#I’M COMING BACK TO THIS ONE. this is getting finished if it’s the last thing i do

[coco-loco-nut]

Fortnight

pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

summary: you were never cut out to be a WAG

a/n: guys i really like this one so i hope you love it too 🤍

masterlist ttpd masterlist

_______

“Oh my god, we need to get you help,” your best friend, Logan, gasps, walking in on you, three beers deep. You are sitting on the floor of your bedroom, Lando’s too when he’s actually home, the curtains closed, dirty clothes scattered on the floor. What he doesn’t know is that this is your normal.

“I’m fine,” you don’t even slur. Your phone is discarded to the side, beside the latest apology flowers given -shipped- to you by your supposedly loving boyfriend. You haven’t picked up his last couple calls, so he sent your friend to check in.

“Come on, get up and shower while I clean all this, and you call Lando after,” Logan sighs, pulling you off the floor as you finish the beer.

You begrudgingly walk to the bathroom, your friend setting out a fresh change of clothes. “Just, don’t tell Lando. He’s stressed enough,” you tell him, closing the door once you get a confirmation.

Twenty minutes later, you are sitting on the edge of the sink, phone ringing.

“Babe, are you okay, you haven’t been answering?” Lando asks, his worried voice makes a pit in your stomach.

“Lan, I’ve just been a little busy, that’s all. Sorry for worrying you. Are you okay?” despite him being the reason the reason for your recent state, you don’t want him to be hurt.

You miss breaks, when he would be with you all the time, now it seems like you only see each other in passing, like good neighbors who make that corny comment about the weather.

Lando finds you in a similar position as your friend did, except this time you are crying on the floor, not drunk. He got a couple free days off and is eager to spend them with you.

“Darling, what happened?” he kneels down beside you, his voice making you cry harder. “Baby,” his voice and heart breaks as you look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks.

“I-,” you gas for air. “I love you, Lando. It’s ruining my life,” each sob breaks his heart.

“No, no. Don’t say that,” he pleads, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Do you know the longest amount of time we’ve spent together? 14 days, a fortnight. I can’t keep doing this. The apology gifts for missed moments, the quick phone calls that are hardly passable for time spent together,” you pause to catch your breath, the tears still flowing. “I can’t do this, Lando. I miss home, I miss America,” your eyes meet his, both of you broken.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were struggling this much,” he whispers, sitting down and pulling you into him.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you look away, the feeling of him foreign.

“I’m off the next couple days, let’s work on us,”

“Lando-,”

“And I’ll bring you to more races even though I know you find it hard to get off of work,”

“Lando-,”

“Please don’t say it,” he whispers, kissing you. Another foreign feeling.

“I’m moving back to America, tomorrow,” you tell him, feeling like you’ve hit absolute rock bottom. Lando looks around the bedroom, realizing the only thing of yours left was your packed suitcase in the corner.

“Were you going to tell me?” he asks, your eyes not able to meet his.

“I was going to visit you in Woking tonight,” the silence that falls between you is deafening. You spend the night in separate rooms, and in the morning he insists on driving you to the airport. He gets out of the car, pulling your suitcase out for you.

“Please don’t go,” he asks one last time, the both of you crying.

“I have to, Lando. It’s what’s best for both of us,” you step closer to him.

“Winter break is almost here, please, just a little longer. This isn’t what’s best for me,” Lando says, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I love you, Lan, but you deserve someone who can be with you at each race and support you more than I can,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You are always enough for me, I love you,” he cries.

“Please, Lan, I have to put myself first,” you grab your luggage handle and take a step back.

“I won’t block your number, if you ever need anything or are in London, call me, I’ll be there at the drop of a hat,” Lando says, his tear stained cheeks glistening in the sun. His offer is a complete change to how your relationship was.

“Goodbye, Lando,” you turn around, walking into the airport. You hand covers your mouth as you sob, refusing to turn back and look at an equally distressed Lando.

You refuse to check social media, only texting your family and Logan when you land in Miami. You knew Logan from karting before you quit, and he became your closest friend. He offered his apartment in Miami to you until you buy your own.

You quickly got a job and moved to Destin, a whole 9 hours away from Miami, 11 from Austin. Florida is treating you a lot nicer, but you feel stuck in an endless February. You took the magic move on pill that is relocating, but it doesn’t seem to be working. You changed your phone number when you got back to the US, and deleted your social media apps. Lando tried calling you and DM-ing you, but never got a reply.

“I will fly you down, please just come and support me. I need you at my home race,” Logan begs, wanting you to take a two week vacation to spend time with him in Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Something deep inside you agreed, so you pack your bags and hit the road, electing to drive.

You arrive the Wednesday before race week, and stay until the Wednesday after race week. It is nice because you can visit your own family too.

“I got you a paddock pass,” Logan says as you both lay on the beach the day you got in.

“Lo, I can’t go back there,” you turn your head to look at him.

“You can stay in Williams, you don’t have to go visit Oscar when I do,” Logan says, referencing the Australian who is also staying with Logan. Oscar promised he wouldn’t tell Lando you were in town.

“You know, I can get you a much nicer car than your Mercedes,” Oscar says, sitting beside you. Logan gets up to grab two waters.

“A McLaren? Not my thing, I hated driving,” you can’t even bring yourself to say his name. “Yeah, but I do love my car, I always wanted it,” you say.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Oscar leans over, bumping you with his shoulder.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t. It’s still hard. Sometimes I think about calling him, but he won’t pick up. I have a new number and he has a new girl from what Logan said,” you admit.

“He’s miserable, he will never admit it, but he is. He hasn’t been the same since you left, but you seem to be doing a lot better. You have color back in your skin and you aren’t drinking all the time,” Oscar says, knowing what state you were in when Lando called Logan to check in on you. You were a functioning alcoholic, barely functioning at that point.

“Yeah, this was the right decision. Maybe it’s best if I don’t call Lando. Even if he is miserable, it might make things worse. I can’t get back together with him, but I want him to be okay,” you tell Oscar. What you don’t know is that Lando is renting the beach house beside the one you, Logan, and Oscar are staying in for the two weeks. He is jealous about how happy you seem with his teammate and your best friend.

You figure it out when you take a midnight walk, clad in a sweater with your university’s logo on it.

“Lando, hi,” you breathe, taking him in.

“Hey, you look really good. I like the sweater,” he shifts his weight in the sand. You look healthier, happier, and it kills him.

“I, um, changed my phone number and deleted my social media apps,” you say, answering the question he didn’t want to ask.

“I tried dating again, but I broke it off, I couldn’t do it,”

“Sorry, I should’ve thought about how I would hurt you,” you say, looking at your feet in the sand.

“No, you needed to do it. I don’t blame you, I was basically abandoning you,” Lando says, silently inviting you to join him on the walk. It becomes a habit, you join him every night.

“Congrats on the win,” you hug him on night 11. It was a silent agreement that you would go your separate ways again after the two weeks.

“Where are you living now?” Lando asks on night 14, both of you sitting in the sand between the two houses.

“Destin, Florida. I bought an apartment that used to be a timeshare,” you say, watching the waves.

“That’s pretty close, right?”

“Nine hours, Lan. other side of the state,” you smile, trying not to laugh. Lando’s heart flutters at the way you say his nickname, but squashes it.

“Oh, well I’m glad you were able to come down and support Logan,” he says, yawning a little.

“Alright, I have to wake up early to drive home,” you stand up, brushing the sand off of your legs.

“Drive safe,” Lando hugs you, finally feeling healed.

“Goodbye, Lan,” you whisper.

“Goodbye,” he whispers back, capturing the look of you in his mind.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #logan sargeant #oscar piastri

[dinogoofymutated]

may i pretty please request a wolverine x reader where he gets super clingy when he’s tired and he’s just so soft with the reader following her around like a little puppy until she agrees to go to finally go to bed so they can cuddle and sleep and it’s just 🥹🥹🥹🥹

Wolverine/GN!Reader THIS!!! I absolutely love soft Logan and having this big, rageing machine of a man turn into an absolute puppy when he's sleepy and in love UGH. I need him to be real RN so we can go get married and live happily ever after in the mountains I stg Sorry that this one is kinda short. It's really fluffy and I hope yall enjoy! TWs: None! Reader is written pictuing fem but no pronouns mentioned.

    You woke up a little while ago with the striking revelation that you had completely forgotten to finish grading exams. Sure, you could have waited till the morning, but you had become restless. At this point, the only thing that was gonna help you fall back asleep was to just get it over with. 

   You let out a sigh as you finish another exam, moving on to the next one in the stack. You remember when you had first joined the X-men, expecting it to all be adventures and saving people from immediate threats- you never would have expected to be where you are now. The thought makes you laugh a little bit. You, a teacher? Oh, how times have changed. For the better, but changed nonetheless. The door to your classroom creaks open slowly, and you look over to see Logan. His eyes are half closed as he shuffles over to you, leaning over the back of your chair to wrap his arms around your shoulders and set his chin atop your head.

    “Come back to bed, baby.” Logan rumbles. You rub one of his arms back and forth with one of your hands as you continue to write with the other.

    “Sorry, did I wake you up?” You ask. Logan only hums from above you, adjusting his head to press his cheek against your hair. You know what he means, even if he won't admit it.

    “Okay, well just give me a moment and I’ll get back in bed with you, okay?” You tell him, admittedly feeling a little guilty for disturbing his sleep. Logan doesn’t respond, and instead begins to move to the other side of your chair.

    “Logan?” You call his name curiously as he begins to sit down on the floor next to you. He huffs as he leans his head against your thighs, practically using your lap as a pillow.

    “I’ll stay here, thanks.” He says, and you can't help but laugh a little.

    “Logan, There is no way that’s comfortable.” You protest, but he simply shrugs, closing his eyes as he nuzzles into your lap.

    “ ‘ve been through worse.” Logan sighs, and you swear you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. You can’t help but shake your head at him anyway, writing a graded letter on the latest exam before moving it over again.

    “You’re actually ridiculous, you know that?” Logan only hums in response to you, his breathing beginning to slow as you run a hand through his hair. The two of you sit like that for a while, and although you do feel bad about how uncomfortable it must be for him to sit down there like that, Logan doesn’t complain. You rub your eyes when you’ve finally finished grading the last exam, setting it neatly on your desk with the others. You’re ready to finally get up from that god-forsaken seat, but the weight in your lap is keeping you from doing so. When you look down, it’s clear to see that Logan has fully fallen asleep in your lap. You try to keep yourself from smiling too hard as you brush your hand across his shoulders and try to wake him up. 

    “Logan.” You call for him gently, and all he does is grunt in a sleepy way. “Come on, I’m gonna get a glass of water and then I’ll meet you in bed.” You shake him just a tad bit rougher, and Logan grunts again, slowly blinking his eyes open as he sits up. You run your hand through his hair one more time before standing. You wait for him at the door of the classroom, giving him a kiss on his cheek before you turn in the opposite direction, headed towards the kitchen. At first, you think you’re hearing things, but after a few more heavy steps from behind you, you turn around and are face to face with a sleepy, grumpy, Logan. You look at him in disbelief. 

    “I’m not going far. I’m just getting a drink and I’ll meet you in bed?” You can’t believe that he’s still trailing behind you, looking like a lost puppy. He almost pouts at you. Logan Howlett, the one and only Wolverine, pouting at you over something so silly.

     “Lo. You cannot be serious.” You say, once again trying your best not to laugh. Logan huffs at you, walking forward to take your hand before he’s leading you to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

     “You’ll get over it.” He grumbles. The walk to the kitchen to get water is just as quick as you thought it would be, if not a little longer due to Logan being stuck to your side the whole time, being built wide like a fridge and being in the way no matter what with how close he was. He’s got his arm draped over you on the way back to bed, refusing to be less than three inches away from you at all times. You hardly have time to lock the door to your shared room before he’s grabbing you by the waist and tugging you under the covers. God, he was so ridiculous like this and you love him so much for it. It takes a moment for you to get settled under the covers, Logan’s hold on you being equivalent to being held in a steel cage and leaving very little room for movement. 

    When you turn to tell him goodnight, he’s already fast asleep. You lean in and kiss him goodnight anyway, and you swear that you see him smile unconsciously before you tuck yourself into his chest, finally resting in his comforting and secure arms.

#Pure fluff yall come and get your juice #x men 97 #x men #x men comics #x men headcannons #x men 97 x reader #wolverine #x men wolverine #x men x reader #wolverine headcannons #wolverine x reader #logan howlett headcannons #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine and the x men

[joedirtymadre]

Respect - Part 2

Respect - Part 1

I hope you enjoy Part 2. I think it’s ok. 👍

You stepped out of the passenger’s side seat of the car. Taking a moment to stare at the place you used to call home. It’s been years since you’ve last visited, but it’s good to be back.

“I’m home,” you said to yourself.

Gojo’s POV

I watched the first years as they spared against one another. Each one trying to practice using cursed objects. “No, no, no, you guys don’t have the right form,” I called out.

“Gojo- sensei are we even allowed to use these? Aren’t these from Maki’s collection?” Megumi asked. “W-Welll…” I laughed. “Even so, carry on! And if Maki comes by, tell her they just look like hers!” I smiled. “Seriously?” Nobara sighed.

I clapped my hands, “Chop chop people, at this point I can beat you all with just my finger!” I bragged. “Please don’t start…” Yuji groaned as he walked over to the benches to take a seat. “Whaat? Don’t you want to hear how your sensei is the best man here?” I laughed.

“In what way? The best at being annoying?” Nobara asked. I pouted as Yuji and Nobara giggled at her comment. “No, but I’ve always gotten what I’ve wanted,” I stated. “Like what?” Megumi asks. “Well, like grade class, strength, money, respect, and… ladies,” I smirked. “Oooo- OW! Nobara?!” Yuji groaned as Nobara smacked his head.

“Oh come on, there has to be one thing you’ve never gotten before,” Nobara frowned. “Nope, if I want it, I simply just take it,” I smiled. I stopped talking once I sensed Ieiri staring down at us from the top of the stairs.

We all turned our attention towards her as she stepped down, “I’m not sure that’s entirely true Satoru,” she said. “Huh?” I asked. “Don’t play dumb,” she smiled cunningly. “There was one thing this guy lost, and was never able to get back,” she said to the kids.

“What was it sensei? A cursed object? A spirit? A dessert that sold out?” Yuji asked. “No, I’ve gotten everything I’ve ever wanted before,” I frowned. “Are you sure about that?” Ieiri asked. “Then I’m all ears, tell me what it was that I lost,” I smirked, knowing she’s got nothing on- “Her,” she said. I froze, I haven’t thought about her in a while. I quickly recovered my composure, “Her? She was just one out of a million,” I said, gulping hard at my words.

“Then I guess there was no point coming down here,” she said as she began walking towards the school. “Wait, what were you planning to tell me?” I asked, curious. “…” Ieiri looked back as she stared at me. While I waited for her answer. “She’s back,” she said but before she could finish I was already racing towards the school.

Where is she? I thought as I slammed my way inside each conference room. Fuck. I need to see her, where is she? She’s not at the entrance, not the common area, not the conference room… Yaga! She has to be with him! I thought as I raced to his office.

I slammed my way inside his office, startling the two. Yaga peered around her, raising an eyebrow at my actions. Then I watched as she slowly spun around. I ripped off my headband, wanting to see her eyes again.

And there she was, my (Y/N), beautiful as ever. The room fell silent because of my commotion, “Satoru? May I help you?” Yaga asked as he stood up. “N-No… just wanted to tell you… the progress of the students,” I made up on the spot. “Very well then, as you can see I’m in an important meeting,” he said. “O-Oh yes, I-I apologize,” I stuttered, as I began stepping out. Before I shut the door entirely I hear, “Nice to see you again, Satoru.”

My heart could leap out of my chest, I haven’t heard her voice in ages. I shut the door and walked away from the office. My head in my hands, “Fuck… why wasn’t I able to control myself? Why did I act like that?” I asked myself, but I know the answer to that.

I still love her… and I regret letting her go.

I sighed and leaned my back on the wall, sensing three little brats who were peeking from down the hallway. “Come out,” I said. The three toppled over each other as they knew I caught them. “Oh hey sensei, we were just talking here about… sports!” Yuji said as they scrambled their feet. “He’s not dumb, he knows why we’re here,” Megumi sighed.

“Came to see the girl that got away?” I forced a chuckle. “Wow, so someone actually rejected you? When we go out, you usually have a flock of women around you,” Yuji laughed. “Yep, and that’s the reason why she left,” I said softly. “So it was your fault?” Nobara asked as she folded her arms across her chest. “In a way…” I bit my tongue. “Good for her then,” she smirked. “So mean… but it’s true,” I said.

We all turned our heads towards the sound of a door opening. “Well I’ll see you later Mr. Yaga! Nice seeing you,” we heard. I stood up straight, and cleared my throat.

Your POV 🫶

You looked down the hallway and noticed Satoru with 3 students. “Hello,” you smiled as you walked towards them. “H-Hi (Y/N),” Satoru’s voice cracked. You guessed it would be awkward seeing each other after all this time. You peered over to the 3 students, one girl, one boy with pink hair, and other-

You pushed past Satoru, “Megumi!” You smiled as you pulled him into a hug. H-Huh…?” The other two stared. “Oh Megumi, you’ve grown into such a handsome man! I haven’t seen you since you were a little boy,” you said excitedly. “I-I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you,” he muffled into your shirt. “Oh I’m sorry, it has been a long time. I’m the girl who would help you with your homework, and sneak you treats behind Satoru’s back,” you giggled as you ruffled his hair.

You watched as his eyes widened slightly, “Oh wow, I remember,” he said. “Mhmm, well I’m glad you’re ok. I’m glad Satoru took care of you… without me,” you said the last part softly. You turned over to the other two, “And you two! So nice to meet you, I hope Satoru is being a great mentor and teacher,” you smiled as you patted their shoulders. “Uhh…” the two stared at one another.

You hoped that wasn’t a bad sign… You then turned your attention to the other two boys. Megumi roughed up and Satoru with his hands behind his head, whistling. “I guess he’s the same Satoru,” you smiled softly.

“Nahhh, I’ve grown to be the best sorcerer here. It took true dedication and determination!” He bragged. You side eyed the kids and they returned the look. You gave a sentimental look, apologizing that they have to deal with him. “Hey I know what that look says!” Satoru huffed. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” you laughed.

For a second you looked up and saw a heartbroken look on Satoru’s face. “Well…” you quickly stopped and cleared your throat. “I should get going now, I have some meetings to attend,” you said as you backed away from the group. “Awe, you can’t spend some more time with us? I was hoping you could tell us embarrassing stories of Gojo-sensei,” the pink-haired boy pouted.

“Another time… and trust me there’s a couple,” you whispered to the three, who looked curious by your words. “Well, can I at least walk you to your car?” Satoru asked. “Sure!” You smiled as you led the way.

…

You both walked in silence, hearing your shoes hit the cement with each step. “(Y/N)…” he called out. You turned your attention towards him and noticed he stopped. “Yes?” You asked as you stopped as well. “I’m… I just wanted to say sorry…” he trailed off. “Oh umm…” you stumbled. “I was never able to properly apologize to you, because of… back then. I… I never stopped thinking about you- us. So when I heard you were finally back I… got hopeful. I’m sorry for springing this into you, but I don’t know when I’ll ever get to see you again,” he said softly as he softly grabbed your hand.

“Oh Satoru…” you trailed off, “(Y/N), please come back. We can try again, I’ve changed. And if there’s any other issues, I’ll keep changing,” he said as moved your hand to cup his face. “I know we can make it work,” he said softly. “Satoru-“ you were cut off.

“Please… please give me one more chance. Let me treat you right,” he said softly as he slowly leant down. You quickly placed your finger to his lips. “I can’t…” you said softly. “Why not? What’s holding you back from being with me?” He asked as he pulled you in closer. “Satoru I’m-“ you were cut off.

“I know I can make you happy! I was young and stupid back then, but now…” he trailed off. “Just give me one reason why we can’t be together?” He asked.

You pulled away and stepped back, slowly raising your left hand to show him your reason.

“I’m engaged,” you smiled as you showed him yojr beautiful ring.

“E-Enga-“ he couldn’t even finish his words. “Mhmm, a nice guy back in America. We’ve been together for 3 years now, he proposed 6 months ago and I love him with all my heart,” you said. “I see, then I’m sorry for… for everything. I stepped out of line.” He said softly as he pulled his bandana back over his eyes. “You know Satoru, I hope you find someone that makes you happy and cares for you… oh… well maybe you already found one. Or should I say some,” you lightly giggled.

“Huh?” He asked as he turned to the bundle of trees. Suddenly three kids plopped out of the trees. “Seriously? Again?” The pink one groaned as he hit the floor. “And after it was getting good too…” the girl frowned. You smiled at the group before turning your attention back to Satoru.

“I’m glad you have people beside you who care for you,” you smiled. “Me too,” he said softly. “Well, I think I should really go now. My fiancé planned a lunch date for us and I’d hate to be late,” you said as you waved goodbye. Satoru only nodded in response and you began descending from the stairs.

“Hey! (Y/N)!” You heard, and turned your head back to Satoru who was still at the top of the steps. “That color looks nice on you,” he smiled softly. You looked down and forgot you were wearing a light blue colored outfit (dress, pants, shirt, idc). “Thanks,” you smiled, before finally reaching the gates.

“Oh, and kids! Keep an eye on him! I’m sure this guy still loves the crowds,” you winked playfully before stepping into your car.

Satoru’s POV

“She’s gone,” Megumi said softly. “Yep,” I replied. “You ok Gojo-sensei?” Nobara asked. “Yeah… but now you guys know. She’s the one who got away,” I said softly as I looked down at my hand, trying to hold onto the feeling of her hand back in mine.

…

Secret end credit 🤫

“But isn’t it crazy that after all these years you still didn’t really change. I mean… she got that crowd comment right!” Yuji laughed. “Like, were you that big of a womani-“ I cut him off with a punch to the head. “Shut up you brat,” I grumbled. “Sorry sensei…” he pouted. “Anyways, back to training. You didn’t think we were done so soon, right?” I asked as I led them back to the field. Hearing Yuji and Nobara groan.

“Guess she always saw right through me,” I chuckled as I turned back to see my three students.

#anime fanfic #fanfic #fluff #x reader #anime #jjk megumi #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo angst #jujutsu gojo #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen gojo #satoru x reader #jjk satoru #jjk yuji #megumi fushiguro #yuji itadori #nobara kugisaki

[ohbabydollie]

currently imagining a jaded, deadpan lit teacher!schlatt. super intelligent, incredible teacher that all his students adore and love to learn from, but they all swear to god they’ve never seen him smile once

then comes along absolute ray of sunshine teacher!y/n, probably teaching some kind of fine art, and it is just like a moth to a flame. he cannot stay away from you!

you meet for the first time in the teacher’s lounge and he’s a little taken aback, he doesn’t know what it is about you but something makes his little brain flip a switch and it’s all sunshine and rainbows. not much longer after that, you start becoming friends, sharing cool little things about your interests or the subjects you teach.

he does a pretty good job of hiding these feelings from the kids, just because he wants to keep that side of him private from his students, but one day he slips up. you sneak in during a class of his during your free period to return a book he recommended to you. when you walked out, he had no idea that he was smiling but apparently the students noticed.

“mr. schlatt, were you just smiling?”

“finish your essay.”

also am i allowed to be 🥥 anon

ofc, welcome 🥥 anon

before you came along schlatt was the most obviously exhausted and stressed teacher, but his students loved him.

from stapling mcdonald’s job applications on failed tests to talking about his cats. his students very clearly loved him and adored him, but he just seemed so sad in a way, especially when one of them got him to talk about his dating life.

single, with multiple failed dates under his belt

then you transferred to the school after the last art teacher had quit.

he had heard about you from his students, the new young single art teacher making sure to emphasize on the single part, but he always told them to focus on getting their assignment done over focusing on the teachers dating lives.

he really didn’t care for you, probably would be done in a few weeks if you couldn’t handle how rowdy and rough some of these kids could be. he gave you a month at best.

then you came into the teacher’s lounge getting snack after snack out of the vending machine as he watched in silence. not out of judgement, but he was just mesmerized completely

the concentration on your face as you punched in number after number watching the snacks fall before grabbing a cardboard box to place it all in was all so adorable to him, he didn’t even realize he had been staring until you looked over at him with a big smile.

“hi, i don’t believe we’ve met!” you chirp, “i’m y/n the new art teacher” you say extending out a hand for him to shake. he politely takes it, giving you a semi-awkward smile

“i’m jay, i teach english in b103” he says feeling himself turn red

“oh wow! i’m only down the hall from you, my room is c102” you say parting from the hand shake and picking up your box “well i’ll see you around” you say pushing the door open

and just like that you were gone as soon as you came

and schlatt had a new goal in mind, you

the next period he had came back better than ever. his normally deadpan and tired voice had more excitement and life to it and his students noticed for sure, waiting until the lesson was over to pry into him, but they all got the same response.

“jus added a shot of expresó into my coffee this mornin” he says starting to grade the assignments from his last class.

they had assumed that was it, nothing more to it until the next week where he seemed to be radiating with joy, when they pried into him again all he said was, “jus had some coffee from my favorite spot this mornin, nothin else”

he hadn’t mentioned it was with you.

over the next few months they noticed more and more change, fixing his hair more often, wearing his nicer clothes and whatever he could to look better.

as a student asked “so who’s the lucky lady?”

you had walked in holding a book, causing the room to fall silent. you practically floated to his desk as everyone watched you.

“hey, thanks for letting me borrow your copy, it was really good” you say handing him the book

“oh..it’s no problem, anytime” he says softly as you smile

“ ‘kay, well i’ll see you later, oh and your glasses are a little smudged” you say heading to leave as he watches in awe.

once you’re out, he’s taking off his glasses, smiling to himself with a small chuckle as he cleans them off, basking in the moment, completely forgetting his students were there until someone speaks up.

“mr. schlatt, are you smiling?” he asks teasingly before schlatt immediately drops the smile and goes deadpan again

“finish your assignment before i fail you”

#schlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt x y/n #schlatt x you #jschlatt fluff #schlatt fluff #🥥 anon

[elly-grace]

Take me to paradise

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Warning: terrible attempt at writing smut, pregnancy

Thank you @funnyjb for proof reading and the request!

The morning sun shone into the windows of the bungalow where you and Joe were staying. Yesterday was the day you finally married the love of your life. Joe and you caught a flight late last night so you could spend as much time as you could in the Bahamas.

You were excited to have Joe all to yourself, he had been a hard man to get alone recently. You roll over to face your husband, you just admire him for a few minutes before finally deciding to wake him up with a kiss.

“Well that may be the best way to be woken up.” His morning voice was extremely sexy. You knew Joe planned something for the day, but a quickie wouldn’t hurt would it? As if Joe knew what you were thinking he flipped you over so he was on top of you.

“What is my beautiful wife thinking about?”

“Just how sexy you look and sound in the morning.”

That was enough for him to start to lean down and kiss you. His lips suddenly found their way to your neck, then collar bone, then your stomach. Then he stopped and looked at you with a devilish grin.

“It’s time to get ready, we have stuff to do.”

“Joey, you can’t just make me wet then not do anything about it!” you whined out, feeling incredibly frustrated that he would do that to you. But he didn’t budge, he just kept that stupid grin on his face.

“Later baby, I promise.” he said, his eyes turning a darker shade of blue. Then you had an idea, you waited till he walked away then started to touch yourself moaning loudly. It didn’t feel as good as you were making it sound but you wanted to get his attention. When he heard you moaning he dropped what he was doing and made his way back to the room.

“Were you touching yourself?”

You look at him innocently.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Don’t lie to me, you know exactly what I mean.” You could see the lust in Joe's eyes.

“So what if I was? You weren’t going to take care of it.”

That was it, he had enough of you teasing him. He pinned you to the bed and started to create friction between the two of you.

“Oh I will take care of it baby”

The tension between the two of you only grew. Joe’s look was primal, looking at you like you were his prey. The two of you had had sex plenty of times, but never once did he give you the look he was giving you now. The feeling in your stomach only gets stronger as things progress.

“Joe” you breathed out.

“Yes.”

“Please”

“Please what?”

“Please, make me yours.”

“You already belong to me”

The next day

The next morning Joe woke up before you, he walked out of your room and into the kitchen to make you breakfast. The two of you stayed in bed all day, between your rendezvous and just enjoying each other's company. Joe knew you would be sore after the day you guys had. When he finished making breakfast, he comes back into the room with your breakfast and wakes you with a kiss. You stir awake feeling his lips on yours.

“Good morning baby, I made breakfast.” he said then placed the plate on the bed in front of you he made pancakes. You smiled at him.

“Good morning Joey. Aww my favorite, thank you!”

Joe stole a pancake from your plate and started eating it. The two of you enjoyed breakfast together. You were loving having your husband to yourself, with no one else around. As the two of you finish breakfast you guys decided on going to the beach today.

You went into the bathroom to start getting ready, you had packed three swimsuits but couldn’t decide which one.

“Joey!”

“What's wrong baby?”

“Nothing, I can't decide which swimsuit to wear”

You show him the three swimsuits hanging up.

“Okay baby, let me take a look.”

He looks behind you at the Swimsuits he sees a beautiful orange ruffled off the shoulder top. He points to it, “wear this top with black bottoms.”

“Joe I’m not going to a bengals game. We're on our honeymoon.”

“Just please wear it” he pleaded with you and you gave up.

The two of you finished getting ready then headed to the beach which was private due to being attached to your bungalow.

You look up at Joe who is looking at you, you both smile at each other.

“LAST ONE TO THE WATER IS A ROTTEN EGG!” Joe screamed as he ran to the water. You laughed at your husband's behavior, but didn’t run to the water like he thought you would. Then you see him come out of the water and run back to you.

“Were on our honeymoon, lets have some fun Y/N”

“I’m good here where I can stay dry, plus I think we had plenty of fun yesterday.”

“Not that kind of fun.” he said then picked you up.

“JOSEPH LEE BURROW DON’T YOU DARE DO WHAT I THINK YOUR ABOUT TO DO!”

You yelled, smacking him in an attempt to get him to drop you. Your attempts were futile, your husband threw you into the water then got in himself. He had a smirk on his face, and started laughing when he saw your face. He thought you looked adorable when angry and you for sure were angry right now. Joe knew you wanted to tan but now you were in the water.

“It’s not funny.”

“Admit it, it kinda is. You thought you would stay dry while at the beach.”

You started to laugh with him.

“I love you so much Joey”

“I love you too.”

Your honeymoon continued to go great until the 5th day. You were violently ill, you kept throwing up. You wanted to cry but you didn’t have the energy for it. You didn’t feel like getting out of bed, didn’t feel like eating and Joe was extremely worried. Yet Joe came and offered to make you soup every hour, he was trying to give you space, not that he didn’t want to be there for you. It was because he couldn’t do anything to help you feel better which broke him.

Then it hit you, you were late, maybe your period was finally coming and just making you sick. But when you went to the bathroom and you still hadn’t had your period you go in your toiletry bag and grab a pregnancy test. You and Joe weren't planning on having kids this soon but if it happens it happens. You only had packed some because your mom told you it happens more than you'd think where the newlyweds get pregnant on the honeymoon.

You waited ten minutes and then gasped, when you looked at the test. Tears start streaming down your face, you were excited to start a family with Joe even if it wasn’t planned.

“Joey!”

Joe ran into the bathroom and saw the test in your hand and the tears streaming down your face. Taking large steps towards you he hugs you and looks at the test, then the tears brim his eyes.

“You're pregnant?”

You nodded.

“I know, we planned on waiting a year or two.”

“You're pregnant!” he spoke excitedly and picked you up and spun you around

#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #nfl x reader #nfl #x reader

[formosusiniquis]

have your cake

So way back in August 2023 the steddiemicrofic challenge was Cake and 311 words, my head empty brain came up with one thought and it was Steve Munson having a bakery called Mun's Buns and so many months later I finally got around to finishing my vision

Ships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins; implied/past Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Carol Perkins WC: 6408 | T | tags: Future Fic, the lightest of post homoerotic friendship breakup angst, fluff, Tommy POV AO3

The bakery has a stupid name, is the first thing Tommy thinks when Carol tells him where he's supposed to meet her on his lunch break. He’s still thinking that, when he sees the place for the first time through his rain speckled windshield. It's a modest storefront, small for what Carol says is a booming business, tucked in next to a used bookstore and a music shop. There's a baby yellow awning hanging from the front just underneath a sign lettered in soft blue that reads Mun's Buns.

He's late, is the second thing he thinks after pulling up. Caught up in some stupid bullshit for his dad he hadn't managed to slip away until 12:30. Even then it had only been because Tommy had told him he was going to be late for their cake tasting. He'd rolled his eyes when his father and Greg, a guy that Tommy only considers a co-worker in the sense that they are technically on the same payroll since Greg in every other aspect is incompetent and an idiot, had winced. Shooing him away like a kid who'd just admitted that he's already twenty minutes past curfew. But catching sight of the way Carol has her arms crossed, tapping her foot fast enough to kickstart a motor, while her hair hangs limp in a way that it hadn’t this morning a third thought crosses his mind: maybe he should have been a little more worried.

Waiting isn’t going to make things any better. So he steps out of the car, let’s the misty damp cling to him in a way that makes his dress pants and button down feel like a poorly tailored second skin, and takes his licks like a man. "Late, thirty minutes late. Christ, it's the only thing I've asked from you Tommy." Her right hook stings just as badly as it did sophomore year when she punched him for asking out Erin Murphy instead of her.

Shit like that is probably why no one expected them to make it this long or this far.

When they went away to college; different schools, hours apart. His parents had been gleeful as they'd warned him that high school relationships didn't always last. That he should keep his options open, he didn't want to miss out on the love of his life just because of comfort. He didn't get offered the family ring when he decided to propose right after graduation. Carol has always been particular. Wanted the house to come back to before the wedding could happen, wanted a long honeymoon. That meant saving, a lot of it. Tommy knew and Carol did too, they'd overheard his mother and aunt gossiping in too loud voices after too much wine that they hoped the long engagement meant they were both trying to figure out a good way to break it off with one another. 

Still, over the course of their now five year engagement no one's asked once if they wanted to trade for it.

Carol thought it was horrendous anyway. She’d had her ring picked out since ‘85, styled her class ring so it would look like the oval cut diamond she wanted. Had him slide it on her finger the second it came in.

Cause in the politest of terms, Carol could be a raging bitch. She was Tommy's favorite person in the entire world.

There’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, even if she’s guiltily smoothing a hand down his arm now. Thrust toward the door first in offering, Carol is sorry she hit him but she’s not apologetic. “I’m serious, Tom, if we lose this appointment and have to go with Sweet Treats for our cake I'll- I'll-"

Whatever threat she was preparing is drowned out and then cut off by the echoing TONG of the door chime. A light in the back shifts color for a second, out of place enough that he wonders if he even really saw it. Head tilting toward Carol, his question catches in his throat when he notices her pinched off appraising. Better not to add to the ammunition she might already be building.

And if Carol is looking he better do it too. She'll want to debrief when they're having dinner tonight, just like they did with the florist, the caterer, the three wedding planners they'd met with, and each of the venues that they'd visited. And it wasnt because she was demanding, fuck you Greg. It wasn't because she was being nitpick-y, alright it was a little bit because she was but he liked being particular with her. He liked being involved in his wedding.

So he looked around.

The way they utilized their space -- a building that big and there's barely enough room to stand, we want someone who knows how to work with limited space for the venues we're looking at -- was the reason their first wedding planner hadn't gotten hired. Small, but not cramped. There are a handful of tables scattered in the open space in front of the counter. It’s the kind of small town cozy that Hawkins had tried for and he doesn’t see very often anymore now that they’ve moved out to Indianapolis.

It’s lunchtime, still too early for people to be seeking out the rows of deserts in their neat glass counter and too late for the breakfast crowd. But one of the tables is occupied by a teenager with long, black braids scribbling in a notebook while a slice of ice cream cake melts on a plate by her elbow. 

Everything was neat, organized, and compliant with health code regulations -- they hadn’t even made it in the door of the first caterer’s when she noticed a trail of ants and roaches marching into the open kitchen door.

Carol had always been quick when she was making up her mind about something. Like those Sherlock Holmes stories they’d had to read in school, in a couple of seconds she could spot everything she needed to make a decision. After a decade Tommy still couldn’t keep up; but he was always best at following someone else’s lead.

The smile she’s got frosted across her face is as sugary and fake as the roses on the cupcakes he can see behind the low topped counters as she approaches the only visible staff member. A girl, young in the way that nebulous way anyone younger than him was now, with thick squared glasses that magnified two distressingly blue eyes. The counters looked like they were designed to sit low enough that she could easily see over the top while in her wheelchair.

“Welcome to,” her customer service tone borders on bored. Two words into a clear script and she sighs, as if saying the name physically pains her, “Mun’s Buns. We’ve got a special series of summer flavors: Strawberry Lemonade, Lavender Mint, Chocolate Fudgsicle, and,” she sighs again, “for the grownups a boozy Blue Moon with orange zest.”

“How about a wedding cake.” He’s impressed. Carol made it through the speech without interrupting.

“Do you have an appointment?” the girl raises her voice, enough to make them both flinch back. Customer service isn’t a requirement for this part of the job necessarily, but Carol had bailed on two venues because the staff hadn’t been polite enough.

Her smile doesn’t crack though, “Yes.”

Even though he’s pretty sure this girl has to be basically blind with the inch thick frames, she levels Carol with a lethal stare. “Not you.”

From the open entryway behind her Tommy had been able to make out what sounded like the highlights of yesterday’s game. He assumed that space had to be the kitchen where these rows of deserts were made. He’s still surprised when a guy’s voice is shouting back, “I don't know, Max, do I? Why don't you check?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Max shouts back, glowering at then in stand in for her mystery boss.

“With your finger, asshole. It's in braille. When I gave you this job you said you were actually gonna work.”

“Douchebag." Her eyes never leave them, while her hands rummage around in a space beneath the counter where the cash register sits. Max offers no explanation or apology for her shouting or for her boss. A large red appointment book gets slammed down on the nearest counter, making Carol jump but the neat two by twos of chocolate frosted cupcakes don't budge. He watches, a little fascinated by the way her finger scans the page before slowing. "Did you write this or did Dustin?"

Carol has always valued gossip over professionalism, he thinks that’s why she’s done so well as a hairdresser even though she was always awful at chemistry. It’s also why he’s held off from pointing out that they could solve this a lot faster if this guy would come out from the back. "Why?" 

“Cause one of you can't spell and one of you is trying to invent braille shorthand. So I'm not really sure what to do with TomGan Wed.”

“It might be Thomas and Wedding.” Carol leans over the appointment book as she says it, using a tone of voice he has never once heard her use in the entire time he’s known her. He thinks it’s supposed to be helpful.

“Wedding sampler.” The girl calls toward the back, “It's getting late.”

“I’ve got it,” the voice from the back shouts back.There’s an effortless assurance Tommy can hear from where he’s standing. It hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he grabs Carol’s arm on instinct.

“Really,” she says, cutting her gaze over to him. He’s not sure what she sees. “If we could hurry this along, it's just we've only got an hour.”

“You're late.” The glare she gets shuts Carol down faster than he’s ever seen.

“Right.”

“Okay I've got it.” The voice from the back is now the voice in the doorway. Hidden for a second by a serving tray loaded with samples of rich looking cake, it’s the first time since arriving that Tommy has actually wanted to be here. Not just because he can make out strong shoulders and a body of a man that’s still very fit but clearly enjoys his work too; the hint of love handles above strong thighs. Only then that tray dips, and for the first time since 1985 Tommy finds himself looking at the shocked hazel eyes of Steve Harrington. “Oh.”

Carol reacts for him, taking in a breath sharp enough she might puncture a lung. They’ll both wind up suffocated on the floor of this stupid bakery with an awful name, because Tommy can’t manage to breathe at all looking at Steve. Still unfairly handsome, faintly pink at the shock of seeing them too he imagined.

His hair is long, is the first real thought his half fried brain manages to put together. Soft looking even where it’s damp at the temples where sweat has pooled. He has it pulled back with a couple of the same butterfly clips that Carol likes to use.

His second, somehow more hysterical thought: this wasn’t how Steve Harrington was supposed to be included in his wedding.

Tommy was six years old and knew he wanted to marry Steve. When he’d told his mom -- to ask for her ring, Steve thought it was romantic like princes and princesses that they had a special ring that they got married with -- she’d grabbed by his arm so hard it’d left finger shaped bruises. So he’d held that certainty quiet in his heart until he was ten, and suddenly it was okay to want to play with girls on the playground -- he thinks it’s because Steve got tired of there never being an even number when they tried to play kickball, he had a way of making everyone want to do the thing he was. Carol wasn’t afraid to tell Tommy C. that he was dumb or to tell Mark L. that he hadn’t actually made it to the base, Steve liked her fast. Too fast, and Tommy had to tell her that one day he was going to be able to keep Steve all to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t right to say that now, even if he wasn’t all the way sure why it wasn’t. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, and he took this part of him that he’d kept secret for so long and he whispered it to Carol under the slide while Steve tried to convince Brad P. that he could too pick two people for his kickball team first.

He was ten and Carol said they could share. Boys can’t marry boys, but girls can. So they could both marry her and live together forever.

It became a joke when they finally shared it with Steve, thirteen and boys going out with girls wasn’t funny the way it used to be. Sarah Jane asked Carol if she had a chance at going steady with Steve. She told Tommy about it later and they both told Steve that he was too good to date any of the girls in their grade. “Well I’ve got you guys,” his voice cracked when he said it, throwing an arm around both of them. Carol didn’t care as much, but even she’d noticed the way Steve was changing from boyish to handsome.

They were sixteen and disaster was just around the corner, not that he knew that. Steve dated around but he always came back to them. The head, the heart, the body. They don’t feel complete without each other -- at least Tommy doesn’t. Mr. Kripke, who was hungover more often than he wasn't, passed out ten minutes into study hall. Carol didn’t even wait to see if he’d wake back up before she left her assigned table for theirs. She smoothed out a lined piece of notebook paper for them, and Tommy scoffed like he was supposed to. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing MASH?”

“It’s dirty MASH, and I thought you’d think it was funny.”

“I think it’s funny,” Steve had said, “that you’re getting eiffel towered on your wedding night. Who else is joining in, Carrie?”

“We couldn’t agree on who got you for their side of the aisle. So we’re taking you to bed instead.”

He was sixteen and the way that the two of them looked when they shared a joke was the hottest thing in the world. The way their smiles mirror when they turned to him, sharp and ready to flay open the softest parts of him.

Tommy’s two days older when Steve lets him kiss the taste of Carol out of his mouth.

It was three days after he turned seventeen and he had to pretend he didn't want to die when he saw how Steve looked at Nancy Wheeler. Like he didn’t want to rip his hair out because Steve was fucking infatuated with this mousy little teacher’s pet and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

He still doesn’t like to think about the breakup. He pokes it like a fresh bruise. Less often now, but when he does he digs his fingers in. Baits Carol into fights he doesn’t mean just so he can pretend like he hasn’t lost something that hurts like a limb.

Steve Harrington turns twenty-eight next week, and he’s standing in front of them both holding pieces of what might turn into their wedding cake.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re in Indy!” False excitement grates, but at least Carol has gotten herself together enough to speak. He thought he’d have at least another few months to prepare for the thought of seeing Steve, by their ten year reunion he was going to be married and happy and over it.

“Yeah, this is- Married, wow! I kinda can’t believe you haven’t already.” He says it to Carol, his platitudes had always been for Carol, but his eyes find Tommy. 

While Carol chatters at them and for them both, nervous, he knows she’s nervous. The situation is sudden and strange and fraught. But Tommy just looks at Steve, who looks at him. He’s getting married in three months, one week, and two days from now and for the first time in eleven years Steve is looking at him.

"Takes a while to save up for when you want the best of everything. Dad's still the skinflint he always was, I think he'd pay me less than minimum wage if he could get away with it."

And those soft brown eyes look so sad, looking at him. Sometimes he thinks no one will ever understand him the way that Steve did.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best, or having a long engagement." Carol defends. It's the same line she's been giving everyone. Defensive of him and herself and the choices they've been making. He can't believe Steve is someone she thinks they have to defend against.

“I really hope you're happy, man," he says, and the sincerity is a balm on the sting of this conversation. He pushes his hair back from his face, the way he always has when he's uncomfortable and trying not to make it obvious. And there's a fresh new hurt when Tommy catches sight of a plain gold band on Steve's finger, shining bright between the golden highlights of his hair.

“I’m happy about this,” he can say honestly. Carol is one of the only things he’s ever been sure about. She held him steady as she could when his other sure thing left him with a cracked foundation in a convenience store parking lot. “What about you? How long after meeting the future Mrs. Harrington did you wait to put a ring on her finger?”

“Tommy,” Carol chides as the teen in the corner snorts. To anyone else it would sound like a reprimand for being nosy, he, and he suspects Steve, knows she’s telling him to stop worrying a scab that has no hope of healing right.

Married and they didn’t know. Wouldn’t have found out until the reunion. It’s not like he expected an invitation, maybe an engagement announcement sent to their parents’ houses. They’d sent one to Loch Nora when the real ring had finally made it to Carrie’s finger. It was equal parts olive branch and offering. They’d gotten it back return to sender with no forwarding address.

The bell above the door tongs again, loud enough to make Carol jump. The platter of cakes doesn't shift at all in Steve’s hand. His arm shows no sign of fatigue. It’s almost distracting enough that he misses the obvious. The bell signals someone is coming into the store.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. I know I said I wasn't gonna be late but Mike…” There just inside the door is the Freak. Undeniable even with his head down as he digs through his shoulder bag. From the riot of poorly maintained tangles that still hang around his shoulders to the expanded mess of tacky ink on his arms. The only thing that’s changed is the age in his face and the band on his shirt.

“Munson?” Carol has the reflexes and the personal grace to address him first. Shock more than the disgust it might have been when they were still kids.

Tommy feels like a kid still. Looks to Steve in an instinct he’d thought he’d stamped out years ago, only to be met with wide eyes and teeth grit tight enough to draw out the square line of his jaw.

“Christ, I still get nightmares that start like this.” Munson says, eye darting between the three of them. “Max, am I naked?”

“Don't know, don't wanna know.”

“I thought you'd be able to tell by the energy in the room.” He wiggles his fingers, still bedecked in silver, like they can divine the vibrations or some witchy shit.

That’s enough to make Steve break just a little. A soft, exhaling scoff before he finally starts to move out from the counter. Tommy catches, and he doubts Carol misses it either, how Steve passes the closer tables to set his tray down between them and Munson.

“I can tell I don't want to be here for this.” Their redheaded audience member says, “I'm taking my 15.”

“Don't go harass Mike, he's finally working,” Munson says.

“Will and El are on shift on the other side,” Steve calls out, not looking at any of them as he moves cakes from his tray to the table. A deliberate selection he seems to be making.

“Whatever, I’m gonna call Lucas and break up with him so he can play better or whatever.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Munson calls out, “I’ve only got him on a five point spread.”

If Carol’s nails break from how hard they’re digging into his arm, somehow it’ll be Tommy’s fault. Not the fact that they’ve advanced the worst part of their ten year reunion by months, and also Munson is here and knows shit about basketball.

“Sorry, think my hearing’s going, sounded like you said you want him to lose and he’s getting kicked from the next one shot. I’ll let him know.”

“She gets that from you,” Steve and Munson say in sync. Glaring playfully at one another the way Steve used to with Carol.

“I’ll tell Robin you were-”

“Do not sick Buckley on me, Max made the deaf joke not me.”

“Weird, that’s not what I heard.” Steve has always claimed his hair as his best feature. It isn’t -- Carrie liked his eyes, Tommy his hands -- but it’s hard to deny that it doesn’t look good, flipping over his shoulder. His smile is private, just for Munson, soft the way he got whenever he picked up a new girl. Carrie taps the back of his hand, two sharp smacks, their signal for years that he needed to pay attention and notice something she had. Wide, nervous eyes dart to Steve -- like he hadn’t already been looking at Steve -- so he does his best to assess the way Carol would.

Jealous, viciously, Steve had been theirs in every way that mattered since they were ten years old and Carol had never liked sharing her toys with anyone but them. She watched his face for any sign of unhappiness anytime a new girlfriend came along, and when she found one she passed it along to him. So he could pick and joke until Steve was all theirs again.

So he checked the face. Tried to ignore the way Steve was lit up from the inside out with a joy he could barely remember, and then he saw the hearing aid.

He tapped back, three times. O.M.G.

“The 1985 Homecoming court here to reveal that this has all been a long con, Stevie?”

“Yeah I faked the name change paperwork and picked up a fake ID, sorry I took my business somewhere else.” Steve says it with the sincerity he’s always made those kind of jokes with, his strange sense of humor never coming across when he always sounded so serious. 

Munson gets it though, snorts loud and ugly, before a smile pulls wide across half his face the otherside taught with a gnarly scar. “Now I know why my fake ID business went belly up when we got to the city, not like I only sold three in high school.”  He gestures to the three of them in a wide arc.

Sophomores, they had decided it was time to throw their first real party now that Steve’s parents had moved out of Hawkins in all but name. Steve was a latchkey kid of new proportions and took to self sufficiency in a way that had seemed adult to him then; and in hindsight looked more like a child fighting for his life. Steve bragged how he’d been saving up the weekly checks they’d sent to ‘sustain him’ while they worked in the city during the week. His contribution to Tommy and Carol’s vague plan to throw a kegger by the pool. When they’d floundered, immediately, with the hows, Steve had been the one to suggest going to Munson.

“Love this preview of the reunion,” Carol cuts in, there’s no bite but Munson bristles anyway like she’s being rude for reminding them that there are customers present. “Steve?”

It’s funny, Tommy thinks, the way Steve still straightens his back at Carol’s tone. All this time and he can’t fight the old ingrained instincts either.

“Dustin made the appointment,” Steve apologizes, even as he’s posture perfect and preparing his pastries. The unsaid, ‘I definitely wouldn’t have’ doesn’t go unheard and it doesn’t sting any less even this far from their last interaction.

“Munson could join us,” Tommy offers, a new olive branch since their last one was never seen. Even if it does raise three sets of brows and makes Carrie’s nervous smile tighten even more in the corner of her mouth.

“Well at least one of us has to,” Munson, Eddie, says. Just says, tone like it was meant to be something said under his breath.

He's grown up a lot since high school, they both have. Still, he's only got twenty minutes left on his lunch break and it's been a long day. "God, is that why it's called that?" Growth, he doesn't say that Steve Munson sounds a lot dumber than Steve Harrington.

"It's charming," Carol and Steve both say. Though Carrie is definitely lying and Steve barely gets it out from between his gritted teeth, a sore spot. He's always been good at finding Steve's bruises.

"It's charming," Tommy agrees, like he always did when he was out voted.

Eddie has a smirk spread across his face and a ‘too proud of himself’ look in his eyes. Mouth open to make some quip that Tommy is going to pretend is funny, for Steve’s sake. Now that they’re here, he’s going to do something to show that they could talk to one another again. Steve clicks his tongue, taps his index and middle finger down to his thumb two quick times before he can.

He turns to the girl in the corner, "Erica, scram, go help Robin and the kids with the new donation that just came in."

The teen continues to scribble in the notebook in front of her, bulky headphones over her ears, she makes no sign that Tommy can see that she's heard Steve speak. "Erica, go, or I'll tell your mother you moved out of the dorms. You're 20, it's not child labor, and you've got a timecard."

She sighs and wordlessly packs up her things, she gives Steve a scathing look that takes Tommy back to high school. The withering eyebrow and rolled eyes would have been just at home on Steve’s own face in 1985, but she marches behind the counter, the sound of her dish rattling in the sink before she disappears out the same door that the redhead had gone out.

Now that the room has been cleared, an awkward silence has found the space to squeeze in. Munson, the original, still standing in the doorway and Steve standing between his unlawfully wedded husband and the two people who had lost their chance at him years ago.

The wedding and the reunion both on the horizon had dredged up a nostalgia that Tommy and Carol had been dealing with in their own ways. Dredging up old yearbooks, Carol had found a shoebox of old notes that she’d kept. Conversations written in three different inks by three different hands, nonsensical after all this time. Tommy woke up from dreams that he hadn’t had in years. Always of Steve and Carol, a study in opposites, but similar where it mattered.

“Well,” Steve says, taking charge of the situation like he always would when the other two faltered, “you’re here for a reason. We might as well get started on it.”

Steve’s fingerprints are still on them, just like he’d noticed theirs on him, molded as they were together. They’ve always bowed to his expectations, and his whims. When he ushers them to the table with a spread hand, Tommy and Carol go where they’re beckoned.

And so does Munson.

They keep an empty chair between them, an artificial divide for Tommy’s sanity, but with the sprawl of Munson’s legs their knees still occasionally brush together. Carol had taken the spot closest to Steve, who has stayed standing. He is their gracious host, marking the head of the round table.

“I pulled out the full sampler before I realized it was you,” Steve says. Even with as off balance as the interaction has felt, Tommy doesn’t feel his hackles raising. While it’s possible he’s gotten more subtle with his digs, Steve’s vicious tongue was usually unmistakable. “I can tell you about as many of them as you want though if you want to pretend like we don’t already know what I’ll be making you. I’m sure neither of you have eaten lunch yet.”

“You are going to take us on?” Carol asks. Shock always gives her tone an extra edge, defensive and catty, even if she’s really just waiting to see if another shoe will drop.

“Obviously,” Steve says, placing a faintly orange square of cake in front of her. He slaps Eddie’s hand away from another piece without looking away from either of them. “That’s as far as I’ll be going in participation though.”

He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mouth twitches up with the joke, a filthy smirk that leaves Tommy flushing hot. Too warm to not be a bright and obvious red at the acknowledgment of that old private in-joke.

It doesn’t get better when Carol moans, “Oh my god, Steve!” Even if it is about the cake.

He laughs, and Tommy suspects the two are actually trying to kill him. He chances a glance over at Munson who looks like he doesn’t care at all that his husband has made Tommy’s fiance moan. He is watching Tommy though, an inquisitive look like the one Carol gets when she happens to catch a nature documentary.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with Carol, “I’ll do something small with that citrus cake for you and Tom so you’ve got something you’ll actually eat on your wedding, maybe a pineapple buttercream on top like that nasty Juicy Fruit gum you like so much.”

“I mean it’s really crazy how you’re so good at this when you’ve never had any taste,” Carol compliments, she never did learn how to be nice.

He could probably count Steve’s teeth in the answering smile. Tommy can feel it like an ache in his chest how much he missed this. He snatches another cube of cake off the tray just so has something else to focus on.

“That’s the fancy one for the people who hate their guests,” Munson says as the cake has settled on the flat of Tommy’s tongue.

“It’s lavender,” Steve corrects, and the floral flavor is lodged in the back of his throat at least gives him a reason now to feel so choked up. “And it is for a particular sort of bride.”

“Are you saying I’m not fancy and particular, Munson?” Carol asks. 

She’s obviously talking to Eddie Munson, who lifts his hands up in answer. But it’s Steve who says, “If you tried to feed that to Gail she would leave the reception bitching the whole time.”

“Well go on,” Tommy finds himself goading now that he’s swallowed, “finish calling your shot, Stevie. You said you knew what we were walking out of here with.”

Carol reaches across the table, locking eyes with Eddie as she snags the piece closest to him. The one his fingers had been inching toward like he thought Steve wouldn’t notice him trying to take it.

“I’ll make a small citrus cake for you, Carrie, we’ll hide it in the back of the larger cake so you can get the pictures of you cutting it and smashing into each other's faces-”

“We will not be doing that,” she interrupts, the warning for him and also unnecessary. He already knows how she feels about being embarrassed in public.

“Then the big cake for your guests will be a chocolate cake, I can cover it in a buttercream or a fondant icing also chocolate, because it’s the only kind of cake the Hagan family will eat. Even though I’m sure John hasn’t given you a dime for the wedding, he’ll complain until Hannah gets married if he doesn’t like the cake.”

“Really,” Steve continues, “the only thing up in the air is how many people you were able to get away with not inviting, Care.”

The two of them start talking actual wedding logistics, and as Tommy grabs another bite of cake -- this one looks like it might be a normal flavor -- he figures the real show of good faith would be talking to the only other person at the table while he eats what Steve correctly dubbed his lunch.

“Y’know he never actually answered me,” he says in an undertone.

Munson seems surprised at being spoken to, only widens his eyes in response to Tommy’s unasked question.

“I asked Steve how soon after the first date he proposed, he never actually answered.”

Eddie softens at the edges before he can even say anything. Steve had a way of doing that, bringing out the romantic in a person. He loved with a passion that demanded it be matched. “Technically I proposed to him, but he says it doesn’t count because we weren’t together and I was high on morphine after a major surgery and thought he was Apollo, come to whisk me away.” The smile on Munson’s face looks dopey and drugged up now, like the very memory of whatever hospital stay is so ingrained in his mind he can feel the high now.

“But,” he goes on, “he told me we were getting married whether it was legal or not about three months after he got legally married to another woman.”

“Stop,” Steve has always been able to sense when he’s about to be the butt of the joke. He has a finger pointed at Eddie like a teacher delivering a lecture. “You can’t tell people that. It was for tax reasons, I’m not cheating on my wife.”

“You say tomato, I say whichever one of us is your least favorite has to be the extramarital affair.”

“I say, you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” Tommy can hear the warm affection behind the insult, the way their picking is a safer way to express their passion for one another.

He thought he would be jealous of whoever finally managed to reel in Steve Harrington for good, and he is. The emotion is there, present in the snarling tangle of emotions that this encounter has left in him. One that he and Carol will have to slowly tease and pick out tonight when they’re home in bed. Trying to make sense of what each thread is and what it means for them. But the one bright pulsing thread he can make sense of is happiness. He’s happy for Steve, happy that he gets to see an old friend so at ease and obviously cared for.

And he’s sad that his time is up, his lunch hour so close to an end he’ll be late getting back to the office. Something he can already hear his Dad and fucking Greg giving him shit for. Which means they have to end their time here.

Steve walks them to the door, flips the sign to mark them closed for lunch.

“Congratulations again, you two,” he says, “I really am happy I can get to be a part of this with you all. Even if it’s a little different than we used to imagine.”

Carol reaches out for the both of them, puts her hand on his arm. Tommy finds that he’s the one who actually says, “We’re glad you found someone who makes you this happy, dude. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, he’s alright most of the time.” It's said with such fondness it becomes a declaration. It’s hard to imagine how they thought they could ever be the something that could make Steve this happy. But maybe in a different life, under different circumstances it could have been.

There’s a minute where they all stand in the doorway. He wonders if they’re all afraid that this might be the last time they see each other, speak to one another, until Steve is delivering the cake on the day of the wedding. Maybe it’s just him, he was the one who pushed back the hardest after things ended.

Someone finally gives in and pushes the door open. It’s TONG a death toll for their current conversation. But it also sends a jolt through Steve, he straightens to his full height like a shock has gone through him. “Here,” he says, “here, um.” He digs around in his apron until he finds a pen and a receipt pad. Jots down something before tearing it off and putting it in Tommy’s hands, “It's our home number, in case you have any cake emergencies or something.”

They really can’t stay any longer.

Carol takes the note, better at keeping track of these things than Tommy is. It’s hard to know if they’ll actually use it, maybe after they talk about it, but if they do she’ll be the one to do it. She’s always been braver than him.

There’s no way of guaranteeing anything but the fact that they’ll have a cake on the table on their wedding day. But he hopes that Steve might stay for the ceremony once he brings it, he can even bring Eddie if that’s what gets him there. 

Alone in his car, Tommy lets himself take a minute to think about Steve Harrington one last time. He isn’t going to get what he wanted as a kid. Doubts that he’ll ever be as close to Steve as he’d been in childhood, too much time has passed and too much has changed.

But there’s an opportunity to get to know Steve Munson, and he isn't going to pass it up. Even if he doesn’t know how to name a bakery.

#steddie #steddie fic #implied past stomarol #Baker Steve Harrington #my fic #tommy x carol #tomarol #genuinely don't know what their ship name is I'm sorry #future fic #the author is experiencing some complicated emotions about their 10 year reunion and this is now the second fic I've posted this year- #-that's mentioned one so clearly forcing fictional characters to emote about it for me is not working #the terrible trio do own every business in the little storefront Tommy mentions and they employ the kids who they have a stable income- #-while they work on their passion projects

[sunflowergirl522]

Benches and Questions

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Mom!Reader

Summary: Eddie helps you set up the girls playroom.

Word Count: 3001

A/n: You have to see the vision with the bench yourself.

The Twins Masterlist

Saturday afternoon your parents come to pick up the girls to get them out of the house so you can set up their playroom. You dropped the last few boxes off at Steve’s parents house before work on wednesday letting them be their problem now. Your girls have enjoyed the room being empty, they’ve been running around it or putting on their roller skates and just going in circles. They especially loved when Eddie brought the couch cushions in for them to play hot lava.

The cushions are the first things that go while cleaning what few things are in it out after they leave. Next are the skates and Primrose’s big wheel she brought in to drive around while Callie was watching a movie the other day.

“I thought you were gonna wait for me to do all this?” Eddie asks as he enters the house and toes his shoes off while seeing you in the hallway with the broom and dustpan in your hands.

“I’m pretty sure I never agreed to that. Besides, it wasn't even that much to clear out.” Eddie may have helped make the mess but he’s helped you so much more than he could even imagine that you didn’t care cleaning up after him. It did warm your heart at how adamant he had been about you letting him help though.

“Alright, you want me to start bringing their toys and stuff down while you sweep?” He figures the least he can do is save you the trips up and down the stairs since he was the main reason the room was a mess.

“That would be great!” You beam at him and Eddie swears it lights up the whole room. “You can leave the kitchen and bigger toys up there though, I can help bring that stuff down.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie stopped fully listening once the word leave left your mouth already halfway up the stairs. If you thought he was actually going to leave you anything then you would be sorely mistaken. You wouldn’t even have to go up one single step if he’s able to have his way. And he’s sure he will, Eddie has a way to get you to let him do things for you that you wouldn’t let even Steve do. Like helping with dinner or letting him make you a plate of whatever you made or dishes or even just cleaning up in general. You could just recognize the urge, the desire even, in his voice to take care of you and your girls. It was one of the things that had you falling for him so quickly.

While you sweep the area you hear some rummaging from Edde moving up and down the steps. When you finish and leave the room to help or start going through boxes you find the Little Tykes kitchen sitting in your entryway. 

“Edward Munson, I know you didn’t purposely bring this down when I told you not to.” Your hands go to your hips as you look at the man coming down the stairs with the box marked toy food.

“So what if I did?” He shrugs before putting the box down and standing in front of you, arms crossing across his chest. “Your mom tone isn’t gonna work on me so don’t even try it.” He interrupts before you can even say anything. You stare up at him refusing to break eye contact and lose this small battle the two of you are having. He quirks an eyebrow up and a huff comes out of your nose before you reluctantly look back at the toy kitchen.

“Now why don’t you go put some music on because I know you’re dying to do it.” He was right you had a hard time doing anything without music or something else on in the background especially when the girls weren’t home. “I’ll bring a couple more boxes down and then I have something for the room in my van.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing big.” He waves a hand to dismiss whatever fight you would’ve started over him buying something for the playroom and heads back upstairs to escape it even more.

You just shake your head and walk over to pick a record to play before deciding where to put the kitchen. You decide to push it into one of the farther corners and you’re dumping out the box of food to organize it when Eddie comes into the room two more boxes of toys in his arms. You nod at his ‘be right back’ and start organizing the toy pile in front of you into food and pots and plates and so on. You’ve started putting food in the fridge and the dishes in the little cupboard above it when he comes back inside, placing whatever he’s brought down in the middle of the room. 

You stand before looking over at it and him. When you do your mouth drops and you’re left speechless as you walk over to stand next to Eddie and get a better look at it. 

“It’s not much, I thrifted the bench itself and then painted it in my freetime.” He rubs the back of his neck not being able to tell if you like it or not. “And look, it’s storage space too. I know you can’t get enough of that with these two.” He lifts the seat up to show the empty space inside and your hands go to your mouth. 

“Eddie…” You can’t seem to find the right words, any words really, as you take in all the delicately painted primroses and calliopsis over the bench and the two fairies that look like your girls. “This is just…this is perfect. They’re going to love it.” Your voice is soft as if you can barely get it to come to the surface and your eyes tear up at his thoughtfulness.

“Do you love it?” Obviously he cares if the girls love it but he knew they would, he really needed you to love it though. If you didn’t then he would repaint it over and over again until you did. All you do is nod before hurriedly bringing him into a hug to show your gratitude. A kiss gets planted on his cheek before you part leaving him pink and smiling.

“We can put this against that wall.” You point to the one with the windows in front of the two of you and he knows immediately that you’re gonna want in under one of the windows itself. “I wanna put their train table right here.” Here being the middle of the room.

You continue with telling him where you want things to go. The table they normally use for arts and crafts and board games in the corner to the left of the door, the chalkboard on the wall across from it on the right side, the Barbie dreamhouse in the far right corner across from the kitchen and their container of dolls next to it. He makes note of all of it, wanting to make sure the room turns out exactly how you’ve imagined it.

With Eddie’s help you’re able to get the room set up in no time. He brought everything down while you organized it all. He only let you help him bring the train table in from the garage because you were being stubborn about it. 

“It looks great Princess.” Eddie says as the two of you stand in the entrance taking your work in. “The girls are gonna love it.”

“Yeah.” You’re smiling wide looking at the room that’s bound to become a mess almost as soon as they get home. You lean into Eddie’s side nudging him with your elbow. “We make a great team, the best one really.”

“Yeah, we do.” Maybe it’s how you looked up at him as you said it. Maybe it’s the truth behind your words, the way you actually believed the two of you are the best team. Or maybe it’s because this moment just feels right because Eddie decides that he’s gonna ask you out right then and there. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something.” His voice is soft and he turns to face you completely to find you facing the room again. You feel him reposition himself and glance over before turning completely to properly meet his gaze. You’re almost breathless as you do, the adoring look in them seeming to punch you in the gut.

“Yeah?” 

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to-”

“Mama! We’re home!” Callie’s happy voice interrupts Eddie and she’s crashing into your legs as soon as the door opens enough for her to rush in.

“Hey Callie darling! Where’s Rosie?” You send an apologetic look Eddies way before crouching down to block her view of the playroom she has yet to notice.

“Outside.”

“Why don’t you go get her and I’ll show you the surprise Eddie and I set up for you.” She nods excitedly before running back out. You stand and face Eddie again ready to tell him to keep going but Steve comes in before you can get a word out.

“Hey there cuz!”

“Hey! What are you doing here Stevie?” You let him bring you into a hug feeling bad about all the interruptions to whatever Eddie was about to ask you. 

“Your mom and dad stopped by the store to say hi and let the girls pick out movies but then he got called into the office, there was some sort of emergency or something, and I said Robin and I could drop the girls off after our shifts were over. Did that give you enough time to finish the room?”

“Thanks to Eddie.” You nod before looking towards the door just in time to see your girls come in with Robin behind them. You’re crossing the entranceway to crouch in front of them both while they take their shoes off in no time. “You girls know how all your toys have been stored away?” They nod in response without looking up at you. “Well Eddie and I made the front room into a playroom for you two.”

“Really?” Rosie perks up first followed by Callie’s wide eyed stare soon after. They share a look before standing up and rushing to go see it hand in hand. 

“Woah! You guys did such a good job in here.” Robin says as she follows the girls in and looks around. 

“It was all mainly her, I was just the muscles.” 

“You helped plenty Eddie.” You nudge him with your elbow as you stand next to him again and watch the girls look around. “You should go point out the bench to them. Otherwise they might not realize till you’re gone.” He nods, stepping back into the playroom and getting their attention.

“What bench?” Steve asks, swinging an arm around your shoulders and bringing you into a side hug while you both observe the interaction.

“Eddie thrifted a storage bench and painted it white with their flowers all over it. And on the front he painted the two of them as fairies.” Your throat constricts while talking about it still not over how utterly kind and thoughtful the whole thing is.

“Damn looks like I need to step up my gift giving game.” He adds as they start to excitedly squeal upon seeing the fairies gaining Robin’s attention who had been flipping through one of their coloring books. “They’re gonna start loving Eddie more than me.” He fakes being close to tears, pouty lips and all and you shove him away laughing.

“You’re unbelievable. Are you guys staying for long?” 

“Nah, I’m having dinner over Robins tonight so I have to drop her off at home and get ready before going back. So we should head out soon.” You can only nod in understanding before Rosie is calling you over to look at Eddie’s painting.

After Steve and Robin leave you finish making the dinner you started in the crock pot earlier while Eddie plays with the girls. The whole time your mind is plagued with the thought of what he could’ve been about to ask you. You could just be hopeful and imagining it but it seemed like he might’ve been about to ask you out. The very thought of it makes you giddy and you don’t want to get your hopes up but oh do you want that to be it.

“Girls, dinner!” You announce loud enough for your voice to break them out of whatever game they’re playing with Eddie that’s causing them to be so loud and giggly. You get their bowls ready and take them into the dining room as Eddie comes in both of them hanging onto his back. The smell of the food has them wiggling to get off and you hold in your laughter at Eddie trying to make sure they get down safely and not react when his hair gets tugged on.

“Alright I stand corrected, they are excited.” Eddie says when they cheer as you put their food down in front of them.

 “I told you, they love buffalo chicken pasta.” When you told him this is what you were making tonight he was skeptical that they actually liked it. When he was a kid he hated anything even mildly hot and he still can’t get Jeff to even touch a hot wing. So when you told him this was the girls favorite meal he had a hard time believing you. He should’ve though.

“Sit Princess, I’ll go get our food.” Eddie pulls out your chair for you, placing a hand on your shoulder briefly when you sit smiling down at you before heading off into the kitchen. Your heart swells at how domestic it feels, something that seems to be happening a lot recently. Normally during meals but sometimes when you’re all watching a movie or you’re both playing with the girls.

“What were you guys playing in there?” You rest your head in your hand as you ask. You watch the girls light up again and can’t help but smile at it.

“Out to eat!” Callie answers.

“Eddie was our customer and Callie was the server and I was the cook.” Primrose continues.

“They kept messing up my order.” Eddie comes back sitting next to you and across from Rosie and setting your bowls down. “I was getting, oh what’s that word. Girls?”

“Disgruntled!” They both answer before bursting into giggles and Eddie smiles fondly at them while you watch in shock.

“Did Eddie teach you a new emotion word?” You’ve been trying to teach them different emotions so they can express themselves easier when something has upset them or is bothering them. So it means the world to you that Eddie would teach them one through play. “That’s so great.” You add once they nod and go back to eating. The beaming smile you send Eddie has him filled with pride that he was able to do it. Honestly he was nervous they would’ve forgotten it and his ploy to show you what they learned would fail.

The girls fall asleep later while watching The Muppet Movie and Eddie helps you take them to bed once it’s over. He rewinds the tape and takes it out while you wash the popcorn bowl and then you walk him to the door like you always do when he leaves.

“Thanks for all your help today.”

“Anytime. I’m always here to help, you know that.” He smiles up at you from where he’s crouched to put his shoes on after he talks.

“And thanks for teaching them a new word. You have no idea what that means to me.” 

“Oh that.” He shrugs it off like it’s no big deal while standing up. “That was nothing. I just saw an opportunity and took it.”

“So, what were you gonna ask me earlier?”

“Oh, that? That was uh.” He trails off rubbing the back of his neck and looking away from you. He’s lost some of that confidence he had earlier. He doesn’t want to claim it was nothing because it’s not nothing it’s actually so insanely important to him that the thought of you saying no has him wanting to tuck his tail behind his legs and run away like a dog. 

“You don’t have to ask if you’re uncomfortable now. I don’t mind waiting till you’re ready to ask whatever it is again.” You meant it from the bottom of your heart because as much as you’re dying to know what it is, you also want, need, Eddie to feel comfortable around you.

“Do you wanna get dinner with me Friday night?” Something in the way you tell him he doesn’t have to ask you anything has him blurting it out. “Like as a date?”

“I’d love to!” You don’t think about it as you enthusiastically answer. “I’ll see if someone can watch the girls that night and let you know if we’d have to reschedule or not.”

“Perfect.” Eddie can’t tell if his, what he’s sure is goofy, smile is more from you saying yes almost before he could get the words out or from your own beaming one that he swears could light up the darkest corners of his room at night. “That’s perfect.” He lingers in the doorway ready to get home and sleep before his early and long shift tomorrow but not quite wanting to cross the threshold and leave this moment, leave you, behind. “I’ll call you tomorrow after my shift.”

“Okay.” It’s silent then between the two of you, neither one wanting to say goodnight just yet. “Goodnight Eddie.” You pull him into a hug as you speak Eddie can’t help but feel at home in your arms.

‘Night Princess.” The two of you stand in the embrace for a while before Eddie places a kiss on your head and heads towards his van.

Eddie Taglist (32/40): @sadbitchfangirl​ @notbeforelong​​​​ @navs-bhat​ @emotionaldreamer​ ​​​​​  @gaysludge ​@eddiethesexy @mazerunnerrose @midnightsgetawaycar   @mushroomelephant @saramelaniemoon @nojamsonmytoast @vintagehellfire @esoltis280 @spikedhe4rt @siriuslysmoking @toobsessedsstuff @alana4610 @gretavanfleas @sparkletash @aactuaaltraash @spookyemorockbabe @jesssssmaybank @tlclick73 @eddiemunsonslittlemetalhead @bl4ckt00thgr1n @eli-flower @canyonmooncreations @witchwolflea @emxxblog @chaoticgood-munson @loves0phelia @nightfiress @moonnooon

Everything Taglist: @matchamunson​ @bubsonnobx​ @practicalghost​ @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr @kennedy-brooke @m00nkn1ghts @rory-cakes

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x mom!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Corruption fic - Last preview

Ok, last preview for this fic! Again, no active warnings here but I promise the finished product will be very fun~ ;)

When you regained consciousness, you felt the familiar pounding in your head after a heavy night of drinking. Begrudgingly you dragged yourself out of you bed and forced your way to your bathroom for a much needed shower. You realized when you glanced towards the mirror that you never changed out of your clothes from yesterday. In fact, you don't even remember how you got back to your room last night, Everything was such a blur, and it hurt to think with the major headache you were experiencing at the moment. The last thing you could recall was falling off the bar stool, the pain you felt in your shoulder was enough of a reminder. Once you stepped in the hot shower, you felt a little better, but only a little bit. You tried to rack your brain for answers, trying to remember exactly what happened after you fell. You ran your fingers through your hair, letting the water soak your aching body. But in doing so, something had clicked. That motion had unlocked a foggy memory. Your hair. Someone had run their hands through your hair last night, but you couldn't for the life of you remember who. It was gentle, soft, tender. But who would do that?

After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower and threw on one of the sundresses you had hanging in your closet. You really didn't feel like putting a ton of effort into your clothing choices today. Hopefully Charlie would forgive you for skipping out on her planned activity today and let you recover. You realized after that initially thought that you didn't even know what time is was. Chances were you had already missed it. With a groan, you plopped down back onto the mattress, your hair still damp.

"What's the matter with me," you asked yourself. "How do I expect to be redeemed when all I do is sabotage my chances by getting wasted every night?" Your headache persisted as you laid in your bed, you almost wanted to cry from the pain. But then, you heard a soft knocking at your door. Charlie, you thought. More than likely she was checking in on you to make sure you were alright. "I'll be there in a second!" you called out. The volume of your own voice didn't help your hangover in the slightest. You grabbed one of the small pillows off your bed for comfort and trudged your way to your door. "I'm really sorry I slept in Charlie," you spoke as you turned the door handle, "it was a...really rough night for me and I-" you stopped completely once you opened the door fully. Charlie, in fact, was not the one who had knocked.

"Yeah, you really did get put through the ringer last night, didn't you?" Lucifer smiled at you. The pillow you held fell to the floor with a soft thud.

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry, sir!” You stuttered. “I-I thought you were Charlie! Did-Did she send you?”

Lucifer looked at you with a puzzled stare. “Uhh, no, no she didn’t. I told her what happened last night and let her know I’d check in on you like I promised.”

“Promised?” you asked, but Lucifer didn’t seem to hear you.

“And you don’t have to refer to me as “sir,” my dear, “Lucifer” is just fine! I mean, you used my name just fine last night!”

Your heart stopped. “L-Last night? Oh no…what…what happened last night?”

Lucifer gawked at your question. “Wait, do you not remember anything?” You shook your head timidly. “Oh dear…well, nothing bad happened, I promise! What’s the last thing you can remember doing?”

You looked down at the floor sheepishly, embarrassed to admit the real answer. “The last thing I can remember is falling off the bar stool and…landing on my face…”

Lucifer stood there and pondered for a few seconds before speaking again. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Oh, umm, yeah, y-you can come in,” you agreed. You picked up the pillow you had dropped and opened the door for Lucifer to saunter in. “I’m sorry I look like a mess right now, I-I just got out of the shower and my hair isn’t completely dry yet and-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright!” Lucifer interrupted. “You don’t need to apologize. You look lovely, in any case.”

You brought the pillow in your hands up to your face in an attempt to hide your blush. “T-Thank you,” your muffled voice came through the pillow. "I-If you want, you can sit down on my b-ahh fuck!" One hand came up to your forehead when you felt your head pounding from the pressure that's been building since you woke up. This was definitely one of your worst hangovers to date.

"Oh! Are you alright?" Lucifer asked, his voice laced with deep concern.

"My head..." you choked out. You made your way over to your bed, crawling up to the top and cradling the pillow in your arms "Hangovers are never really kind to me."

Lucifer frowned, seating himself down on the edge of your mattress next to you. You felt your face flare up again when you looked up at his worried expression. "Can I help you? I can alleviate the pain. You only need ask."

"Y-you can?"

"Sure! Angelic power and all that." His hand hovered just above your forehead. "May I?"

"Yes," you breathed. With that, you felt his soft hand make contact with your aching head. You felt a warm tingling sensation emanating from his touch. It didn't hurt nor was it unpleasant, it was healing. Without thinking, you leaned further into his touch, letting the warmth spread throughout your entire body. Your headache slowly began to fade away along with the fogginess that had been plaguing you since you woke up. As his touch lingered, you realized you were able to think more clearly than before, memories from last night started to become clearer and clearer. You remembered Lucifer had come to your rescue after you'd fallen. You remembered Alastor had shown up to mock you in your drunken stupor, only for Lucifer to step in and defend you. You remember sobbing with Lucifer while he comforted you. Then you remembered...

You shot straight up, your heart racing a million miles a second, with Lucifer throwing his hand back in surprise. "What? What happened? Did I hurt you?" Lucifer asked in a panic.

"I'm..." you began, "I'm starting to remember things from last night." You clutched the pillow tight to your chest, refusing to look in the fallen angel's direction. "Please tell me I didn't actually lay down in your lap..."

"Uhh, well...," You could tell from his response that that's exactly what had happened.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" you apologized. "I shouldn't have done that! I-I know I drank way too much last night, I should have stopped, I didn't realize that-"

Lucifer's hand immediately flew to your shoulder in an attempt to get you to stop you from completely spiraling. "Darling, you don't need to apologize for that! You weren't feeling great so you just, ya know, used me as a pillow. And besides, it's not like I disliked it either."

"W-What?!" you nearly shrieked. Another realization had hit you just then. "You! You were the one that was playing with my hair! That's the only thing I could remember when I woke up!" You buried your face in the pillow once more. "If I said anything embarrassing..."

You heard Lucifer swallow hard. "I guess uhh, it depends on your definition of the word."

"Oh God, please no..." you pleaded. "What did I say?"

Lucifer held up his hand again as an offering, a weary smile on his face. "I can help you to remember, if you wish."

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #my writing #preview #i gotta stop writing at midnight i swear lmao

[youcouldmakealife]

KS Fill: Gabe/Stephen; not on the list

For the prompt: I would say Gabe and Stephen’s wedding because I want that more than anything in the world, but I suspect that’s coming without my prompt? But if it’s not… 

It would come either way, probably, but this started the ball rolling.

More Gabe and Stephen, more lists. No actual wedding, but we get pretty damn adjacent.

Gabe knew the list would backfire the moment Stephen started making it. He even told Stephen as much, but Stephen just shrugged a shoulder and kept working on it. He got into it as it grew too, enjoying it so much that Gabe told himself he was probably worrying about nothing.

And maybe the list wouldn’t have been a problem if the only person he’d told about it was Gabe. Probably would have been fine even if knowledge of it extended to the Marksons and Petersens, which happened sooner rather than later.

But telling Gabe’s teammates — that was a mistake.

“A what list?” Jared asks when Stephen first mentions it.

“An anti-wedding list,” Stephen says.

Bryce sits up. “You guys aren’t getting married?”

From this angle, Gabe can’t see how withering the look Stephen gives Bryce is, but the kick Jared aims at his ankle is probably related.

“Obviously we’re getting married,” Stephen says, like he wasn’t panicking for a good few days after they got engaged, and only the potential wrath of Miriam Markson kept him from fleeing on the next flight out of Vancouver. “It’s a list of shit we don’t want at our wedding.”

“Um,” Bryce says.

“You know,” Stephen says. “The wedding traditions we’re vetoing.”

“We is such a strong word,” Gabe says.

“Unanimous approval or none at all, Gabriel,” Stephen says. "A veto only needs one."

He's right. And Gabe guesses he would know, consdiering he's the one vetoing everything.

“So wait, what exactly are you vetoing?” Jared says.

“Nobody’s wearing white,” Stephen says, starting to tick items off on his fingers. “I mean, white dress shirts are fine, obviously, but nobody’s a virgin here, we’re not doing any all in white shit. No flower girls or ring bearers. No little groom cake toppers. Fuck knows there aren’t going to be any garters involved. I don’t remember the rest off the top of my head, but I have it all written down."

“I like the little grooms,” Bryce says, sounding hurt. Gabe hasn’t seen any pictures from Bryce and Jared’s wedding, since it was very much on the down-low — and he truly wishes he could see how those two managed to put together a wedding on the sly when they couldn't even sit across from each other without Gabe figuring out they were married — but he bets there were little grooms on top of their cake. He also bets Bryce still has those little dudes hanging around somewhere.

“Can I see the list?” Jared asks. “I’m kind of curious how many our wedding had.”

“Sure,” Stephen says, with a hand wave. “I’ll email it to you when I’m finished. Have a few more items to add first.”

“Cool,” Jared says.

After Bryce and Jared leave, Gabe mentions it might not be a good idea to send Jared the list, but Stephen just scoffs.

“What’s he going to do?” Stephen says. “Wear white to my wedding? Put little grooms on his piece of cake? He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not going to anything that actually fucks with the day, he’s not Dmitry.”

“Our wedding,” Gabe says.

“Oh come on, you already know what’s mine is yours,” Stephen says.

“You stabbed me with a chopstick over the last soup dumpling last night,” Gabe says.

“Stop saying I stabbed you,” Stephen says. “I didn’t even break the skin.”

“It hurt,” Gabe says, and Stephen takes his hand, planting an officious kiss on the back of it.

“Better?” Stephen asks.

“It was the other hand,” Gabe says, smiling when Stephen sighs dramatically before kissing it too.

“You’re really going to give Math that list?” Gabe says. “Blind trust isn’t usually your thing.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll lead to something hideous,” Stephen says. “But think of it this way: your idiot teammates are going to do something, so I may as well give them some parameters.”

“Huh,” Gabe says. “Good point.”

“I’m not exactly new to this, you know,” Stephen says.

“No, I know,” Gabe says.

At least whatever it is that’s coming, it won’t come out of the blue.

~

Gabe did not foresee this. Sure, when he gave Stevie and Dima and Bullet bachelor party planning rights he anticipated some variety of disaster, but he underestimated them, he thinks. Or overestimated them. There was some mis-estimation occurring.

He looks around. What initially looked like chaos seems oddly recognisable. Almost familiar.

It’s sort of wedding themed, which makes sense, considering the occasion, but everything’s slightly off, and not just because they’re in a venue more suited to clubbing than matrimony.

His eyes land on the big cake at the centre of everything. It looks more like the kind Gabe saw at Cup celebrations than a wedding one, decorated to look like a rink, with two little figures at centre ice. He’s too far to see the details, but he’s pretty sure they’re hockey figurines rather than grooms, and someone has decided to use the manipulable joints for, well, evil probably isn’t the right word, but maybe immaturity — Gabe’s pretty sure one of them is straddling the other. He guesses he should just be grateful no mounting is taking place, considering Dima’s probably the responsible party.

There are so many elements, and they don’t seem to fit together at all — elegant baskets of flowers that look almost painstakingly put together, surrounded by a scatter of rainbow confetti that feels like it's moonlighting from a completely different event. Some kind of crooner — Bublé? — playing, also from a completely different event. None of it seems to fit Gabe's picture of a bachelor party planned and attended by hockey players, even if the wives and girlfriends present also got involved in the planning.

It’s the guests themselves that help Gabe put it together. There was clearly a dress code, one that only Gabe and Stephen weren’t informed about, everyone all in white, neon bright under the black light. Like an item of a list come to life. Like one of many items of a list come to life.

He can see Stephen put it together a mere moment after he does, his eyes narrowing, mouth going flat. Playing at unimpressed for the — many — eyes currently on them, avidly waiting for a reaction.

“I’m going to fucking kill Jared,” Stephen says, and Gabe decides not to tell him just how proud he sounds.

“I wonder which one of the Canucks is wearing the garter,” Gabe says, and grins when Stephen forgets his audience and his composure for a moment, throwing his head back with a laugh.

#fic snippet #gabe markson #stephen petersen #jared matheson #bryce marcus #dmitry kurmazov

[lustnhim]

დ︎ “too purty..” — elvis x fem! reader დ︎

note: part two of “can’t sleep?” / warnings: MDNI, p in v sex, no protection,  legal age gap (19 - 42) , elvis calls reader “lil girl”, oral f receiving, elvis takes readers virginity, slight crying during sex, idk what else tbh, mediocre smut, i actually tried having a plot, buildup. / summary: the night before elvis had "taken care"of you in hopes to help you sleep, but he’s not done yet, he wants to take your virginity.

You couldn't sleep. After tip-toeing back to Lisa-Marie’s room, shamefully checking if she was awake, you laid back down on the makeshift bed, which wasn't any more comfortable than it was before. Your mind was racing, what would the morning be like? Would Elvis pretend it never happened? What if Lisa-Marie found out? You rolled over, and closed your eyes, trying to force yourself to sleep. 

Soon enough, soft rays of sunlight pooled into the room. You could hear Lisa-Marie downstairs, laughing about something. Sleepily raising up you rubbed your eyes then sighed softly. You really should get up, you thought to yourself before doing so. Rummaging through your bag of clothes you pulled out a light blue dress with long mesh sleeves. Quickly changing and fixing your hair you headed downstairs, feeling your heart begin to race as you heard Elvis’s voice. Stopping on the steps you debated going back up in the room. “There you are!” Lisa-Marie exclaimed, causing you to jump. “I was wondering when you’d get up!” She peered from the doorway, nervously you smiled. “I had trouble sleepin–” You explained, fiddling nervously with your hands as you slowly continued down the steps. “Well come eat breakfast!” Lisa-Marie smiled and disappeared back into the kitchen. 

As you walked in you saw Elvis sitting in one of the chairs at the table, cigar in hand, and smiling as Lisa-Marie plated slightly malformed pancakes and slightly burnt bacon. Approaching the table to sit down Elvis’s gaze moved over to you. “Well, good morning sleepin' beauty.” He teased, and you smiled nervously. You sat down across from Elvis, fiddling with your hands still, your gaze lowered to the table. “Here!” Lisa-Marie said, placing plates in front of both you and Elvis. Looking up at her you noticed she was wearing her ‘going out’ dress. “Ain’t you gonna eat?” Elvis asked her, putting out the cigar and picking up his fork. “Oh no! I’m not hungry right now- besides, I gotta run to town.” Lisa said, grabbing her bag off the counter. “What- Why?” You asked quickly. “Ah- well, ya know...I just wanna pick up a few things..” Lisa-Marie said, her face growing red a bit. She was going to meet her little boyfriend, which meant she would be gone for a good while. Elvis nodded as he ate, not even questioning his daughter's obvious lie. You wanted to ask her to stay home, or at least if you could go with her. “Alright Yisa..be safe.” He said and Lisa-Marie smiled, “Thank ya!” She exclaimed heading out the door leaving you and Elvis alone at the breakfast table.

The tension was undeniably thick, taking small glances at Elvis as you took small bites of bacon you couldn’t help but notice his nonchalant nature, as if nothing had happened before. Elvis finished off the last of his pancakes, washing it down with a swig of his coffee. The silence between him and you was palpable. He glanced over at you, a sly smirk forming on his face. “You look mighty nervous this mornin',” he began, leaning back in his chair. "Is there somethin' on your mind, sweetheart?" You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment then finally looked up at him.  "Well...last night- that was my first time ever doing anything like that and I–" The words tumbled out in a rush, your cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

Elvis chuckled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Well now, darlin', ain’t no reason to be embarrassed.." He smiled at you, his fingers tapping on the table. “Tell me this…did ya like it?” Elvis asked, his tone was oddly serious. Your hands shook, your heart pounding in your ears as you responded quietly, "Well…yeah.." You looked down, heat rushing to your face as you spoke the words aloud. Elvis leaned back in his chair, his smile widening. "That's what I thought," he murmured. "My, my, my...Don’t you just look so purty in that dress." Your eyes widened, the sudden change in conversation shocking you. "You think so..? you whispered, your face beginning to flush. “Course lil’ girl,” Elvis said, smiling, you couldn’t help but notice something lingering in his eyes. Elvis's smile grew wider as he continued, "You know, I've been thinking, darlin'. We got us a whole day ahead, and I reckon we could find some ways to pass the time." Your eyes met his. "Like what?" you asked. He leaned across the table, laughing slightly. "Well, how’s about I show you the Jungle Room?" he asked, tilting his head. Confused, you nodded, pushing your breakfast plate forward the both of you stood up. 

Leading you to the Jungle Room, Elvis walked ahead of you in long strides. You felt timid behind him, like a small mouse. Opening the door you looked around the room. The lush green carpet matched the plants and vines scattered around the room, wooden tables, and brown fur couches and chairs adorned with wooden accents. The room was undeniably beautiful. As if sensing your amazement Elvis chuckled. “Ain’t it nice?” He asked, looking at you smiling. You nodded in response, finding yourself unable to speak. Elvis had already made his way across the room, sitting down on the couch leaving you standing in awe. “C’mere little girl, come sit down,” Elvis called. As you approached him, Elvis patted the seat next to him, a grin playing on his lips. You hesitated for a moment before sitting down, your heart pounding in your chest. The room seemed to grow warmer, and the two of you seemed much closer than before. “Now, tell me…When do ya think Yisa will be home..?” Elvis asked, the question was innocent enough, but something told you it was all but that. “I-I’m not sure...Maybe a couple hours?” You responded, adjusting the hem of your dress. “Well, I spose’ we should find somethin’ to pass the time.” You feel his calloused fingers run along your inner thigh, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “Now, now darlin’ no reason to get all tense...Ain’t the first time.” 

His hand slowly begins to knead your thigh, looking up at him you notice his little smirk. Leaning in as he kisses you, you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His hand continued to massage your thigh, his fingers gently probing deeper. You could feel the familiar tension building within you, a mix of excitement and anxiety. The kiss deepened, his tongue exploring your mouth, the feeling was foreign. You tried to follow in his footsteps, moving your tongue carefully with his. You moaned softly into the kiss, your body trembling. His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer to him. You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, causing you to pull away. “E-Elvis..” You muttered breathlessly. His hand moved from your thigh to your waist, his fingers trailing down your spine. You shivered at the sensation, your body yearning for more. his eyes locked onto yours, "You gonna let me take ya, lil’ girl? " he asked, his voice hoarse. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. His eyes gleamed with approval, his hands moving up your dress. Lifting it up and taking it off, you heard his tongue click at the sight of your white lacy panties and bra. Elvis's hands rubbed across your folds, feeling your wetness grow. "Mmm, doll..," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. He began to stroke your clit gently through your panties, his fingers massaging the bundle of nerves. "Feel familiar?" He teased, his voice low. You whimpered in response, your body trembling.  He continued, his fingers darting in and out of you, your wetness coating his digits. "You're so tight, lil’ one. But I’ll stretch you out, ain't that right? " He questioned, his voice dripping with lust. You nodded, your mind hazy with pleasure. He leaned in, whispering, "I'm gonna take these off, baby." His voice was low, husky, and filled with desire. You blushed, nodding, your heart pounding. He finally slid your panties off of you, exposing your swollen cunt. "Mmm," he hummed, admiring the sight before him. His hands roamed your body, rubbing along your sides and finally stopping at your bra. Unbuckling it, he chuckled. “Look at them..” Elvis said, cupping one in his hands. You couldn't help but feel much more vulnerable. After all, you were completely naked while Elvis sat completely clothed, his cock hard against his leg. “E-Elvis..” You muttered, looking at him with slight frustration. “Now, now darlin’ I'm getting to it.” He said, unbuttoning his already slightly unbuttoned shirt. Whimpering at the sight of his body you felt so needy, just the sight of him soaked your thighs. Once in his boxers he loomed over you as you laid down on the couch. You watched him smirk as he studied your face. Pulling down his boxers his cock sprung out, swollen and leaking copious amounts of precum. Elvis must’ve noticed your surprise, letting out a small chuckle. “Think you can take it?” He teased, stroking it a few times in his hand. 

"Don't worry, baby, I'll ease you in." Elvis bent down, facing your puffy cunt, A shiver ran through your body, arching your back into his touch. "You're going to like this, trust me." With that, Elvis leaned in, running his tongue along your slit. You gasped, your hips bucking off the couch. Elvis chuckled, the vibration ringing against your cunt. His tongue darted in and out of your entrance as his fingers continued to work your clit, flicking and rubbing gently. You felt the tension building once again, your body trembling in anticipation. "Oh, Elvis..." you whimpered, your hands grasping onto the couch behind you. He continued to eat you out, his fingers and tongue working in harmony. You could feel your orgasm building, growing ever closer. Just as you felt yourself about to cum, Elvis pulled away, leaving you panting and wanting. "Not yet, baby girl. I want to feel you tighten around my cock." You could hardly hear him over your ragged breathing.  He positioned himself between your legs, rubbing his cock against your slick entrance. You could feel the head of his cock press against you, your breath hitched as you felt him slowly insert it. Groaning with every move Elvis bit his lip focused on the sight of your cunt struggling to take him. “Goddamn darlin’, you gotta ease up. I-It won’t fit if ya don’t..” He stuttered as you tried to relax, feeling his cock inch deeper. Covering your face in embarrassment you felt a sudden pricking feeling, causing you to cry out. “Calm down lil’ girl, it’s in now.” Elvis said, groaning. 

 With a deep breath, Elvis thrust into you, filling you completely. You yelped out, a little bit of tears fell from your eyes as your body tensed around him. He pulled out slightly, before pushing back in, “There you go, hunny.” He said, admiring how you squirmed beneath him. With each thrust becoming deeper than the last, you could feel every inch of him. Your body bouncing up and down as you let out whimpers of pain.  But as he continued to thrust, the discomfort began to fade, replaced by pleasure. "Fuck, you're so tight..." Elvis hissed, his pace increasing. He began to slam into you, your cries of pleasure echoing throughout the room. Each thrust made you feel so full. Blabbering mindlessly, you begged for him not to stop, his hand gripped your breast as he continued pounding into you. The room was filled with the sound of flesh smacking against flesh. "F-fuck Elvis! I'm close!" You cried out, your body writhing beneath him. You could hear him begin to growl as his thrusts became sloppy and more needy, begging for any kind of friction. “I’m gonna cum, lil’ girl,” Elvis said, through a shaky moan. “Gonna fill ya up. Gonna- Gonna..” Elvis stuttered leaning over you, his head resting above yours as warm cum coated the inside of your cunt, causing you to gasp. “E-Elvis..” You whispered breathlessly as he leaned up and pulled out of you. Closing your eyes you took deep breaths, trying to find your composure.

 You felt Elvis get off the couch and heard the rustling of clothes before you turned over and looked at him. He was already almost entirely dressed, now buckling his belt. "That's it, hunny. Just breathe.." He said, his voice gentle and soothing. He grabbed a cover from one of the chairs and handed it to you before reaching a hand out to you, Elvis helped you sit up and pulled your dress back over you, fixing it in place. “You did so, so good darlin,” Elvis said, fixing your dress before admiring you. “I’m assumin’ Yisa will be back soon..” Elvis said, looking up at the door. You looked up at him, fixated on his face. “I love you.” You muttered under your breath as you pulled him into a hug. His arms quickly wrapped around you, holding you as close as possible. “You’re mine now, lil’ one.” He said, stroking your hair and kissing you softly on your forehead. “I love ya. I truly do.” He said, stepping back, his hands resting on your shoulders. 

“My purty girl. All mine.” 

GUYSSS!!! WE HIT 100 FOLLOWERS MWAHHH! i love you all so so much, this means the world to me <3 i couldn’t thank y’all enough i’m so happy 😭

part one <3

tags: @atleastpleasetelephone @lola-1013 @18lkpeters @indiatuck @eptodaytommorowforever @suspiciousmindsxo @tupelomiss @myradiaz @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresley1956 @sisssygirl @your-nanas-house @generousspirit @joyouswonders @callieselvisobsessed @iminlovewithaustinbutler @eapep @auntbee22 @scarlettlight06 @wildhorseinkansas @elvisiana @spookyeagleflower @ladelinee (i think that’s everyone!)

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley x reader #60s elvis #big daddy elvis #elvis aaron presley #70s elvis #elvis fans #elvis imagine #elvis the pelvis #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley x you #elvis presley smut #elvis smut #elvis x y/n #elvis x reader #young elvis presley #70s elvis presley #70s #elvis presley fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #elvis fanfic #elvis fic #elvisaaronpresley

[carmenberzattosgf]

how do you think it would be carmys first kiss with someone who works w/ him?

I’m assuming you mean like how it would happen? I’ve thought about this a couple of times and the main way I see it happening is after closing.

Maybe you stay behind late to work a dish that you couldn’t work on during operating hours, or you stay late to clean up. Regardless of your reasoning for staying, Carmy’s there because he’s always the last one to leave the restaurant.

Carmy finds his way behind you, watching as you cook. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. “What’s this, chef?”

“Uh-it’s wedding soup. Well, it’s going to be, anyway. I’ve been trying to perfect the recipe, but I didn’t want to do it on company time.” Your hands pause in cutting the carrots. He distracted you too much to risk getting nicked.

“Are you wanting it to be on the menu?”

“That’s up to you, not me,” you reply plainly. “You know, Carm, you don’t have to stay. I know it’s late. I can lock up after I’ve finished.”

“Do you want me to leave?” His question comes out as a whisper. The tension in the air thickens as you set the knife down on the cutting board and turn around. Your back leans against the counter behind you. Carmy’s right in front of you, leaving barely any space between his body and yours.

“No.” It’s only a mere second after your reply that Carmy’s lips crash into yours. It’s full of passion as his hands wrap around your waist to press your body into him.

NOW. to be completely honest I fear in character Carmy would then profusely apologize like “oh shit that was really fucking unprofessional. Fuck I’m sorry. I’m going to uh- go now.” And then run out of the restaurant </3. He just doesn’t know how to handle his feelings and feels like he acted rashly. The thing he’s most scared of is there being an improper balance with you since he’s your boss.

He would in time though stop being a wimp and would take you on a proper date. He really, really likes you he just simply doesn’t not know how to be in a relationship. Bless him.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #thoughts

[sanjoongie]

Downtown

ღPairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader (f)

ღAu: office worker au, club goer au

ღTrope: strangers to lovers, age gap (10 years between younger Hongjoong and older reader)

ღRated: 18+ MDNI, smut, angst

ღWarnings: alluding to sleeping with Hongjoong, somnophilia, oral (f), alluding to being fucked by Hongjoong on his kitchen table

ღWord Count: 3,229

ღSummary: when you stumble out of work late on a Saturday, a curious club goer wonders who you are and what you're doing and it's all downhill from there

ღBeta's: @flurrys-creativity @mejuii @downtoamagicalland

You raised your hand to rub at your tired eyes but quickly brought them down to not touch your beyond-twelve-hours make-up. The last thing you needed was to rub your mascara in and add to the dark bags under your eyes. You pulled the lapels to your jacket closer to your neck and pulled out your phone. What would be quicker, flagging down a taxi or ordering an uber?

This wasn’t your first rodeo, working on reports in your office until 2am on a Saturday. The repeat of the schedule wasn’t preferred but when your job was always on the line and it was expected of you, you did what you could to maintain a paycheck incoming to your bank account. All you wanted to do was shuffle home and get into something comfy and--

“Do you have a lighter?”

You blinked slowly at the heavy make-upped face in front of you. A shock of blue hair haloed his face and the charming grin calmed your beating heart that one of the homeless wasn’t here to harass you. By the look of this guy's clothes, he was stumbling out of a club at 2am. 

“I don’t smoke, sorry,” you mumbled and started to side walk away from the stranger. 

“Ah shit, there it is!” The guy smiled triumphantly, having dug into his pant’s pockets for a flashy lighter that had the initials of either a rich person or an expensive label. “Wait!” His face fell when he saw how far away you were. “Where are you going?”

You pulled a tight, customer-service smile at him. “Look, I’m sure you’re looking for a good time, still half-drunk and making your way home when the bar closed, but I’m just trying to go home after a long day, if you don’t mind…” You ducked your head and walked a bit quicker down the street.

“I’m not looking to harass you or anything, come on!” The guy called after you. You winced when you could hear the clicking of his dress shoes on the sidewalk behind you.

You stopped abruptly. “I don’t know if you’re into an older woman type thing but,” you paused to wave vaguely at the skimpily dressed girl across the street cooing at him, “they seem primed and ready to take up your offer.”

The guy took a drag of his cigarette, contemplating you. “I don’t want them.”

You had to laugh at his audacity. “Well, I don’t want you, sir. Goodnight.”

“Just call it late night curiosity!” He continued to follow you. “If you’re not coming from the clubs, where did you come from in your high heels and felt jacket?”

“My job,” you replied curtly.

“Your…?” That made him stumble. “You were at your job until 2am?!” He said in disbelief.

You stopped again. If you just had to answer a few questions to get this guy off your back, maybe that was better than him following you late in the night. “Listen,” you raised your eyebrows, indicating it was his turn to give you his name.

“Hongjoong,” he grunted, eyes still wide with curiosity.

“Hongjoong,” you continued, “my life is clearly not the same as yours.” You motion to his one-of-a-kind suit. “We’re cut from a different cloth. If I don’t finish typing up reports or doing invoices or other boring office activities, they’ll fire me and hire someone fresh off the street. They don’t care, as long as the work is done and on time. So if it takes me until 2am on a weekend night, so be it.”

Hongjoong narrowed his eyes at you. “Are you sure I didn’t catch you leaving the office late after blowing your boss or something secretive like that? Maybe digging for corporate secrets to sell?”

Maybe it was your brain almost being dead, but you let his suggestive thoughts roll off your back. You snorted in response. “You’ve watched too many movies. Yes, I’m sure you didn’t catch me doing a plot to a porno or a spy documentary. Now, have I satisfied your curiosity?”

Hongjoong watched as your toe tapped in impatience. “What are you going to do now?” He shot back a question, ignoring your own.

“I’m trying to go home so I can get into something baggy and comfortable and hopefully sleep until the late afternoon,” you intoned. 

Hongjoong visually perked up. “Hopefully sleep?”

You sighed heavily. “I’m an insomniac.”

He smiled happily, for what reason, you hadn't a clue, until: “Me too.”

You offered your hand to him in a professional handshake. “Nice to meet you, fellow insomniac, now, can I please--?”

Hongjoong’s phone dinged and he pulled it from his pocket. “Car’s almost here.”

You winced. You looked up and down the street, which was almost ghosttown-like in its cold abandon. You had not flagged down a cab nor ordered an Uber like you had planned. Your feet hurt and your shoulders ached and you were still talking to this stranger--

“Wanna share a car?” Hongjoong tossed the half smoked cigarette to the ground and snubbed it with the toe of his shoes.

“I--” The no was begging to roll off your tongue but a shiver went through you. “You don’t even know where I’m going?!”

Hongjoong shrugged with one shoulder. “If you want--”

“No.” This time it was prudent that you stomp down on that thought.

Hongjoong smiled but it was a little sly. “I can offer you late night ramyun and a blackout room.”

You hummed in sarcasm. “Uh huh, and no strings attached too, I suppose.”

A car pulled up and Hongjoong opened the door. “The carriage is leaving, Cinderella.”

Curiosity was killing you now. What would his place look like? Ramyun sounded real good right now and you knew you would be up as soon as the sun rose because your bedroom barely kept the light out. If you could get one good night's sleep-- 

“Fuck it! Fine, let's go.”

Oddly enough, the night was as PG as an adult night could go. Hongjoong’s curious questions didn’t hold a sliver of maliciousness to them. He told you about his life as a trust fund kid with a passion for fashion and you told him about your ridiculous coworkers over the steam of spicy noodles. Once your stomach was full, Hongjoong showed you his guest room and offered you some of the softest pj’s you had ever had the pleasure of putting on your body. And you slept like the dead. 

When you woke up the next day, however, you were starting to feel a little stupid. Why the hell did you sleep in some stranger’s place without even the benefit of actually sleeping with said stranger???

You tiptoed across the polished hardwood floor and past the exposed brick walls, having made up the bed you had slept in and folded the pajamas. You really didn’t want to encounter the owner of said pajamas, fearful he would hold you down with more questions and not let you leave like last night. 

“How’d you sleep?”

You jumped a foot in the air and squealed. You turned around and your breath caught in your throat. Along with the husky voice, sleepy Hongjoong really cut a figure. His hair was mussed and he was currently trying to rearrange it to no avail. His tired smile was charming. He moved to the island where a French press was clearly waiting for him. 

“Uh, surprisingly well,” you offered.

“Surprisingly?” Hongjoong wondered.

You wobbled on your ankle, having toed on your heels. “Listen, Hongjoong…” Hongjoong gave you his full, undivided attention and it was a bit unnerving to be on the receiving end of it. You stuttered, faltering on your firm words. “A-about last ni-night.”

“You don’t owe me anything, if you’re worried.” Hongjoong gave that one-shoulder gallic shrug of his again. “I just wanted to help out a fellow insomniac.”

“Right,” you said lamely. 

Hongjoong sipped his coffee, peering over his mug at you with unreadable eyes. 

“So… I’ll see you around,” you tried again.

Hongjoong dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Downtown. Same time, same place?”

A ghost of a smile pulled at your lips. “If I know my job,” you huffed.

“Then it’s a date.”

Then it’s a date echoed in your head for a few weeks. How could a man be so clingy and yet let you go without any information? Why the hell did he let you sleep at his place? It was all so very weird.

And yet when you saw him after stumbling out of your office late at night once again, you couldn't help the flutter of butterflies in your stomach. You stomped them out immediately. He probably didn’t even remember you!

“Hey, Workaholic.” Hongjoong raised a hand to wave at you.

You let out some air. “Hey, Hongjoong.”

“Another late night with the boss again?” He teased you. 

You nodded studiously. “A blowjob a day keeps the hunger at bay.”

Hongjoong snorted. “Do you want to--?”

“Ah, Hongjoong, I don’t think--”

“What, the chance to sleep in my lavish pjs isn’t enough of an incentive?” 

You stomped your foot in frustration. “Don’t you think this is a little weird?” 

“Weird that I invited you to my place to let you get a little rest?” Hongjoong finished your thought.

“Yes!” You shouted triumphantly.

“No.”

You sighed. “Seriously, Hongjoong, it’s weird.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird,” Hongjoong persisted. “Oh look, the car is here.”

“I’m not going with you this time,” You said coolly and folded your arms over your chest.

“No?” Hongjoong lifted an eyebrow at you.

“No!” You insisted. 

“Okay,” Hongjoong did his one-shoulder shrug and moved to open the door to the SUV. “But just to let you know, I bought you slippers.”

“Slippers?” You screwed up your face in confusion.

“You’ll never know if you don’t come.”

So you found yourself in Hongjoong’s elaborate highrise place, still wondering what the fuck you were doing. “I have a whole bedtime kit for you, including some tea I find helpful and a playlist and--”

“Hongjoong, seriously, what the fuck?” You interrupted rather severely. 

Hongjoong looked slightly sad but hopeful. “I want to help.”

“Some random stranger who is also an insomniac?”

“Exactly.”

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that I'm a woman?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing at all.”

“Right.”

“You’d do this if I was a guy?”

“Yes.”

“You sleep with guys too, don’t you?” 

“Yup.”

You rubbed your temples, trying to understand with your sleep-deprived brain what this was. Hongjoong was a few steps away from you now. “Would it help if I actually slept with you?” He offered.

“Yes, actually, that would make a lot more sense,” you agreed without truly understanding what you said.

Hongjoong’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips curled at the tips and you felt those butterflies again. “No, that’s not what I meant! I just--”

“If I was fucking you, you wouldn’t be as confused,” Hongjoong supplied.

You scratched your neck awkwardly. “Yeah…”

“You know what also helps with sleeping?” Hongjoong persisted.

“A knock out punch?” You joked.

“An orgasm.”

Your heart skipped a beat this time. “Hongjoong, be serious.”

“I am serious.” Hongjoong had crept closer as you talked, an arm's length from you now. 

“I already told you, I don’t want you,” you insisted.

“You did.” Hongjoong's gaze said he didn't believe it.

“It is the older woman thing, isn't it?” You frowned.

“Nope, not an older woman thing.” Hongjoong caught his tongue between his teeth cutely.

“Hongjoong, please, help me understand why this is a thing?” You pleaded.

“Does it ever make sense, when two people are drawn to each other?” Hongjoong put two hands on your upper shoulders and pushed off your jacket. 

He had you there! 

“Let me help you sleep?” Hongjoong offered, genuine concern radiating off him.

“From one insomniac to another?” You said mirthlessly.

Hongjoong shook his head. “From someone who's wondering what you look like without bruises under your eyes.”

And thus your friends with benefits exchange began. Hongjoong honored your original situation and never asked for your number or contact information. If the two of you happened to stumble upon each other, him leaving the club and you from your office, you went home with him. It had an odd sense of intimacy with no strings. Hongjoong spoiled you rotten but then you never heard from him until the next fateful meeting. It still didn’t make sense to you but you were starting to assume that was how this was always going to go.

There were a few nights where you genuinely thanked Hongjoong but wondered if you couldn't sleep in the guest room by yourself. He’d shrug and agree, whatever was best for you, of course. But when you woke up with him kissing up the inside your thigh one particular night, you knew he had changed his mind.

“Please,” he murmured against your skin. “Please let me eat you up.”

“Ho-hongjoong!” You stuttered. 

His kisses didn’t stop, unbuttoning the silk pj top you slept in while you were over from the bottom up. He revealed your very normal underwear that absolutely had not matched your bra today. His nose dived into your cunt and he breathed in deeply. When he raised his head, you could tell he was still half drunk from the bar. 

“Please? Wanna eat you out,” he pouted generously. 

“You, sir, need to sleep this off,” you insisted.

“Let me take care of you,” Hongjoong whined.

You watched in wonder as Hongjoong hooked a finger around the elastic of your underwear and pulled them to the side. His eyes wandered over your exposed cunt and he pressed his lips inward. “I need this. Please?”

“Why?”

Hongjoong groaned and rolled his eyes. “Always with the why! Because I want to smell you, I want to taste you, I want to hear your deep breathing and know that you’re sleeping better because of me.”

You swallowed loudly, your throat tightening at his confession. “Okay, Hongjoong,” you allowed in a small voice. “Go ahead.”

Hongjoong used both his thumbs to hold open your labia so that he could go straight for your cunt. He moaned like he was feasting, as his lips and tongue sucked and nibbled on the flesh between your legs. Your hips practically lifted off the bed when his tongue slipped inside of you and his nose brushed your clit with his motions. Hongjoong simply wrapped his arms around your legs to anchor himself to you despite your movements.

“Oh god, Hongjoong,” you moaned, hand diving into his blue hair. 

Whimpers began to fall from your lips as you felt your insides coil with the orgasm he was coaxing from you. But it wasn’t until he sucked on your clit ruthlessly that you began to scream for him. The pleasure was unreal. Your climax hit you like a tidal wave, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you away.  

You could hear your heart in your ears and your own panting as Hongjoong hovered over you to check in on you. “Sleep well, my darling.” And that was the last thing you remembered before you indeed fell asleep. 

You weren’t quite sure when it had happened, but you were pretty sure Hongjoong was falling for you. And you couldn't help but care for him. This man had no right being as gentle or caring or understanding as he was, but still he funneled energy into you, the only way you would receive it anyways. Everything was on your terms but you were starting to feel like you weren’t in control anymore. 

You could see it in Hongjoong’s eyes; how he felt about you. The care was moving towards love. His smile had morphed, even, and it felt… how the hell were you going to be able to introduce him to anyone you knew? Or tell them the weird way you had met? Could you even form a relationship with a man ten years your junior?

The more you stewed on it, the more your mind was made up. There was no way this could work. And if Hongjoong couldn't keep his heart out of this, well, maybe it was time you cut him loose. 

You couldn't bear to sleep with him, and this time you had received a hurt puppy dog look at the statement, but Hongjoong respected your wishes. That way you didn’t feel even worse for what you were going to dump on him in the morning.

“Hongjoong,” you started, sitting at the kitchen island.

“Bagel? Had them flown in from New York. You know what they say about--”

“Hongjoong,” you said more firmly. 

“What, can’t I feed you too?” Hongjoong teased.

“I don’t think we should do this anymore,” you announced.

Hongjoong’s eyes flickered with worry but he pressed forward. “Eat bagels? We can always switch it up if need be.”

“No, Hongjoong, us. I don’t think we should meet anymore.”

Hongjoong frowned heavily at you. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re the most healthiest I’ve seen since I met you, in fact, I was just about to ask you to move in with--”

You laughed in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Hongjoong shook his head, still looking confused. “I’m really not.”

“Why would I move in with you?”

Hongjoong winced visibly like you had struck him. “Because I'm good for you.”

“So you think because you're a good lay that we should be together? Hongjoong, I don't even have your contact information!”

“That doesn't matter. Or can be fixed quickly. Why are you--? What's going on?” 

“You can't possibly think we could begin a life together? Based on a few months of sex and a good sleep? Hongjoong, come on. You're young but you're not THAT naive.”

“But we--I don't understand!” Hongjoong lamented. “Why are you doing this?”

“Being realistic? Hongjoong, this is what you have to do to live in this world.”

“No, why are you tearing down what we have? Making it lesser than it is. I know you feel--”

You squeezed your eyes tightly. “No, Hongjoong, I won't let you convince me into another fool plan. I can't afford to think like you! You have years to adjust and the money to support mistakes. I don’t!”

“What are you saying? That I was a mistake?” Hongjoong demanded.

“Yes.”

“No, I don't believe you for a damn minute,” Hongjoong denied. You could hear his slippers slide against the floor and his hands turn you around in the bar stool chair. “Look at me.”

When you refused to do so, Hongjoong pleaded. “Darling, open your eyes.” 

You pursed your lips stubbornly. “No.”

“And why's that?” Hongjoong persisted.

You felt weak. "Because if I open my eyes, I'll see your face,” you whispered.

“And what happens when you see my face?”

“I won't be able to say no to you.”

“Because?”

You opened your eyes. “Because I have feelings for you.”

Hongjoong giggled, then he pulled you off the bar stool chair and hugged you to his chest. He cradled your head against him and rubbed his cheek against the crown of your head. “I love you too.”

You had tears in your eyes but you refused to acknowledge them. “Can I have that bagel now?”

Hongjoong held you arm's length away, a sly grin pulling his features. “Only if I can fuck you on the island in celebration.”

“Hongjoong!” You squealed, slapping his chest.

“Is that a yes?”

taglist: @hijirikaww @starlitmark @stardragongalaxy @pyeonghongrie @k-pop-ology @mingsolo @flurrys-creativity

#pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #ateez smut #kim hongjoong smut #ateez angst #kim hongjoong angst #hongjoong smut #hongjoong angst #atz smut #atz angst #kim hongjoong x reader #topaz's work #recent #ღatz

[strawberryforks]

better than hemingway // damian wayne x ironrot!reader

summary: you and your boyfriend have WEIRD sleep schedules, your nemesis is a bird, you’re a thief, and this is part one of a new series.

warnings: swearing, blood, violence, criminal activity (idk man, you’re not a good guy)

a/n: reader and damian are 18/19. requests are open <3 feel free to spam

word count: 1174

it’s pitch black in the apartment–all of the lights are off, and you, making your footsteps featherlight have no intentions of turning any of them back on. your boyfriend, who you’re certain is an insomniac is up at all hours of the night and the lightest sleeper you’ve ever met. it’s because of this that you two don’t usually sleep in the same bed. you were friends and roommates before you were anything more so aside from the occasional sleepover and exchange of clothes (damian has less sweaters then he started with, tee shirts too as you love to sleep in them) not much has changed. your room is still decorated with posters, flooring comprised solely of dirty clothes, empty water bottles, pins and stuffed animals, and his is still perfectly organised. you’re opposites and it shows. but in every way it counts? it doesn’t matter a bit. you creep through the hallway with your pastel pink slippers on. they’re fluffy and don’t click against the ground. you step over the creaky floorboards, having memorised them, and make it to the living room. your eyes have adjusted to the dark, so you look around, and when nothing is amiss, nudge the door open.

the bellman has retired for the night, so it’s up to you to let yourself out. and you do. after ducking into an alleyway you put on your suit and fish your phone from your bag before stashing it behind the green bin. “hey dae. esti called and needed me. i’m sleeping over.”

then, you send a text to esti, “hey girl. if damian calls you tell him we’re together. thanks in advance xoxo.”

god only knows why she was awake at 2am, but your phone dings and there’s a response almost immediately. “and if he shows up like last time?”

“spam me and tell him i went to pick something up at our fav 24 hour gas station. i’ll book it there and boom. anyways wth are you awake???”

“was bingeing supernatural. sue me.” (you couldn’t blame her)

“well try to get some sleep sometime. I’ll stop by tomorrow. for real. want anything?”

“would love a new necklace. not too memorable tho.”

“i was thinking icecream but sure. ly.”

you pocket your phone, sticking it into the most secure pocket in your suit. after glancing at the green bin to confirm that nothing’s visible–not your bag or damian’s sweater. your hands find purchase in the crevices between bricks, molten iron helps to stick your fingertips to the wall you scale. then , on the rooftop, the wind picks up. the night air is chilly, perfect foreshadowing for the crime you’re about to commit. no, you’re not going to steal ice cream. that’s tomorrows problem, a cone is only $3, and the woman who runs the shack is the sweetest ever. it’s more tempting to gift her things than to take from her.

you run across the roofs until you reach your destination. then, you lower yourself down to the ground and make quick work of the doorknob. “someone hasn’t been robbed before,” you muse, pins slotting around easily, latch clicking open. shouldering through, a grin splits your face as you look around. everything is dusty and allergies are a bitch, “ACHOO!” your sneeze startles a cat, and the tortie stretches out and walks over to you, angling to be pet. the pet flops down and when it isn’t given the expected attention–hisses and walks away.

after stuffing a few watches, some costume jewellery, a wooden beaded necklace, some first edition books (damian’s birthday was coming up and they would make great gifts so long as no one made a huge deal about them being missing), a map (it looked cool) and just about everything behind the glass wall you broke with a few well places thumps of your fist. finishing up your haul, he arrived.

just in time because what was a night without your nemesis making his incredibly irritating presence known.

robin. fucking robin.

he’s your nemesis. nope, you couldn’t get batman so there’s a teenage boy, nearly as unhinged as you are, tailing you and constantly foiling your plans. (you’re a teenager too, but still, it’s embarrassing) even this heist he interrupts and you weren’t even doing any real damage. this excursion was more for fun than anything and he was here to ruin it. “how many times are we going to have to do this?”

“well, until you give up, obviously, bird boy. and you’re a persistent little shit, so forever, probably?”

“or until i send you to arkham.”

you snort, “good luck with that.”

he unsheathed his sword and lunged. you rolled to the slide, dodging his blade but–the sack slung over your shoulder split, stolen items spilling out. he wasn't trying to cut you–just your score. goddamnit, you could be dense sometimes. robin picked a book up, “you enjoy austen, do you?”

you scoff, eyes wide as you look at his other hand. the other items are all over the ground, some underfoot but he managed to save the books from being damaged. good, because you wanted them for your boyfriend. “better than hemingway,” you throw a ninja star, one you’ve forged yourself, and send it sailing his way. robin sets the books down behind a desk and you take note of their precise location, scooping a handful of discarded loot into your pocket. esti was going to love that necklace. you stuffed it down the front of your suit, sliding across the floor and ducking under another swipe of his sword. something pierced your suit and you winced–it wasn’t even robin, just a fucking splinter of something you’d broken earlier. springing back up, you crafted another ball of iron and threw it his way, the molten liquid glowing orange. when it landed on the wood floor and began to smolder, you had your distraction. you decided to come back for the books later and robin attempted to smother the growing flames. “you should get that checked out,” he said, slapping an old sued jacket over the glowing orange and red. you looked down at your thigh, at the piece of glass sticking out of it. it was larger than you’d thought. “and check myself into the hospital so you can find me? no thanks.”

“or pull it out and die. either works for me” he slams the jacket into the flames again, in an attempt to smother them. as it’s working, you decide to make your leave, sprinting through the door and down the street.

you stop by the alleyway, grab your belongings and actually head to esti’s. she’ll patch you up and you’ve got something to pay her with–the necklace.

#robin x reader #dc robin #dcu #batfam #robin #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n

[zukosdualdao]

i promise i'll do better (i will soften every edge)

zutara month, day 11: "mom and dad are fighting again", @zutaramonth

summary: kya interrupts an argument between katara and zuko.

warnings: reference to (implied) abuse/domestic violence, wrt to ozai's treatment of ursa.

other notes: lyrics from 'light' by sleeping at last. don't ask me how timelines work idk. yes there is a zutara daughter named kya here (separate entity from the lok kya.) she wears her hair in a southern water tribe braid and zuko calls her firecracker and it’s very cute. not really relevant but in this story i’m imagining she’s a nonbender.

“Katara, you know I agree with you.”

Across from him, she crosses her arms, and Zuko sighs. The throne room is empty, save for the two of them, and Zuko feels trapped, claustrophobic in the walls. They’ve made a point of opening up windows in the castle, letting light filter in, getting rid of old, haunting portraits, and making something new and beautiful together. 

But the throne room doesn’t have windows to open. On a day like today, at times like these, it’s all too easy to remember the staunchly severe figures both his grandfather and father made here, walling themselves as they did behind high, towering fires.

Maybe they shouldn’t be having this talk here. It's too late now, but something to note for the future.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“Of course I want to increase reparations soon,” he insists. “That’s the plan, and that’s always been the plan. But we have to be smart about this,” he tries to remind her. “We can’t do it all at once, or people will try to block—”

“Oh, so now you’re all about thinking things through! Those instincts could have served you well years ago, you know.”

Zuko closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. The words are biting, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Things have been tense again in the Fire Nation lately. Better than ever before in some ways. Worse in others.

The first years after the war were a turbulent time in the Fire Nation—riots from those not happy with the changing of the old guard, strikes from workers contesting the need to pay reparations to the other nations, whispers of loyalists to the old regime plotting to get either Ozai or Azula back on the throne. A few assassination attempts, all handled efficiently but reason enough for concern.

Ten years past the end of the war, though, and things have started to stabilize. The plan has always been to increase reparations once the Fire Nation’s economy has improved, and Zuko intends to keep his word. But part of the system he’s trying to build means that there are representatives from all over the Fire Nation, as well as the other nations, and they each have their own agendas. It’s a tricky thing to navigate; he has to take all of their concerns seriously, of course, but also act according to his own principles. To live up to the promises he made years ago, and that he’ll continue to make for years to come.

Katara looks at him with a combative raise of her eyebrow.

It’s taken a strain on their relationship. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, they’re both a little too good at lashing out, both a little too good at saying the thing that will hurt, even if they immediately regret it.

But usually, by the end of the day if not before, they can remember they’re on the same side, for all that their perspectives might differ.

“Can we pause?” Zuko asks of her, and her features soften. “Just—try to hear each other out? Katara, I understand…” but before he can finish, the large door to the throne room creaks, and Zuko watches as one of the serving maids guides their daughter into the room.

“See?” Kya points to them, eyes wide with alarm and lip quivering. “Mom and Dad are fighting again.”

Something in Zuko’s stomach drops. He doesn’t want her to worry about this. About them. He’d had to worry about his parents, to worry about his mother, Ozai looming over her, and sometimes Zuko was pretty sure he saw fear in her eyes where there should have been love, and then—

She’d been gone. And he’d drawn his own conclusions, quietly and with little reason to question them.

“She coudn’t sleep,” Hina says apologetically, and Zuko only waves a hand. “She was asking for you both.”

“Thank you for bringing her.”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry,” Katara says, walking over and lifting Kya up onto her hip. “Things are just tense right now,” she says, with a guilty sideways look to Zuko, who smiles weakly. “It’s not anything for you to worry about.”

“Promise?”

Zuko walks over to join the huddle and places a kiss atop her dark hair, which is twisted in a braid. “Promise, little firecracker. Mom and Dad are just trying to figure out the right way to handle something.” He meets Katara’s eyes and tries to impress the sincerity of his words on her. “But we will figure it out. We always do.”

Katara smiles at him and uses the hand not keeping Kya secure on her hip to touch the small of Zuko’s back in a gentle gesture. The three of them stand huddled together, and for the first time in… weeks, probably, Zuko feels his body relax, just a little.

He smiles back, a little exhausted but a lot relieved—to have Katara with him, there to both challenge and support him, to have Kya with them, creative and funny and quick as a whip as she is, and at only age four. He’s glad to have his family.

They are okay. Right now, they are okay. Whatever else may come.

#zutaramonth2024 #zutara month #zutaramonth #zutara #my fic #day 11: “mom and dad are fighting again” #trigger: abuse. #trigger: domestic violence. #jic. small references. #atla

[feverishly-kpop]

Ateez - Nauseous at Work Vignettes - 2/8 - Seonghwa

Seonghwa had been worried about Wooyoung when he put him to bed the night prior after the two of them had gone out drinking. They didn’t have schedules the following morning, but the thought of looking after a hungover dongsaeng the following morning was not necessarily how Seonghwa had hoped to spend his day off.

So it came as a surprise to him when he was shaken awake by Wooyoung, who was already dressed and looking completely well.

“Hyung, the photo shoot got moved up to today” Wooyoung said with some urgency. “There’s a huge storm coming tomorrow so they moved it up.”

Seonghwa nodded, his head aching as he did so. He glanced up at Wooyoung, who had easily downed twice as much soju than Seonghwa himself and had to be carried home on Seonghwa’s back.

Damn him.

“No hyung, please don’t close your eyes again. Hongjoong-hyung is all worked up trying to get everybody up and out within the next half hour” Wooyoung pleaded with him, shaking his shoulder again.

“Okay, okay I’m getting up” Seonghwa said, the volume of his own voice coming out far too loud despite being hardly above a whisper. Wooyoung seemed to notice Seonghwa wince as he sat up, offering him an understanding smile as he pulled out some clothes for his hyung.

“Are you feeling okay?” Seonghwa questioned, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to dull the pain settling behind them. Wooyoung nodded in response, stepping out for just a moment before returning with a few pain tablets and a bottle of water.

“I’m fine, hyung. Sorry I was so…messy…last night.” Guilt seeped into Wooyoung’s timid apology as he realized how unwell Seonghwa was feeling after he had spent the last hour of their night sitting with Wooyoung, rubbing his back and offering him sips of water after round of sick.

Seonghwa smiled in response as he swallowed his tablets. “It’s okay, Wooyoungie, I’m just glad you’re feeling better this morning. I’m sure I will be too once the meds kick in.”

*~*~*~*~*~

Seonghwa did not feel better once the meds kicked in. Hell, he wasn’t even sure that they had kicked in at all. He did his best to keep the discomfort he was feeling to himself, not wanting to add additional stress to what was already a very stressful day for Hongjoong. This was one of the more complicated shoots they’d done and the fact that it was so suddenly pushed forward had the captain on edge. He didn’t need Seonghwa’s hangover to further complicate things.

He could sense Wooyoung’s eyes on him throughout the shoot. Luckily it was not physically taxing in any way, but his outfit was heavy and uncomfortable, and much too tight around his waist with his stomach, making the nausea that was beginning to set in that much worse.

They had just about finished with group shots when the photographer announced that they’d do individual shots next and that Seonghwa would be first.

Seonghwa did his best. He really did.

The hot sun overhead did nothing to help his pounding head and looming nausea. He knew if he waited any longer, he’d have an embarrassing mess on his hands. After making the split second decision, he bowed quickly to the photographer, muttering something about the washroom, before he stumbled off the set.

Wooyoung noticed immediately and instantly dropped the snack bar he had been eating to race to Seonghwa’s side.

“Wooyoung-ah” he managed to gasp between heavy breaths. “I’m going to be sick.”

With that, Wooyoung pulled off the long jacket he had been wearing, using it as a makeshift curtain to give Seonghwa some privacy as he doubled over, immediately regretting every bit of food and drink he had consumed in the last 24 hours.

“This is so embarrassing” Seonghwa whined once he felt like he had finished for the time being. Wooyoung didn’t respond, more focused on finding some solitude and shade for his hyung.

“I’m sure they got plenty of good shots to use. You were just about done when…” Wooyoung’s voice faded off, not wanting to rehash any details unnecessarily.

Seonghwa nodded before adding weakly, “I’m just so nauseous still. But Woo, you don’t need to stay. I’ll just close my eyes for a little while to see if it’ll pass…”

Wooyoung signed, brushing Seonghwa’s hair from his face. “Hyung, you took care of me last night. Let me return the favor so we can call it even.”

#kpop sickfic #kpop fluff #sickfic #ateez fluff #ateez sickfic #seonghwa sickfic #seonghwa sick #seonghwa fluff

[minisugakoobies]

I Know | KSY

Pairing: Hoshi x GNReader (no agab)

Genre: fluff, established relationship, dancer!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: drunk hoshi, grumpy woozi, hoshi is absolutely whipped for reader, this is honestly just very soft and sweet!

Word Count: 816

Disclaimers: none, other than I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Even when he's passed-out drunk, Hoshi still manages to amaze you with his love.

Text Prompt: boyfriend texted me "my love I am intoxicated" and then five minutes later, his best friend sends me a photo of him, passed out, phone in hand, and zoomed in on one of my selfies - tweet from himbowithnofear

A/N: I'm back with another installment of my "texts from svt" series. At some point I'll make a masterlist, but for now, please enjoy this short lil' fic about my favorite affectionate drunk, Hoshi. Fun fact, I've actually had this one finished for a while, but couldn't resist posting Mingyu first!

Unbeta'd as usual. I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

“Please come get your man.”

Jihoon’s grumpy request is the first thing you hear when you answer your phone. 

“Hey, Jihoon, how are you?” you laugh, unsurprised by his opening plea. Ten minutes ago, you’d received the following message from your boyfriend:

LOML: my love, i am  intoxicatedd

And had been waiting to hear from Jihoon ever since. Though you were a little surprised that he was video calling you instead of just calling or texting.

“To be honest with you, I’m not great right now. And it’s all your boyfriend’s fault.” 

You can’t help but laugh loudly. Jihoon scowls. 

“Why are you upset with Soonyoung? I thought you guys were celebrating tonight.” 

“Because.” Jihoon flips the camera. There’s your man, all 178 cm of him, snoring his ass off in the corner booth. “He’s driving the other customers out of my bar.”

If you’re being honest, you’d been expecting this moment long before Jihoon called you. Soonyoung had gone out for drinks with several of his friends to celebrate one of them getting a new job, and you knew your lightweight boyfriend would feel compelled to try to keep up with those lushes as always. Not at their insistence, but out of his own desire. It was a point of pride for him. 

“Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” 

“Thank you. Please hurry.” Jihoon winces. “I know he calls himself a tiger, but he really snores like a damn bear.” 

You laugh again, about to disconnect, when Jihoon makes a sudden noise of delight. 

“Hold on,” he chuckles, and the screen zooms in on the phone still clutched in Soonyoung’s hand. “Do you see that?” 

It’s you looking back at you. From a photo, one that you recognize immediately as one of Soonyoung’s self-proclaimed favorites, from the weekend you’d spent at the beach last summer. It’s actually a wide shot of you standing in front of a gorgeous sunset, soft pink light dancing on your skin, and that knowledge makes you smile right now. Because it means that your drunk sap of a boyfriend zoomed in on your face, right before he passed out. Probably to dream about you. 

Soonyoung never did anything by halves. Not dancing. Not drinking. 

And definitely not loving you.  

“Come get your simp.” With a grin, Jihoon disconnects.

Tossing your phone into the front pocket of the oversized hoodie of Soonyoung’s that you’re wearing, you grab your keys and head for the door. 

It’s not a long drive to the bar. Inside, you make a beeline for the booth in the back, familiar with the space around you. It’s basically your second home, between being best friends with the owner, and dating (though he’d never admit it) his favorite patron. And, speak of the devil, there he is, the love of your life, head on the table, mouth open, rattling the glasses on the table with his powerful exhalations. 

Something else Soonyoung doesn’t do by halves - sleeping.

Jihoon nods at you from across the bar. All of Soonyoung’s other friends are nowhere to be found, likely having gone home once Jihoon reassured them you were on your way. 

Ignoring the common advice regarding sleeping tigers, you slide onto the bench and gently lay your hand on Soonyoung’s back to shake him awake. 

“Soonyoungieeeee, time to get up,” you trill sweetly into his ear, brushing his dark hair out of his face.

He cracks an eye open. “Baby?” he asks groggily. “Is it time to go to work?” 

“No, dingdong, it’s Saturday. And you’re at Jihoon’s, remember?” 

“Oh.” Soonyoung sits up, looks around. “Right. Oh!” His eyes get wide. “Baby! Those hyungs got me soooo drunk!” 

Laughing, you brush some chip crumbs off his cheek. “I know, ‘youngie.”

“Yeah.” Soonyoung’s eyes slip unfocused as he smiles. “Wait. You weren’t here and now you are.” He hiccups himself into a confused frown. “Why are you here?” 

“To take you home, dingdong.” Running your fingers through his hair again, you grin. 

Soonyoung looks at you and you swear you see his pupils turn into hearts. “You’re taking me home? With you? To your home?” 

You shake your head, gently tugging his beanie down over his ears. “How many shots did they make you take? Yes, you’re coming with me. To our apartment, where we both live.”

“We live together!” Soonyoung’s eyes disappear behind his cheeks as he grins. “You love me!” 

“Yes, I do,” you laugh, yanking on his arm to get him onto his feet. He wobbles slightly, so you duck under his arm, trying to steady him, but he interprets this in another way, cupping your face to pull you in for a slightly clumsy but rather passionate kiss. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers, nose bumping repeatedly into your cheek as you start to lead him towards the exit. 

“I know, ‘youngie,” you repeat with a soft smile. “I know.” 

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© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

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