#yes the carton is empty and no it is not a bottle

[emptymilk-bottle]

i got eaten by uni work, i promise i’m still alive somewhere. here is some of what i’ve been up to…

have a look at some of my display from yesterday’s class exhibition

(some more of my uni work)

i also did see dodie (cavetown tessa violet etc etc)

[risuola]

▶ EARLY MORNINGS AND STOLEN CUPS — nothing better than the first cup of coffee in the morning.

contents: college+roommates!au, smoking implied (like once), teeth rotting fluff — wc. 572

a/n: i can't tell you guys how much i love fluffs with this trio. i like how the dynamics are building and i think you guys enjoy it too (i hope so!) — anyway, very short entry but love medley is all about those after all!

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

Satoru doesn’t drink coffee.

Most days in your little apartment began with the low, monotone whooshing of coffee machine. Harsh rumble of beans being grinded accompany you and Gojo in the bathroom and while you both push through brushing teeth and mandatory eyedrops, Suguru usually was already in the kitchen, brewing the god’s nectar.

You joined the brunette, tempted by the gurgling bubbles and divine aroma mingling with the fresh air and a ghost of herbal, woody scent of whatever Geto was smoking just moments ago. He greeted you with a smile, playing with the rim of an empty cup — his fingers followed the curved ceramic edge and you knew he was as impatient as you were, as eager to dip his mouth into the brown wake-up liquid and feel the first dose of caffeine fill in his system.

And so, he pulled the jug from underneath the working mechanism, hot drops of coffee sizzled as they met the steel drip tray, but the cup was soon filled and before you knew it, Suguru let out a deep sigh of ecstatic relief. First few sips were his — black and bitter — and he made place in the cup for your milk.

You took out some plates — an act of pretending, a distraction for yourself to not eye the precious coffee like an animal would eye its prey.

Then, he gave it to you and your grabby hands enveloped the cup as he reached into the fridge for the carton of milk. As he poured it in, you inhaled the addicting aroma, watching how the dark, nearly black liquid turned into more luscious, creamier nectar in a light brown color and you too sighed deeply when dipping your lips into it.

You felt the heat spreading across your system and you disconnected for a moment, allowing yourself to feel it, to enjoy it while Suguru engaged in the talk with Satoru. The chattering that for a moment turned into background to your experience, soon pulled you in and before you knew it, you were talking too — a routine of babbling before the day fully starts, one that you enjoyed equally as much as late evenings.

A pair of arms wrapped around you and quiet hum filled in your ears. Satoru’s light, fluffy hair tickled the side of your neck as he hid his face in the crook of your shoulder — a habit of him, whenever he was still too sleepy to function properly. You put down the cup and reached up to run your fingers through the snowy locks, earning yourself a low purr that vibrated through the bone of your shoulder.

Engulfed in the story about new guitar strings and stolen picks, you absorbed the passion in Suguru’s voice and didn’t realize a sequence of mischief that was happening right under your nose.

And then, Satoru was leaving towards the living room, a cup half-full of your coffee in his hand as he sing-sang something about nail polish and sunglasses. You looked after him and then at the counter, where a bottle of sugary syrup in the flavor of caramel stood proudly — evidence of severe addiction and theft.

You let out a chuckle and Suguru echoed, reaching up the cabinet for another mug. He continued his story as the coffee machine brewed the dark beverage so that both you and him can enjoy it fully.

Yes, Satoru doesn’t drink coffee.

Unless it’s yours.

taglist: @kibananya @r0ckst4rjk @rixo-19 @soraya-daydreams @hyun0200 @ilykii @roscpctals99 @mushkasstuff @siimp4youu @juicedcherry @themoreeviltwin @stevenknightmarc @ms5m1th @local-mr-frog

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

THE 141 RESPONDING TO READER'S CRAVINGS (pregnant or not) SUSPICIOUSLY BUT STILL GETTING THEM WHAT THEY WANT cuz they love them 😭😭

Hehe, absolutely! I did this one just as pregnant readers cravings if that's okay! I've heard of some really interesting ones to say the least🤣

141's + König's Reactions To Pregnant Readers Cravings

Warnings: mentions of gagging, urge to throw up

Simon Ghost Riley-

Simon awoke to an empty bed, groaning as he stretched his arms out to find your side of the bed cold. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched before swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

His brows furrowed slightly as he could smell the aroma of tomato sauce in the air. It was 8 am, what were you up to downstairs?

He made his way down to the kitchen and found you singing along your favorite song, cooking away at the stove.

"...babe?" He asked, approaching you slowly. "What, uh, what are you making?"

"Have you ever seen the movie ELF? With Will Farrell? That scene where he makes the spaghetti? It just sounded really good." You turned to him with a wide smile, as you giggled maniacally.

Simon swallowed thickly, slightly terrified at what was unfolding in front of him. He'd be lying, though, if he said he didn't find the sight of you adorable. You had a raging bedhead, your makeup still slightly smudged from yesterday, and were draped in one of his shirts, which practically dwarved you despite your growing belly.

He watched as you struggled with the pasta and chuckled slightly before making his way over to you, placing his hands on your waist as he kissed your forehead. "Need help?"

"Yes! Oh, that'd be great. The sauce is almost done. Can you get the syrup and the candy from the pantry?" You turned to him with a smile, and there was no way in hell Simon could ever say no to you.

He did as he was asked and felt his insides churn slightly as he watched you throw all of the ingredients together on the plate.

"Darn bottle won't open!" You huffed in frustration, prompting Simon to come to the rescue. "Thanks, Si. Once it's opened, can you pour it all over the pasta?"

"You want...syrup all over the pasta?" He suddenly realized you were being quite serious about the reference to the Christmas movie. "I uh.. okay."

He felt bile rise in his throat as he poured the syrup all over the pasta and tomato sauce, and it took everything in him not to puke as he watched you scarf it down. "It's SO good, Simon!"

"Sweetheart, I love you, but that looks dreadful." He chuckled, patting you on the head. "I'll go to the store and buy some TUMS, lord knows you'll need it later."

He gave a kiss to your head before grabbing his keys, stopping when you called out to him, waiving a small piece of paper. "Wait! I have a list. Can you get me these?"

"God, you're lucky I love you." He rolled his eyes playfully as he pressed a kiss to your lips. "Oh blood hell, that tastes horrid."

He grabbed the piece of paper and had to bite back a laugh as he looked at what was on the list. "Hot sauce? Ice cream? Tuna? Do I want to know?"

"Probably best not to ask."

John Price-

"Babe, I was going to order us some dinner, what did you want?" Your husband, John, called from the other room.

"I'm actually okay! Order for yourself. Found my new favorite snack." You shouted back, digging into the food in front of you.

Confused, given that you never turned down the chance to order food, John made his way into the kitchen, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you.

You were perched on the counter, 5 months pregnant, and in your lap was a carton of ice cream, with a jar of pickles right next to you. He watched as you scooped at the ice cream with one of the pickles in your hand.

John had to practice wicked self-restraint, as he tried desperately to not puke. "Love. Are you eating pickles... and ice cream?"

You nodded your head vigorously before biting off a chunk of pickle and spooning ice cream into your mouth seconds after. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let out a content sigh.

"Who knew! That pickles and ice cream would be SUCH a good combination?" You exclaimed, a wide smile on your face. "You should try it!"

"Oh. No, that's all you love. Wouldn't want to take it from you." He replied, trying to be polite. Though he found the idea utterly repulsive, he didn't want to make you feel bad about what you were craving.

John watched on, horrified, as you downed nearly the entire carton of ice cream and at least a half dozen pickles. How you weren't getting sick from it, he'd never know.

"Do you know if we have peanut butter?" You asked, turning to your husband with a hopeful gaze.

John blinked a few times before realizing you were talking to him. "Oh, yeah. Let me uh, grab it for you."

He reached in the cabinet next to you and slid you the jar of peanut butter. You grabbed at it and methodically dipped the pickle you were holding into the peanut butter. This time, Price couldn't hide the look of disgust on his face.

"Oh my God, this is incredible. I don't know why I didn't try this before!"

"I can think of quite a few reasons why a perfectly sane person wouldn't try it." He chuckled, and quickly dodged as you threw the spoon at him.

"Hey, Mister! You know better than to rile up a person when they are pregnant! It's not good for the baby!" You said playfully, as you flicked pickle juice at your husband. "Anyways, go ahead and order whatever you want!"

"Oh, sweetheart, my appetite is long gone."

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

"Hey, when you're out... could you possibly get pickles... and jelly?" You approached your husband shyly as you twirled your hair between your fingers. You'd had this craving for weeks, and it was getting to the point where you could no longer ignore it.

Johnny stiffled a laugh before offering a mock salute. "No idea what you'll do with those, but sure thing. I'll be back soon."

~

You met Johnny at the door when he returned, and were quick to grab the bag from his hands and sprint to the kitchen. You tore through the bag to grab the jar of pickles, and the jelly, and made quick work of spending the jelly all across the pickle.

"So, you going to make a peanut butter and jelly sandy? I didn't know if we had bread so I bought it... I bought..." Johnny's words trailed off as his eyes landed on you, practically inhaling the jelly covered pickle.

You turned to him with a sheepish gaze as you swallowed the remainder of your concoction. "What?"

"You just...ate pickles and jelly?" He asked, his brows raising.

"Look, it sounds gross, but I promise you, it tastes amazing. Try it!" You held up the second jellied pickle to him with a proud smile.

Johnny shook his head, chuckling and against his better judgment, grabbed the pickle from you, and took a bite.

"Not.. Not terrible." He said, coughing slightly. "Have you heard of dipping chips in honey though? Heard that's a weird craving but am tempted to try it if you're down, we've got the ingredients for it."

From that moment on, Johnny helped you with any pregnancy craving you had, and even encouraged some of them. He'd find various combinations on social media and would try them along with you.

The two of you even made it a game to see who could come up with the tastiest, weirdest combination. Surprisingly, Johnny won nearly every time.

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

"Hey, babeeee?" You called out to your husband, Kyle, who was cooking breakfast in the kitchen.

"Yeah love, what's up?" Kyle asked, looking over his shoulder as he flipped the bacon.

"Could you possibly put a glob of Nutella on the side with my plate of bacon?" You bit your lip nervously, unsure of how Kyle would react to the unusual request.

"Sure, but what did you need it for? I don't have any toast made."

"I uh...dipping the bacon in it sounded rather good, so I wanted to try it."

"Well that's a new one, don't think I've heard that one before." Kyle chuckled.

He finished up cooking and put together a small plate of bacon and Nutella for you. He stared at it for a moment, wondering how you possibly could've come up with this concoction. To say he was curious of how it would taste, was an understatement.

He walked over to you with a smile and handed you the plate, laughing softly as you did a small happy dance. "One plate of bacon and Nutella for my love."

"Oh, it smells heavenly, thanks, Ky!" You dug right into the food, groaning loudly as it tasted even better than you thought it would. "Kyle, you have to take a bite. I know it looks gross, but it's so good."

Kyle couldn't help himself. The giant smile on your face had you looking adorable, and he'd do anything to make you happy. He walked over and took one of the slices of bacon before dipping it in the Nutella.

"Holy shit. This is so delicious, babe." His eyes lit up as the flavor exploded on his tongue. He grabbed another slice of bacon and used it to scoop up a large bit of the hazelnut spread.

You giggled as you moved the plate to the middle of the table, and gestured to the seat next to you.

Needless to say, the two of you spent the better part of that morning eating Nutella and bacon, not that either of you were complaining.

König-

"Maus, what's all this in the cart?" König asked as he watched you throw yet another thing into your overflowing shopping cart.

"Oh! I'm just super hungry. I had a few things I wanted to try out." You gave him an elated glance before barreling down another aisle to grab another ingredient.

König chuckled to himself before looking down at the array of ingredients in the cart. You had everything from hot sauce to ice cream to oranges. He swallowed thickly as he remembered reading something in one of the pregnancy books he bought about the weird cravings those who were pregnant got.

You both made it home about an hour later, and he watched as you bolted inside, with one of the bags tucked firmly in your arms. He followed behind you and nearly gagged when he watched you grab the bottle of hot sauce and the jar of peanut butter. Surely... you weren't going to..

"Kö, can you get me a spoon?" You asked sweetly as you opened the ingredients in front of you.

König stood there for a moment, unable to process what was happening before he shook himself. He walked over slowly, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and handing it to you hesitantly. He watched as you snatched it from his hands, got a spoonful of peanut butter, and drizzled a decent bit of hot sauce on top.

You put the spoonful in your mouth and licked the entire spoon clean, moaning as you absorbed the taste. You put the spoon back in the peanut butter, before repeating the process with the hot sauce. "This is just what I needed."

"It...it tastes good?" König asked, bewildered. In his life, he'd seen people eat some pretty weird shit, but this easily took the cake.

"Oh gosh, it so does. Try it?" You asked, beaming as you turned to him. He gulped audibly as he approached you, taking the outstretched spoon.

You watched him with a hopeful gaze, as he took a tiny bit of the concoction on the spoon. He did his best to keep a straight face as he processed the taste and was trying not to gag as he desperately did not want to hurt your feelings.

He cleared his throat a few times before darting over to the fridge to grab a drink. He grabbed the first beverage he could find and downed it. "Maus.."

You gave a small giggle as you watched your husband's struggles. "Not a fan?"

"Oh, no, it was.. it was good. I'm just very thirsty." He gasped out as he finished the last of his drink. "Perhaps, I could make you a better snack though? I don't know how filling this will be for you."

"What kind of snack did you have in mind?"

König gave a hearty chuckle. "Well considering we bought half the store today, I'm sure I could come up with something."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: some more Nicky for the girlies.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Back to usual. 

You say goodbye to Joey with an especially clingy hug. She’ll be gone back to campus by the time you get home. Her short visits always leave you a bit sad.

You arrive at Nick’s place and let yourself in. The remnants of the prior day’s get together are still littered over the dining room table and throughout the front room. There’s more in the kitchen.

You gather the empty glasses and a few bottles with varying amounts of liquid still inside. You scrape plates into the pin and sweep napkins in after them. You fill the sink with warm soapy water to wash it all when you hear the soft but clumsy pad of feet on the stairs. They’re too light to be Nick.

You have the coffee brewing in anticipation of your boss’ hangover. The aroma wafts into the air as the machine clicks. A figure appears in the doorway and you turn to greet the woman in her sleek but wrinkled dress. This isn’t unexpected either.

“Good morning,” you greet her stunned eyes as she blanches.

“Um, I’m sorry, I was only–”

“Coffee?” You offer her as you open the cupboard, “look like you need it.”

“N-no, I… should go. Is there a Starbucks around here?” She croaks.

“No need, I can do lattes,” you offer, “he’s got this ridiculously expensive machine.”

“Er,” she looks down at the heels dangling from her hand then back to you, “sorry, are you… do you live…”

“I work for Mr. Fowler. Just the maid,” you assure her. Her assumption fills your chest with an unspent laugh. You’re far too old for Nick. Besides, the concept is ridiculous.

“Oh…” her single syllable dangles.

You pour her a cup and turn to offer it to her. Her mouth slants in a guilty smile. She shambles forward and accepts the mug.

“You take sugar, cream? Maybe some Advil?” You suggest.

“Oat milk? And yes please, my head is pounding.”

“Right, he has almond milk,” you open another cupboard and pluck out the ibuprofen, “or whole milk.”

“Almond is fine,” she accepts as you rattle the bottle.

“One or two, hon,” you ask as you approach her again.

“Two, please,” she inhales the scent of the coffee and sighs, rubbing her eye socket before extending her hand to take the tablet, “the whole bottle if I could.”

“Ugh, yeah, I don’t miss those days,” you hum and cap the bottle.

You put it away and go into the large fridge, taking out the carton of almond milk for the woman. You take it to her as she approaches the island to clink down the coffee. You watch as she adds the milk and takes a slender spoon from you to stir it in. She takes her first sip and moans before tossing back the pills.

“Coffee good?” You prompt proudly.

“Oh, yeah,” she looks up at you, “yeah, it’s great.”

“Took me a while to master the beast,” you point to the machine. “I finally got my ristretto down, too.”

She gives a nervous laugh and gulps again, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, “you’re nice… really nice. Why?”

You blink at her question. It makes you wonder, was Nick not nice? That’s not really any of your concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You shrug and turn to the full sink, “you’re a guest.” You plunge your hands in and scrub the porcelain, “plus, you kinda remind me of my daughter. I’d like someone to treat her nicely too.”

“Ah,” she accepts, “that’s really sweet.”

“It’s human, I hope,” you open up the dishwasher to slide in each plate.

“You really… didn’t have to make me coffee,” she murmurs.

You peek over at her as she stares into the depths. She seems sad but that might just be the hangover. You continue your work as you reply.

“It was already on. If you’re hungry–”

“Please, no, that’s okay,” she declines with a wave, “I think… I think I’ll just finish this and get an uber. Maybe go call my mom.”

“Well, you let me know if you need anything before you go,” you chime as you hook glasses into the top rack of the dishwasher.

You finish the dishes and grab a damp cloth to go wipe the table down. You stop by a few other surfaces to clear away rings from the finish and return to the kitchen. As you enter from the dining room, Nick appears in the other.

The woman faces him as she grabs her shoes, “hi.”

He growls and lumbers over to the coffee machine. He sees the mug waiting for him and peers into its empty body. You clutch the cloth in your hand as you watch his naked back tense. He wears nothing more than a pair of briefs. At most, you’ve seen him shirtless when he needs some stitches.

“More coffee?” You offer the woman.

“No, I should go,” she peeks at him nervously.

“Alright, well, you take care,” you bid her and take her cup.

“Thanks,” she says and skulks to the door, “bye, Nick.”

“Mmm,” he flicks his fingers at her as he pours himself a cup.

You narrow your eyes at his shoulder blades. That wasn’t very polite. Well, it isn’t your job to be his mother, even if it feels like it sometimes.

You put the almond milk away as he turns to lean in the corner of the counter. He presses the porcelain to his forehead and groans. You shake out the cloth over the sink and rinse it out.

“You have a daughter,” he states plainly. A question but not really.

“I do,” you answer evenly.

“I didn’t know that,” he says.

You shrug, “guess it never came up.”

"You’ve worked for me for three years…” he mutters.

“You never asked,” you say lightly, “it’s fine.”

He lowers the cup and slurps loudly. He swishes the coffee around before he swallows thickly.

“Your husband okay with you working twelves?”

You chuckle, “sir, really, it’s fine.”

His curiosity is not usual. You stick to the expected, the manageable. You don’t stray outside the lines. You’re friendly but you’re not overfamiliar. He always seemed to prefer that. He enjoyed talking about himself far more.

“You were busy yesterday,” he shifts his weight to one foot, his muscled chest rippling.

“I suppose as busy as you,” you roll in the racks of the dishwasher and add soap before closing it up.

“I… interrupted your plans?”

“Sir, it’s fine, I had a good day off and now I’m back,” you insist, “are there any other messes I need to worry about?”

He tilts his head and exhales deeply. His cheek dimples as he considers you. The cut on his head is exposed but not as bad as it was, though the bruise under his eyes has only gotten darker.

He scoffs as a smirk slants his lips, “sure. You could change my bed sheets.”

“Sure,” you accept breezily, repressing the glimmer of concern at the base of your skull. 

Something about his response seems trite, as if he means to insult you. You’re an adult, you’re less than shocked at his after hours play. By now, you’re quite used to it. He’s in his prime, he’s well off, and he’s handsome by anyone’s measure.

“You could try some witch hazel,” you touch your cheek then point at his, “for the bruising.”

“I can handle it,” he retorts and pushes himself away from the counter, “enough chattering. Get to work.”

🥃

You knock on the office door and wait for an answer. The little device you keep clipped to your belt is still buzzing with Nick’s demand. He calls to you from within and you enter.

“Sir?” You greet him.

“What took you so long?” He growls.

He’s in a foul mood. He has been all day. He can be gruff, you’re used to that, but today, he just seems prickly. His romp must not have been much fun. Come to think of it, his partner had been all too eager to flee.

You shake away the intrusive thoughts and clear your throat, “I was in the laundry room. Sorry.”

“My head is pounding,” he rubs his temples.

“Right, sir, I’ll bring you Advil and some water–”

“Don’t treat me like a child,” he snarls.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sure I’m a lot older than your daughter, so cut it out.”

“I wasn’t– sir, I’m sorry.”

“Go, get the pills,” he shoos you, “and call Rhonda.”

You nod and leave him. Wow. You don’t think he’s ever spoken to you like that. The mention of Joey also puts you off. Why is he so concerned? Most people could look at you and assume you have a kid or too. At your age, with your hips…

You go downstairs to retrieve the Advil and a tall glass of water. You climb back upstairs and follow the airy hall down to your office. As you enter, he sits with his head in his hands, his elbows on the desk. You don’t say a word as you set down the glass and pills.

He doesn’t move. You back away slowly and pull out your cell phone. You’ll call the masseuse, she should be able to work out the tension.

As you get to the door, he growls and his chair squeaks.

“You said something, about witch hazel,” he snarls.

“Uh, yes,” you face him, “it’ll take down the bruising.”

He narrows his eyes, the gesture tweaking his swollen cheek. Even battered, he isn’t unattractive. And the woman in his kitchen was just as gorgeous. So you find it hard to fathom why he’s in such a mood.

“Would you like me to get it for you, sir?” You ask, trying not to sound too pandering.

“Sure, whatever.”

You sweep away and go down the hall to the cabinet. You keep everything stocked well. Part of your job is inventory. You’ll have to go through the liquor bottles later and see what needs replenishing too.

You return to him with the witch hazel and a bag of cotton balls. You place them on his desk as he leans his head against the chairback, his eyes closed. You step back on your heel and his eyes pop open.

“Would you mind?” He motions to his face.

“Sure,” you take the cotton balls and pull one out.

You uncap the dark bottle and dampen the cotton with the liquid. His eyes close again as you sidle closer and you dab gently along his cheek. He flinches, just once, then stills. It must be cold. 

His eyes flick open again and startle you as you retract your touch. Awkwardly, you move away and gather up the bottle and bag of cotton balls. He’s quiet as he leans forward to grab the bottle of pills.

“I should’ve guessed,” he says as he shakes two tablets out, “that’s what I do. I read people. You’re a mother, for sure. She’s older, isn’t she? College? You had her young–”

“Sir,” you sniff, uncomfortable.

“Just the one. And you didn’t answer me when I talked about your husband so he must be out of the picture. Divorced. About the time you came around here, huh? You need the job after the messy break up,” he suggests as he wags his finger with a knowing grin, “probably another woman, huh?”

You blink. You’ll let him think what he wants. His opinion of your marriage isn’t important. It won’t do to correct him anyway. He doesn’t really seem to care, he just wants to wound. You just can’t figure out what you’ve done to deserve it.

[killthewhisperingart]

Baby It's Cold Outside

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Word Count: 1,208

Summary: For the first few years of you and Bradley's relationship, a mission would pull him away right as the air started to chill. This typically would lead to you spending Christmas alone; not that you minded that is. But now it's the first Christmas you can spend together, and Bradley insists on making it as good as he possibly can.

This is a part of @sailor-aviator 's Christmas Writing Challenge, using the prompt "Eggnog"

Warning(s): Fluff and hints of Angst

I am an 18+ blog.

A/N: This is my first writing challenge

It was you and Bradley's first Christmas together. You had been dating for a few years, but every year he was conveniently placed on a mission during the holidays. You had never truly enjoyed the holidays regardless, and the two of you would celebrate a different way when he finally got home. In fact, it wasn't specific to the end of the year holidays. There were times when Valentines Day was celebrated two months later, birthdays celebrated six weeks in advance.

Knowing this was the first time the two of you would be celebrating Christmas together on the day, Bradley was excited. The house was decorated, the scent of cinnamon wafting through the air, only interrupted by the smell of the pine tree he had bought the day after Thanksgiving. A wreath hung on the door, and lights were perfectly placed on the outside of the house. You barely did anything, he insisted you relax.

Though, he did start to run into some issues. Issues you were absolutely not allowed to help with. First, the lights he had pulled from the attic, were duds, which he did not know until after he hung them on the Christmas tree. One trip to the store later, he comes home and drops an entire box of ornaments. It seemed like every venture, had a surprise for Bradley.

So now you're here, sitting atop the counter as Bradley stands in front of the stove. His phone is open to a webpage explaining an eggnog recipe, while your laptop is sitting to the side with a YouTube video of someone making eggnog. The ingredients are scattered across the counter, a bottle of rum half empty, and a carton of eggs with several cracked shells still remaining.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" You ask, peaking over at the mess in front of him. "That's... a lot of rum."

"Yes." He insists, turning to look at you, brows furrowed. "Don't you trust your man?"

"I trust my man to fly planes," You pull your lip up and raise an eyebrow at the thick concoction in front of him. "You don't even like eggnog, you can throw in the towel whenever you want."

"No." He rolls his eyes dramatically, tossing a sprinkle of nutmeg into the liquid.

It's not that you didn't trust Bradley in the kitchen. He had been living by himself for years and knew how to cook a decent meal long before you entered his life. Hell, you preferred him in the kitchen rather than yourself a majority of the time. But as you looked at the boiling pot, you started to question his abilities.

"See?" He turns the burner off, motioning towards the pot. "Now it just has to..." He leans down to squint at the phone, then turns with a smile. "Refrigerate overnight." He grins wide, eyes closed as he raises his arms, clearly expecting praise.

"Mmhm," You hop off the counter, kissing his cheek, and as his eyes open widely you're already standing over the stove. "Maybe I judged you too harshly-"

"You did." He hums.

"But, we won't really know until tomorrow." You spin around to look at him.

Christmas Day hit like a train. You slid out of bed earlier than what was typical for you, placing a soft kiss to Bradley's cheek before going about your morning routine. Coffee was replaced with a mug of hot cocoa as you tucked your legs beneath you on the couch, making sure you were the first to message, "Merry Christmas!" in your family's group chat.

You sigh, adjusting the throw blanket over yourself as a chill runs through your home. Your hands are warm as they're wrapped around your mug, the sound of Frank Sinatra echoing from the record player.

"Merry Christmas,"

You turn to look over your shoulder at Bradley as he comes from the direction of the kitchen, a mug in each hand. His hair is untamed and his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, as if he rolled out of bed to immediately search for you.

"Merry Christmas honey." You whisper back, leaning into the kiss he plants on your cheek. You put your hot cocoa on the coffee table, immediately accepting the mug of eggnog he deposits into your fingers. He sits close to you, moving your legs to sit atop his thighs. You clink your mugs, before both taking a sip of the homemade eggnog.

The liquid burns your tongue and feels like razors down your throat as you swallow. You try to hide your cringe as your nose scrunches, delivering Bradley a half baked smile. He is worse at hiding his distaste, immediately coughing, and spitting it back into the mug.

"It's good!" You admonish, chuckling as he wipes his hand from his moustache to his chin.

"Honey no it is not!" He scrunches his face, setting the mug on the table, forcefully taking yours and placing it next to his.

"No, baby it's the best eggnog I've ever had," You giggle, scooting closer, kissing his cheek.

"You're just saying that," He looks up at you through his eyelashes. His eyes shine, reflecting the light from the Christmas tree, his eyebrows are pinched slightly. "I'm sorry."

"For the eggnog?" You scoff with a chuckle, kissing his cheek. "I don't even like eggnog that much, it doesn't matter."

"It's not the eggnog." He sighs, leaning his head against your shoulder. "It's the lights, the ornaments, the ice on the porch-"

"Where is all of this coming from?" You interrupt softly, running a hand through his hair.

"It's our first Christmas." He reminds you, as if this makes everything obvious. You stare blankly at him for a moment, eyebrows knitted together as you silently ask for him to continue his thought. "And I keep ruining it."

"What?" You furrow your eyebrows, not understanding where this came from. "How are you ruining it?"

"I keep messing up."

You exhale, pulling him closer.

"I don't think you're ruining anything."

"Baby, I keep-"

"Bradley." You admonish, he lifts his head to look at you. "Do you know what I've done in these past few years, during Christmas?" He slowly shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" He repeats incredulously.

"I haven't done a damn thing for Christmas since before we were even together." You admit, a bit sheepish. "It never felt right, to celebrate without you. So I never decorated, all I ever did was call my family. And I let you believe that I was just really quick at putting the decorations away."

"Honey-"

"I say this, not to make you feel bad, but," You exhale. "Honey. This is the best Christmas I've had in years. Because you're here." You hold his jaw in your hands, smiling as you stare into his warm eyes. His eyes flutter close, his lashes against his warm skin as you lean in, kissing him softly. "You have made this the best Christmas ever, because you are with me."

"Can't imagine being anywhere else..." He whispers against your cheek, his hot breath tickling your skin. "I miss you when I'm gone, and my mind is filled with you when I fly."

"I'm glad you're here." You smile.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Bradley."

[blacklesbothatlovestowrite]

On My Mama Pt. 6

Tags: @mixedfandxms @shurislover @lppriceisright @sweetalittleselfish-honey @desswright29 @cutttteeee @onyxstones-world @katymae12344 @doramilaj233 @sweetalittleselfish-honey @6-noir @khara876 @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @teadah18 @un-deniable-me3 @goolishh @anayaperry @undercover-introvert @delightreadsfics

“Yo, ya’ll be doing too much.” Riri grumbled to Shuri as she sat at the kitchen island; eating a bowl of cereal. She looked exhausted. Shuri chuckled, as she drank the last of the orange juice straight out of the carton.

“My bad, Ri.” Shuri clasped a hand on Riri’s shoulder. It had been two days since the diner scene and She’d finally unlocked the lab. You and Shuri had returned back to the apartment the night before and had spent the entire night fucking.

Shuri had energy that never seemed to go down whilst you were running on the power of pure pettiness. Your moans, cries and screams the work of Shuri’s talented tongue, lips, hands and strap. You didn’t have to fake shit, Shuri worked the sounds out of your throat with little effort.

“When the fuck did this even happen? How?” Riri asked, she wanted to know how you came to fuck Shuri.

“We just talked everything out and then it just happened and kept happening.” Shuri shrugs. She tossed the empty carton in the trash before grabbing some fruit. She rinsed them and started to peel and cut them before placing them into a bowl.

She’d watched you enough to know you loved fruits. Your main favorites being mangoes, pomegranates, pineapples, kiwis, peaches, grapes, tangerines, oranges, and berries.

“Why did you lock me out of the lab?” Riri asked, still pissed about that.

“Riri. I locked everyone out of the lab. Y/n and I were fucking all over the place, why would I keep the lab open to everyone including you?” Shuri raised a brow, as she stared at the smaller girl.

“You’ve never banned me from the lab before.” Riri had a look in her eye.

“I didn’t ban you. I shut the lab down for a few days. Y/n is entitled to privacy. You may like exhibitionism but she doesn’t.” Shuri’s tone was very matter of fact and the look she gave Riri, had her realizing that Y/n had told her everything that had transpired between them fully.

“I wasn’t thinking. I was angry and hurt and…” Riri bit her lip as she felt the overwhelming urge to cry. She’d never felt this out of control and lost before. She didn’t know what to do or how to fix what she’d done.

Shuri frowned. Riri had never in all the time she’d known her been so emotional. Yes, Riri had her moments where she was angry and let her temper tule her but she’d never been so sad. She wasn’t used to seeing this side of Riri.

“I hurt Y/n and it’s killing me because she didn’t deserve that. She’s so sweet and kind and full of love underneath that bitchy, tough demeanor she has going on.” Riri sighed in frustration. “I care about her, more than I thought I ever would care about anyone let alone her. She hates me and I deserve that. I fucked up.”

“I’m not going to lie to you. What you did was fucked. However, I know you. You don’t have a malicious bone in your body. You were wrong and you did hurt Y/n but you can’t wallow in pity. You want her forgiveness, earn it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, it won’t fix anything.” Shuri insisted, before grabbing the bowl of fruits and a bottled water. She headed for her bedroom, to see you seated on the bed.

She’d heard you run from the door to the bed as she came over. You were eavesdropping. She closed the room door behind her, and walked the items over to you. You have her a small smile in thanks before placing the food on the nightstand.

What Riri had said struck you. You hated the fact you felt bad. Why should you feel bad? She’d done something so fucked up and now she was sorry? She should have thought of this before she did what she did.

You felt a pang of guilt at the thoughts that ran through your head.

-

The next few weeks passed with you having very few interactions with Riri. She went back to her same old song and dance of ordering you food, leaving out notes for your classes, doing your laundry and leaving notes.

Each note was heartfelt and full of remorse but you hated them. You felt torn between forgiveness and resentment. She made herself scarce whenever you were around, locking up in her room or heading to the lab. The longer you went without seeing her, the more you felt bad.

You hated how much you liked the girl who'd disrespected you in a way you'd never been disrespected. Were you a glutton for punishment?

After a while fucking Shuri got to be draining. While you loved fucking her, you had no feelings for her and it felt passionless despite her setting your body on fire each time. You needed feelings and fucking, not just one but both.

You still slept in Shuri's room despite not having sex, liking her company. You both talked and it was eye opening because you learned so much about her. She told you about her family; her father, brother and mother.

Things many people didn't know and you were shocked she was so candid with you. She told you about how she'd met Riri, and the events leading up to the loss of her mother. Why she'd bonded with Riri as much as she had and why she felt she was cursed or paying for sins she was unaware of.

The more Shuri expressed herself, the more you realized just why she was the way that she was. She'd lost so much so young and it made your heart ache. You felt like your world had ended when you lost your father but Shuri had lost her whole family, a whole support system of people that loved and cared for her no matter what.

You'd only ever had your father once your mother decided your sexuality was something she couldn't look past, the hypocritical bitch. The more you hung out and talked, the less Shuri partied, drunk or smoked. She was laser focused on her goals, whilst turning to exercising for an outlet.

You were proud of her, seeing her get herself together and let go of her demons. She'd recently enrolled in therapy virtually with a Wakandan Doctor and made plans to visit her brother's ex lover. You knew both were big steps for her as she'd never taken mental health seriously before, and she hadn't seen her brother's ex lover since shortly after the death of her mother.

Whilst the two of you formed a friendship, you were forced to watch Shuri get her shit together. You realized you no longer had a choice to wallow in self pity or be drowned with your anger, bitterness and resentment.

Shuri helped you sign up with a Wakandan Doctor separate from her own, but you'd bailed each time the appointment was set and the call came through.

You were scared. You could admit that. You didn't want to have to dive through the several layers of fuckery that plagued your mind and your heart.

-

"Hey..." You looked up to see Riri standing in the entry way of the kitchen as you did your homework at the kitchen island.

"Hi." You said, dryly.

"How are you?" Riri asked, her body language showing just how uncomfortable she was.

"Peachy." You responded, looking back down at your notebook before continuing your writing.

"I um... I've been meaning to talk to you--"

"To apologize?" You snorted before looking up at her. "I don't need another apology, I've had plenty. You showed me exactly who you are and what you're capable of. I'm not even mad anymore, it was my mistake to think you were someone I could trust."

"Y/n..." Riri sighed, running her hands over her freshly done marley twists.

"Is that all you needed?" You asked.

"I... yeah." She looks down before turning around, defeated. Your attention went back to your homework, frustrated at the smallest tinge of excitement you got from seeing her. It'd been weeks since you'd seen her face to face.

"No." You hear and frown as you look up. "I was wrong, I admit that. I can't say anything that could ever take away what I did, I know that but I like you and I know you like me too. I can't pretend like these feelings don't exist, I've never cared about someone the way I care about you and it's killing me knowing I hurt you the way that I have, Ma..."

Your breath hitched as you listened to what she said. Each word making you more confused.

"Tell me you don't like me, look me in the eyes right now and tell me that you don't care about me..." Riri said, her eyes locked with yours as she walked towards you.

"You don't get to---"

"Shut. Up." Riri growled, her eyes hooded as she pulled you to face her and kissed you. Her hands gripping your face as she tried to convey the way she felt in the kiss.

"Stop." You fought against her, hating how your body was melting into her touch.

"I'm sorry, Ma." She whispered against your lips. "I'm so fucking sorry."

She continued apologizing between kisses, while holding you close to her. You felt your resolve growing weak as you moaned into her mouth. This kiss was unlike any kiss you'd ever had before and it made you angry.

"Ya'll gonna fuck in the kitchen?" You hear and Riri reluctantly moves away and you both take breaths.

"And if we were?" Riri asked her, raising a brow.

"Odd considering you know me and Y/n are kicking it." Shuri huffs.

“I didn’t realize you two were exclusive.” Riri raised a brow though it was clear the statement was a dig at Shuri.

“At the very least we’re closer than the two of you.” Shuri responded, and even though she was wearing shades it was obvious she was glaring at Riri.

“Hi, Hey, Hello?!” You wave a hand at the pair. “I’m single and can very much do whatever the fuck I want.”

“And Riri, it’ll take more than an apology and some kisses to get in my good graces. I’m tolerating you, don’t get cocky.” You level her with a stare that you hope conveys how much you did NOT like her at the moment.

Shuri smirked, and you rolled your eyes. They were acting like children. You weren’t some shiny new toy they could play with and fight over. You were a human being with real needs and emotions. It was pissing you off that they seemed to think they could do whatever to you and you’d allow it.

Forgiveness didn’t mean letting either of them continue to play you for a fool. You used Shuri for sex, and she was great to talk to but that’s as far as things went in your head. Your heart was a different story, you had a soft spot for the both of them in different ways but you refused to ever become vulnerable with either of them because you had not faith or trust in them.

Sex was simple. Fun, addicting. But anything else was just not happening. You weren’t ever going there again. Love was bullshit, and while you didn’t think you ever loved anyone before you could admit Riri made you feel things that made you second think that thought. While you could admit you were growing to like their ex, she played you worse than either of them. And to add insult to injury she never even liked you. Just used you.

“If this is going to be a problem, I can easily go back to fucking the bartender.” You say to Shuri, and the both of them glare at you. You smile, turning to head to your room. “Maybe I should hit her up again.”

A hand snatches your hips quickly, stopping you in place.

“No one can compare to me, and you know that.” Shuri says as she kisses your neck. Her hands grip your hips possessively.

“True.” You agree, holding back a moan as she sucked on your spot. Out of any one you’d fucked, Shuri had been the best and you were certain of that.

Riri scoffs to herself as Shuri turned you and lifted you up with ease and you wrapped your legs around her. A small part of you relished how uncomfortable and envious Riri felt. You knew she was pissed and the mere satisfaction of her feeling some of the hurt you felt, seemed to boost your eagerness as you moaned out.

A knock sounds at the door, and you hear Riri heading for the door as Shuri bit down on your pulse point. Your clit throbbed as she pressed you tighter against her.

“Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Does it love ?” A familiar voice says and you freeze as Shuri’s head whips up to look towards the door.

“It’s like looking in a mirror….” Riri whispered to herself, as she stared at the woman that resembled an older, taller you.

You turned slowly and stared.

“Well aren’t you going to invite your mother in?” She questions, looking between you, Riri and Shuri.

🤎

Just a short little update to shake things up a bit 😉

[stabbyfoxandrew]

hii aerie!!! i hope you have a good day too : )

as is my usual, i can't pick between Arsonist Neil, Mafia Front and Angel Neil, so can i ask for whichever of those three you want to write the most? i love how all of them are going!! 🫶💖

WIP Wednesday (1/29) | Mafia Front Restaurant AU (Part 271)

"He was right." Stuart says, then he pulls out an old revolver. It’s his favorite. Johnny's eyes go huge when he sees the gun and his mouth opens but apparently he knows begging for his life will get him nowhere. When Stuart points it at him, Johnny sobs.

“W-w-wait. Pl-ease,” he turns to Nathaniel and blinks a few times. "Y-your friend. Did I kill him?" He asks tearfully.

And suddenly, Nathaniel feels cold all over. Is this really what he wants to ask with his last breaths?

"No." Nathaniel answers, to Johnny's apparent relief. "I'm a better partner than yours was."

"Sorry to make an example out of you, kid. But you fucked with the wrong family. 's gotta be done," Stuart says with a shrug that says he couldn't care less either way. Johnny's bound hands are clasped behind him and he murmurs prayers under his breath until Stuart pulls the trigger. Blood and brain matter splash across the tile, staining Michael’s shoes. And Johnny falls silent and still. Stuart holsters his gun and directs his attention to Samuel, the biggest man in the room. "Dump him back over in the Wolves' territory."

Samuel gives a nod and produces a tarp. Nathaniel holds in a sigh. Couldn't they have laid that out before the messy part?

While the others drag the body into the tarp, Nathaniel hands Stuart the envelope he'd been given yesterday. Stuart pops it open and skims the note inside before wrinkling his nose, then he slips it into his jacket and nods at the blood on the floor. "See that this gets cleaned up. I have to run this by Ichirou as soon as possible."

"Yes sir," Nathaniel nods. He'll send Andrew home and get the bleach out and— Nathaniel's heart flies into his chest when his uncle starts for the kitchen. He moves quickly to put himself in Stuart's way. "What are you doing now?"

"I thought I'd grab a beer. If that's alright with you, Nathaniel." He says sharply.

"Yes sir, I'll get it for you." Nathaniel says, racing into the kitchen. He opens the door to the walk-in and Andrew starts to stand up. Nathaniel shakes his head violently and grabs a bottle of beer before slamming the door shut. He knocks the cap off against the edge of the counter and holds it out to his uncle, but Stuart is staring at the empty takeout cartons he’d left by the sink.

"What's all this then?"

"Jean brought us food, then went back home to rest.” He lies easily, though his heart does trip a bit. Stuart nods.

"Mm, gotta eat every now and then." Stuart takes the bottle and then a sip. He makes a face. "I know you're young yet, but this tastes like shit."

"Sorry."

"I'll need a bit of a buzz if I'm going to be dealing with Ichirou. No matter how it tastes." Stuart looks at the bottle then takes a longer drink, grimacing again. "Goddamn kid, do you have taste buds?"

"According to Jean, no." Nathaniel says, earning a rare grin from his uncle. Stuart puts his hand on his shoulder.

"How's he doing?"

"He's alright." Nathaniel says. "I took care of him."

"Good." Stuart sighs. "Almost felt sorry for that little fucker out there. Who the fuck dumps their partner to save their own skin..." He stares into space for a moment then turns on his heel, taking the beer with him. "See you later, Nat. Don't forget to clean up."

[flyingwargle]

sunaosa week day 5: bento

training is often split into morning and afternoon sessions, with conditioning in the first half, and practice in the second half. the athletes are given two hours in between for lunch, many opting to return home to cook, following the strict diet created for them by their nutritionist, with a few staying at the gym to eat in the lounge, using the microwave, toaster, or electric kettle to warm up homemade lunches, leftovers, or a haphazardly assembled combini meal from the 7-eleven across the street.

komori, washio, and suna often eat together, newbies of the team. komori is a decent cook, although he hasn’t graduated beyond burnt eggs, soggy rice, and using soy sauce to season everything. washio is better, often spending his weekends experimenting with new recipes, like barbecue-glazed ribs, butter shoyu chicken, and tonkatsu ramen.

suna, on the other hand, can’t cook to save his life, unless it’s reheating leftovers or adding noodles to boiling water. and yet, he brings a bento made with love every day – grilled fish, seaweed salad, pickled vegetables, and absolutely divine tamagoyaki that komori always steals whenever he isn’t looking.

“hey, guys!” nagito slides into the empty seat beside komori with his 7-eleven haul – three onigiri, two sandwiches, several energy bars, and a carton of juice. “what’s everyone eating?”

they show him their various bento boxes, but nagito only whistles at suna’s. “the boyfriend does it again! i thought the two of you are long-distance?”

“yeah, but he’s staying with me for a month as a break,” suna replies. “i tried telling him that he doesn’t have to cook for me, but i can’t keep him out of the kitchen. he’s been stressed out lately with the restaurant, and i want him to cook for fun while he’s here.”

“maybe he can give motoya a cooking lesson,” washio suggests. “pivoting your focus away from work to instructional might help him relax.”

“are you saying that my cooking sucks?” komori asks, showing off his poor bento of rice covered in furikake and soggy karaage that he picked up yesterday at the supermarket.

"yes. i could use a lesson, too. i want his expertise on how to grill fish.”

suna nods, taking his phone out. “sure, i can ask. you want in, nagito?”

“might as well,” he chirps. “it beats having combini food every day!”

the middle blocker sends a text to his boyfriend, and they continue their discussion about coach’s proposed rotational changes, and the exhibition match scheduled at the end of the month. when practice starts again, they pack their bento boxes and head for the locker room.

komori eats the same thing every day, so he makes a game with nagito to predict what protein their teammates will bring. washio is more of a red meat guy, but suna often has fish, until one day, he brings a huge container of pork gyoza to share. “’samu was experimenting with a new recipe,” he said as explanation.

“osamu should move in with you permanently,” komori says, plucking another gyoza from the tray.

“trust me, we want to. maybe in the future.”

it continues for the rest of the week. after the weekend, the group gathers for lunch, komori proudly revealing his soba noodles instead of soggy rice. “you upgraded,” washio remarks. today, he has sushi made from scratch.

“nagito and i split a huge pack of soba noodles! the supermarket sold bottles of sauce too, which helps.”

“oh, you went with boiled noodles!” nagito slides into his seat beside komori. “check out what i made!” he lifts his lid off, the irresistible scent of yakisoba filling the room.

komori is immediately envious. “i thought you didn’t know how to cook!”

“it wasn’t that hard! i just followed a recipe online and fried everything together. a lot of noodles got stuck to the pan, though. i had to toss it.”

washio chuckles, but it’s short-lived. “i guess suna isn’t joining us today.” he was late to conditioning too, haggard with dark circles around his eyes. komori lost track of him after they stopped for lunch.

it’s about an hour into their lunch that suna appears, sliding into the seat beside washio. “hey.”

“where did you go?” komori asks, in lieu of a greeting.

“had to go back home for a bit. i didn’t want to bother ‘samu, so i came here to eat.” instead of putting his usual bento box on the table, it’s a bag from 7-eleven. inside are sandwiches, a gyudon, several protein bars, and energy jelly. he drags his feet to the microwave to heat his gyudon.

“no bento today?” nagito ventures when he sits back down. suna simply shakes his head, leaving it at that.

komori doesn’t push, but then the same thing happens the next day, and then the next. by the fourth day, he just sleeps while they eat, until nagito pokes him with his chopstick. “hey, you need food. did you bring lunch?”

“no,” comes the muffled reply.

“did something happen between you and osamu?” komori asks. “like…like…a fight? or…”

suna turns his head until he’s facing them. “no. i mean, kind of. he was being…stubborn when i tried telling him to rest more. the next day, when i came home, i found him collapsed with a fever.”

“oh.”

“why aren’t you with him?” nagito asks.

“his stubborn ass won’t let me take care of him, said he doesn’t want to interfere with my training. i asked coach for time off, but ‘samu insisted.” suna’s eyes glitter with unshed tears. “i didn’t want to make him more upset, so…”

washio places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “i’m sorry to hear that.”

“let’s buy medicine and food for him after practice,” komori suggests. “you also need food. i’ll run out to 7-eleven and grab something.”

“i’m not hungry–“

“too bad,” nagito says, snapping his bento lid shut. “you need to stay healthy if you want to take care of miya. we’ll be right back.”

after practice, they split between the supermarket and pharmacy, reconvening at a nearby restaurant to pick up takeout. they follow suna home, stepping inside the darkened apartment. “’samu?”

coughing answers him. suna doesn’t hesitate to drop his bag and kick his shoes off, hurrying to the bedroom. komori, washio, and nagito linger in the kitchen, putting takeout containers in the fridge, heating congee in a small pot, and getting a glass of water ready with medicine. washio transfers the warm congee into a bowl, nagito finding a tray to put everything on. komori carries it to the bedroom, where he hears hushed voices.

“ya don’t hafta worry ‘bout me,” is osamu’s rasp. “i can care fer myself.”

“’samu, your fever is over 37 degrees,” suna says softly. “i know you can care for yourself, but you aren’t alone. i’m here. and…” he glances over his shoulder at the trio. “there are others that want to help, too.”

komori enters, putting the tray on the desk. osamu is under the covers, cold compress on his forehead that’s slick with sweat. washio and nagito step into view, as well. “suna is right,” washio says. “we all need a helping hand once in a while.”

“just let your boyfriend coddle you,” nagito adds.

“exactly. thank you, nagito.” suna turns back to osamu. “we have food for you, too. can you sit up?”

he helps him upright, then feeds him small spoonfuls of congee at a time. the trio slip outside, lingering a moment more to observe. the couple’s voices are quiet, osamu’s resistance melting with every spoonful. the tension in suna’s shoulders lessens, replaced with a soft smile full of affection. komori guides his teammates out, putting their shoes on and collecting their bags.

osamu will be in good hands.

[starsarefire824]

moonflower

Chapter 2: Instead

The train rumbles loudly under Will’s feet where he leans against its large window, the dreary April morning providing a cool place to rest his head. He’d spent the last week selling most of his things and putting the rest of them in storage. The only person available to help him move was his crotchety old neighbor who only said yes after he bought him an expensive bottle of bourbon and gave him the rest of his carton of Camels. 

But he’d squirreled away a pack for himself though, and now his mouth twitched with the craving for a long drag. There’s no one watching him in the lonely train car and so to quell it, he reaches for the small flask he has hidden in the side pocket of his backpack, and takes two long swigs. 

It burns as it goes down into his empty stomach and he clears his throat, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s already had a couple drinks this morning after unsuccessfully trying to lay off for a few days, and yet he can’t get his knee to stop shaking with the anxiety of heading back to Indiana. The closer he gets the worse he feels, the shadow that forever follows him getting stronger, bigger, and looming over him with every mile closer to Hawkins. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and sends a dreadful shiver up his spine. 

He pulls his old, comfortable hoodie up around his neck and his tattered cap down over his head, bringing his knees to his belly and wishing for sleep. It never comes. 

[oro-e-diamanti]

"Can I sleep here tonight?" Ethan/Thomas fluffy mess. Thanks 💓

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

Thomas & Ethan + Fluff

Glass bottles all over the place. Empty cups lining the surfaces. Some shards in the sink. A problem for tomorrow. There’s still music playing, but it’s mere background noise now, volume turned low. No more crowd filling up the rooms of the flat, just Thomas, Ethan, and you left.

“You don’t have to stay and help, you know?” You shoot Ethan a smile as you drop another bottle into the trash, the harsh noise of glass hitting glass causing you to wince slightly. “Thomas and I decided to throw a party, Thomas and I are just as capable of cleaning up.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” he smiles back, but doesn’t make any moves to leave. He’s lingering. You don’t know why. But there’s something that is making him stay, longer than usual, long after the party is over, even when everyone else has gone. Even when his own place is just a short walk away.

“Who the fuck emptied the chocolate milk?” Thomas comes stumbling over. He’s easily the drunkest out of the three of you, but still mostly in control of what he’s saying. His motor skills, however, are lacking. You quickly grab the empty carton from him before he drops it and inevitably spills the rest of it.

“Some party animals you’ve invited,” Ethan chuckles. Thomas moves behind you, arms wrapping clumsily around your middle as you don’t even attempt to cease your movements of cleaning up the counter, his head dropping onto your shoulder. He never hid his affections well. But with alcohol in his veins and everyone outside of your inner circle gone, he really doesn’t hold back. You don’t hold back a serene smile either.

Ethan has halted his movements. There’s something in his face you can’t quite make sense of. You would ask Thomas, who has undeniably known him for much longer, but your boyfriend is currently busy trying to bury his face into the crook of your neck, humming something that doesn’t quite make sense. When you look back up at Ethan, he looks… caught, for a split second, then everything is back to normal. You feel like you know that look, though. Just not on him. On Thomas.

There's a memory hidden somewhere in the corners of your mind, made and stored away a year ago, back when Vic had introduced you to the rest of the band. Her hand in yours, drunken lips kissing our cheek again and again, an assumption in Thomas’ mind that would only be rectified the next day. No, you were not Victoria's new girl. Yes, you were in fact very interested in men.

You'd started dating a month later.

But now, just for a split second, you had seen the same look on Ethan's face, that short moment of disappointment seeping through his bones, the knowledge of having been too late to get what you want.

But he isn’t.

You show him a smile that you wish could eliminate the need for words, but his eyes keep a certain sadness in them as he smiles back. Thomas is growing heavier against you so you gently shake him off before he falls asleep on you. It’s a justified fear - he’s done it before. You watch as he blinks the tiredness away and goes back to cleaning the kitchen, rag rubbing over a spot that hasn’t seen dirt in forever. You laugh to yourself, taking it from him.

“Time for bed, maybe?” you suggest.

The place is fine for now, you decide. Most of the mess is gone or at least contained in trash bags that can wait for tomorrow to be taken out. Thomas’ eyes are a droopy tell-tale sign that the night has caught up with him, tiredness combined with alcohol overwhelming his senses. He nods before pressing a chaste kiss against your lips.

Ethan still lingers. He’s toeing an invisible line that only you and he can see. You don’t know if he knows you’re aware. The conflicting emotions on his face are obvious, though.

You don’t expect him the one to make a move.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

It’s an innocent question, really. Unless it isn’t. And it isn’t.

You look back at Thomas. There's a rare clarity in his eyes behind the drunkenness. You wonder how much he does now. How Ethan has been behaving when it's just been the two of them. If there's that same look of having missed out on Ethan's face. If he ever said something that made Thomas stop in his tracks just that little bit. Because he doesn’t seem terribly surprised right now.

You decide you take it as a silent agreement.

Reaching out, you let Ethan take your hand before moving your other against Thomas’ palm. You pull both of them into the bedroom.

There’s no need to be modest. You’re aware Ethan and Thomas have seen each other naked multiple times and your clothes fall to the ground just as easily.

Thomas is in bed first. It’s not a surprise, he usually is. He only pulls the covers up halfway. It’s winter, but he tends to run hot after drinking. The dark plum bedding all around him makes him look even paler, even softer, and you get rid of your underwear as quickly as possible. His skin is warm next to you as you cuddle up to him, hands stroking over his body in familiar patterns.

It feels routine until Ethan carefully moves into the bed behind Thomas. It’s a bit of a squeeze, but neither of you minds. Not as he slings his arm over Thomas’ and your hips over the safety of the blanket. Thomas smiles at you, not turning around to look at Ethan, and then pushes the covers away until Ethan’s unmoving limb rests directly on his and your skin.

“I hope you know the one rule I have about people getting into bed with me,” Thomas mumbles and you can see his eyelids starting to fall shut. “I get paid in cuddles.”

With that, Thomas shuffles backward until he hits Ethan’s chest. He looks alarmed for a second, but then you can see his body relax too. He melts into Thomas, his breathing evening out as he gets used to the close skin contact, how Thomas arches to mold perfectly against him. It’s hard to wipe the content smile off your face, even though your muscles ache to relax and allow you to drift to sleep.

Thomas is fast asleep already, you notice. You’re not surprised. Ethan is still staring at the back of his head. You can feel the wheels in his mind spinning. Taking his hand from where it rests on your hipbone, you lift it toward your mouth. His eyes are on you as you press a soft kiss on his knuckles, on the back of his hand, then turn it around to move your lips against his palm.

It’s as if things fall into place. It’s the look on his face.

When you let go, he moves his hand to your waist instead. It feels like a more intimate touch, it feels right.

There are questions to be asked and answers to be discussed. You’re not deluding yourself into thinking there aren’t. But none of them are for tonight. None of them are for right now, with Ethan and Thomas in your bed and the most peaceful slumber you’ve ever had awaiting you.

[gracegrove]

TW era typical language/homophobic slurs, themes, cisheternormative assumptions and overtones, drinking and substance use, the minimization of mental health, the adult entertainment industry, sexual assault by a patron

He had been so close. Logged over 1900 miles and refilled his tank five times only to get here. Only to get this far. To be far enough away from that shithole town in Indiana but not nearly close enough to his final destination. Still an entire desert between him and it.

Sitting in this dingy bar drinking away the last of his month's paycheck, Billy tipped the beer bottle upside down and watched the last two drops fall to the bartop. Sighing in annoyance he set it down, reaching in his back pocket for his wallet.

"Whiskey, neat. And another for my friend here." A man ordered from the bartender, sliding onto the stool next to Billy. His suit was cheap, but his cologne was expensive. Invading Billy's senses and making him cough.

"You're a real looker kid, ya ever been told that?" the man complimented, raising his glass to his lips. Billy eyed the fake Rolex glinting from the man's sleeve, before sliding from his own seat. Leaving the fresh cold beer untouched. "Look buddy, I don't what this is, but I'm not interested."

Cracking the spine on his wallet Billy spread his billfold, ready to settle up and leave. It was empty save for a nickel and a few odd pennies. The man tossed up his hands in offense, "You think I'm into that fag shit? Nah man, that's not what this is!" Digging into his sports coat, the man produced a glossy flyer and slapped it down in front of Billy.

CHIPPENDALES – SHOWS NIGHTLY –

"Chip and Dale's?" Billy sneered, peering at the ad. "Like the fuckin chipmunks?" He dug the cigarette carton from his jacket, squeezing a stick to the top and pulling it out with his teeth. The man barked out a laugh, "You're a riot! No man. No! It's Chippendale's! Ain't you ever heard of 'em!?"

Billy stared at him unamused, hand fidgeting with his lighter. The man shrugged. "Listen, what if I told you that you could make a thousand bucks in a single night?" Billy snorted, lighting his cigarette and leaning against the bar. "-'d call bullshit." The man's eyes widened in excitement. "Absolutely not kid! With the way that you look?! You're a stud! Women must be all over you all the time!"

Billy took a long pull, the man's droning compliments washing him in words he'd heard countless times before. Wrapping him in the chill veil of comfort he'd navigated so much of his life in already. "I mean... you're practically an Adonis!" The man praised, Billy's focus shifting back to reality. "You could even make more... easily."

"With this Chip and Dale's thing?" Billy asked. "Chippendales" the man corrected. "Yes. That's the ticket, and you kid are the moneymaker." He finished his drink. "You just show up every night, take your clothes off for a bunch of horny women, and the money rolls in. You'll be rolling in it in no time!" His confidence was obnoxious. "The pussy is a nice bonus too." He winked, he was a pig.

He slapped a $10 on the bar.

"Come to dress rehearsals Tuesday at 8." He leered at Billy. "Or don't..." his smile wavering under the younger's gaze. "This is no skin off my back. But you'd be blowing a helluva opportunity." He pulled a business card from his wallet and placed it on top of the flyer. "Tuesday. Eight sharp." He repeated tapping them with a thick digit before leaving.

Billy huffed when the man left, finally picking the gifted beer up and taking a long drink. "Fuckwit," Billy swore.

He was there at 7:45, the camaro rumbling into the lot. Heavy beats of pop music bouncing into the parking lot from a propped open side door. Billy slumped a moment in the driver's seat, hand paused on the ignition. He could leave right now. No one would ever know he was here and he could continue scrounging for cash. Picking up odd jobs. Waiting tables and pouring cups upon cups of burnt coffee. Cleaning soot-laden ashtrays while people lost out millions on the casino floor. Throwing out unused food at the end of the night from the all-you-can-eat buffet. Checking IDs and scuffling around with self-righteous men who thought the world owed them everything as soon as they flashed a one-hundred-dollar bill.

He killed the engine and got out, his worn gym bag from Hawkins High slung over a shoulder. No one here would give a shit who the HHS Tigers were or that he was one of the best power forwards Hawkins had had in recent history. No one would give a rat's ass. And that's how he liked it.

"No! No, Rico! It's step, step, ball, change! Then hips!" The woman shouted. "Let the rhythm flow through you!" She was petite with short-cropped hair, dressed in dance attire at the head of a group of a dozen men. "Watch me.... aaaagain." She groaned in emphasis before hitting the stereo with a flat palm.

The music swelled, the thick tempo complimenting the movements she was demonstrating to her pupils. "Remember..." she called over the music, "bend with your knees! I want to see floo-id-i-tee! Now again! 5-6-7-8!" The men picked up the count, recreating her movements, adding their own flare. "Yes! Good! Rico, better, better! Sam, look forward!" She critiqued, hands clapping in time.

Billy dropped his bag to an open space of floor, waiting on the sidelines. "Excuse me! These are closed rehearsals." The woman called, coming over to Billy. "I was told to be here..." Billy replied. "By who?" She inquired with a raised eyebrow. Billy pulled the man's business card from his shorts pocket and handed it to her. She scoffed, "Fuckin Sal... Figures. Alright, kid. Consider this an audition. Pass/fail. You follow my directions or..." She made a slicing motion across her thin neck. "Yes, ma'am" Billy nodded, following as she pointed out a spot for him between a tall Black man, and a Latino man closer to Billy's height.

"We've got two routines to get through today boys so don't lag!" She wound back the tape, "From the top!" Billy was scrambling, not having hustled this hard since last being on the basketball court. He was certain at any minute he'd hear that woman's harsh voice yell at him to walk. But all the way to the break the only critiques he received were, "Lighter on your steps kid!" and "Watch your timing!" and "Don't look at your feet!... Christ's sake!"

Sitting on the floor with the other men he pulled up the hem of his tanktop and mopped at his brow. "Hey... you're pretty good." One of the guys said, sitting next to him taking a long pull from a plastic water bottle. He offered Billy a drink. "I'm Clark." "Billy," he said after a long slug, "Thanks." Clark took another drink. "I think Miss Mel likes you," he said with a kind smile. "Miss Mel?" Clark pointed to the dance instructor, as she looked through a set of cassettes.

Billy laughed, "I don't think that woman likes anyone." They both laughed, sharing the remainder of the water. Clark had been a dancer with the company for a little over 3 years. He said overall the pay was the best part of the gig. There were also opportunities for travel. And this being Vegas, every show was like its own little party before, during, and after. "I think you'll like it here bro, we got it pretty good." Clark reasoned.

"Everybody listen up!" Miss Mel shouted, "Costume measurements for Saturday's ensemble are this evening at 5pm! Show up or lose out! Now back to work!" Billy quirked a brow, "Costumes? I thought this was stripping." Clark chuckled, "It's a lot classier than that. I'll show you around after rehearsals. But each routine is choreographed and themed. Sophisticated and tasteful. Our clientele go nuts for it." "Uh huh..." Billy nodded noncomittally.

The rehearsal concluded, Billy signing on as an 'at will' hire. Miss Mel dug around in the dressing room closets to find some foundational costume sets for Billy. Which included G strings, a stiff white collar and black bowtie, and a pair of white cuffs.

"There are only three rules you need to follow working here. Come to rehearsals on time, don't come to work drunk or high, and the more skin wins. Got it?" She prompted, handing Billy a set of papers. He nodded, "Yeah. What're these?" He asked. "Our people." She stated succinctly, "Get yourself an even tan, bulk up a bit more." She pointed to a phone number on the sheet, "Ask for Fritz, he'll do you right. See you, tomorrow kid."

Four months later on Billy's first opening night with the company he was in the ensemble as a Wildman in complement to the main Tarzan. A tiger-printed loincloth draped across his hips only to serve as a tear-away at the end of the act with a leafy G string beneath. He had attended all the rehearsals. Had gotten to know pretty much all of his fellow dancers, but the sheer size of the crowd shocked him and made his gut tangle in knots. Women screeching and pawing at him. Countless hands thrust from the crowd where he hadn't even anticipated them. Dollar bills waved in his face, being pinned to his chest, being shoved down the one article of clothing he had left. It was overwhelming and stifling all at once.

At the end of his first night, he sat on the bench in the dressing room completely zoned out. Music and cheering from the party continued on the other side of the stage dropping to a dull thud in his ears as he stared into space. A sudden slap on his bare back pulled him out of it. "Woooooh! Bill did you see all those bitches!" Al whistled, leaning on the dressing table to flick a hand through his hair. The other dancers were coming in, Freddie with two patrons, one under each arm. "Ladies ladies ladies, what say we start this night off properly with a little treat?" He opened his locker and pulled a small vial from his jacket. Billy knew where this was going. Nights ended like this constantly in the dressing room, with smeared lines of white powder needing to be cleaned off his workspace the following morning. That along with discarded liquor bottles, cigarette butts, and used condoms.

Pulling the bills from his waistband and other crevices where they had been shoved in the fray, Billy hastily shoved his tips in his bag and pulled on a pair of sweats. "Hey! Don't you wanna join us?!" A woman called, wandering up. Billy shook his head, grabbing the t-shirt from his locker. "Oh c'mon!" she persisted, pressing herself up against him. "I could really help loosen you up after such a... long... performance..." Her hand darted below Billy's waistband before he could say another word. Gripping him tightly and groping him. Billy gritted his teeth, putting a hand on her shoulder and gently attempting to push her away. "I can't," He declined politely, "Got other plans tonight honey." The woman looked hurt, the tone of her voice shifting from playful to cold as she removed herself from his pants. "Well... I doubt your plans will ever fuck you the way I could." One of Billy's coworkers cackled, "I'll fuck you every which way to north baby! Get your ass over here!" Other dancers in the room joined in the laughter. "Whassa matter Billy she too much woman for ya?" "Oh forget it Carl you know he never stays..!" "Nooooo! Who, Billy?!"

Not even putting the shirt on Billy gathered his things and left, hustling out the back hallway to the fire exit closest to the south lot. He shouldered someone hard in his hurry. "Hey, Billy you ok man?" It was Clark, coming back from a smoke break, his brows were creased in concern. Billy looked at him momentarily and thought about what might happen if he actually said what his mind was screaming at him. "Yeah. Fine." Clark's eyes didn't look like they believed that. "Ok, Billy. But if you ever need anything I'm always around and there's more than a handful of 24-hour diners in this town with coffee that ain't half shit." He cracked a smile. Billy nodded, "thanks I'm just tired," and he continued to the door.

Once outside he scrambled into his shirt, pulling a cigarette out and locking it between his lips while he patted his pockets for his lighter. "Sonnuva," he had left it on his locker shelf. He did not want to go back in and retrieve it. The whole dressing room would be an orgy now. "Shit." Billy sighed, checking his bag just in case and going through a pat down one more time before taking the smoke from his mouth.

"Need a light?" The voice approaching was familiar. Warm and honied. As the lighter flickered to Billy's outstretched hand, a pair of caramel-brown eyes came into view.

"Harrington?" Billy asked incredulously, raising the cigarette to his lips. "The hell're you doing here?" Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Steve looked at him. "Was in town for a company conference and I saw your face on a billboard", he stated dumbly, "And..." "And you wanted to come see the circus animal is that it?" Billy snarled, stepping back, sucking harshly through the filter. Steve drew up his hands, "No man, not at all!"

"I wanted to see you..." Steve stumbled out, each word falling quieter than the last. "You just left that summer... We were worried about you."

"We?" Billy sniffed, smoke curling around his nostrils. "Yeah," Steve encouraged, "Me, Max, your Mom, ... your Dad was really upset." Billy scoffed, a bitter noise getting caught in his throat. He hoped Steve wouldn't read too much into it. "Can... can we get some food or something and talk?" Steve asked, scratching the back of his head.

Billy took the last drag from his cigarette, throwing it away. "No," he stated coldly, "go home." Walking away, Billy stopped, Steve putting a palm flat against his chest. "Move your hand or lose it," Billy bit, voice quivering. Steve remained, taking a step into Billy's space. "Talk to me. Please." He begged, the tone bordering an octave above desperation.

Billy was exhausted, he wanted nothing more than to shove Steve to the ground like that night at the Byers. He was still probably just as miserable with his feet. Easily toppled. But he had no energy. Billy's eyes stung with frustration, as he hurriedly wiped at them.

Steve's features twisted with concern. "Hey... um. Shit." He cursed guiltily pocketing his hands. "I'm not any good at this." He squared his shoulders, bracing himself. "Billy I... I never said it in Hawkins." Billy stared at the brunette, emotion swirling in his eyes. "Billy... I." Steve stammered, "I wanted to ask you to stay, but I just couldn't. I was such a fucking coward. I'm sorry Billy."

Steve stumbled backward, feet slipping as two fists wrapped in his blazer. Lips crashing against his. Billy dragged him close, praying that this connection even momentary could salvage what could have been.

The pair scrapped about, Steve pinning Billy up against a Volvo in the low light of the parking lot. The heated desperation exchanged with each kiss left them breathless. The combined pressure of their bodies rocking the chassis as Steve leaned up, tugging at the plush swell of Billy's cupid's bow. "Please. Stay with me," he pleaded through frenzied kisses. Billy nodded dumbly, "Yes, forever."

[startswitheff]

You Will Be Loved

Rating: E

Word Count: 22870

Relationship: Dean/Cas

Summary: Dean makes an ill timed wish. Inspired by this amazing post by @boyworstie.

Find it on AO3

Sam set the overfilled box of curios on the kitchen table, heedless of the fact that several items spilled out onto the shining surface, and made a beeline for the fridge. He reached in and grabbed a bottle of his home-made cold-pressed kale "superjuice" and started chugging it. 

Dean turned around from where he was polishing the countertop and regarded his brother cramming his face full of green shit with distaste. Then his eye fell on the dusty items cluttering the tabletop that he had just cleaned and his grimace deepened. "Dude. We are about to have lunch."

"Awesome. I’m starving." Sam tossed the now empty bottle in the sink and stepped forward eagerly. "What’re we having?"

"Nothing, until you can clean that crap off the table." Dean folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes, but dutifully shuffled back to the table and started haphazardly tossing items back in the box. There was a loud clunk and then the tinkle of broken glass, and Dean glanced up from his garnish to see Sam enveloped in a small cloud of sparkling pink dust.

"The fuck?"

Sam slowly turned around, looking sheepish and ridiculous with glitter all over his dumb face. "I broke something."

"Sam, that’s Asgardian itching powder. If you let that sink in you’ll scratch off all your skin within three days," grumbled Cas, bustling into the room with a pile of books in his hands. He nodded in the direction of the hall. "You should shower. Now. With holy oil!" he added as Sam hurried from the room.

Catching sight of Dean’s disgruntled expression, Cas sighed and set his books carefully on a far shelf before approaching the table. Dean tossed his rag on the hook and joined him, nudging his shoulder into the angel’s and peering down at the box. "What is all this stuff, anyway?"

"Cursed objects, mostly," Cas replied, eyeing the contents warily. "Sam and I were cleaning out store room 98 in advance of that shipment from Bobby’s old storage locker, and we found all these things that need to be safely contained in curse boxes." He sighed deeply. "But as you know, Sam gets a little… careless… when he’s hungry, so I sent him up here to eat before he caused too much damage. Clearly I was too late," he muttered, cautiously reaching towards something that looked like a gnarled tree root and setting it gingerly in the box.

Dean was feeling helpful, so he grabbed a set of three interlocked golden rings. "What’s this? It’s beautiful."

Cas tensed next to him before whipping a handkerchief from his breast pocket and opening it across his palm. He used his covered hand to quickly pluck the rings from Dean’s grasp. Wrapping the rings up snugly with a satisfying clink, he jammed the cloth bundle deep down one side of the carton. "Please be careful, Dean. Those were wishing rings. Who knows what the consequences would be if you’d expressed any wants or desires while holding them?"

Dean gulped and stepped back, wiping his hand across his shirt. "Jinkies, Cas. So that was like one of them Hand of God, Monkey’s Paw kinda things?"

"Indeed," Cas nodded. "Please be cautious which items you allow to touch with your bare skin until Sam and I get all the curse boxes sorted."

"Yes, dear," Dean smiled, and winked. "But you know that the only thing I want or desire touching my bare skin is you, right?"

Cas huffed and rolled his eyes, but Dean knew when he watched the pretty blush color his husband’s cheeks that he’d gotten to him and he took advantage of the moment to reel Cas in by the tie for a kiss. Smiling, he then pecked Cas on the nose and stepped back to grab the rag and spray again as the angel finished clearing off the table. He carefully set the box next to the books on the shelf and Dean spritzed the tabletop once more before washing his hands thoroughly. 

Dean gestured with his chin for Cas to sit and set a plate with a club sandwich and side salad in front of him before sliding in next to him with one of his own. 

"Thank you, beloved, this looks delicious." He took a bite of the sandwich and hummed in pleasure.

"Yeah, well, Sam’s will get cold, but that’s his own damned fault." Dean applied himself to his own lunch and the two men ate in companionable silence until only a few crumbs remained on their plates and Dean leaned into Cas, patting his belly. He closed his eyes, settling further against Castiel’s shoulder, and sighed when the angel looped an arm around his waist to hold him steady.

"You know, I don’t think that there’s anything I could wish for that would make me happier than I am right now," he murmured, opening his eyes to stare unseeing at the ceiling. "But I have done so much stupid shit, and made so many mistakes, that I would love a do-over for so many things in my past."

Cas demurred. "I think we both know that altering the past is… inadvisable."

Dean nodded, turning his head a little so he could bury his face in his husband’s neck. "Yeah, I know. And really I only did the dumbest crap when my back was against the wall and I was all alone and thought that nobody was ever gonna come for me. Not like you did," he mumbled, pressing a kiss just above the collar, and Cas shivered and tightened his hold.

"You have spent much of your life caring for others, Dean. I’m so happy now that you can allow me to care for you." Dean heard the smile in Cas’s voice when he spoke next. "Even if my sandwiches aren’t half as good as yours."

"It’s the thought that counts, sweetheart," Dean replied, pulling back to press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. Cas grinned at him indulgently, but then his eyes became serious.

"I do regret that your childhood and even the first years of your adult life were so lonely."

Dean sighed again, his thoughts drifting to the past. "I would love to have a conversation with my past self, you know? Sit him down with a beer and tell him that he’s not gonna be alone forever. That he’ll be happy someday. Just to give him something to look forward to." He looked over at Cas, whose blue eyes shone with sympathy and understanding. "And who knows," he continued with a smirk, "maybe it would give him enough hope to get his head out of his ass earlier when he finally meets you, and avoids the whole will-they-won’t-they-for-over-a-fucking-decade-thing."

Cas chuckled softly. "I rather like your head where it is, Dean. And your ass," he added with a raised brow. "But yes, I would agree that our ‘courtship’, as it were, was unnecessarily drawn-out."

Read more on AO3

[mixedinterpretations]

( @sloanevalentine )

Gus is always 'okay'. That's his default, of course, if anyone asks. He feels guilty if he's anything less than okay, after all. Because less than okay means he's not coping, and healing. So he can't talk about it with most. But tonight he has Sloane over, and that means take-out and maybe some wine, and catching up. The apartment is clean, yes, but a bit empty. A far cry from his and Graham's place before. But he's got the necessary things, and a bottle of wine. The tiny elderly chihuahua is asleep on a blanket in an armchair. And Gus is picking up a carton of lo mien. "I mean... it wasn't mean? But why would a student tell you that you have no 'rizz'? Why do I have to have rizz? It's an ASL class, does sign language need rizz?" A beat of silence. "...What is rizz?"

[jheselbraum]

I was a cashier for years and generally, yeah as long as it's not alcohol or another open liquid (bottled soda yes canned soda no), produce, or something we have to weigh at the register I don't give a fuck if you've eaten some, especially if like, you have a kid and they really want those little cereal crunchies for babies or something. As long as you don't make a mess just hand me the empty thing (or if it's open, tell me it's open) and we'll be on our way. Even deli items, most of those are priced by weight but weighed at the deli counter, so like, a few slices of salami to shut your kids up or eating a thing of steak fries is fine as long as you save the barcode and give it to us.

I did have to vote nuance though, specifically because of the guy who ate raw sausage out of a pack of meat, and the guy who came in every morning to buy a coke and steal one (1) raw egg from the carton for breakfast.

I'm talking bags of chips, fruit, bottled drinks, things like that

[peachenle]

down the hatch

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: college!au | fratboy!au | fluff, established relationship | some suggestive content at the end

word count: 5k

warnings: lots of drinking, profanity, sexual themes, fake frats, more semi-unhumorous banter, sunghoon biceps

༄࿔˚✧ synopsis: “a collection of moments with sunghoon, shared over meals, snacks, and drinks. a riff off of timestamps. not in chronological order. a continuation/epilogue of captain’s log.”

tagging: @dearhee @ozymandia-s @judeduartewannabe @pokemonpartyworld @thejjrl @end-hyphen

jungle juice

There wasn’t a lot you could do when it came to football game weekends. You knew the drill. Your roommate Yunjin would be pestering you to “Can you please show at least a little school pride?” as she posed you for pictures, dressed in your university’s sanctioned colors. Sunghoon would be off doing god knows what to prepare for the HYB tailgate. However, today’s game was much later in the day, and you were saved from the tragedy of drinking at 8am like last time.

Sunghoon had warned you that he’d be busy that morning, buying groceries for the pre-game, the tailgates, and the afterparty. You decided you’d return to the library, cramming a couple assignments (like usual) before the chaos of the upcoming afternoon.

Not even an hour into your studies, and uncharacteristically, Sunghoon began sending you a string of messages.

sunghoon: is this a good juice brand *photo attached*

you: its orange juice i dont think you can go wrong but yes

sunghoon: is 1kg of strawberries enough

you: why did they let you buy groceries by yourself this time

sunghoon: *photo attached* I’m with riki

you: …

you: remind me to not consume whatever you guys are trying to make

*Sunghoon disliked a message you sent.*

The festivities of the day included a pregame at the HYB house, carpools to the main stadium parking lot for the tailgate, and cheering alongside everyone else at the actual game. Naturally, the night would end at HYB.

You were still shy about letting yourself inside the house, even though you knew they never locked the doors on days like this. Sunghoon once insisted on giving you a key, to make it easier for you when you came over. And though the other guys that lived at the house gave him permission to do so, you - maturely - explained that you had to respect their spaces as a guest. Sunghoon met you with a pout and a reluctant nod of understanding.

I’m outside, you texted your boyfriend, stepping up the stairs to the front doors. You heard yelling and music, and you were surprised the fun had already begun.

You stepped back as the door swung open, meeting your boyfriend’s sheepish smile and Jay’s bright one. Sunghoon grabbed your hand, brushing a quick kiss on your forehead.

“Alright, Y/N, so we fucked up the jungle juice,” Jay stared at you expectantly, his face fully flushed already.

You made a face, “How is that possible?”

Sunghoon laughed, “Just wait.”

Next to the two large tubs of their creation, the kitchen’s island was littered with empty juice cartons and several empty liquor bottles.. and many beer bottles?

One of the other HYB brothers followed your gaze, “We put beer in it to make it bubbly.”

Sunghoon passed you a cup. You stared at the little strawberry floating within an unnervingly bubbling red-orange concoction. Safe to say the beer was not a good choice, the ratio was definitely off - how can something so fruity taste so bitter? “Yeah, it does taste like shit.”

“Okay, but who drinks jungle juice for enjoyment?,” Riki suggested, shuffling through the songs playing from his phone to the speakers.

Jay, sarcastic, stated. “Jungle juice should be treated as a delicacy.”

Sunghoon, amused, replied, “Then why did you defile it by adding cheap beer?”

“I saw it on TikTok, leave me alone.”

Some other guys arrived later and called for help to set up, so you and Sunghoon were left to figure out what to do with the drinks.

Your guys’ solution was to just add more orange juice, which didn’t exactly mask the beer taste, but it made it more tolerable.

The pregame wasn’t eventful, mostly HYB guys and their significant others taking shots before packing everything (and everyone) into a few cars to take to the university stadium.

The parking lot was crowded, different Greek groups mingling with each other. You and Sunghoon sat in the back bed of a friend’s pickup truck, next to the tubs of jungle juice, watching the chaos unfold.

People were grilling meat, passing lettuce wrapped morsels amongst each other. Everyone was decked out in school colors, some holding signs cursing out the other team.

Sunghoon laid a drunken head on your shoulder, taking a hand into his. You felt him shake with laughter as some of the boys wrestled over a football. Other guys were funneling shots and you thought of your boyfriend, certainly the least chaotic (in terms of drinking) out of all of them.

“Hoon, I wish you’d just own up to your true frat potential.”

“The way you tease my friends for being alcoholic fuckboys really holds me back from that.”

You paused, “You’re the exception to the rule. It’s not anyone’s fault Jay has a new flame each week - he’s just embracing who he is - a HYB brother.”

"I think it's time I hang up the frat paddle and just be a wholesome student."

“Dude, you just picked up a Little, what are you talking about?" Riki interjected (the Little in question).

Sunghoon sighed dramatically, “And I regret it everyday.”

Your school’s team won, and everyone traveled back to celebrate appropriately at the HYB house. The daytime festivities (and drinks) left you tired, and you pulled Sunghoon away from the action to selfishly have him help you to sleep.

It was only 9 pm and you knew there were still drinks to be drunk, but it was getting difficult for you to keep your eyes open.

Sunghoon led you to his bed, climbing in shortly after. You two were silent as he took you into his arms, the warmth of his chest lulling you into darkness.

You woke, the wisps of your hair clinging to your forehead with sweat. You were surprised to find Sunghoon’s limbs still intertwined with yours, considering the bass of the party’s music downstairs still vibrated his bed frame. He definitely did not mean to fall asleep. You brushed the loose hairs out of your face, staring at your boyfriend’s features in the glow of his LED lights.

Sunghoon’s sleeping face was so peaceful, and you often took pictures to relish at the image if you missed him. You were so content. You burrowed your face back into the heat of his neck, not minding how his proximity literally made you sweat. Just being able to be with him… you couldn’t care less.

tiramisu

Your third real date - you could not consider invites to his parties actual dates - Sunghoon wanted to take you to his favorite dessert cafe downtown. The last time he took you out, he offered to drive, picking you up right on time, and with a single tulip sitting on the passenger’s seat.

This time, however, he asked if it was okay if you two could just walk and ride the bus together. Sunghoon had his moments of pure charisma, teasing you smoothly, and finding a way to break out a smile from you. There were other times where you were absolutely astonished at his clumsiness. While Sunghoon was in the final stages of crossing over into HYB, some of the things you had to witness him go through… thank god he was handsome.

The midday sun was beaming brightly, a gentle wind passing through your thin layers - not offering you much comfort to soothe the beads of sweat on your forehead. Sunghoon was dressed casually, a short sleeved button down - revealing just enough of his toned chest, and some loose trousers.

“You know, I asked to walk with you today so that I could have more time with you, but I’m kinda regretting it,” he said pointedly, gesturing at the hot spring rays of the sun.

“Wow, are you saying time with me isn’t worth a couple minutes of sweat?” you said, with a blank face.

Sunghoon’s face contorted to one of apology, his lips opening to ramble a sorry, but then stopped and broke into a smile. “Yeah, you’re less cute when you’re sweaty.”

You scoffed as you pushed his shoulder, discreetly swiping a hand across your forehead.

The bus was packed, and you two were left with the option of standing body to body with other passengers. Sunghoon grabbed a hanging handrail for support before the bus took off, but the others in your section were occupied. The bus jolted forward and you stumbled into Sunghoon’s torso, his free hand catching your shoulder.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you peeked up to see him bite back a smile. After stabilizing your stance, Sunghoon’s free hand traced down your bare arm. He gently grasped your hand and directed it to his bent arm, offering you his bicep to hold for support.

“You’re sly, Park Sunghoon,” you whispered. His arm was toned, and it felt firm under your grasp.

“Hey, I hit a PR at the gym yesterday, this is a reward for both of us. You should thank me really.”

After making it out of the bus, you didn’t bother to let go of his arm. He coolly slipped his hands in his pockets as he led you to the cafe - you stared at his red ears and knew the impact you had on him.

You picked a table in the back corner, the cafe was decorated brightly and had walls lined with bookshelves. You let Sunghoon order for you. He returned with a bright smile, setting the order pager on the table.

“This place has the best cakes,” Sunghoon was beaming with excitement. You laughed, his giddy expression was so endearing it was hard not to reciprocate.

Sunghoon stood to pick up the order when it was ready, and passed you your pink smoothie. He set a green tea cake and slice of tiramisu in the middle, taking a sip of his Americano.

“So they make tiramisu the authentic way.” Sunghoon began to explain how tiramisu is supposed to be made (who knew he was such a fanatic?), and you spared him of the knowledge that you too knew how it was actually made. “The owner says they get imported coffee beans especially for their espresso, so the flavor is super strong!” He used his spoon to point out the different creamy layers.

The cake did look delicious, but the sight of Sunghoon’s eyes glowing staring at his favorite dessert was more satiating. You sipped your smoothie as he finished his ramble.

Sunghoon slowly carved into the cake with his spoon, and held it out to you.

“Are you really feeding me right now?”

He smiled, “I know you want it.” He was right. You did.

The cake was creamy and soft, just as it looked, but you scowled at the clashing taste.

“I don’t think fruit smoothies with tiramisu is a good pairing…” you smiled sheepishly.

He passed you the cup of his Americano to wash the flavor away before scooping another bite for you. Sunghoon smiled as he noted your expression of approval. The taste of the espresso was bitter, but the cream and cocoa melted to coat your tongue with sweetness.

Sunghoon didn’t mind that he traded his Americano with your smoothie. He didn’t mind that the tartness of the fruit totally ruined his favorite dessert. Your happy expression was enough for him.

somaek

Being in a relationship with someone so popular, and so involved with his social circles, unknowingly pulled you into many social events and gatherings. You were intertwined with his organization, and joining some of their philanthropy events led you to become a desired member in some sororities.

You simply explained you didn’t have the time to commit to anything. You had your own orgs, your own part-time job, and your own studies.

Probably the first problem that you two faced early in your relationship had to do with just that - balancing each of your respective responsibilities. Being in Greek obligated him to attend many events, and him living in a frat house didn’t make things easier when it came to alone time.

You loved his friends, and truly saw some of them as your own now, but spending time with your boyfriend in a room right between Jake and Jay drove you mad sometimes.

There was knocking at Sunghoon’s door. You two were sitting on the floor, your laptop propped up, educating your boyfriend with iconic Vine compilations. “It’s Jake!”

Sunghoon stood to open the door and see what his friend wanted. Naturally, Jake pushed inside disregarding Sunghoon.

“Dude, I’m right here?”

“Hey, Y/N, can you explain the post-lab that’s due tomorrow? The summary part seems so redundant… I don’t get how it’s different from the analysis.”

You blinked at him, half-eyeing the soju and beer bottles you and Sunghoon were peacefully sharing just a minute before. Sunghoon sighed and you snorted.

“Jake, can I please just have a night with my girl? You see her like four days a week in class, and could’ve gotten help then.”

Jake made an O with his lips, realizing his brashness and laughed. “My bad! And I’ve actually seen her everyday this week because of supplementary labs!”

Sunghoon basically dragged his friend out, locking the door behind him.

“Sorry about him.” You shook your head, amused, pretty much accustomed to this behavior already.

You refilled Sunghoon’s beer glass, and poured in a shot of soju right after. “If it makes you feel any better, that post-lab was actually due today.”

Sunghoon downed the drink in one shot, his cheeks cherried from the alcohol. “This is why I love you.”

He paused. That was the first time he said I love you to you. You snickered, “That still counts even if you’re drunk.”

He pouted his lips, then smiled, “Honestly, I consider that a win.” He stuck his tongue out at you. “Ha! I said it first.”

suggestive content in the end of this last section - feel free to skip!

peppermint hot cocoa

Sunghoon was always patient with you, pausing to make sure you were enjoying yourself, never hesitating to ask if you were alright. He was gentle and caring, and never rushed.

However, your first time with Sunghoon consisted of a lot of moving parts. Clashing limbs and rushed whispers, you were out of breath before even really starting.

You’d had your share of one night stands, purely lust filled nights: chaptered with drunken exchanges, entangled bodies, and the dreaded walk of shame the morning after. Only rarely were you lucky enough to have snuck out before the rise of the sun.

Since you two started talking, you had access to HYB and hockey club parties, which were at least every other week. It was still fun to party with your girlfriends, before sneaking away with Sunghoon to play pool or some drinking games.

Each night was riddled with ST and for better or for worse, he never advanced anything further than a couple sessions of making out.

Hell, there was one night where you made out for what felt like two hours straight. One of his hands was finally on the inside of your panties, rubbing you expertly, but as soon as you reached for the front of his jeans, Sunghoon stood up. You two were drunk, but even then you could tell that his “phone call from Heeseung-hyung” was nothing more than him pulling up the calculator app and putting it to his ear.

“I just don’t know why he doesn’t want to sleep with me?” You brought up to Yunjin the next day. “He had a girl in his bed and he pretended to call Heeseung.”

Yunjin bit her lip, and looked at you with the most serious expression. “Y/N, that’s so fucking tragic. Me, personally, I’d stop talking to him.”

“It’s not that I want to just have sex with him!” You whined. “I like him. But you know, we just keep stopping right before.”

She continued, “Imagine getting hot and bothered with a girl on top of you and the thing he thinks of to get out of it is Heeseung. Your tongue was down his throat and his best out was Heeseung.”

“Okay, now this just feels like a jab at Heeseung.”

“He ghosted me, Y/N! I was supposed to do that.”

You rolled your eyes at your best friend. “What do I do?”

“You said the only times you’ve gotten close were when you two were drunk right? Maybe he gets whiskey dick.” She grins.

You pause to think about the things you’ve felt, the times where you’ve run a palm down the front of his pants, just to hear a pretty gasp from him. Or the times where you straddled him, and he grabbed your hips to push you further onto him.

“Yeah… I don’t think so.”

“Honestly, he’s probably just nervous. Anyone can tell just how headass you two are for each other. Or maybe he doesn’t want to do it drunk.”

Yunjin then muttered, “Couldn’t be me. Drunk sex is…”

During a lecture - as you and Jake were hunched over his laptop, going over the practice case scenarios together - you saw a text message pop up on Jake’s screen.

hoonhoon bro: should i just ask her out again

Jake cleared his throat and slowly turned his screen towards only him, “Lemme check something real quick.”

You snickered, “Very subtle, Jake.”

He gave you a look, “I could just lie and say you told me you aren’t into him anymore.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Jake smiled brightly, “Yeah you’re right, I like you guys too much.”

You then received a text message.

park sunghoon: Are you busy tonight?

you: yes i’m going on a date

park sunghoon: what

Jake looked up from typing on his laptop. In a hushed whisper, “You’re seeing other guys!?”

You kept your eyes on your phone and continued.

you: yeah i started talking to him from a hockey club party

Jake poked your arm angrily, and turned his screen to show you the texts between himself and Sunghoon.

hoonhoon bro: SHES SEEING SOMEONE ELSE WHAT THE FUCK

me: WTF DUDE LET ME ASK HER

hoonhoon bro: wait dont

hoonhoon bro: THEY MET AT A HOCKEY CLUB PARTY?? IVE LITERALLY KEPT MY EYES ON HER AT EACH PARTY I never saw her speak to any other new guys

You covered your mouth to silence your laugh. Jake was seething, waiting for your explanation but you still typed on your phone.

you: yeah his name is sunghoon

park sunghoon: ???

park sunghoon: oh

park sunghoon: We’re going on a date tonight?

you: aren’t we? you asked if i was free lol

park sunghoon: I’ll pick you up at 6

You heard Jake sigh in relief, “I seriously went through all the stages of grief just now.”

When the lecture finished, Jake turned to you one more time. “If things ever go south… Just let him down easy? I like you, dude, but I can’t guarantee your safety from Jay if Sunghoon comes home crying one day.”

All you could do was gently smile and nod.

That evening, fresh from the shower and loaded with the jitters of the impending date in about an hour, you received a text.

park sunghoon: Are you craving anything

you: you

park sunghoon: huh

you: can surprise me

You laughed out loud at yourself. You saw your roommate stare from the corner of your eye. “Embarassing,” she teased.

When Sunghoon notified you of his arrival, you took a deep breath before exiting the dorm building. This was only the second date - sure you’ve had many hours of drunkenness with him at parties - but it didn’t settle the nerves of a date any less.

He smiled at you when you opened the passenger door, a single pink tulip waiting for you on your seat.

Sunghoon’s car always smelled deeply of him, so clean and fresh. He smelled of soap, or crisp linen, and sometimes, like today, you noticed hints of coffee.

“So, I was thinking, does sushi sound good?”

“It’s not really a surprise if you tell me before we go,” you quipped. “But yes, of course.”

He poked your cheek. Sunghoon shared details about his day, discussing a couple of hours at the rink before class.

He snorted, “It’s always awkward giving lessons to kids who have tiger parents. This little boy today ate shit on the ice practicing his loop and his mom yelled at him from the stands.”

Sunghoon grimaced, “Then she yelled at me…”

Your conversation flowed throughout the drive into downtown. He asked you about your day, and you left out the flurry of texts you read about yourself, courtesy of Jake.

“Another girl dm’ed me asking if I wanted to rush next semester. And then she explained she could guarantee me a bid.”

“They must be desperate if they’re asking you.”

“Yeah, like I don’t know if I’d want to ru- wait. What are you trying to say?” You punched his shoulder as he cackled.

“Don’t hit the driver! Very dangerous.”

The restaurant was packed, but since Sunghoon had called ahead of time, you were seated very quickly.

“What would you have done if I didn’t agree to sushi?”

“I would’ve brought you here anyway. Surprise!”

The sashimi was delicious; and you and Sunghoon, shamelessly, audibly groaned at the taste. You two argued over which fish was best, obviously the salmon, and though he disagreed, he happily scarfed down the last piece of salmon when you offered it.

You let Sunghoon guide you through the streets of downtown for a couple blocks, thinking you were just aimlessly walking, before he stopped abruptly.

“You haven’t been here have you?”

He brought you to the skating rink. Sunghoon followed your hands with his gaze as you gripped the ends of your thin long sleeve.

“Don’t worry, I have a jacket in my work locker!” He took your hand as he led you inside.

His coworkers greeted him brightly, a couple of them squinting at him suggestively when they noticed you were holding hands.

Sunghoon helped you select some skates, before taking your hand again to lead you to the back area to his locker. He grabbed the skates out of your hands to exchange them for his hoodie, grinning as you slipped it over your body.

He balanced the two pairs of skates in one arm, still gripping your hand as he took you to the actual rink.

You sat down at a bench on the outskirts of the stands and stared as Sunghoon squatted down in front of you.

“Here, I’ll help you lace them up,” he said, smiling up at you.

“Ok, dad.”

He rolled his eyes, and you blushed as he took one of your feet in his hands to guide it into the skate. He said nothing as he tightened the laces, and tied them expertly with his long fingers.

You gulped. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of his hands as he put on his own skates.

Sunghoon on ice was a different version of him altogether. He took both of your hands into his, gliding backwards. Effortlessly, he kept his eyes on you, while you stared at the ice at his stable feet and your shaky ones.

“Look up at me; it helps with balance,” he said as he tilted your head up with a finger.

In efforts to hide your embarrassment, you responded, “Ice skating seems like the perfect way for you to charm women.”

He grinned, “Yeah, and judging by the look of you… It’s working, isn’t it?”

If you weren’t so uncoordinated on ice, you’d have grabbed his shirt and kissed him right there.

After freshening up in the bathroom, wiping away the sniffles from the cold and fixing up your hair, you found Sunghoon chatting with his coworker at the skate counter.

“You don’t have anywhere to be early tomorrow do you?”

You thought of the 9 am study session you were invited to go to before class. “… Nope, I’m free.”

“That sounded like a lie, but I’ll take it because I feel selfish today,” Sunghoon joked. You thought of how attentive he was today. He was anything but selfish. “Let’s watch a movie, we didn’t properly use my surround sound last time.”

For once the HYB house was quiet and peaceful. The walls were still lined with funny banners, or old decorations. Each time you were at the house previously, it was at night, the rooms only illuminated by LEDs or strobe lights. This time the front of the house was brightly lit by the chandelier. You noticed the fond remains of a certain poster.

This was the first time being in Sunghoon’s room, without the excuse of tequila or rum or a “loud party” ushering you two inside. You could actually make out the couple trophies that were set on a shelf. First Place Park Sunghoon. Another one reading: Runner Up National Champion - Novice.

“Did you ever think of going pro? Making it your full career?”

Sunghoon smiled softly, “Everyday since I started when I was 9, and until I was 17.”

“Injury?”

“Man, we’re getting into the deep stuff… but no, actually. I think I just started getting tired of skating being the only thing I knew. I had like 3 friends on a good day.”

He sat on his bed, patting the space next to him for you, and continued, “I still skated in comps up until last year before I transferred… But it hadn’t felt the same since high school.”

You placed your hand on his knee in support, saying nothing to let him continue if he wanted.

“Now, I’m just trying new things, learning more about what’s out there. I still skate, obviously, but I think I feel better about just having it a hobby than making it my whole life.”

“You’ve gotta show me your old competition videos.”

Sunghoon frowned, “Too embarrassing.”

“Totally googling you later.”

“I’ll show you under one condition,” his hand shifted onto your lap, and leaned towards you. You could almost feel his breathing.

You nodded slowly, “And what would that be?”

He leaned back and grinned, “You share something equally embarassing of course! Your face is so red… Jeez, what did you have in mind, Y/N?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. The flirting, his suggestive eyes, his teases.

“Kiss me,” you stated. “Please.”

Sunghoon blinked in surprise, his teasing smile fading into one of confidence, of pride.

“Well, only since you said please,” he whispered.

You fluttered your eyes closed and you gripped one of his arms as your lips catch his.

Sunghoon smiled and pulled his lips away for a second, “I can’t believe you ordered mint hot cocoa. I can taste it,” his forehead resting against yours.”

“Don’t like it?” you teased.

He kissed you, before saying, “Normally, never. On you? I guess I can tolerate it.”

You pulled him back in, teeth clashing and eager eager hands reaching for the nape of his neck. One of Sunghoon’s arms snaked around your back, guiding you to lay flat on his bed, his other arm leaning by your head to support his weight above you.

He traced kisses down the side of your jaw and you sighed.

“Please,” you hushed, tugging on the hem of his shirt. As he pulled his top over his head, your fingers eagerly glided up his toned abdomen, over his chest, before settling on his wide shoulders again. He leaned down to brush trails over your neck with his lips, his tongue slipping out to fully taste you.

“Seeing you in my clothes…” he mumbled against your skin. You were indeed still wearing his hoodie from the rink.

A worried thought crossed your mind, which was jarring since your only other thoughts were how good his lips felt on your skin, and how nice his fingers were as one of them teasingly toyed with the waistband of your pants.

“Hoon.” His body stopped moving and he looked up seriously at you with hooded lids.

“Why haven’t we ever … gone all the way?”

Sunghoon leaned back, and then laid next to you on his side. “I didn’t want the first time we did anything more to be when we were drunk. I… wanna really remember it. I’m sorry for not explaining that each time I’ve stopped us…”

“Yeah, not sure Heeseung would appreciate being tangled in a lie.”

“OK. That time, I admit, I don’t even know why I did that. I was so nervous,” he covered his eyes with a hand.

“You’re more sappy and sentimental than you look,” you traced a finger over his lips and kissed him, his eyes still covered.

“Alright,” he finally looked at you, his eyes dark. “What do I look like?”

You smirked, “Someone who looks good underneath me.”

And it was true. Sunghoon looked real good. And he was well worth the wait.

[imightgetbetter]

our first kiss

ahhhhhhh. hi. it's me. this is so weird. i haven't been nervous to post a story like this in years. probably because it's a totally different fan space and group and all that. there's a first time for everything. i have a whole idea for a series of things i want to write, we shall see if they come to fruition. for now, here you go. just a little something. (this is literally the smallest piece of writing i think i've posted in seven years). have fun <3 happy reading!

Outside, everything is quiet in the simplest of ways – the honking that usually busies the streets has subsided, just a few passing cars beneath them, the lights flickering and the occasional yell or holler from someone on the street echoing around the seemingly empty avenue. One light is shining from the bedroom where the landing leads to, and you can hear a faint grunt and murmured swears as your darling company finally makes his way back to the metal escape. His hand is clutching the neck of the guitar you purchased for his birthday, the back of which is decorated in an array of randomized drawings that somehow felt fitting for him – a carton of cigarettes, a mouse with a cookie, a rose that looked awfully similar to the one you have dried and pressed from your first date. Mouth nursing a cigarette, he teasingly pulls it from your lips as he settles against the railing, the guitar now settled on his thighs and his worn-in notebook propped open with a pen. He reaches for the lighter, cupping the fire around the end until it’s lit and ashy with his inhale.

His hand lays on your knee and squeezes it gently, lovingly. “Can’t have you picking up a bad habit from me, darling. Already have too many of those.”

“You were once a bad habit, you know,” you say, peering at him through hooded eyes masked behind wire-framed glasses, the light from your computer lighting your face. He smirks, shaking his head without saying a word, simply basking in knowing that a bad habit had turned into this, into sharing an apartment in a city you love, into late nights on the fire escape, creating your art together, art that is often about each other, even if you don’t know it. And he doesn’t know it, that the collection of essays being stored in your hard drive are about the lessons of being in love, lessons that you learned with him.

His eyes flicker from where he’s strumming at the heart of the guitar to you, a smile printed on his features that you know well – the smile that comes from your favorite bottle of wine at dinner, a stray glass or two in a shared bath. “Am I still a bad habit, my love?”

“Only when you distract me from my work,” you say, nudging your knee into his calf, a smile toying at the corners of your lips as he nudges you back.

His eyes trail from your eyes to your lips to where your fingers are working diligently against your keyboard. “How far have you gotten today?”

“About halfway into this essay,” you hum, leaning your head to the side, trying to get a peek at the lyrics being scribbled into the notebook. “How’s the song coming?”

“Good, I think. Question for you actually,” he says quietly, aware of the sleeping neighbors and easily disturbed animals surrounding the apartment. He waits for you to nod, closing your laptop quietly to give him your sole attention. “Our first kiss, where was it again?”

“Matthew.”

“In my defense, love, we’d had many drunken kisses before I’d actually kissed you sober and well-intentioned.”

“Are you trying to tell me the other times were ill-intentioned?”

“Yes, I am, actually. I was eighteen, darling. There are no good intentions at eighteen.” His eyes soften when you giggle quietly, the hardened expression washing away from your features as you hum knowingly, and a tiny smile begins itching at your cheeks. “It was during that holiday we took during Christmas. I remember that.”

“Walmart, I think,” you say, the memory suddenly feeling a bit hazy and out of touch. “You’d come to visit me for the holiday break because I couldn’t fly home. I was sick, I wanted a puzzle or something to do while I was stuck alone. You’d grabbed the one I wanted, and I kissed your cheek.”

“I turned my head, and I kissed you,” he says surely, interrupting your recollection of the memory. His smile as he told the story warms you from your head to your toes. He doesn’t need to say that he loves you for you to feel so. “I knew I was going to get the nastiest flu of my life, but I didn’t even care.”

“I yelled at you for kissing me. I didn’t want to get you sick, even though that was a bit of a lost cause considering we were sharing a bed while you stayed with me.”

“And that’s why I kissed you, again,” he says proudly, reaching for your hand and tugging you towards him. You know exactly what he wants you to do, and you do so easily. Closing your laptop, you maneuver yourself over the small space, settling between his open thighs. His arms circle around you, the guitar settled on your thighs, your head laying against his chest. He presses his mouth to your head, “I wish it hadn’t taken so long. I feel like I got years stolen away.”

“Hm?”

“Us, you know?” his murmurs, gently strumming the guitar and leaning his head on your head, humming a melody that surely just came to mind. “I wish I would’ve just moved with you.”

“I don’t,” you say quietly, leaning forward and turning to face him, your hands reaching to cup his cheeks and bring his eyes to meet yours. “I don’t because I love seeing you live your dream, and that wouldn’t have happened if you moved with me. All this happened like it was supposed to, you know that.” Matty’s eyes are pouring into yours, the deepest amounts of love washing over you. “Not to mention, if we weren’t apart, we wouldn’t have like, the best love songs to ever exist.”

Matty laughs, rolling his eyes as you lean your head forward, your nose brushing against his. “I want you with me all the time, you know that?”

“I know.”

“I want so many things with you.”

“And you can have them,” you say, brushing your lips against his ever so slightly. “I’ll be waiting, ready to go.”