucking deal, Joel.

All multicolored, flecks of whipped cream on them. Silly little alphabet letters.

Marry me?

Joel kneels as you swivel around to him. He kisses your cheek, takes your hands, rubs his thumbs across your knuckles.

“Look,” he says, voice trembling, “I know we said we wouldn’t make a big deal of it. But…you gotta let me make a big deal of it, honey. You gotta let me make a big deal of you.”

You laugh, tears spilling down the front of your shirt. Your heart is pounding, body alight with nerves or excitement or both, in one lightning bolt of feeling.

It’s everything you ever wanted, and nothing you ever expected.

“Everything I have –” Joel says, “– the kids, the house, the dog – I found it all with you. Because of you. I love you so much, and I can’t – I can’t take another minute that we’re not…”

His hands squeeze yours, and you swear you feel your pulses align. Beating together, two hearts on the same bassline.

He swipes the tears from your cheek, catches them in his palm. “…It don’t have to mean anything, I know that – but you, darlin’…you mean everything. What do you say we go do it?”

It’s the easiest thing in the world. And not just because you knew it was coming, knew to expect it soon enough.

Joel could’ve asked you the minute you found out you were pregnant with Sarah, and you reckon you would’ve said yes.

It’s easy. Loving him is so easy. Being with him is so fucking easy.

Coffee at sunrise, low volume TV in the bedroom. Skin and sheets, marks on your neck and chest and thighs. Laughter for breakfast, homework for dinner. Two bodies squeezing into one tiny shower cubicle, Joel’s hand over your mouth to muffle your giggles.

“Today,” you whisper, cupping his jaw. “I want to do it today.”

“Today?” his eyes flash over your shoulder to his daughters, “We gotta take the girls to –”

“No, we don’t,” your head shakes, “Do we have a marriage license?”

“Got it last week.”

“Then they come with. We get all dressed up, all four of us, and head down to the courthouse. We’re married by the end of the day.”

He laughs, loose and disbelieving. Shakes himself back into the room. “Today,” he repeats. “As in, right now?”

“Right now, baby.”

“Okay. Yeah, alright. Today.”

“Ask me.”

Joel’s cheeks lift. Tears disappear into his beard.

You lean forward, lining your forehead against his. “Ask me, Miller,” you whisper.

It’s no big deal. It’s a regular Wednesday. Packed lunches and dinosaurs with Nutella in their teeth.

It’s no big deal, but when he asks you, time stops.

“Will you marry me?”

“Fuck yeah, I will.”

Sarah takes forty-five minutes to apply your mascara, some powder, and a pink lip. She promises she’s being neat, and you tell her you don’t care – you’ll love it either way.

She says she knows, but she promises she is anyway.

Ellie curls up in your lap and twists your necklace around her fingers. She asks four times if her spacesuit is dry yet.

“Ellie,” Sarah warns – and you know it’s serious when she uses her sister’s real name – “You can’t wear a costume to a wedding.”

“Mama is!”

“No she ain’t! Brides are s’posed to wear white. Mama’s dress ain’t white. What you got on is fine,” she decides.

Ellie knows better than to keep arguing. She catches her heel in her hands, huffing. “Wanted to be an ass-traut.”

You catch Sarah’s eye. Don’t.

She bites her giggle.

“You are an astronaut,” you squeeze your toddler, “Our astronaut. Whether you’re in your spacesuit, or you got your big bare butt out for us all to see.”

She giggles into herself, a sound sweet enough to convince the sun to rise at dawn. Her baby teeth are small and wonky. She snorts, settles in your arms again, and watches Sarah lean in with the lipstick.

You lift your chin, holding steady. “Is Dad ready?”

She pauses, letting go of her breath. “He says he’s been ready the last half hour,” she mutters, and dabs more color on.

“Is he nervous?”

Her eyes lift. Eyelashes long and thick – black mascara that you made her pinkie swear she’d wipe clean the moment she gets home.

She smirks. It’s like looking in a mirror. “Are you?”

You press your lips together, blending the pink. “Little bit. You think that’s a good sign?”

“Mhm.”

Sarah straightens, capping the lipstick. She smiles at her masterpiece. “You look beautiful, Mama.”

“Well,” your chest fills, “I’m only beautiful ‘cause you made me that way, Duck.”

Joel’s voice sails upstairs and into the little pink room.

“Courthouse is closin’, sun’s almost down, they’re diggin’ my damn grave already. Are we good to go, or what?”

Sarah grins and leaps over an upturned toybox in the middle of her room. She pirouettes out to the landing, pursing and then smacking her lips together.

You fix Ellie’s skirt and lead her out after her sister. “’s go, Nellie.”

“Mama,” she tugs at the fabric, “I gotta…Need…need…”

“Shit,” you whisper, watching the ballerina twirl downstairs to her dad. “Uh…Duckie?”

“Hi, pretty Duck,” Joel calls, catching her in his arms. He spins her around and the skirt of her dress billows.

Her little heels click when he lets her down. She keeps on spinning, watching herself in the mirror.

“Baby?” Joel calls. “Y’all ready?”

“Nel’s gotta go!” you reply.

He scoffs. “She nervous or som’?”

“Or som’,” you sigh, walking the kid into the bathroom.

Ellie takes about as long as a three-year-old should, to be fair to her. It requires an amount of determination that right now, neither of you have the focus to lend it. Potty training doesn’t wait up, even for weddings.

Eventually, she announces with a triumphant shout that she’s done, Mama! – and claps her hands as the toilet flushes.

You carry her downstairs, heels clunking on the solid wood. At the bottom you set her free – and she sprints out to join her sister on the lawn.

The pair run circles around one another. They cartwheel on the grass; they race Shimmer and use the flowerbeds as hurdles. They dirty their dresses – ivory stained with bursts of green – though they look better that way, anyway.

They take turns playing Swingball with the only remaining racket (a mysterious disappearance that neither will own up to, and both are most certainly involved in). Sarah tells Ellie that she won – and the smaller girl throws her fists in the air and roars in victory.

Joel stands on the porch, hands in his pockets, watching. Even from behind, you can see the shape of his cheeks: he’s smiling. He crosses one foot over the other and taps his heel against the wood.

You emerge from the house slowly, quietly. “We didn’t get matching corsages this time,” you say, and he turns.

He starts, as though he glitches for a second. As though his world tilts on its axis, just from looking at you. His expression softens, his lips curve into a smile.

Then he breathes a laugh – a shaky thing, like he’s seventeen again, watching his homecoming date saunter over.

“That’s alright,” he replies, and slips a hand into his suit pocket. He fishes out two white tulips. “Remembered Alice dropped these off the other day. Here.”

Delicately, lighter than the breeze, he tucks the flower behind your ear. He steps back to admire his work, just like his daughter did.

All the best parts of you, you reckon, are the parts that are loved by them.

“How do I look?” you ask.

Joel sucks in a shattered breath. “Beautiful,” he chokes, like it’s all his voice will allow. He sniffs, drags his knuckles across the bottom of his nose, and says, “You ain’t never looked more beautiful.”

“Your turn.”

You take the second tulip from his fingers and drop it into his breast pocket, turning it until it looks perfect. “There,” you pat his chest, “Now we both look beautiful.”

He steps forward, dipping his head to kiss you. Arms around your waist, hands splayed on your back. He laughs against your lips. “Don’t think I don’t know what this is,” he mumbles, tugging at the pale material.

“It still fits!” you say, running a palm down the smooth silk. Flashes of light, a squealing guitar, heated kisses and a thudding bassline. It spins past your eyes as he leans in again.

He tastes the same. Less alcohol, sure – but that same, sweet-as-honey, instantly intoxicating taste. Like you were a goner before you even hit the mattress.

You look back up, and Joel’s eyes are on yours.

“After two kids, it still fits,” you whisper.

“Hm,” he muses, glancing down. His hands slip around your ass. “Looks even better than it did then, Mama.”

You laugh against his lips. “It’s my something blue.”

“Oh, yeah?” He lifts an eyebrow. “What else you got?”

“Well, something borrowed –” you hold your left hand up, a plastic ring glinting in the sunlight, “– Duck gave me some of her finest jewelry. Something new –” you wiggle your earlobe, “– Mother’s Day earrings, and…something old…”

Joel tilts his head. His expression tightens, tightens, tightens – until he understands. He clicks his teeth and steps back. “Funny. You’re so funny, I ever tell you that?”

You giggle, letting him drag you across the porch. “I’m just bein’ realistic, man. What else do I got that’s as old as you?”

He ignores you. It makes you laugh even harder.

It always did.

The wind surfs through silk, lifting your skirt as you stride over the driveway. Your hands stay interlocked – and you know that, secretly, Joel’s as nervous as you.

He whistles and his daughters look up.

“Serena, Venus,” he calls, nodding to the truck. “Get in.”

They skip over. Sarah takes her dad’s hand – the picture of royalty as he aids her up into the backseat – and Ellie swings into your arms.

You strap them in, point fingers to warn them not to bicker, and climb in the front.

The doors slam closed and you exhale slowly. Two kids aren’t any more complicated than one – especially in yours and Joel’s case – but holy shit, they’re tiring.

They compare dresses in the backseat. What color is yours, Duck? Pink, Nel. Is mine’s pink, Duck? Yours is yellow, Nel.

Joel’s hand slips around your knee. He smiles. Gives your leg a little squeeze. He flicks the radio on, and an Eagles track sways through the cabin. He fixes the tulip in your hair, peppers kisses along your wrist.

His voice is as soft as Henley’s, when he asks –

“Wanna go to a wedding?”

[sturnslcver]

enemy! chris where he absolutely breaks down reader to where she has no motivation to do anything anymore and he notices n begins to feel bad

ੈ✩‧₊˚ expiated favours ˚.°: ₊˚ ୨

— chris sturniolo x fem reader —

— warnings, fluff, blurb, crying

you shot chris a fond smile, proud of the meal you’d just prepared for him. you gently set it on the edge of his desk. he didn’t bother looking away from the screen occupying him as you cracked open a can of pepsi. “here” you muttered quietly, scooting it toward him. you lingered beside him for a split second hoping he might acknowledge or thank you. he didn’t. you gently shut the door on your way out to the living room.

almost immediately after you’d plopped down on the couch, chris had emerged from his room. “you didn’t put enough ice” he grumbled. “sorry” you shrugged. he slammed his glass against the counter. “so are you gonna get the ice?” you glanced at him and exhaled a long breath before lifting yourself back to your feet to fulfill his request. he took a long sip, smacking his lips together. “better” he replied, heading back towards his room. he paused before continuing. “oh, start my clothes in the washer too. i forgot.” you scooped up the laundry basket and followed behind him to his room, dragging all the clothes from the floor and tossing them up into the basket.

your feet shuffled across the hallway back to the laundry closet. you were separating the color’s and whites when nick surfaced from his room. you delicately grasped his arm, gazing up at him. “can you finish this for me? i need to lay down.” nick obliged, of course seeing the black circles under your eye. you clawed at your hair, eager to finally get into some comfy clothes and hopefully get some sleep.

you were settled on your side, in bed facing the wall. just as you were nodding off, your door loudly unlatched. “did you finish my clothes?” you didn’t retort, your back still facing him. “you used a different detergent this time. i don’t like it.” he held up his shirt, inhaling the latest scent. “are you even listening?” he questioned. you reached for the nearest pillow, placing it directly onto your head. “i asked nick to finish the load.” he squinted his eyes as if it might help the noise coming from the pillow sound any less muffled.

you shot up and turned to face chris. “you know i don’t have to do these things for you. i just do it because i want too. i like doing things for you and you don’t show any appreciation or gratitude towards anything i do for you.” you voice gradually softened as you felt a lump forming in your throat. you hid your face in your hands and began to weep. “i’m tired, chris. i’m trying my best and it’s never enough.” you felt the bed sink in a little, peeking through your fingers. chris had his knee eased into the edge of the bed right beside you. he brought his hands up, drawing yours away from your face. he placed his hands lightly against your cheeks and used his thumbs to gingerly rub away your tears. he surveyed your glassy eyes for a moment, placing one of his hands on the back of your head and pulling you against his chest faintly. he clutched you into a warm embrace.

hesitating momentarily, you brought your arms around his back, rubbing up and down repeatedly, reciprocating his affection. your fingers trickled along chris’ spine. his chin lazed on top of your head. “don’t cry. i’m sorry. i do appreciate you and everything you do for me and it’s my fault for not making it more known to you.”he placed both of his hands to the side of your head and planted a soft kiss to your forehead. “how about you let me finally appreciate you, hm? ” “how?” you chuckled eagerly.

chris raised your legs back onto the bed and signaled you to rest your back up against the headboard. he climbed up onto the bed and slid toward the bottom, placing your feet in his lap. he reverently placed a warm kiss to your ankle and began to massage your foot. “feels nice” you beam up at him. he hummed contently. the both of you exchanged a playful glance and laughed. “just tell me when to stop” chris cooed.

— a/n: i wasn’t sure how to go about the whole enemy thing because i couldn’t come up with a creative enemy backstory or a decent reason as to why they would be “enemies” also this is pretty short but i hope u still enjoy!! pls keep submitting things guys :)

[signofspeed]

ᯓ★ JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY!

it’s your mums birthday but your step dad can’t seem to take his eyes off of you (mean step dad!joel miller x f!reader smut)

a/n: my first Joel fic so go nice on me lol, if you enjoyed then reblog and show some love. this was so fun to write, enjoyyy

The party was everything your mum had dreamed of—warm lights strung across the backyard, music playing softly in the background, and her closest friends and family gathered to celebrate her big day. It was perfect, right down to the last detail, even if the man she was cheating on Joel with had the audacity to show up. You leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter, sipping from a glass of wine and watching the scene unfold through the open sliding door. People laughed, danced, and toasted to her, utterly oblivious to the tension simmering in the house.

You couldn’t help it—your eyes drifted across the room to Joel.

He was standing near the corner, nursing a beer and looking as ruggedly handsome as ever in his fitted flannel shirt and worn jeans. His salt-and-pepper hair was slightly tousled, and his intense brown eyes scanned the room—lingering on you when he thought no one was watching.

He had been stealing glances at you all night, his attention as unavoidable as a magnetic pull. It started innocently enough—a brush of his hand against yours when you passed him a plate of hors d’oeuvres, the subtle shift in his posture whenever you were near. But the heat in his gaze told you this wasn’t just polite attention.

It was something darker. Something forbidden.

You shouldn’t have reciprocated. You shouldn’t have noticed the way his broad shoulders flexed when he reached for something or the way his jaw clenched when he caught you smiling at one of the younger guests. You certainly shouldn’t have liked the jealousy flashing in his eyes.

But you did.

You set down your empty glass, heart pounding, and turned toward the hallway, needing a moment away from the noise to catch your breath. As you passed through the kitchen door, a strong hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the darkened laundry room.

The laundry room door slammed shut behind you with a soft click, cutting off the cheerful noise of the party outside. Joel turned the lock with a deliberate motion, his broad back blocking the exit, his presence suffocating in the small space. He didn’t say a word, not at first. His dark eyes bore into yours, his lips pulled into a tight line.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he asked finally, his voice low and menacing.

You blinked, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I—What are you talking about?”

He scoffed, a dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Don’t play dumb with me.” His boots thudded against the tile as he took a step closer, then another, until you were pressed against the cold metal of the washer. “You’ve been walking around all goddamn night in that little dress, batting your eyes at every guy who looks at you, like a slut”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he growled, cutting you off. His hands came up, gripping your hips with a bruising force. “You think I didn’t see the way you smiled at that little punk by the bar? Laughing at his jokes like you didn’t know I was standing right there?”

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of his anger.

“Quiet,” he snapped, his fingers digging into your skin. “You’ve been pushing me all night, sweetheart. Acting like a fucking tease. But you know what? I’m done playing nice.”

His words sent a thrill of fear and excitement racing through you, leaving you breathless. Joel’s hands slid up your sides, his rough palms brushing over the thin fabric of your dress.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he demanded, his voice a low growl in your ear. “You’ve been begging for my attention all night. Now you’ve got it.”

You didn’t have time to respond before his mouth crashed against yours, his lips claiming you in a bruising, possessive kiss. His beard scratched against your skin, the sensation adding to the overwhelming heat building between you. You gasped against him, and he took full advantage, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to taste you.

Joel’s hands roamed your body with a kind of urgency that bordered on roughness, sliding down to your thighs and pulling you closer. He hoisted you onto the washer in one swift motion, his body slotting between your legs as he pressed against you.

“You think you can act like that out there and not face the consequences?” he muttered, his lips trailing down your neck. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, making you whimper. “No, baby. You’re mine. And I’m gonna remind you who you belong to.”

His hands bunched the fabric of your dress, shoving it up around your hips with no regard for how it wrinkled. You trembled under his touch, your breath hitching as his fingers found the thin band of your panties.

“Already soaked,” he murmured, his voice thick with disdain and hunger. “Of course you are, filthy little thing.”

“Joel,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Shut up,” he snapped, his fingers hooking under the fabric and tearing it off you with one swift motion. The sound of the fabric ripping sent a jolt through you, your head spinning with the knowledge that there was no turning back now.

Joel stepped back just enough to undo his belt, the metallic clink making your pulse race. His eyes never left yours as he yanked his jeans down just enough to free himself, his hard length standing proud and thick.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re gonna sit there and take it. No whining. No complaints. Got it?”

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“That’s my girl,” he muttered, his hands gripping your thighs and yanking you closer to the edge of the washer.

Without another word, he pushed into you in one hard thrust, stretching you painfully around him. You cried out, the sensation a mix of pleasure and pain, but Joel didn’t stop. He didn’t give you time to adjust, his hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm that left you gasping for air.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice rough as his hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he took you. “So fucking tight. Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mingling with your ragged breathing and his deep, guttural groans. Joel’s pace was brutal, each thrust hitting a spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“You think anyone out there knows what a little slut you are?” he asked, his tone mocking as his hand came up to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Huh? Think they’d still think you’re so sweet if they could see you right now? Sat here and taking me like this?”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to hold on. The heat in your core built with each thrust, the pressure almost unbearable.

“That’s right,” Joel muttered, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “You like this, don’t you? Being used like the dirty little thing you are.”

“Yes,” you gasped, the word tumbling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Say it,” he demanded, his grip on your jaw tightening. “Say you belong to me.”

“I belong to you,” you choked out, your voice trembling.

“Damn right you do,” he growled, his hand slipping down to find the sensitive bundle of nerves between your thighs. His thumb circled it with maddening precision, sending you hurtling toward the edge. “Now come for me, baby. Show me who you belong to.”

His words were your undoing. Your body tensed, the wave of pleasure crashing over you and leaving you trembling in his arms. Joel followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name like a prayer.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your labored breathing, the faint hum of the washer beneath you grounding you in the aftermath.

Joel leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t forget who owns you,” he murmured, his tone soft but no less commanding.

As he stepped back, adjusting his jeans and belt, he smirked down at you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Clean yourself up,” he said, tossing your torn panties at you. “And get back to the party. Best not make it obvious what we’ve just been up to”

You nodded, still too dazed to speak, as he unlocked the door and disappeared into the hallway.

Left alone, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of what had just happened, you couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. You belonged to Joel, and there was no denying it even if he was married to your mum.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Oh, I love her! Too cute, tiny 1930 hacienda in Spokane, WA has 1bd, 1ba, 486 sq ft, $270K. I would move right in, if WA wasn't clear across the country from me.

Surrounded by a wall and fence, it's like your own private little fortress.

Isn't this sweet? A little sitting area in front of the wood stove. They have a table for 4 made out of an antique sewing machine base, for dining, in front of the kitchen, and there's room for 2 larger chairs on the side.

Look at the details, like the little niche in the wall.

Cute little kitchen and I like the stairs going up to the sleep loft. I would probably reconfigure the kitchen- at least get an island with a counter and some storage.

The kitchen could use a nice Mexican tile backsplash and a small exhaust hood over the stove.

Under the sleep loft there's a bath and some shelving.

Is that a washer/dryer?

Very nice shower.

View of the sleep loft.

I don't think that I would use the loft- Where the armoire is, I think that I would put a Murphy bed and move the love seat over.

Then, I would remove that built-in bench and put an armoire next to the window, b/c there are no closets. Maybe, I would even remove the shelving and make a closet there, too. I would reconfigure it all.

A nice outbuilding. Was this a chicken coop?

Inside it's a great storage shed.

The yard is pretty.

So, when I saw all of this firewood, I went back to see if the wood stove is the only heating source, but it's not. There's a gas furnace.

Look at the nice covered patio.

There is quite a large front yard that has potential.

The corner lot measures 6,098 sq ft.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/4128-N-Monroe-St-Spokane-WA-99205/89446486_zpid/

[86espresso]

💌 roommate!jack (loml)

part 2 part 3 suggestive lolololol

(au??)

gets you pads & chicken wings and ur like?? and he’s like ‘you said get pads with wings :)’ and then you cry

subconsciously makes a meal for two every time he cooks bc you’re always studying

you instantly hit it off with him because why not and it’s like, immediate besties

*you walk out in a pretty outfit* “look at you! where you goin’?” “dinner with the girls!!” “dinner with the girlss!! do a twirl f’me.” (FUCJ FUCKLPSJW)

“where’s my favorite black shirt? swear I left it on the counter.” “…” “jack?” “I swear I had no idea- look, I spilled orange juice and your shirt looked like a rag-” “so then you threw it in the washer, right?” “It’s in the trash I’m SO sorry” “you’re done.”

“Dude, I need the best fuckin cuddles you can offer right now.”

(#2) listening to you yap while you sit on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs back and forth.

massaging each other after hard days >>>

“I specifically put protein shakes on the grocery list.” “I didn’t look at the grocery list!” “Why? Why- why not?” “I didn’t think I’d need it, sorry babe.” and he can’t even be mad anymore bc you called him BABE.

friday movie nights and you inch closer every time until you’re practically on top of him and u both don’t (do) care.

the one time he puts you to work in the kitchen & you cut your finger on a knife: “shit, mshit fuck- christ, I’m so sorry. Shit, c’mere.” cleans you off properly and puts on a bandaid. (maybe he kisses your finger and that’s when you both realize that you’re stupidly in love or maybe he doesn’t.) kitchen off limits fr now

knows that you hate thunder so you wordlessly crawl to his bed whenever there’s a storm and he wordlessly lifts his sheets so you can get under them. wordless cuddling. wordless lil forehead kisses.

(#2) “did you eat today?” texts when he’s on roadies that make you want to smash ur head against a wall.

^ *when you get together eventually* “this is what a healthy relationship is like?” when he runs you a bath with rose petals & a bath bomb the night before one of your finals and kisses you all over ur face.

“you need to let me in when you’re upset, okay? I care about you and I want to help.”

“so.. I think you’re pretty adjusted to new jersey now (2 years).. maybe it’s time for me to move out? you probably want your own place now-” “wtf ? you idiot this is your apartment and the only way you’re getting rid of me is by getting rid of my cold, dead body.” “you could’ve just said you want me to stay-” “I want you to stay. I need you here.” (owbskhelenlop)

Jack’s thoughts when he unintentionally gets you obsessed with hockey and you start spitting random facts at random time: what have I created. (she’s such a nerd I want to fuck her.)

just as you’re about to walk into your apartment, he comes out and shuts the door behind him abruptly. ur like “oh.. do you- have someone over? I could come back later.” and he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise decorations he had up for your birthday so he says “yes” and you’re in TURMOIL until you find out what the surprise is

”you gave me a home. a sense of familiarity in a new city. a support system for whenever I couldn’t deal with myself. you think I wouldn’t do everything I possibly could, for you?”

he kisses your cheek/forehead every time he enters a room and bypasses r like “???” until it’s common

literally nothing changes after you get together except your ‘outings’ are now dates.

*makes a bite of his food and brings it over to you* “wh-” “open up. all you ate today was a snickers bar.” FEEDS YOU

the amount of inside jokes you both have is crazy. you love that you’ve found someone you can fall over laughing with.

strictest rule in the apartment: no raising voices at each other.

obsessed with your laugh

silly lil arguments that have you rolling on the floor a minute later

play fighting rahh

^ giggling when you attack his face with kisses

“teach me to skate?” jack’s brain: osntdiebdyes yehstseyssy yesyes ye (he gets to hold your hand). “sure.”

/your first time/ “you don’t know how much I used to wish these pretty noises were bein’ made ‘cause of me every time you brought someone else home, and now they are.”

when you moan his name for the first time he goes like batshit insane, has you in tears after three rounds.

not before absolutely devouring you. “patience, baby, I want my cock inside of you too but I need to taste you first. may I, baby?” (he’s already pulling your panties down) (both hands on the phone!:+*)

pt 2 maybee after obsessed jack pt 2 🙂‍↕️

ily!

[charles-leclerizz]

🏎️ ๋࣭ ⭑ sultry vindications

🏁 Pairings : Max verstappen X fem! Reader

🏁 Warnings : Smut, just straight smut. warning below the cut

🏁 Word Count : 2.7k words (2763 words)

🏁 Summary : Today, of all days, is the worst time to tease your boyfriend. And sometimes, you just neeed to take a long, hard look in the mirror to realise

🏁 translations via radio comm below

🏁 credits : word dividers by @cafekitsune, motivation by @vroomvroomcircuit

🏁 Music player : Perfect strangers by Jonas blue, JP Cooper

warning : Swearing, p in v, fem recieving! oral, spit talk, spanking, dirty words [like damn], reeader is a brat lmk if I missed any <33

“-So I told her that, if you need me to bury a dead body, I have the money and the skill.” You spoke into the phone, giggling with your best friend as you walked throughout your apartment, throwing odd pieces of clothing into your arms.

“I know! I would be amazing at it.” You sighed, shoving the dirty laundry into the open machine before shutting the door with your hip and pressing a few buttons haphazardly.

Crossing over the foyer, you fall onto the sofa, laying your head back against the headrest, “Yeah, and then he had the audac- umpph.” You stop mid-sentence, grunting under the weight of a heavy head being rested on your shoulder.

“Oh, hey baby,” you whisper, glancing down at Max, whose face was still buried into your sweater, merely getting a groan of confirmation from him, “Yeah…okay I’ll call you back Kika.”

You throw the device further down the couch, burying your free hands into his hair, “Hey schat-“ He groaned, picking up his neck to launch the rest of his body over the back of the sofa and land clumsily next to you, nose diving into the pillows,”- Neuk mij.”

“Oh, okay.” You raised an eyebrow at him, watching as he pushed himself upright, “You look…annoyed?”

“Yeah- I am.” He grumbled, throwing his head back, “Couldn’t get past even half of my normal weight today.”

“Awh, c’mon Maxie, that isn’t too bad,” You cooed at him, throwing your leg over his to slot it between his thighs as you scooched closer to him.

“That’s like 90kg schat,” He glanced at you, eyebrows furrowing when you stifled a laugh, “You’re laughing.”

“I mean yeah,” You shrugged, “It’s funny watching the big bad max, turn into nothing but, this-“You gestured to him, legs spread widely as he stared at you, arms crossed over one another, “Because what? You weren’t as testosterone-y as you wanted to be?”

You leaned over to kiss his cheek and ruffle his sweaty hair, leaving the thick strands to fall over his creased forehead, “It’s okay, you’ll always be my softy.” Leaving him in the living room, you went to the kitchen, suddenly reminded of the dishes that say waiting to be put away in the washer.  

“Really? Soft?” He grumbled, suddenly appearing behind you, thick arms looped around your waist.

“As a cloud,” You smirked, attempting to wriggle free of his vice-like grip, to no avail, “Babe, let me go.”

Gasping, you felt him twist you around and rested his forehead against yours, his usual baby blue eyes becoming a darker sapphire, “Take it back.”

You harrumphed, crossing your arms over and puffing out your chest, “make me.’ You narrowed your eyes at him, despite the erratic thundering of your heart.

Max matched your gaze, usually wide eyes squinted to a menacing stare before he kissed you. Unlike every other time he kissed you, his lips claimed yours, ensnaring you in an intoxicating haze that made your knees buckle and thank the heavens for the strong grip he had around your waist. He pressed you against the sink, disregarding the annoyed squeal that you let out when the back of your dress became soaked, instead he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth.

The taste of him stained your taste buds, making you gasp and moan against him, wrenching your hands away from the counter to instead, latch them onto any part of his body they found available, moving sporadically from his thick shoulders to his grabbable waist and up until his neck where you had tugged at his hair in just the right way that made him groan and guide the pair of you away from the kitchen.

“shit” You gaped, licking your lips savouring his flavour melded with yours, unwanting to flutter open your eyes, lest the fog be pierced through with the unwanted clarity of your reality.

Thankfully, Max met you halfway between your desperate attempts of pulling him against your chest and dove to your exposed neck, sandwiching you between his form and the wall mere inches away from your bedroom door.

He sucked and nipped at your tender skin, trailing his lips down from your ear to the column of your neck, until your collarbone, where he found purchase on the area which made you gasp and arch into his hold, “You ready to take it back yet?” He smirked against you, watching his passion form into multiple purple-ish love bites.

“Not, hah, not really.” You attempt to shrug, but instead your eyes fly open when you feel him press his thigh against your core, “Ohh, you play dirty.” You hiss, bringing him away from your neck to slot your lips together once more, this time properly fighting for dominance with him, your faces melding against each other languidly as heavy breathes left both of you in tumultuous pants.

You barely registered the door clicking upon until he had you locked against the backside of it caging you between his arms, both palms braced next to your head as you cradled his cheeks in your hands.

“Off.” You demanded, tugging at his shirt, barely inching away so that he could rip off the article, throwing it somewhere for it to be collected later.

Your eyes glittered as you admired his chest, muscles rippling and pecs heaving as he shivered when your nails tugged at his nipples ever-so slightly.

Max held you again, this time trailing one of his hands up and under the material of your shirt, until his fingers breached the band of your bra, and instead of doing thee sane thing.

Max pulled away from your lips, looking at you expectantly for your retraction of your statement, consequently when you didn’t give him what he wanted, he hooked his fingers upwards and tore through the material. Leaving only the sound of your squeal and ripping fabric to permeate in the room.

“Max, that was prada, do you seriously need to cave-man your way through things?”

“Watch your mouth.” He answered darkly.

“Or what?”

“I’ll fuck it.”

You stared at him, the overwhelming butterflies had morphed into something darker, needier, controlling you in a way that made you want him to grab you buy the hair and shove his length down your throat until you cried.

“Do it.”

“Really?”

“You too chicken?”

Max gripped your wrist, pulling you towards the mirror, positioning you until you could see both of your reflections perfectly in the large surface, both of you were red, cheeks flushed and chests rising and falling rapidly.

“Strip.”

“What are you, the TSA?”

He growled and dropped to his knees before gripping your lounge pants and tugged them off as well, letting them pool at your ankles, leaving you in just a sweater and panties, exposed to your own eyes as your gaze remained transfixed on his.

You whine and nearly double over when you felt his finger prod the wet fabric that remained soaked over your folds, “You don’t stop watching, schat, want you watching me as I fuck you senseless.” You shiver as he brings his mouth closer towards the leaking cotton, hot breath fanning over your slick covered clothing.

“Stop-“ You whimper, tugging at the waistband, begging for him to give it the same treatment as your bra, “Take, hah, take it off. Please”

“Not so bold anymore, are you?” He chides, bringing one hand away from your thigh to deliver a harsh slap to your ass, hovering over your rippling skin to soothe the sting, “Hm? Too whored out to listen now?”

“I should be getting paid for this then.” You breathe out, laughing to yourself until he meets your dazed eyes in the mirror. Keeping you transfixed on his movements, Max shucks the crotch of your panties to the side too dip a singular finger into your folds before he nudges your clit and blows cool air onto the throbbing bundle.

You hiss and brace yourself on your knees, pushing back against his face, “Ahh, Fuck.”

Max grins, and licks a fat stripe within your pussy, clicking his tongue when he feels you flutter around the muscle and tastes your lust again, and again. Until you’re shaking and moaning, struggling to keep an eye on the reflective surface ahead.

“Don’t stop” You beg, arching backwards until your hands find his hair and you begin to guide his head against your sex, the feeling of euphoria ever rising in quick leaps and bounds.

Until it doesn’t.

You gasp sharply and almost scream when Max detaches from you with a satisfied sigh, a dazed look in his eyes as he watches tears prick on your eyelashes and you turn to look at him, betrayed, “What? You looked away,” He shrugged, standing up again before wiping at his mouth and licking the glistening wetness from his fingers.

You blubbered, mouth moving silently as no sound managed to escape your throat.

“Yes?” Max watched patiently as you crumpled and sunk to the floor infront of him, obediently waiting on your knees, “Look so verdomd perfect.” He hummed, tilting his head affectionately before crooking his fingers and gesturing for you to approach him at his perch on your shared bed.

Just as you were about to stand upright and scurry to him, Max tutted and with his foot, kept a heavy weight on your back. Your eyes widened up at his smug expression, until you grumbled under your breath and scuffled closer to him on your hands and knees.

A painfully embarrassed blush leached into your cheeks, “God- so humiliating.” You hiss, resting your cheek against his thigh.

“You wanna listen now?” Max bit his lip when you paused mid-eye roll, nose twitching when the once tender graze of his fingers against your chin turned into a harsher pull.

“Yeah, just really want to…” You trail off, a self-aware silence donning your tongue.

“You’re going to have to tell me..”

“I would rather not.”

“Well-“ He nodded and began to rise ”-that saves time.”

“No, no-“ You tug at his pant leg, “really want to..cum.” You bitterly mutter.

Max hummed in approval, hand coming to pet your head, “See? Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

He tugged your head back using your hair, smiling cruelly when you hissed but giggled, “Fucking twisted… You like this, don’t you?” He waited over your open mouth before colleccting spit in his mouth, and dropped the degrading drop into your waiting mouth.

“’Dunno.” You gulped, gasping at the searing hot feeling that scuttled over your chest and throat.

“You sure?”

He guided you up, pulling your panties off simultaneously before sitting you onto his lap, balancing you on his spread thighs, “You sure?” Max cocked his head at you, holding your neck with one hand, the other keeping your waist in place against him.

“Crystal fucking clear.” You’re half tempted to spit on him but refrain from doing so when he arches a daring brow at you.

He swivelled you around in his hold, facing both of you into the mirror once again, but this time, you're back is flush against his chest, head resting limply on his shoulder until his fingers comes up to guide your gaze on his other hand that goes down to his gym shorts.

You shudder when he pulls out his cock, tall and proud in his fist with a red tip leaking pre-cum that made your mouth water and eyes shine.

Max chuckles at your expression, and slaps the tip against your ass a few times, “See that mijn hoer? Look how cockdrunk you look.”

“In, Max, please.” You beg quietly, shaking your hips in hopes he would slip it into your aching hole and heal you of the needy pit that had begun to blossom since the first time he left you high and dry.

“Didn’t hear you schat, speak up.” He ran his dick up and down the seam of your pussy, coating it in your juices and hissed when you shot up, feeling him barely slip into you.

“Please, fuck, Please I’ll do anything, just please fuck me, Goddamit Max I swe-“ You’re cut off by a medley of both your moans as he pushes in his length, “Fuck-“ You squeal, watching as you barely manage to sink down half way, “So big, feel so full Maxie, wanna take all of you though, wanna take it all.” You drool dumbly, forcing your hips lower despite the iron grip he has on them.

“Desperate, aren’t you?” He bites your ear before trailing soft kisses up and down the column pf your neck, even deviating away to pepper his lips at the back of your throat and down your spine.

“Yeah” You follow along, pushing further until you could feel a delightful resistance to your determination and your breathing labours.

“You’ll get hurt-“ He protests, already gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw in an attempt to stave of the luxurious pleasure, “Don’t, I’m serious.”

You interrupt his warning by pressing with more force, until you slip down his length rapidly, causing him to choke and groan, dark, ocean eyes rolling back as he lets himself fall back against the bed, “Fuck, schat, why- why would you do that?”

Ignoring his protest, you roll your hips, moaning loudly when his tip nudges the spongy part furthest within you. You continue to take pleasure from Max, biting your lips and bouncing on his cock with his help, of course, revelling in the feeling of his wandering hand coming up to tweak your nipples our cup your bouncing breasts from his position, laying down on the thick comforter that remained ruined beneath him.

The feeling approaches again, hesitantly like the playful shore breaching the sand and you welcome the sparks of passion with a guttural moan, until Max stops your reverent movements, causing you twitch and whine helplessly, the jittery sea already cresting away from you, taking its astringent sweetness along with it.

“Max.” You scold kicking your legs out.

“You” He thrusts up one, snickering when you fall forward, “Looked” He thrusts again, this time sitting up and plastering his sweaty chest to your back, “Away.” He thrusts once more before stilling and watching as the haze filters out of your pupils, leaving you just as wheepy as you once were, if not more.

“I was so close,” You cried, fat tears running down your cheeks, “You and this stupid mirror,” You curse, sniffling when his fingers came up to wipe away the tears sweetly.

“C’mon,” He urges, guiding your hips once more, “I know you can do it” Max encourages.

“I’m gonna beat your ass.” You promise, allowing him to bind both of your hands together behind your back with his own nimble fingers.

“Sure you will.” He satiates your mindless babbling, watching, amused as you begin to rut your hips continually, clenching around his cock in a way that makes him delirious.

Guiding you, Max controls your movements, one hand around your wrist whilst the other remains tucked between your thighs, tapping, and circling your clit until you begin to quiver and shake around him, just this time, your eyes remain glued ahead.

Whether you’re focusing or not, is another question, but even as your jaw goes slack and eyelashes flutter, your eyes remain open.

Max slaps harshly against your bundle of nerves, grunting throatily when you clench even harder and twitch in beetween your rabid bounces, “Doing so well f’me, yeah?”

You nod your head numbly, spit escaping between your lips and trailing down between your breasts, “Gonna cum Maxie.” You mumble, thighs already quaking and squeezing closed as Max follows suit, his grip on your body intensifying tenfold and cock pulsating until you can feel ropes of cum shoot within your walls, painting your insides with white.

This prompts you to moan, and throw your head back, finally giving up on the inter-personal staring contest to experience the long sought after wash of titillating pleasure and toe-curling bliss that makes your irises disappear within your skull.

Your vision spotted and faded a few times, until you could feel familiar pads of fingers run against your jaw, tapping gently, “Mijn liefje?”

“Mijn liefje? ben je oke?” Max asked again, this time shaking your head slightly, which remained limp against now what seemed to be his arm that wrapped like a poised snake around your breasts, balancing your chin.

“So good.” You confirm, weakly giving a thumbs up before noticing the slight red marks that adorned your wrists, which prompted you to hiss and inspect them, despite the lack of pain.

“Oh shit, does it hurt?” He took your wrists from you, pressing feather light kisses against them whilst rubbing his thumb against the skin, all whilst also brushing your hair out of your face.

“Max you are still inside of me.” You sass, clenching around him as proof, which makes him shudder and wheeze before going back to soothing your skin.

“Yeah, but it looks like it hurts” He coos, bringing a hand down to your ass, where visible handprints were already forming.

“It doesn’t”

“Yeah, it does.” His blonde eyebrows crease with worry as he leans further back, his eyes darting between the bright red indents of his fingers on your hips and the few dozen of love bites that seem to spread through the expanse of your backside, leading futher to your front.

“No max,” You hold his face, kissing his nose once before biting his cheek playfully, “It really doesn’t, I like them- you marked your territory” your voice drops, following his expressions closely, with a cheeky smile.

“What?”

“It means, I’m yours.”

“Well...” He clears his throat once, adjusting himself and you, so that you were now comfortably laying on the bed beneath his hungry, predatory gaze, still buried deep inside you, “You cannot blame me for what happens next.”

📻 Kcccchh.... come in.... come in...translatiion available...over

📻 Kchh...Dutch....to english....over

schat - Darling/Love/Babe [term of endearment]

Neuk mij - Fuck me

verdomd perfect - Damn perfect

mijn hoer - My whore

Mijn liefje - My darling

Mijn liefje? ben je oke - My darling? are you OK

MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [vroomvroomcircuit. [tagged above], @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @lorarri], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK, AND MUTUALS LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE REMOVED ON PRIV !

[ktsumu]

retired apartment neighbour!john price who just misses protecting someone warnings: he's tampering with your stuff, implied home invasion, stalking

belatedly dedicated to @soumies who brainstormed this!!!

-

Your sink isn't working again.

Two months ago, it was a worn washer and something else the repair guy that your landlord sent told you. The last time, the drain wasn't up to fighting anymore.

This time? You don't know what the fuck it is.

Sometimes, you can fix it yourself— save some good money. Sometimes, something's obviously loose, because you remember that you tightened it well the time before. You make it right again and leave it, but then it just drips again. It makes you worry about the day you don't notice the sound and the wood starts to rot.

You've asked down the hallway a bit about whether their kitchens suck too, but they give you funny looks. You don't know why you've got the cursed unit, but it seems that everyone else is doing just fine.

Everyone but John, at least, because he worries about you.

John Price is half-neighbour, half-friend, half-stranger. That's too many halves, but he's big enough to fit them all.

The five months he's lived next to you, he's been nothing but kind. He's caring, funny when you're tired, helpful. You call him Price in passing, John when you need him for something; he answers dutifully to both.

(He's protective, too, frightens boys you bring back for yourself. You guess that nature came with the dog tags.)

He's kind, but you don't know him outside of when you need him, really. Neither of you seem to mind, though, since you're sure he's a busy man and he probably thinks you're too young to waste time on.

Now is one of those times that you need him.

The wrench in your cramping hand clatters against your kitchen floor, sweat beading at your hairline and under the neck of your shirt. It's the hottest night recorded in a decade and here you are; working on your fucked up sink instead of taking a cold shower.

Being too loud isn't a concern— your hallway is full of rabbits and your building manager lives below you; you hope he hears you groaning.

When you hear a knock, knowing who it's from, you start to care a little bit.

"Everything right?"

"I'm fine," you tell him, but it's wheezy. "Sorry for being loud."

Price simply opens your door, enters your home. It's barely ever locked when you're here, you aren't as careful as you used to be. Sometimes, if he's talking to you, he walks right in.

You never really say anything about it. You don't mean it as an invitation, but it comes out as one.

"It's that sink again?"

"How'd you know?"

Price is already in your space— looming over you, squatting to a kneel. One of his hands guides you away from the cabinet and you follow him without question.

He takes the wrench you gave up on. "S'always the sink with you, kid."

You see glimpses of history in Price. Like how he slides himself under your sink even though it's small, almost silent. Like how he grips your rusty wrench like a knife, backhanded, thumb closed over the handle's end.

His skin is covered in sweat, too, dewy under your kitchen light. It beads by his beard.

There's an ugly grind of metal versus metal, something tightening or being forced back into place. Price drops his thick arms again, lifting himself out from under your counter, and he hands you your tool back.

"How did you," you trail, "how did you know—?"

"Knew where to look, love." He laughs quickly when your face is blank. Price is taller than you remember when he stands, leaning on your kitchen island. "I've seen worse than some sink pipes, yeah?"

Of course he has.

It's why you mostly get him to fix things up in your place. Always knows what's wrong with your stupid apartment.

"Yeah, sorry."

Price doesn't leave when he helps you, either.

He waits, eyes trained on you when you get around your kitchen, getting the water jug and your tray of half-frozen ice cubes, asking if he wants some water. You think most people would kindly refuse, but Price always sticks around.

This time, though, he seems like he's gotten his fill, eyes lidded as he waves a hand when you go for the fridge. "M'good, love. Just call me when it goes again."

Your kitchen is uneasy. You know it isn't him, and it's probably you and the stress from the fact you can't sleep in the heat. The AC sounds like it's fighting in your window.

"How do you know it's gonna break again?" you ask. You know it sounds dumb, because you know your whole unit is a bit of garbage, but he's quiet. "Didn't you fix it well?"

John isn't looking at your eyes, he's looking at where your arms are crossed over your chest, hiding the sweat under your arms and collar. He's looking at your bare legs.

"I did," he assures you, always. "It's just a bad sink, lovie."

Just a bad sink, s'all it is.

"Yeah, it is, huh?" you ask, breathing a laugh at the stupidity of it all. At this rate, he'll be coming in to help you until you move out.

He steps toward you again, resting a heavy hand on the small of your back. You don't realize, don't even notice the fact he's nearly guided you out of your apartment until you're at the door.

Are you seeing him out, or is he seeing you?

John feels intimate when he's this close— head tilted, brows slightly raised, thumb tapping on your spine.

"Call me next time, alright?" he tells you, like you'd imagine he'd coo at a rescue. "I'm always around.”

You just nod. Something is pushing you closer and something is pushing him out.

"I will, promise."

"Have a good one then, kid. Take it easy tonight.”

"Thanks, John. I really, really appreciate you helping."

"Just what neighbours do, aye?"

He waits by the door as you close it, watching your smile just as you watch his, warm like a fire. Something makes your hand rest on the lock.

(You know you shouldn't need to, but you kneel in front of your sink when he leaves, knees pressed against the cold floor.)

Something itches in your stomach, not intuition but not ease either, nipping at the back of your brain. You almost feel stupid, using your phone flashlight to feel around the pipe that's never right, looking for something to tell you that you aren't acting crazy for doing this.

There's something you remember seeing earlier, right? Something obvious that you checked to see if it was the issue, or something you replaced last time, or something you paid for.

Your fingers feel nothing where there should be something— a piece is definitely gone, a washer or a nut, maybe old putty you remember cringing at.

It could be lost under the lip of the cabinets, maybe. Maybe that's where it is. It isn't him, surely. He wouldn't do that. There's nothing for him to do that for.

John Price has does done nothing but be kind to you— who are you to blame him for anything?

-

A missing handful of little metal pieces is dropped into a duffel, out of his fisted hand. It clatters against the rest of them.

[sonamytrash]

I Aim To Please.

Plumber Toji Fushiguro.

Porn trope Toji series, part 2 🖤

Part one here 🖤

Warnings: Smut, Plumber Toji x Fem!Reader, P in V, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding k!nk, pregnancy k!ink, no foreplay, Toji Fushiguro has a big dick, not proof read, trashy porno storyline, I don't know anything about plumbing, anything I learned about plumbing for the sake of this fic was through porn, reader you're a slut.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

It was a quiet Friday afternoon, and you had the weekend to yourself—or so you thought. You had finished work early, arriving back at your apartment having scheduled a plumber this afternoon.

The soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional chirp of a bird outside were the only sounds that filled the air. You felt a sense of calm wash over you as you slipped off your shoes and work attire, donning a baggy t-shirt and shorts before walking into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The apartment was your sanctuary, a place where you could unwind from the stresses of the week. But, as you filled the kettle, you were reminded of the persistent drip from the sink that had been driving you crazy for days.

You had tried to fix it yourself, watching YouTube tutorials and armed with a wrench, but it was clear that your DIY skills had their limits. That's why you called in the cavalry—Toji Fushiguro, the plumber with a reputation for getting the job done swiftly and efficiently.

Just as you finished making your drink, the doorbell rang, and you took a deep breath to compose yourself before opening the door. There he was, tall and broad-shouldered, with a tool belt slung low on his hips. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes, a piercing shade of brown, met yours with a professional yet alluring gaze. "Hi, I'm Toji," he said, flashing a smile that made your knees wobble just a bit. "You got trouble with a tap, sweetheart?"

You nod, stepping aside to let him in, trying not to stare too long at the way his muscles moved under his tight-fitting t-shirt. "Thank you for coming," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. As he passed, you caught a whiff of his aftershave—a faint scent of pine and mint that sent a shiver down your spine. "The problem's in the kitchen."

Toji nodded and followed you, his heavy boots echoing in the hallway. Once in the kitchen, he set down his toolbox and surveyed the situation. You pointed to the sink, feeling a bit self-conscious in your oversized t-shirt and shorts. "It's been doing that for a while now," you said, gesturing to the slow, maddening drip.

He leaned over, his muscular arm brushing against your side, and you felt an unexpected jolt of attraction. His closeness made the air feel thick and charged. He turned the faucet on and off again before he began to inspect the pipes under the sink. You couldn't help but watch the play of muscles across his back, the way his biceps flexed with each movement.

"Looks like it's just a loose washer," he said, his voice deep and reassuring. "It's an easy fix."

You leaned against the counter, sipping your tea as you watched him work. Truthfully you would usually leave workmen to their own devices, but it seemed a shame to miss out on the view. The way he moved with such confidence, his hands sure and capable, was surprisingly arousing. You felt your cheeks flush as you remembered the last time you had been intimate with someone—it had been months, and it was definitely not this handsome.

As he knelt, reaching into the cabinets, his pants tightened around his thighs, and you couldn't help but imagine what lay beneath them. He looked up at you, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary, and you knew he wasn't oblivious to the tension in the room.

Toji removed the faulty washer with ease, and the silence that followed was deafening. The air between you crackled with unspoken desires. "It's fixed," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your entire body. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense. "But it's going to take a few minutes to let the water pressure settle."

You nodded, your eyes lingering on his full lips. He took a step closer, and before you knew it, he had set his tools aside and was standing right in front of you. The heat from his body was palpable, and you could feel his breath on your skin. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" he asked, his voice a seductive whisper.

The question hung in the air, loaded with meaning, and you knew that he wasn't just referring to the plumbing.

Your heart raced as you set your tea down, the porcelain clinking against the counter. "I don't know," you replied coyly, your voice barely above a whisper. "What did you have in mind?"

Toji's smile grew into a smirk, his eyes traveling over your body with a hunger that sent a thrill of excitement through you. He took another step closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body against your legs.

"Well," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "I've got a few... tools that might be of use to you."

You felt a shiver of anticipation run down your spine as he reached out and lightly brushed your thigh with the back of his hand. His touch was like a spark that ignited a fire within you, and suddenly all you could think about was the heat of his body against yours.

"Maybe you could show me?" you offered, your voice breathy and hopeful.

Toji's smirk grew into a full-blown grin as he reached out and gently tugged on the hem of your shirt. "I'd be happy to, princess. " he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

You took a step closer, feeling the heat from his body, and the air between you grew electric. The flirting was no longer subtle. You bit your bottom lip, and he took it as the invitation it was. His hand traveled up your side, his thumb grazing the curve of your waist, and your breath hitched.

Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer. His lips found yours in a kiss that was rough, his tongue demanding entry as he tasted you. You responded eagerly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you gave in to the lust that had been building since the moment he had arrived.

You could feel the fabric of your t-shirt stretching tightly across your breasts as he cupped them, his thumbs brushing against your hardened nipples through the thin material. A moan escaped your lips, and he took it as an invitation to deepen the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he sucked it into his mouth.

His hands traveled up to the hem of your shirt and with a swift tug, he lifted it over your head, revealing your lacy bra. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before unclipping it and letting your breasts spill into his waiting hands. His rough fingers tweaked and pinched your sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You reached down and unbuckled his tool belt, letting it clatter to the floor. Your hands worked on the button of his pants, and when they were open, you slid them down to expose his boxers, the outline of his substantial erection straining against the fabric. Toji stepped out of his boots and shed his pants, leaving him in just his underwear, which he quickly discarded.

He lifted you onto the counter, the cold marble a stark contrast to the heat of his skin. His hands roamed over your bare thighs, making you gasp as he pushed aside your shorts and panties. The tip of his finger traced the wetness of your sex, and you bucked your hips in response, desperate for more.

"You're so fucking wet for me, already?" Toji teased, his breath hot against your neck.

You bit your lip and nodded, unable to form coherent words. "Mmhmm," you managed, your voice a breathy purr.

Toji chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with desire. "I want to hear you say it," he demanded, his hand sliding up your inner thigh. "Tell me how much you want me."

You looked into his eyes, feeling a rush of boldness. "I want you," you whispered, your voice a seductive purr. "I want you to fuck me."

Toji's eyes darkened at your words, and his grip on your thighs tightened. "Is that right?" he said, his voice a gruff challenge. "You want this rough plumber to pound you like you're his personal fuck toy?"

You felt a thrill of excitement at his crude language, nodding eagerly. "Yes," you breathed, your voice thick with need. "I want you to use me."

Toji's eyes narrowed, his grip on your thighs tightening. "You're going to get exactly what you ask for, sweetheart," he growled, his voice full of promise. He stepped closer, the head of his cock nudging against your wet folds.

You could feel the head of his erection pressing against you, and you were still surprised by how big he was. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the feeling of being filled, but Toji didn't rush. He took his time, rubbing the length of his cock against your wetness, building the anticipation.

When he finally entered you, it was slow and deliberate, stretching you with a delicious burn that made you gasp, considering you had no prep from his fingers, it was no suprise that there was a stong to accompany the intrusion of his cock. He didn't stop until he was all the way in, his hips flush against yours. You could feel every inch of him, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he took a moment to adjust to the snug fit. You felt your body quiver around him as he began to move, his hips rocking into yours with a force that made the countertop creak.

The sensation of his huge cock filling you was almost overwhelming. It stretched you to the point of pain, but the pleasure quickly overtook any discomfort. You had never felt so full, so claimed. His movements grew more urgent, each thrust hitting a spot deep within you that had you crying out his name.

"Fuck, you're taking me so well," he grunted, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're made for this, aren't you?" His dirty talk only served to heighten your arousal, making you wetter and more eager for his rough, unbridled passion. "You're greedy cunt is taking all of me, every inch," he continued, his voice gruff with desire.

You whimpered, biting your bottom lip as he began to move faster, his hips pistoning into you with a relentless rhythm that had you clutching at his shoulders.

Toji's eyes were blazed with lust, "You like it rough, don't you?" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I could tell as soon as I saw you, that you like being pounded like the slut you are."

You couldn't deny it, and you found yourself moaning back, "Yes, yes, I do." Your voice was shaky, your body trembling with every impact. "Fuck me harder, Toji," you begged, feeling the edge of an orgasm approaching.

"That's it, take it," he grunted, his hips smacking against yours with each punishing thrust. "You're such a good little whore for me, aren't you?"

The words sent a thrill through you, and you found yourself responding in kind. "Yes! Yes, I am," you moaned, the dirty talk adding a delicious edge to the already intense experience. "Fuck me like you own me, Toji. Make me cum!"

Toji's pace didn't let up, his eyes locked on yours as he pounded into you. You could feel your body tightening around him, the beginnings of another orgasm building. The way he talked to you, the way he used you, it was all so new, so raw, and it was intoxicating.

"I'm going to fill you up," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I'm going to breed you right here on this kitchen counter."

You gasped, the shock of his words mixing with the pleasure coursing through your body. The idea of him impregnating you was both terrifying and thrilling, a taboo fantasy that had you clutching at him even tighter. "Do it," you moaned, your voice barely a whisper. "I want to feel your cum inside me."

Toji's eyes lit up at your response, his strokes growing more erratic as he approached his climax. He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispered, "You're going to get pregnant with my baby, aren't you?"

The thought of his seed filling you up, his child growing inside you, sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through your body. "Oh God, yes," you moaned, your nails digging into his back. The idea of being filled with his essence was too much to handle, and with one final, powerful thrust, you felt your body give way. You squirted everywhere, your juices spraying out around his cock and coating the counter beneath you. The intensity of the sensation was like nothing you had ever felt before, and you screamed out his name as your muscles clenched around him.

Toji grunted with pleasure, his eyes locked onto yours as he continued to pump into you. You could see the effort in his face, the way his jaw was clenched and his muscles bulged with the effort of holding back. "Atta girl, make a mess on my cock," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Your orgasm seemed to go on forever, your body convulsing around him until finally, with a groan, he buried himself deep and emptied himself inside you. You felt the hot spurt of his cum fill you up, and the sensation was like nothing you had ever experienced. It was raw, primal, and utterly exhilarating.

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, Toji leaned in and kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same hunger he had shown moments before. His cock remained buried inside you, still pulsing with the last remnants of his release. You could feel his heart hammering against your chest, his breathing ragged and erratic.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, savoring the feeling of his warmth and the weight of his body pressing you into the counter. The kitchen, once a place of domesticity, was now a stage for your carnally charged performance. The scent of sex mingled with the faint aroma of mint from your tea, creating a heady blend that seemed to intoxicate you further.

"You're a naughty girl," Toji said, his voice still thick with lust as he kissed along your neck, making you shiver.

"Is that a compliment?" you teased, your voice light and playful.

Toji chuckled, his grip on your hips loosening slightly. "You bet your sweet ass it is," he said, his eyes raking over your bare chest. "I've never seen anyone look so fucking good with their legs spread on a kitchen counter."

You couldn't help but smile at his crudeness, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the aftermath of your orgasm. "And I've never had a plumber quite like you," you retorted, running your nails lightly down his back.

Toji chuckled, "I aim to please."

[withwritersblock]

More Hearts Than Mine -Her Brother's Hockey Game

~More Hearts Than Mine by Ingrid Andress~ Author's Note: I dreamed about this the other night and I wanted to write it because I think it's cute. Summary: Luke and Y/N go to her brother's championship game Warnings: swearing Word Count: 2,279 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

He delicately tapped his fingertips onto her shoulder as she stirred. “Baby,” he let out barely above a whisper. She scrunched her features together as she rolled away from him, he chuckled quietly. “Babe,” he let out as he delicately pressed his lips on her exposed shoulder.

“No,” she mumbled as she pulled the blanket closer to her face. He smiled as he slowly ran his hand up and down her arm. 

“We have to go to your brother’s game in two hours,” he explained before he pressed his lips against her cheek. She took in a sharp breath as she reluctantly rolled back over to face him. She slowly opened her eyes as her lips fell into a pout. He smiled once he met her gaze. He leaned down and kissed her cheek once more.

“I can’t believe I agreed to that,” she mumbled as she rubbed her eyes. He laughed as he sat up from his lying position.

“You hate missing his games,” he offered as he ran his fingers through his curly hair. 

“His games used to be in the afternoon, not nine in the morning,” she countered. She let out a huff of air. 

He stood up from the bed, his body shirtless as he walked towards her side of the bed. He leaned down towards her, planting a quick kiss against her lips. He delicately ran his hand across her cheek.  “I’ll make us some breakfast while you go get ready,” he smiled widely before he wandered out of her bedroom towards her kitchen.

She took in a sharp breath as she reluctantly stood up from the bed.

It had been an hour since they had woken up, Luke had prepared an amazing meal. With scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage. 

After they finished eating, Luke started getting ready as it took a lot less time for him to get ready. She finished appling the last of her makeup as Luke was walking out of the shower. She met his gaze through the mirror as her phone began to vibrate on the counter. Glancing down, she saw her little brother was calling.

She pulled the phone against her ear as she walked out of the bathroom towards the kitchen. “Hey EJ, how are you feeling?” she asked. 

“You and Luke are still coming, right?” he asked. Nervous. That’s what she collected from the first sentence. It was the biggest game in his young high school career. His freshman year of high school was a rough season for the entire time, not even making it to the playoffs. But EJ was riding a 0.93 save record and had four shutouts under his belt. His team was also riding on an average of five goals a game. It was the championship game.

“Yes, we are. We are leaving my apartment in like twenty minutes.”

“Luke doesn’t have to come if he doesn’t want to. I know he’s super busy-”

“He wants to, he has the day off today. You asked him to come, he made time,” Y/N said with a smile as she ran her fingers through her hair. She was wearing an old high school hockey sweater she had when she went to school there. 

“Okay, I just don’t want him to think he has to go. I mean it’s just a dumb high school game. He’s been playing elit-”

“Elijah, you play your game. Luke isn’t there as an NHL player, he’s there as my boyfriend supporting my little brother. You don’t try to impress him, you play how you’ve always played,” she tried to be reassuring. 

She watched Luke walk out of her bedroom, rubbing a towel hard against his hair. She wanted to scold him because his hair was too pretty to be towel dryed like a damn dog.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m glad you guys are going to be here,” he said before taking in a sharp breath. “I gotta go, Coach just got in the locker room,” he hung up the phone. Y/N put her phone back into her pocket. 

“Is he okay?” he asked as he dropped the towel into the washer as he had began to do a load of laundry of his clothes. It was her apartment but he had spent so much time there, they were practically living together at that point. 

“Yeah, he’s nervous,”

“I’m sure, it’s a big game,” he mumbled before he walked back into the bedroom. She followed him, “I mean he’s a goalie, shit’s a lot of pressure,” Luke mumbled as he took a hold of a black Devils snapback and put it on his head backwards. He looked towards Y/N for approval and she nodded with a smirk on her lips.

“He wants to impress you, I can tell,” she mumbled as she walked towards him, wrapping her arms around the center of his back. He chuckled nervously as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing the side of her head.

“He’s the starting goalie at fifteen against eighteen year olds. That’s already impressive and he’s got four shutouts too? He’s badass,” Luke expressed as he slowly ran his hand up and down her back.

~~~

The boys were already on the ice when Luke and Y/N walked through the bleachers towards her family. Her parents, sister, grandparents, and a few of her uncles were there as well. “Oh, yay!” her mom shouted as she spotted both Y/N and Luke walked towards them. Luke kept his hands in his hoodie pocket, as the ice rink was small and a lot colder than he remembered. 

“Mark, Jonathan, Mom, Dad, this is Y/N’s boyfriend Luke!” her mother offered after she gave Y/N and Luke a quick hug. Mark and Jonathan were smiling widely as they offered Luke a handshake. Y/N’s grandparents only smiled politely towards him as they were not fond of their grandchildren dating. Despite Y/N being twenty.

“You’re kidding,” Jonathan said as he rested his hands on his hips. 

“Hi Uncle J,” Y/N said as she rolled her eyes playfully. 

“Sorry, Kiddo, it’s your fault you got a celebrity boyfriend who’s more exciting,” Jonathan said as gave Y/N a quick hug as Mark did the same thing. Luke chuckled shyly at the word celebrity. 

“Oh sit, sit,” her mother offered. Luke sat down beside Y/N, delicately resting his hand on her thigh furthest from him, as he pulled her closer. “We’ve got an extra blanket if you guys want it?” she asked but before either of them could answer she was already handing it to Y/N. Y/N covered her lap with the blanket and gave Luke some of it but he brushed it off. 

EJ skated towards the bench to get some water when his teammate Kyle smacked his hand onto his shoulder. “Dude, is that fucking Luke Hughes sitting with your hot ass sister?” Elijah turned around to look towards the bleachers, feeling his heartbeat quicken. He cringed at the choice of words regarding his older sister but he brushed it off.

“Uh, yeah, he’s sorta dating my sister,” EJ mumbled as he stared towards his family and Luke.

Y/N nudged Luke slightly as she leaned towards him, whispering, “You’ve been spotted,” Luke looked towards the bench to see EJ and his teammate staring towards their small group in the bleachers. Luke smiled before switching his gaze towards Y/N.

“Yay,” he said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes playfully before she rested her head onto his shoulder. Luke’s hand was still gliding slowly up and down her thigh as it felt good to feel her next to him. It calmed him down.

The teams skated off the ice to allow the zamboni to replenish the ice. Her mom bumped into Y/N’s shoulder, “Why did Elijah want to be a goalie? I just feel panic for sixty minutes, all the other mom’s get to have a few minutes to relax,” 

Luke smiled as he replied for Y/N, “My mom always had trouble finding us on the ice, at least you’ll know where EJ is the whole game,” her mom laughed as she nodded her head.

“I never thought of it that way!” she let out as she chuckled. 

The game finally started and it was evident that EJ was going to have a busy game. It was only the first five minutes of the game and he had to stop seven shots already as one of his teammates got a penalty. 

Luke was fully involved in the game, his head moving back and forth as the puck was up and down the ice. He would cringe and jerk his head back any time the puck would hit EJ. Letting out a sigh of relief any time he would make a save.

Sure, he loved the game of hockey. Of course, he was going to be fully involved in the game but it was the way he cared. He cared about EJ and has shown that he cares about him since the first time he met him. 

They watched as the opposing team wristed a shot from the blue line and after a deflection it went past EJ. He dropped his head as he immediately went to dig the puck out of his net. Half of the rink erupted into cheers as her family slumped slightly. “He’s solid, that was impossible to see. He’s got this,” Luke reassured as he squeezed her thigh. 

She smiled towards him as she rested her hand on top of his. Within thirty seconds his teammates tied the game and her family shot up and cheered. “His boys got ‘em,” Luke mumbled as he kissed her cheek. 

Right off the face off, the defensemen practically fell as they allowed the centerman of the opposing team skate one on one with Elijah. With a glove save, the game reamined tied. 

Luke let out a huff of air as he shook his head, “That was nasty,” he said as he leaned forward, completely utterly invested in the game. “There better be scouts in this building because goddamn,”

The game remained tied at 1-1 for the rest of regulation. EJ had stopped the remainder of the thirty-six shots he faced. The boys were skating around on the ice waiting for the referees to get set up from the overtime period. 

“Does he do that every game?” Luke asked as they watched EJ face the net and tap his stick against the pipes. Y/N nodded as she stared towards her little brother, who keeps growing. 

She pictures her little brother at five years old with his stick that was as tall as him. To now, ten years later, six foot three and towering over many of his teammates. He bowed his head against the pipes before he got in position as the puck dropped. 

“He’s done the same ritual since he was like eight,” she mumbled as she looped her arm around his own.

For the first two minutes, the puck seemed to be stuck in the neutral zone. “My heart is beating out of my chest,” Y/N mumbled as she watched the puck be tossed into the offensive zone.

After a few passes, there was a turn over and two players of the opposing team were heading straight towards EJ. “Oh fuck,” Luke muttered as his hands covered his mouth. One of EJ’s defensman was able to get back to try and help stop the shot. 

After looking off his teammate, he fires the puck towards EJ. He makes the stop but the puck bounces out towards the other player. EJ was left in an awkward position, which practically allowed the other team to get an easy empty net. But EJ flew his body towards the player as he released the puck. EJ saved the puck with a glove save as he collapsed on the side. The entire ice rink gasped. 

Luke tilted his head back as he let out a laugh, “Oh my god!” he said in disbelief. The referee blew his whistle to stop the play. “How the hell did he save that?” Luke turned and looked towards Y/N. She let out a nervous laugh.

After a few more minutes of overtime, his team did it. They scored the game winning goal. His entire family jumped into the air excitedly. Luke quickly wrapped Y/N tightly in a hug. Their gaze returned to the ice to see his entire team skating towards him, pummiling him in hugs.

The families were allowed to come onto the ice to celebrate with the players. Luke and Y/N hung back, allowing her parents to get photos and celebrate with EJ. After a few minutes, EJ wandered towards Luke and Y/N. He quickly hugged Y/N. “Thank you for coming, sis,” he mumbled as he pulled away.

“I’ll always be here for the big ones, you know that,” she let out as she wiped a tear that had suddenly fallen onto her cheek. EJ smiled towards Luke, Luke initiated the hug. EJ hugged him quickly. 

“Dude, you’re fucking nasty.” Luke said as he pulled away while laughing. 

“Thanks man,” EJ let out while smiling.

“You’re teammates better be kissing your feet after that performance,” Luke let out as he crossed his arms over his chest. EJ shrugged with a wide smile. “I’m serious, EJ. One of these days I’ll be shooting against you,” Luke praised. 

“You mean that?” 

“Hell yeah, Scouts are going to be all over your ass after today,”

“Let me get a photo!” her mom shouted towards them.

[leqonsluv3r]

pretty girl

leon!kennedy x afab!reader

— a oneshot

warnings: MDNI, 18+, unprotected sex, fingering, slight choking, hair pulling, leon calls reader pretty girl, baby, etc. public sex??? (but not really). reader is female (she/her) pronouns used, established relationship. soft!dom leon kennedy, sub!reader, some fluff and aftercare, slight nipple play.

“what does he do when he comes home after a long day of work, of grueling missions. of bloodshed and destruction, death even sometimes. he uses her, in the most delicious and beautiful way he can. he takes her, however he can. and she lets him.”

— or leon fucks reader against a rainy cold window at night after work

leon is tired, plain and simple. he’s sick of working like a dog day in and day out with little to no recognition. he works and works, bones cracking.

he works until his feet are sore, until his adrenaline is cursing him like a sick plague. he works and does what he needs to do. and for what? for what purpose? all because he was in raccoon city on that unfaithful day?

he doesn’t deserve it, not in his mind. but he does it, because the only purpose to keep going, to keep trying and even come home after a day of grueling work is simple.

it’s you.

you’re his only safe place, the only safe place he can let go. release all of the aggression, love and pent up emotions. he knows he’s safe with you. he knows that life is uncontrollable, he’s seen enough to prove that.

but when he’s with you, when he touches your skin and holds you close. hears your soft whimpers as you kiss him tenderly. he’s in control of that, in control of you. she understands. she knows.

because she’s not stupid, not since you two have started dating. she knows that sex and the love he has for her, are the only goddamn things in this sick world he can have some control over.

she would do anything for him, let him fuck her over the table, the washer, the kitchen counter. she doesn’t care because whatever he needs for that release, that control, she lets him have it.

so on a practically stormy, slow night of sitting in and her shared apartment with leon. she just waits, briefly watching tv but nothing seems to occupy her brain. she knew he was coming home tonight, just going in for a day of paper work and meetings. she didn’t bother arguing, knowing he would probably rather stay in bed and eat her like a five course meal instead.

and she’d let him, she didn’t even care.

she loved him so much and you could see it, her restless behavior as she went from the sliding glass window, trying to catch him pulling in. she lets her eyes watch some cars drive by on the street in front of the apartment building, rain hitting the sliding glass window in a soft patter.

she sighed and pressed herself against the window, her forehead resting on the cold foggy glass. she watched with a small flutter of her eyes as his car pulled into the parking lot of their apartment building.

her body eager, as if she knew what was about to happen. she taps her soft fingers against the foggy window, her nipples getting hard from the cold window she’s pressing herself against.

she hears his work boots clank up the stairs to the third floor of their apartment. she stays there, even after he enters, his boots landing with a thud as he takes them off by the door.

“waiting for me, pretty girl?” he whispers huskily, his footsteps on the carpet are felt as his large body comes up behind her short frame. she’s still holding herself up to the sliding glass window.

“yeah, saw you pull in. just waiting.” she responds softly, feeling his large hands land on her hips, massaging them in the way he knows she loves. he leans in and presses a kiss to her ear, her jawline and then her neck.

she knows where this is going, she’s not clueless. “let’s go to the bedroom.” she says as she tries to finally move away from the window. “no need, baby. we can stay right here.” he whispers hoarsely in her ear, nibbling at it.

she melts under his kiss, his words sending shivers up her body and through her blood stream. she was like an addict, addicted to his touch and everything about him. he chuckled softly and turned her around gently, pressing her back to the cold rainy window.

“been waiting all day for you sweet girl.” he whispers as he cups her jaw, his thumb playing with her bottom lip. “to kiss you…” he leans down and plants a soft but dominant kiss on her pink lips, his other hand moving down to cup her ass, squeezing it. she gasps softly.

“to touch you…” he says softly as he massages her ass with one hand, the other sliding up to play with her already hard nipple over the cotton of her shirt. “so sweet, pretty girl.” she gasps and moans softly as he rubs his thumb over her nipple.

“mmm, i think you need this more then me. lets check, shall we?” he says with a small low chuckle, his blue eyes flitting over hers, his hand that was on her ass, moving to the front of her pj shorts. he dips his fingers in and under the underwear and shorts, “oh honey,” he lets one of his fingers run through her drenched slit. “your soaking.” she whimpers and nods up at him.

she had been waiting all day, of course she was wet. she hadn’t touched herself. she just kept thinking of him coming home, touching her and releasing his tension into her like a taut rubber band.

“always wet for you.” she whispers with a small embarrassed flushed on her cheeks, looking up at him. focusing in on his blue eyes. he lets a grin form on his face, his fingers going up to circle over her clit. her hand flys up to hold onto his shoulder to steady herself against the window. a small moan escaping her pretty pink lips.

“mmm, yeah. i know pretty girl. we’ll take care of you.” he presses another kiss to her lips, eating her moans as his fingers work on her clit, eliciting moans and whimpers into the kiss. she couldn’t even focus on kissing him, not when his fingers were unwinding her in such a sweet way. he noticed this, chuckling into her mouth, “oh baby, you can’t even focus can you? hmm, poor thing.” he says with an amused grin.

she whimpers and holds tighter onto his shoulder, her fingernails lightly digging into the fabric of his work shirt. “please…” she mewls, trying to arch her back against the cold glass window, rain still hitting it in a soft patter. he knows what she wants, he’s not going to make her beg, not when he’s been waiting for this just as equally and painfully long.

he inserts a finger into her wet and waiting hole, still circling her clit with rapid succession. “mmm, still just as tight and wet as when i left.” he says in a low chuckle, leaning in and sucking at her neck as he continued his assault on her pussy.

“leon…” she chants as she feels that familiar bubbling feeling in her core, arching her back into his chest. her hard nipples pressing into his chest. he keeps sucking at her neck, leaving hickies for later. she feels him adding another finger almost making her scream in delight.

“such a good girl, always cumming on my fingers.” he mumbles into her neck, his voice husky and low. his fingers working her and driving her closer to the edge. “been waiting all week to fuck you, hear those noises i love so much…” he whispers dirtily into her ear.

his fingers and his words simply driving her over the edge, making her release over his fingers in a chant of moans and whimpers. her breaths shorten as he works her through it, eventually pulling back and withdrawing his hand, licking at his slick covered fingers.

she watches him as she leans up against the rain covered window, keeping herself upright. “sweet, just as i remember.” she swallows as she lets him lick her release from fingers.

“but i don’t think that’s what you wanted. huh? you want my dick inside you don’t you?” he says in a low tone, a smirk stretching across his lips as he looks at her. she nods and he chuckles, “mhm, okay. turn around then babygirl. we’re doing it right now. i’m not waiting.” he says in a soft demanding tone, pulling her underwear and pj pants off in one foul swoop.

he tuts at her, gesturing to her shirt, “i wanna see your titties when i fuck you baby, off.” he motions with his hand for you to strip it off, leave you naked and waiting against the cool window for him.

she hears his request, stripping off her t-shirt, no bra covering her breasts. “oh my, mmm…missed these.” he murmurs as he moves closer, cupping a breast in each hand. she whimpers and looks up at him with waiting and pleading eyes. “baby, i love these.” he states but i don’t think he’s stating it for himself, rather just recalling his fondness.

leon lets his mouth trail onto one of her breasts, licking and sucking on her nipple. she cards a hand into his dirty blonde hair, fisting it with tiny hands. she moans softly. “fucking delicious.” he whispers in a growl, moving over to the other breast, licking and sucking on it.

she could practically feel her release from before leaking down her bare thigh, she needed him again. she needed all of him.

he growls as his teeth light scrape across her nipple, moving to the other one and doing the same, drawing the sweetest noises to come from your mouth. “don’t worry i won’t leave you waiting, pretty girl. missed you on my cock too much.” he chuckles lowly as he pulls away from her chest, turning her around swiftly and bending her towards the cool glass.

she puts her hands against the fogged, rain covered glass. a perfect view of the street she was watching before as she waited for him. his hands moving from her bare hips to the swell of her ass, squeezing both cheeks in his large hands. she gasps softly as her hands tried to find purchase on the window. “leon…please…” she practically begs.

“no need to beg, baby.” he whispers in a growl as his dark eyes glide over her bent over body, smirking to himself. the thought that someone could just walk on the sidewalk out front and look up and see him fucking her raw, it made his cock stir in his pants.

she felt him play with her ass, then his hands left her all together and she hears his button on his jeans pop and his pants slide down along with his boxers. a sweet sound that brought happy sounds to her mouth. he lightly jerks his cock in his hand, smearing the precum that leaked from the tip all over his cock.

“you going to be a sweet girl and take it all?” he asks in a low voice as one of his hands traces the curve of her bare spine, chuckling lowly. she nods and shivers at his touch. he slides his cock over her soaking slit, the tip nudging her hole.

she whimpers and tries to hold herself up, her pants pressed flat against the cool glass. his hands hold her hips as he nudges in only a little, a moan falling from her lips. “only the tip baby, and you’re already falling apart.” he remarks with a small groan as he pulls her back by her hips onto his cock.

she gasps and moans all in one breath, not able to hold any sounds. “so fucking tight, just how i left it.” he groans as his hands dig into her hips, holding her upright and thrusting into her at a slow but deep pace, pushing her lightly to the window, her breasts meeting the cool glass, the new angle making her mewl. “leon…”

“i know pretty girl, feels good.” he says with a low voice as he keeps thrusting into her, fucking her up against the glass. his skin slapping against her ass. he sees her lips parted and her eyes slightly closed as it scrunched up in pleasure.

“mmm, missed this. missed this perfect pussy.” he keeps snapping his hips again and again against her ass, pulling on her hips. she squeezes him lightly at his words, moaning softly.

he sees someone on the sidewalk walking their dog, to think if that person just looked over, they’d see all of it. they’d see her getting fucked up against the rainy window, her tits smushed against the cold window, his hips ramming in and out of her.

he leans over her body, still slamming his hips against hers, his dick going in and out of her sweet pussy. “just think baby, if someone looked over, they’d see me fucking you so good. you’d like that wouldn’t you?” he asks in a rasp, his hot breath against her ear.

she nods and lets out a small whimper as he keeps thrusting in and out of her, “words baby, use them.” he says softly as he grabs her hair, lightly pulling on it. she moans at the pain but the throbbing of her pussy against his dick was overpowering it. “yes, yes i’d like it.” she responds in a choked tone.

“oh i bet you would, bet you’d love that. mmm, i know all the things you like baby, like this for example.” he groans softly as he keeps pumping in and out of her, faster now. one of his hands sliding around to take purchase on her neck, lightly squeezing. “leon…” she moans loudly against that as he rids of her oxygen only a little.

it was toxic, the way his hands played her like a well tuned instrument. the way only his dick could make her unravel, the way only his fingers could work her apart. the way his words could strike that chord so deep within her that it made her feel like a caged animal being released.

“oh baby, so dirty. all dumb and stupid on my cock. i know.” he chuckles lowly in a groan as he fucked her deeper and harder, still squeezing lightly on her throat, her bare breasts pressed against the cold window.

his words, his actions, the snap of his hips into hers. his dick kissing that spot within her womb that made her eyes squeeze shut. his hand around her neck, all of it was making that band start to snap.

“m’ so close.” she whimpers pathetically as she keeps trying to hold herself up on the window, her fingerprints leaving marks on the fogged glass of the window. he squeezes a little tighter around her neck, smirking a little as she gasps, his hips going fast and hard.

“gonna cum all over my cock baby?” he asks in a low groan, feeling his release start to approach him. she whines and nods, he squeezes her throat slightly again in a growl. “words, pretty girl.” she whimpers and swallows as she feels herself get closer, clenching and unclenching around his cock inside of her.

“yes…gonna cum.” she babbles out as he keeps ramming into her, his fingers on her hip and throat digging in and creating bruises there. marks that would paint her skin in a light that was delicious.

he keeps ramming into her faster and faster, trying to chase her high and his. give her that feeling that they both yearned for deep down. she wanted it just as much as him, loving his cock kissing her cervix and womb with every earth-shattering thrust.

she cums in a chorus of moans, her lips parting as she clenches around his dick. she coats her cum all over him as he emits a low growl, “god damn baby, so good…” he mutters as he squeezes her neck a little as he fucks her through her orgasm. he approaches his soon after, emptying inside her.

she mewls and milks his cum deliciously, feeling the familiar filling of heat in her core. she can feel the liquid of their combined release leaking down her thigh. he pulls out, and pulls his hand away from her throat. he pulls his boxers up over his now soft dick. “stay here baby. i’ll clean you up.” he whispers tenderly as he rubs a hand over her spine in a soft touch.

she steps away from the window and turns around so her back is facing the cool glass, she watches him come back soon after and get down on his knees in front of her, she watches as he wipes up her thighs then leans forwards and licks at her folds, cleaning her up. she whimpers slightly. he smirks against her folds, pulling away.

“you did so good baby, as usual.” he says with a small easy touch of her bare thigh, standing up to his full height, pressing a kiss to her forehead. she smiles warmly up at him, her eyes so wide and full of adoration for him.

“i missed you.” she whispers softly as he lets her guide her to the couch. she sits her bare frame on it, letting him plop down next to her. he holds onto her hips, holding her close. “i could tell baby,” he chuckles with a warm smile on his features.

his fingers lightly tracing over her hair, pushing some out of her eyes. “thank you.” she whispers as she looks up at him, he swings her legs over his, rubbing a hand gently over her ankle. “you don’t need to thank me for fucking my beautiful girlfriend.” he chuckles with a small shake of his head.

she blushes and rolls her eyes playfully, “well…” she shrugs as if it’s nothing, a large smile on her face. tracing lines on his arms, in a soothing motion. a comforting silence wrapping around them.

“i love you.” she says with a small smile, looking up at him, her ears going red only a little. she looks into his blue eyes with pure love and nothing else, she couldn’t even imagine not having him in her world.

“i love you too, pretty girl.” he says back, his blue eyes melting into hers, his caresses soft and loving. he was hers and she was his. she didn’t have a doubt in her mind that she couldn’t marry him, have his kids and be his forever.

the simplest and most divine love, like a flower in spring. blooming and beautiful. even when the rain came down, the love was still beautiful.

just like the two of them.

pretty and beautiful.

taglist - @heartsforvin

(comment to join the taglist, pls reblog and follow for more <3)

[spookypete-94]

Dark Horse- A Mother

Part 2

Reader is a single mother, working double shifts at a restaurant. Father of the child starts to become a problem while reader is at work and Price offers a solution. Slight age gap between reader around 25 and Price around 35.

How ironic it was to be back at home emptying out the lunchbox that had started it all. Feeling petty that you were angry like it had forgotten its own self on the counter. Taking out the sandwich you had made the night prior and throwing it away. Turkey, cheese, and miracle whip. Abel's favorite. Starting all over, your mind trying to find work as a distraction from the entire day’s events. Lunchbox packed and, in the fridge, note on the door so not to forget it in the start of the chain tomorrow. Work finished.

And then the fleeting thought made its way back to you. Engaged. You were engaged. Something you thought would never happen because you have never had time to consider it, let alone dating.

John had passed you his phone number scribbled on a piece of paper. How very old school of him, you thought to yourself accepting it before placing it in your apron pocket mixed in with your tips. It was now back in your fingertips, passing it around to look at it closer. The man had handwriting of a serial killer... Could you be marrying a serial killer?

Shaking your head, riding yourself of such a thought. No, John was not a serial killer.... least not the kind that stalked its prey and killed the next victim- you told yourself, typing what you thought was the phone number into your phone Never really knowing much about him, you could tell he was at least military, but what exactly?

John? the text you sent to the number hoping you had read it right.

Yes? was the single worded answer. Sighing with relief, you were glad it was him, not ready to keep taking the chance of a random stranger.

I could barely read your writing.

Been told it's bad before. And then a time or two after that. He responded back and you can hear the slight chuckle in his voice.

Get the boy in bed? He messaged right after.

Yes, he's sleeping now. Just got his lunch packed.

Good, you should be in bed too. Oh my god, you thought to yourself now worried he was thinking of you in bed. Glancing at the time, after your nightly routine was done you saw the clock on the wall read almost 11:30. He was probably just being practical.

Heading there now, thank you.

For what?

Everything.

Get some sleep, I'll see you tomorrow afternoon.

Yeah, like you were going to sleep after everything that had happened today. Giving it an attempt, you crawl under the covers after starting the washer to try to get a jump start of the home work load. Closing your eyes, making the room dark, you pretended if anything to get sleep.

***************************

"Abel!" You shouted, pulling the clothes out of the dryer you had moved during your insomnia caused by your worry battle. "Time to get a move on." Grabbing a warm towel, you hung it on the hook outside of the shower.

"We're going to be late." You said still trying to usher him. Watching his little hand slip out past the shower curtain, feeling for the warm towel.

"Thanks momma," he said muffled through the towel.

It wasn't shortly after he found you fully clothed with his bookbag and the condemned lunchbox in your hand by the front door. Slipping on his shoes he took the bag, slipping it over his shoulders, standing up shouting he was ready.

Locking the door behind you, he sprinted down to the sidewalk ready for you. Grin beaming almost as bright as the morning sun.

"Will that man come see you again today?" he asked as you walked next to him.

Struggling to find the courage to answer him, you realized he was paying more attention than you had thought. "He is."

"Will he be there when I get there?"

"Probably, and I think we will be seeing more of him overall."

"Why?"

"Well... him and I are going to get married."

"Married!? Like a mom and a dad together?"

"Yes, but he is not your dad. Your dad will always be your dad."

Abel looked down kicking a rock.

"I wish he was better to you, momma." And your heart fractured at the statement. Your hand found his chin, tilting it up so he looks at you.

"I wish he was too," your voice quietly fighting the tears that stung your eyes, "but take it as a lesson Abel. If you ever find love, be sure to treat them better then what you have been shown."

Abel gave a single nod, understanding the weight of your statement. He has always been a kid that is easy to talk to.

Going your separate ways, he gave your middle a squeeze, head buried in your abdomen before saying goodbye. Leaving you alone to finish your walk on your way to work.

***************************

Coffee pots are already brewing, turning on the grill top and fryer for your cook. You were ready to roll.

Morning shift went quick, the restaurant running like a well-oiled machine from your efforts. No phone calls from the school today, further easing your confidence that everything was going to be alright. Abel with his dad like the custody agreement states while you're at work. That feeling of confidence quickly left you though, as Abel's homeroom teacher walked in. Mrs. Karim. Eyes locking with her, you meant her almost at the front door.

"Everything ok?" You asked familiar enough with her to know she wouldn't have been here for nothing.

"Relax," she said with a warm laugh. "Not everything that happens has to be bad." She teased placing a hand on your shoulder making you take a deep breath in. "I came to bring you something," she said handing you a student made project. It was a heart with 2 paper doors that you could open.

"We made these for Mother's Day, and I really wanted you to see what your son wrote."

Each individual line was something Abel had written about you. A scribble that you could decipher with ease, seeing it change and grow as he got older.

I love my mother because:

She makes sure I have food every day.

She makes sure I have a warm towel after every shower.

She walks me to school every morning.

She hugs and tells me she loves me every day.

She tucks me into bed every night.

Instantly the tears are hot on your face and grinning like the Cheshire cat. How much you loved that boy.

"Thank you," you said wiping your tears off with your hand.

"Figured you needed it," she said patting your shoulder again letting on she knew more then what you thought, but not pestering further. "You're a good mom." Making you nod as she left, continuing about her time off.

Turning around, you saw Kate standing leaning against the counter.

"Can we get one day in without you crying?" she teased.

"Fuck off," you chortled. Stepping past her, you saw John sitting at the said counter. He must of snuck in.

"You, ok?" he asked, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee.

"Yeah," you said sliding the heart to him to look at. "Look, his handwriting looks like yours." You teased implying he had the handwriting of an 8-year-old.

Taking it in his hands he opened the doors of the heart, smiling as he read it too. "Maybe you could give me lessons then." Eyes drifting up to yours as your heartbeat faster, rattling your ribs. They look so blue even through his long brown lashes. A simple “ha-ha” left your mouth unable to find anything else back to say to flirt with him.

"Well, hopefully I can give you something else that makes your day," he said sliding a little black box towards you on the counter. You felt almost dirty accepting it, knowing what was on the inside but still did it anyway. Opening it and looking down, before handing it back to John, unsure of where to go from there.

It was a simple pearl on a gold band. "Was my mother's." He said taking it out of the box, hand extended out for yours. Handing him your left hand, you let him slip it on the ring finger. "Figure if this happening, will make it official." Rendered speechless, you searched to find anything to say.

"What was she like?"

"My mother?"

"Yeah."

"A good mother. Lot like you." He said his answer was plain and simple. His thumb stroking over the back of your hand, back and forth over the ring.

It was like you were made of butterflies and birds. The fluttering beneath your skin, in your chest and stomach, rising and lowering. Were you floating right now? Breaking eye contact, you looked down at your feet grounding yourself. Kate is coming up and giving you a light shoulder check.

"Hate to interrupt your love bird’s moment, but the dinner rush is starting."

"Right," you said fingers squeezing John's hand before getting started. Placing an order for his regular, planning to at least feed him for everything he has done, you got to work taking your tables.

As skilled as you were, you had fumbled a few orders. Forgetting things, not filling drinks right away. But the heavy ring on your finger throws off your game. You would stare at it next to the pen and pad as you would take the order. As simple as it was, it was so beautiful. The glimmer catching your eye every now and then as if you were a bird. Something unfamiliar in the familiar. The lack of tips showed for it. Yes, you were floating because you were riding cloud 9.

Streetlights were starting to come on outside, signaling it was now getting close to closing time. Restaurant now empty, John the only "customer" inside. The door jingling open caught your attention as you saw Abel slip in, heading straight for you. Kneeling you hugged him squeezing him tighter than he was you making him laugh.

"What the fuck is that??" Your ex's voice fills your ears covering the laughter. Glancing up you were shocked to see him in your place of work. Generally, he steered clear, letting you at least have home and work to yourself. But after yesterday he apparently wanted to keep whatever his problem was going.

"What are you talking about?" You asked standing up, slipping Abel behind you, and pushing him lightly to the counter. Thankfully Kate was already waiting for him, hands outstretched with fingers waggling to get him away from verbal altercation.

"On your finger." He said pointing before reaching and snatching for your left hand. Pulling it away from him, you cradled it to your chest. The ring pressed as far inwardly as you could get it.

"Hands off her," John said arm in front of you slowly pushing you behind him like you had just done with Abel. Your right hand rested on his waist, letting him know you were still there with him.

"You can't be serious," your ex said over John's shoulder trying to talk to you.

"The way you treat her ends now. You will no longer be speaking to my soon-to-be wife that way. You'll get your time in court." John said taking a step closer, almost chest to chest.

The door jingled again, and you noticed the three that followed John around standing behind your ex. They crowded him, keeping the situation under control, but willing to turn violent if the time came.

"Why don' ya step outside mate, and have a littl' chat with us?" The biggest one wearing all black said, gripping your ex's shoulder and pulling him out the door.

John followed making you call out to him, "John," your voice warned. "He's still the father to my child."

"Not gonna’ hurt him love, just gonna’ lay down some rules," he said pushing the door open with his back, following his other war dogs outside. He rounded the corner out of your sight.

"You have my heart," Abel said pulling his classroom project to him, breaking you out of your thoughts.

"I always got your heart," you said leaning down kissing his head. "Start your homework while I clean and close up," you said roughing up his hair.

"Ugh...." he groaned, but doing as you said opening his bookbag.

After what felt like an eternity, you watched John come back in the other 3 following in behind him and sitting down at the counter.

"Can I feed them at least?" You asked referring to what they had just done.

"You don' feed the strays," he teased looking down the counter at them. "They ain't staying long anyways. Just enough to lock up and me to walk you home."

"You're walking me home?"

" 'Course I am, my ring your wearing wife to be." he bantered back to you making you go red. Using the excuse to have to go back into the kitchen and fill the mop bucket to hide it. Was useless, hearing the others snicker at your embarrassment.

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