#also isn’t winking with both eyes just blinking

[leaderwonim]

i’m just a teenage dirtbag baby ( like you. )

based on this edit !!

pairing. troublemaker!nishimura riki x goody-two-shoes!fem!reader

summary. nishimura riki was infamous for being handsome and also quite the character. he’d purposely throw papers everywhere, bump into people without a care, and ditch class like it was nothing. you were the complete opposite, but deep down, nishimura riki knew you were just like him

warnings. cursing, smoking, riki destroys someone’s private property 😭, riki is your typical teenage dirtbag, he also calls her sweets

“Hey.”

Nishimura Riki slides onto the seat right next to yours, blinking twice as much as he should be. You knew it was one of his teasing habits, meant to make you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“What do you want Nishimura?”

He puts his hand over his chest, pretending he’s wounded by your words. “Nishimura? We’re on last name basis sweets?”

“Shut up,” you say, pushing his face away with your index finger. “I have exams to study for.”

“Let me see.” He ignores your protests, flipping your textbook to his side as he eyes the papers. “Ew, mathematics? You’re a bigger nerd than I thought sweets.”

“Don’t call me sweets.” You say, sticking out your tongue in annoyance. “And get out of here.”

He lifts both hands in surrender, “alright, alright, I’ll leave sweets. Gotta meet Jungwon anyways.”

You thank whoever above was listening to your pleas of making Riki leave. Turning around to face the desk he was in, you realize he hadn’t pushed in his chair.

“Nishimura!” You groan out loud, pushing it in with your foot. This earns you a shush from the librarian, which only fuels your hatred towards the Japanese boy.

.♡.

“Y/N! Is that you?” There was Nishimura Riki’s annoying voice again, the one voice that you dread to hear everytime you entered school.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy other people?” You ask, face clearly unimpressed.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed.”

You glare at Jungwon’s unneeded input in the conversation, which makes him snicker and look away.

“You guys are ditching again?”

Riki and Jungwon shrug, making you roll your eyes. Of course the two were ditching, why did you even ask?

“We were gonna stop by the cigarette shop and get a pack or two.”

Jungwon elbows Riki, as if he wasn’t supposed to say that out loud.

“What? We can trust Y/N, isn’t that right sweets?”

“You still call her sweets?” Jungwon groans. “Gross dude. Let’s go.”

Jungwon starts walking, Riki closely following behind him. Just before they exit the school corridors, the boy throws you a wink, one that you roll your eyes at.

“You’ll love me one day sweets!” He shouts.

“In your dreams Nishimura!”

.♡.

It seemed like nothing was going your way. The next week had approached and even though it was barely Monday, your teachers decided it was a good idea to assign a bunch of exams on the same day.

With quivering hands, you tried not to get the tears that were currently coming out of your eyes onto your physics paper, which was marked with a 68.

How on earth did you get a 68? You were so sure you knew the formulas that were needed for the exam, but what was on the test looked completely different from what you expected.

You could barely find it in yourself to walk home, legs practically dragging across the concrete floor as you wipe your tears away with your windbreaker.

“Sweets?”

Although your normal self would snarl at the nickname and the voice it belonged to—you found yourself too tired and miserable to care at this point.

“Riki?”

You wipe your eyes again, vision clearing in enough to make out Riki leaning against one of the large trees a few meters away from the school.

“Hey, what’s wrong sweets?” He takes the cigarette that was currently dangling on his mouth out, squishing the head of it on the dirt floor beside him.

“Are you smoking again? That’s bad for you and you know it.”

“Geez sweets,” he laughs, finally standing up. “You looked like you just bawled your eyes out yet you still have enough energy to lecture me?”

“Shut up.”

“Ah, there she is again.”

Riki makes his way closer to you, head peering down to reach your level.

“Don’t cry.” He says softly, and it’s the first time you heard him in that tone. “Makes your eyes all red and scary.”

“Yah!”

He laughs when you hit him on the shoulder, sound that used to make you frown but you were weirdly enjoying it now.

“I’m kidding sweets!” He slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him. “You’re pretty, even when you have tear stains all over you.”

The two of you continue walking, you not too sure where Riki was even taking you.

“Where are we going?” You sniffle, looking around the area.

“This new arcade, cmon, I’ll drive us.”

The two of you are in front of his beaten down Toyota, although it looks pretty clean from the inside. You thought Riki’s car would be an absolute mess, but it seemed like he was a clean freak when you opened the door to the smell of vanilla and cinnamon.

“You actually clean your car?”

“I’m offended you thought I didn’t sweets!” He says, frowning. “Thankfully, I don’t hold grudges.”

He puts the key in, hands tapping against his leather seat. “Wanna tell me why you’re so sad?”

He places a hand on the head of your seat, body twisting back with one hand on the wheel to pull out of his parking spot. He looked incredibly handsome doing such a basic task that it almost made your ability to speak go away.

“I got a 68 on my physics test.” You say, shoulders defeated.

“No way.” He continues driving, eyes glancing back and forth from the road to you. “Mr. Yuji’s class right? Fucking hate him.”

“Yeah well, I do too.”

Riki takes a road that you’re unfamiliar with, and he suddenly stops the car in front of a house.

“What are you doing Riki?” You say, watching as he opens his trunk and leaves the car.

“Doing something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

He pulls out a bat, and your eyes widen when he smashes it against a mailbox, crushing it in completely.

“Holy shit!” You shriek, eyes widening as Riki throws back the bat into the trunk, closing it with a loud bang.

He runs back to the car, slamming the door behind him.

“And that’s for Y/N motherfucker!” He yells before driving off, his boyish laughter could be heard from a distance.

“You’re crazy.” You breathe out, body still in shock from what you witnessed. “Who’s mailbox was that?”

“Mr. Yuji’s.” He smirks, eyes still on the road. “Let’s just say—this isn’t the first time I’ve been to his residence.”

“Wow.” You rest your head against Riki’s cold windows, still taking in what just happened. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome sweets.” He smiles, teeth practically shinning like the movies. “Now how about that arcade I promised you earlier?”

.♡.

After hanging out with Riki at the arcade on Monday, you realized the boy wasn’t as bad as you thought.

He had won you a gigantic brown teddy bear, a cliché that you never thought would have happened to you after failing your physics exam.

He made you name it James The Third, and made you promise that it was your child and you had to take care of it while he was away.

“I heard you hung out with Nishimura this weekend!” You swore nothing could go past Byeol, who was currently geeking at the sudden news of you and Riki being so close.

“Shh, keep your voice down!”

Byeol wiggles her eyebrows, giggling at your stressed state. “You two are so cute! Opposites attract!”

You start to walk away from her, using the excuse that class has started. Sure Riki was handsome and weirdly—nice—you weren’t sure what your feelings about him were yet.

“Hi.”

You basically flinch out of your seat when you see him right next to you. He had a can of soy milk and a slice of chocolate cake with him.

“I brought you soy milk, hopefully you like it.”

You give him a small smile, not trusting your words enough to actually speak. Thankfully for you, the teacher entered right after, starting her lesson on trigonometry.

“Nishimura Riki, do you really have to eat in my class?” The teacher stops writing, placing her chalk on the board as she stares directly into Riki’s eyes.

He looks up from the bangs poking at his eyes, giving the teacher a stupid smile.

“Yes Mrs. Park, I’m very hungry.”

“Very well.” She wants to scowl at Riki, you could tell by her furrowed eyebrows. But she doesn’t, instead, picking up her chalk again to continue the lesson.

3 minutes don’t even past when Riki’s chewing gets incredibly loud and obnoxious, making you place a hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from bursting out laughing.

“Is the chocolate cake that good, Riki?” The teacher asks, trying not to completely snap at the boy.

“It’s sooo good.” Riki says, smiling fully with his teeth.

The class blurts out in laughter and hysteria, making Mrs. Park practically crush the chalk that was in her hand.

“That’s it! Go outside Nishimura Riki!”

He rolls his eyes, standing up from his seat. “Fine, but I was just eating cake.”

He looks over to you, who was currently giggling underneath your breath. He gives you a small smile, flicking your forehead softly before leaving the room, leaving you a blushing mess.

.♡.

“Pssst.”

You turn around, already knowing who was on the other side.

Of course Nishimura Riki was there.

“I’ve got two tickets to see Arctic Monkeys, come with me Friday night?”

You shake your head softly. “Oh I don’t know Riki, I have to study.”

“Don’t say that sweets,” he groans, head slumping into your shoulder. “Have some fun!”

“Shhh!” You look around, thankful the librarian wasn’t here to scold you guys. “Okay, okay, I’ll go. Just be quiet.”

“Yay!” He cheers, and it’s the happiest you’ve ever seen of the boy. “I’ll pick you up, okay? Friday night, 8pm exactly.”

“Okay Riki,” you say. “I’ll see you.”

Friday comes by in a flash, and you weren’t sure what to wear to the concert.

Despite it being your last year of being a teenager, you still haven’t attended one. So you were in a real struggle to pick what would be perfect.

You decided to go with a plain black top and cream colored cargos that hugged your waist, one without straps so your shoulders could be out. You were sure it’d get hot in the concert with all the people that would be attending.

“You look cute.” Riki says as he rows down the window. “Get in.”

The stadium is only 20 minutes away from your house, and you’re starting to get nervous when you realize how many people were attending.

“Hey,” Riki says, taking ahold of your hand when he notices it shaking. “It’ll be the most fun night of your life. I promise.”

And he was right. Although you were sure you weren’t going to enjoy it all that much, you found yourself singing and swaying along to the music.

The stadium was dim, making the music hit even ten times harder.

When I wanna be yours started playing, your vision was focused on the band whereas Riki’s eyes were focused on you.

“Hey!” You giggle, catching him staring at you. “Focus on the music dummy! You’re the one who bought the tickets.”

“Yeah yeah,” he says, smiling ear to ear. “The concert’s great and all but you’re even better.”

You don’t get to question his words before he crashes his lips onto yours with the lyrics wanna be yours blasting in the background.

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen texts #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x you #enhypen scenarios #enhypen ff #enhypen niki #niki x reader #niki x you #niki x y/n #nishimura riki x reader #nishimura riki #niki imagines #ni ki enhypen #ni ki x reader #ni ki fluff #ni ki #ni ki imagines #ni ki scenarios #ni ki x y/n

[satormi]

— JJK MEN WHEN YOU CAN’T SLEEP !

a/n: reupload from my old blog. jeehjajs i need them so badly.

NANAMI knows you’re not asleep. if there’s one thing you know most about nanami, it’s how light of a sleeper he is. that’s why, even though you’re struggling to fall asleep, you try not to twist and turn around the sheets, though that fails. it’s only when you hear him clear his throat (even though he did it on purpose just to let you know that he was awake), you decide to gently tap his shoulder. he responds immediately, shifting to his side so he can face you. “yes, baby? what’s up?” he asks, raspy voice and all. although it’s 2 am, you can perfectly make out nanami’s beautiful face with the help of the moon light, via the sheer curtains in the room. you find yourself getting lost in his beauty and it’s not until he gently grabs your hands and intertwines it with his that you finally get the courage, (or at least attempt to), speak to him about your restlessness. but he understands – he always does. “i’m not feeling that tired either,” he winks, “let me make us some tea and talk.” you want to tell him that you know he’s completely exhausted, but he’s already pushing the both of you out of bed and to the kitchen. you figured that he may not mind staying up for a bit more.

it’s not until you tap TOJI’s shoulder for the fifth time that he blinks and slowly comes to his senses. poor guy, he can hear your mumbles but he isn’t fully able to process what’s going on because of how drowsy he is. at this point, you’re staring at him with teary eyes and all toji can do is deadpan, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. “i told ya not to read the ending of that book this late y’know. if ya read it earlier, y’could’ve had more time to recover. ” he grunts. you sniff once and nod your head and all toji can do is roll his eyes as he brings you into a tight embrace. he can act irritated all he wants, but he finds it so entertaining that the book he recommended you to read really took this much of a toll on you. he read it on a business trip and thought you’d really enjoy it. boy was he wrong. “they didn’t end up being together, toji.” you wail, arms wrapping around his torso even tighter. “i know, baby. i know.” he sighs, planting a kiss on your forehead when you sniffle again. “toji, we can never break up. if i couldn’t handle the book’s break up, i won’t handle ours.” and he only chuckles, because honestly, why is this book putting thoughts like these in your head? it’s fiction, toji thinks, but then again, it’s you we’re talking about. “ya can’t get rid of me, ‘m in it for the long run, babe.”

if you can’t go to sleep, SATORU will definitely try to help or (for lack of better words) force you to go to sleep. when he feels you shuffling around, he’ll grunt before placing his body on top of yours, hugging you tightly before mumbling “sleep” in your hair. “i’ll try if you get off of me. you’re crushing me to death!” you say and he contemplates for a few seconds, but ultimately decides that you’re a really comfortable body pillow. from how he’s laying, he can feel your heart beating and your soft, steady breaths and it makes him wonder why he never thought of using you as a mattress before. “promise?” even though you nod your head, satoru can feel your smile on his collarbone which easily gives away that you’re not telling the truth. regardless, satoru still rolls off to the side and stares at the ceiling with you. “what’s bothering you,” he almost whispers, it’s soft and genuine and that alone is enough to make your heart throb at 2 am. it’s also really funny seeing his concerned look right now because he doesn’t know he’s overanalyzing the whole situation. you see, you didn’t eat dinner tonight. satoru ordered you takeout on his way home because he assumed you’d be hungry, but you weren’t, so you let him have yours.what you failed to realize though, is how hungry you’d be and now you’re facing the consequences. you finally sigh and turn your body so you’re face to face with him on the bed. “‘toru,” you bite back the laugh that wants to come out because of how serious satoru looks right now. you figured that you should tell him straight up to ease his mind of any possible negative thoughts he could be thinking. “i’m really hungry.” and gojo sighs, (you can’t tell if it’s of relief or disappointment so you choose the latter), and props his head up so his elbows are supporting him. “i am too.” “you ate your takeout and mine.” you mirror satoru’s actions, propping your elbow to get a better look at his face and he blinks at you twice. you can’t tell if he’s lying or not. “do you want food or not?” with that, you roll off the bed before stating, “i’ll get the car keys!”

#★⋆˚ signed by romi ! #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk oneshot #jjk smut #jujustu kaisen smut #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #anime smut #nanami headcanons #nanami hcs #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #toji smut #toji x reader #toji x you #nanami fluff #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro #toji fluff #jjk x you #toji headcanons #gojo headcanons

[littlenightma]

John Carver/Eric Newlon Relationship Headcanons

Author’s Note: I just finished Thanksgiving (2023) and have now adopted a new killer. Enjoy.

Warnings: Spoilers for the Thanksgiving (2023) movie

• He’s paranoid that you’ll leave him for someone else. Amanda was going to leave Bobby for him. What would stop you from doing the same? No amount of reassurance will ever ease the doubt. It won’t stop the glances he takes when you smile at a text that isn’t his or when he subtly pulls you back by your belt hoops when another man is closer than he likes. All you can really do is be there by his side no matter what.

• No matter what.

• Forbids you from Black Friday shopping unless you do it online and it must be delivered to the house. You don’t want to know what would happen if he ever came upon you in one of the stores. With so much commotion happening, no one would blink an eye in your direction if he dragged you out the store by your shirt collar and pushed you into the back of his police cruiser.

• He’s also possessive, but he’s never too aggressive with you. He won’t raise his voice unless he needs to (like finding out you disobeyed his order to stay in the house on Black Friday). Won’t ask you to not hang with your friends or get upset when you wear revealing clothing, but expect to be ambushed when you come home. He’s not going to keep his hands off you. You smell too much like other people, like the outside world, when you need to smell like him.

• Pouts. A lot. Like I said, he doesn’t voice his disapproval often. He doesn’t want to dampen your happiness with his sour mood, but it isn’t hard to tell when something is bothering him when he suddenly becomes withdrawn. You’re going to have to pester him until he finally says what’s on his mind and appreciates when you try to find a middle ground for him. He adores your considerate nature so very much.

• Would give up his life for you in a heartbeat. He protects people everyday. It was his job to do so. What is expected of him. But for you? He’d bring the whole world to its knees if it meant keeping you safe. You’ve resurrected the light he thought he’s lost, banished the darkness and hatred he’s held for months. There was an extra umph to his step when he left for work and a new sparkle in his eye when he kissed you before leaving bed to make breakfast.

• He dares anyone to come and disrupt this newfound peace.

• Loves when you stop by the station to drop off a surprise lunch. Loves it even more if you’re both able to enjoy each other’s company while you eat. All the guys say he’s lucky to have someone like you. He couldn’t be any luckier. Couldn’t be more thankful.

• When the time comes when the leaves change color and the air becomes cooler, you carefully bring up Thanksgiving dinner and what you plan to cook. He leans into his hand, smiling softly toward your attentiveness to his reaction and says it sounds wonderful.

• And when you bring up where you would do with any extra food, he chuckles and slyly winks at you, “Don’t worry, baby. There won’t be any leftovers for us to deal with once I’m through.”

#slasher community #thanksgiving (2023) #thanksgiving movie (2023) #thanksgiving movie #eric newlon x reader #eric newlon #john carver #patrick dempsey

[bigdumbbambieyes]

part 2 of this like a year later

The three of them settle into a booth, Steve sitting across from his boyfriend and watching with a small smirk at how the two siblings fight — Max demanding elbow room by shoving her elbows across the width of the table while Billy shoves at her to move over, the two of them glaring at each other.

Steve doesn’t understand it; the dynamics of siblinghood are foreign, almost alien, to him but he still takes enjoyment in having a front-row seat.

Once their food arrives, Steve sits quietly and eats, chewing on a couple fries as he watches Billy watch Max — his boyfriend’s blue eyes focused on the girl’s burger and fries.

“You’re not gonna eat all of that,” Billy mutters as he takes a sip of his Coke, quirking a brow when Max turns her pinched face to him.

“Yes, I am!” She argues, stuffing a few more fries into her mouth, as if to prove it.

It’s kind of funny, the way Billy lays claim to Max’s food and how that claim makes Max burn with anger and spite.

Maybe dumbly, he asks, “Why don’t you two share?”

They pause mid-chew and stare at Steve like he’s grown a second head before looking at each other and laughing.

“Fuck sharing,” Billy hums as he picks up his burger, “I know the shitbird isn’t gonna finish her food — she never does.”

“Well, I’m gonna now, since you said I won’t,” Max argues again with a little drawl, also picking up her burger, copying her brother as they each take a bite.

Steve can’t help but wonder, “Is there anything you two share?”

“A house,” the siblings answer in unison.

Figures.

“Listen, princess, you’re an only child — just like we were, before we were forced to live together. You try getting a sibling after all this time and tell me just how much you like to share.”

Steve blinks and says, “I’ve always wanted a sibling, though.”

“Then you can have her,” Billy smirks and motions to Max with a tilt of his head.

The redhead frowns at them both, “What makes either of you think I want a brother?”

“You’re telling me you’d rather have a sister?” Billy asks her with a hint of disbelief, quirking a brow, “A sister wouldn’t beat Jacob in ninth grade’s ass for you, now would she?”

“Maybe she would,” Max pouts as she pulls the tomato out of her burger and drops it onto the paper lining her basket, “You don’t know.”

“I know enough,” Billy argues, looking at Steve across the table as he takes another sip.

Steve gives him a smile before furrowing his brows a little, asking quietly, “Did you really beat up that little kid?”

Billy winks at him as he sets his cup down, saying nothing, so Steve rolls his eyes. Of course.

“Here,” Max huffs in defeat a few minutes later, sliding her unfinished food over to a still-hungry Billy, who smiles in triumph.

“Knew it,” Billy chuckles as Max punches his arm and crosses her arms over her chest in annoyance.

Later, when he’s cuddling his boyfriend in his bed, Billy admits with a murmur that he didn’t actually beat up that Jacob kid, he only threatened him. Told him to stay away from his sister.

Because no one bothers Max except him.

And in that moment, Steve understands siblinghood a little bit better.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #max mayfield #hargrove mayfield siblings #steve’s slowly starting to get it #bambiwrites

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

On the 15th, as promised! Ngl, I definitely almost forgot this. I have SO many feelings about this one, y’all check the tags if you want my ramblings. Buckle up. Also, happy stabbing Caesar day.

Part 1 | . . . | Part 64 | Part 65 | Part 66

Steve works his jaw, staring at Will. “Yeah,” he whispers. Will looks down. “Hey,” Steve says gently. “That’s not on you, okay? And Jonathan’s a really great guy. He and Nancy both had a lapse in judgement. They got together a while later and they were better for each other than she and I ever were.”

“But they hurt you.”

Steve chuckles. “In the moment, sure. But I’m fine now, I’ve moved on. It surprised me just now because I didn’t expect her to react like that. I know that’s not who she is as a person, and I’m sure as soon as Joyce talks to her about it and she’s had some time to think about it, she’ll come apologize. But none of that is on you, okay?”

Will shrugs, playing with the hem of his pants.

Steve glances at Eddie, who winks and plops down cross-legged next to Will, nudging their shoulders together. “My dad’s in jail.” Will looks up at him, surprised. Eddie shrugs. “I’ve had time to process, but it took me a while to realize he just isn’t a good person. Now, my momma was an angel among women, she just had a disease. It didn’t make her a bad person. But they’re my parents, so that must mean I’m a bad person with a disease, right?”

“No!” Will says emphatically. “Just because they-” he pauses, mouth a perfect circle, before flushing and ducking his head, smiling a little. “Okay. I get it.”

“Good kid,” Eddie says fondly, ruffling his hair. “Now, back to the planning?”

“Probably,” Steve nodded. “First things first, who wants out?”

“Papa hurt El?” Mike asks. Steve nods. “Then let’s kill this fucker.”

“Language,” say all the adults, and Mike rolls his eyes.

“I’m in,” Will adds.

“Me too,” Dustin says, and Lucas nods.

Steve looks around, and all the adults present nod at him. Robin squeezes his hand, and Alli pulls him closer to her by his shoulders. “Alright, little brother,” she says. He elbows her. “What’s the plan?”

Steve sighs and looks to El. “What do you think, Ellie?”

“Everyone else is dead,” she murmurs. “But if I go into the rainbow room, I will see them.”

Steve’s heart breaks. “You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.”

She smiles sadly at him. “You cannot promise me that, Steve.”

He meets Robin’s eyes above El’s head, watches her heart break. “Watch me.” He looks back to El. “I know what he put you through, El.”

“He loves me.”

Steve takes a breath, shuts his eyes for a moment. “Remember what I told you, last time you said that?”

El nods. “You thought the same thing about your parents.”

“Exactly. It took me a long time to learn, but they don’t love me. And there’s nothing I can do to change that. Even if I was perfect, that wouldn’t be enough for them. Does that make sense?”

She nods. “You love me differently from how Papa loves me.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “Which do you like better?”

“Yours.”

“Do you know why?”

She thinks about it for a minute. “You love me because you see Ellie. He loves me because he sees Eleven.”

Next to him, Alli makes a broken sound. Steve reaches back to hold her hand. “Yeah, Ellie. That’s exactly right.”

“I do not want to only be Eleven anymore,” she decides. “I want to be Ellie.”

“And that’s why I’ll do all of it myself if I have to,” Steve tells her. “So you can be Ellie. You don’t have to go in the rainbow room, okay?”

“Okay,” she nods, wiggling around until she can bury her face in his neck and whisper, “I trust you.”

He blinks quickly. “I’m glad,” he whispers back.

“Ellie,” Wayne says, voice not much steadier than Steve’s. She shifts to look at him from where she’s tucked into Steve. “We all want you t’be just Ellie if you want it. We’re all gonna be right there with you.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I won’t be strong enough. If I see Papa.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Hopper says, checking his gun. She shifts to look at him. “He’s not going to hurt you again.”

She frowns and buries her face back in Steve’s neck. “I’m happy,” she murmurs. “But I’m also very sad.”

Steve sighs and hugs her tightly. “I know how you feel.”

“I don’t like feeling this way.”

“I know, El. I don’t think there’s really any way to get rid of the feeling, though.”

“Just life,” Alli says quietly, scooting closer and laying a comforting hand on El’s upper arm. “I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true.”

El looks up at Alli. “Okay. What’s a cliché?”

Alli meets Steve’s eyes, a smile starting to spread, and Steve thinks everything’s going to be okay.

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#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #Allison Harrington #el hopper #will Byers #ok SO. Will. he’s defensive of Steve not Jon bc Steve helped save him from the UD #this is very near and dear to my heart #also EL #WANTING TO BE ELLIE #NOT ELEVEN #YALL I CRIED WRITING THIS #I BROKE MY HEART EDITING IT #this is the singular best character study I have EVER done #I am. SO in love with her jfc #If Steve had a mean bone in his body THIS would be his villain origin story #fix it #fix it fic #time travel #time travel fic #time travel fix it #time travel fix it fic #starambles

[karlwriting]

How Nanami Kento shows you his love

featuring - Nanami

Warning - SFW + NSFW

re-blogs and likes are appreciated :)

Art created by @yuannaoi

SFW

Nanami is the kind of man who observes you in detail. He can already tell what you like to eat during a company dinner. But be reminded that he is only interested to observe you, he doesn’t really care about the other colleagues. Your frowns, the blinks in your eyes after eating something delicious - Nanami captures them all. Behind his intense gaze, his mind is already contemplating which restaurants he should take you for dinner.

‘The mochi of this restaurant is really nice’ you feel surprised at the softness of the strawberry flavour mochi, at the same time feeling sad that it’s already the last piece on the table.

“Can we have 2 more servings of the strawberry mochi please?” Nanami waves at the waiter.

‘My man is the best.’ You wink at Nanami.

“I didn’t know Nanami san loves sweets?” A few colleagues are surprised at Nanami’s order cuz usually he avoids sweets at the office.

“I just happened to wanna try something sweet.” His gaze falls on you when he finishes the sentence. He won’t say that the reason of the order is that he saw your cute reaction after eating the mochi - your lifted eyebrows due to the deliciousness, and how you sigh at the empty plates.

Nanami cares about your health over everything, both mentally and physically. Before dating, he saw you always came to work starving and having stomachache, which worried him for a couple of days. He even did some research at home about indigestion and gastric problems that worried him even more. But at the end he got to know that your stomach problem is simply caused by skipping breakfast.

“Good morning everyone” you come to work as usual, but there’s one thing unusual this morning- a strawberry cream filled bread and a box of strawberry milk are placed neatly on your desk. Did someone accidentally put them here? But it happens to be your favourite flavour.

“Y/n, come into my office after you finish the bread and the milk.” Nanami walks back to his office after saying this.

‘Did i do something wrong? I remember i drafted the contract perfectly yesterday?!’ You almost panic cuz he is known to be a perfectionist in the company, but you still manage to finish the breakfast happily then go in to find the perfectionist.

Nanami is standing near the couch, patiently waiting for you to come in. He guides you to sit on the sofa. As you sit obediently, expecting him to point out your mistakes, he says something other than work.

“Do you like them? I mean the bread and the milk.”

“Heh?… yes, the sweetness of the bread is just perfect, and the milk is fresh.”

“Hmm, Great, then i will get you these every morning. Don’t skip breakfast ever again.” You are surprised to see Nanami ‘the cold guy’ chuckles at your response, also stunned by his handsome face.

“Why do you treat me this good?” You ask with blushed cheeks, heart beating with anticipation.

“Isn’t it obvious? ” He sits down beside you, your thighs almost touching each other. He continues saying without moving his eyes from you -“What kind of man buys breakfast for a girl he doesn’t like?”

Nanami becomes a more easygoing person especially when he is with you. He is known to be the most serious, stoic, and rational human being in the company. Most of the colleagues respect him but fear him at the same time, cuz he can be super straightforward to point out their mistakes. But you, your existence melts him down and change his temperature from -10 °C to 36.5 °C. Even hotter on bed that you are the one getting melted.

“Look, It’s Nanami san! I wonder who he is texting now.” the girls from other department gather at the lobby just to see Nanami. And you, as known as his girlfriend, is the one he is texting.

‘Me!! Your crush is texting me!!’ You really want to shout it out loud. Having a popular man as your boyfriend is kinda hard, especially when he is your superior who works in the same department.

“Wait, did i just see him giggling? Omg he is so cute i have never seen him giggle! He is too cold to me! I thought his facial muscles are paralysed” One of the girls complains and you heard it all.

“You are so cold” You sent it to Nanami just to tease him.

“Angel? Did i do something? I’ll never be cold to you hm?”Nanami suddenly gets all alert, thinking what he did to upset you.

“I am just kidding” the jealousy fades seeing him being so nervous over your joke. But suddenly he walks out from his office.

“Y/n, come into my office. RIGHT NOW.”

‘…shit, i screwed up.’

Nanami can never sleep without you. He was suffering from insomnia due to stress before dating you. But at the first night of you staying over at his place, he slept for a total of 8 hours til 9am. You still remember how he woke up surprised, staring at the clock, then started kissing you til you were both out of breath like he had found a treasure.

“I am back from my trip baby! I got you many souvenirs.” You went abroad for a business trip for 4 days. To compensate, you bought few bottles of fancy alcohol for Nanami.

“Thank god you are finally back, i am gonna go crazy all alone here.” Nanami quickly walked towards you, squeezing you in a tight hug. You finally got to smell his woody scent.

“Did your insomnia come back?” You notice his dark circles.

“Not anymore when you are here. Lord i miss your scent so much. I might really go crazy if your trip lasted a little more longer. Do u want me to cook something for you?” Nanami places his head on the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Yes please, can i have some dumplings? Wait.. it tickles!”

“Hm sure just let me smell you for a few more seconds, i need to feel your existence right now, you have been gone for to long.” The hug grows tighter than ever like you would be gone if he let go.

NSFW

He loves having sex with you in his office, this shameless man rails you hard even there are colleagues outside his room. He will intentionally lead you to the door, so you can’t moan loudly or else your colleagues will know that you are being thrusted relentlessly by their superior. All you can do is to whine in pleasure.

“You like that? Your walls are clenching so much like you don’t want me to go hm?” You are in Nanami’s office, upper body leaning against the door, sweet juices drippng with every thrust from behind.

“Mm… they are gonna hear it… go back to the couch…ah!” Your man didn’t take your advice in his consideration. Instead, he grabs both of your hands from behind, increasing the speed of pounding, not sparing an inch.

“Watching my subordinate getting so messed up over my cock, i am such a bad superior. Argh..Lets cum together baby? Hm? Gosh… you feel amazing.”

You both cum as he leans to hug you tight. He covers your mouth with his left palm cuz he knows you moan uncontrollably when you cum. His cock is still buried inside to savour the clenches.

‘How can i continue to work when i am already so fucked out?’ this is the only question on your mind cuz it’s still 10am.

Nanami gets aroused instantly when he sees you wearing black stockings, especially the thin ones that show your original skin tone. If you wear that to work, expect to feel his intense gaze and be invited to his office.

You notice there is an obvious tent formed on Nanami’s crotch, his gaze never leaves you since you step into the office. You smirk slightly at him, teasing at how needy he is.

“Y/n, there is a mistake you just made in the documents. Come into my office, i will teach you how to correct them.” You took the documents in to his office, then close the door.

“Ah! It’s too deep… hm…” Nanami kisses you messily to stop you from talking, hips keep ramming into your wet pussy. You are put on his desk on back, your thighs are being pushed against your shoulders.

“You look too hot in these stockings, ah…do you know that other men are staring at you as well? You are mine, forever.” Nanami stops moving gradually, slowly removing your stockings. When he is done with removing, he rams his cock back straight into your pussy.

After the intense sex that morning, your colleagues notice that your stockings are gone. You simply told them some kind of animal destroyed it.

#nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami #nanami x you #nanami fluff #nanami imagine #nanami smut #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen nanami

[5ugarand5pice]

Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve

(can we pretend it says silverstone instead of melbourne thank you)

Part 1: Dear Reader  | Part 2: Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve | Part 3: coming soon

pairing: driver! reader x f1 grid

inspired by: Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve by Taylor Swift (ik the song is unrelated but if anyone wants to cry over the possible Taylor and Joe split, my dms are open)

a/n: a couple months late but you asked and now you shall receive! thank you so much for all the love for Dear Reader, it means the world to me 🥹🤍 super sorry for going ghost (went thru a breakup, cried over a 🤢boy🤢 and tried to get my shit together) but i’m all good now and better than ever! definitely in my reputation era which means y/n will be too... soon. anyways, hope you like this and sending everyone hugs esp after the shitshow that was the aus gp (justice for carlos!!)

warning/s: a bit sad??? longer than i expected it would be but yes

If you would've blinked then I would've Looked away at the first glance If you tasted poison, you could've Spit me out at the first chance And if I was some paint, did it splatter On a promising grown man? And if I was a child, did it matter If you got to wash your hands?

The rest of your time in Monaco was spent coordinating with your team on possible moves forward in F1. Come Tuesday morning, you and Abi were on the way to your home country, a half-assed plan and bundle of nerves in your hands.

“It’ll be alright. You’ve got a kickass mom who’ll drag Christian’s ass to court and back if she has to and you also have me. You know I got your back— even if it means breaking a law or two.” Abi says, squeezing your hand twice as you make your way to your family home.

“For legal reasons, that was a joke.” you chuckle.

“Please, I’ll even help you bury the body.” your mom replies, giving you a small wink from the driver's seat.

You shake your head as you smile, the familiarity of the scenery as well as the playful conversations with your mom and Abi bring you a sense of comfort you had missed. It’s good to be home.

When your mom had pulled up to the driveway, your grandparents were already waiting by the door, a small banner written “welcome back home girls!” in your Nana’s penmanship.

“I missed you guys so much.” you almost cry out as you reach in for a hug.

“Our little racer isn’t so little anymore.” Nana coos.

“We watched your race in Austria, sweetheart. Almost forgot how much of a softie you actually are when I saw you drive.” Papa teases.

“Don’t tell outsiders that she’s a softie, we have a reputation to uphold over here.” Abi pipes, tone going high as she struggles with her bag.

“As if everyone doesn’t know that she’s a softie.” Nana says as she rolls her eyes affectionately.

You all chuckle as you finally make your way inside, Nana noting that she would have supper set up at 6pm.

The rest of the afternoon was spent settling in your respective rooms. Wandering around as you take in your surroundings, a picture frame on your dresser catches your attention.

The 2017 British Grand Prix.

Oh, God. If only you knew.

Oh, oh All I used to do was pray Would've, could've, should've If you'd never looked my way

You placed third at the Formula 2 British Grand Prix. Ahead of you was Charles Leclerc and your teammate, Norman Nato, respectively.

“You know, if he weren’t so cute, I would definitely be screaming at him for overtaking you like that.” Abi mutters as she hands you a towel.

“Please, we both know you’d probably use that as an excuse to make a move.” you playfully scoff as you wipe your face.

“I would,” she shrugs, “but I’m rooting for your enemies to lovers love story”.

“Oh, Abi.” you sigh, “Where did you get that idea?”

“Please, you’ve seen the way he looks when you pass by.” she giggles as she mocks what you assume were lovestruck eyes.

“Quit it. He doesn’t like me like that. He just” you pause, “has that charm.”

“Sure,” she grins, “but when you guys end up together, I’ll be mentioning this moment in my Maid of Honor speech.”

Before you can protest, Kenny Kirwan, your team manager, clears his throat behind you.

“Y/n, Abi, I’d like to introduce you to Christian Horner, the team principal of Red Bull Racing.” he tilts his head to his right.

“Christian, This is Y/n, this is our driver I’ve been telling you about. We’re lucky to have her in our team.” he continues, his smile faltering as you remain stoic.

“Hi. I’m Abi. Her social media manager and best friend.” Abi speaks up, breaking the awkward silence. She extends her hand, eyes darting between the two of you.

“Nice to meet you.” he grins, shaking her hand. “Congrats on second, by the way. I’m so proud of you.” he looks at you, engulfing you in what you suspect was one of those weird man clap hugs.

“Oh! Uh, thank you.” you smile, immediately pulling away. “I didn’t think you would watch my races.”

“I try to. You’ve been progressing well.”  he comments.

“Planning to win the championship, so, you know, gotta get those points.” you reply, shifting your weight between your legs.

“You can do it. You are your father’s daughter after all.” he smirks.

“Uhuh.” you wince.

Kenny does his best to ease the tension, raving about how he discovered your talent and how much potential you have to further in Formula 1.

“Well, it’s been lovely catching up with you but we really have to go. We promised Lorelei we’d be home before late to celebrate.” Abi interrupts.

“Oh! Of course.” he smiles awkwardly. “Um, before you go, maybe you’d want to go to the race tomorrow? I’d love to have you as my guest.”

“Sure. I’d like that. Abi’s my plus one.” you reply. “If that’s okay.” you quickly add, to which he smiles.

“Of course. Well, I’ll go ahead. Gotta get ready for FP3 and quali. You still have the same number?” Christian asks.

All you do is nod as he walks away, a dumbfounded Kenny following suit.

“Wait ‘til your mom hears about this.” Abi breaks you out of your trance, yanking your arm to lead you to your room.

I would've stayed on my knees And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil At nineteen And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts Memories feel like weapons And now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering

As it turns out, Formula 1 had a completely different vibe from Formula 2; the screams were louder, the air was hotter and everyone seemed more tense. However, no one was as tense as you.

“I don’t know Abi.” you sigh, your hands gripping the wheel. “What if it’s worse than yesterday?” you turn to look at her.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” she asks, eyes trained on the mirror as she applies yet another layer of lip gloss.

“His wife can hate me. I get run over. I run over someone. I make a fool out of myself in the paddock. I unintentionally ruin my chances of ever becoming a Formula 1 driver which will then stop me from achieving my dream of becoming a Formula 1 World Champion.” your grip tightening as you ramble on.

Abi glances at your hands, sensing that you were about to slip into one of your spirals. She immediately grabs a hold of those and squeezes twice. Breathe In.

“She’ll love you. You won’t be on the track. You won’t be driving. You can always apologize and flash your adorable smile. I won’t let you ruin your chances. You will become a formula 1 driver. You will become world champion. It’s going to be fun, trust me” her hands squeezing yours twice again. Breathe Out.

“Fuck it. Okay. Let’s do this.” you mutter, quickly closing your windows and stepping out of your car.

The two of you pass through the gates, feeling a bit out of place and out of your element as a guest. Christian gave the two of you a tour of the Red Bull hospitality, introducing you to the crew while at it. Although they all seemed nice, your stomach churned every time surprise would flash their face when Christian introduced you as his daughter.

When time was nearing the race, he excused himself to look for his drivers. Abi left as well, muttering something about finding the ladies’ room. That left you standing alone in a corner of the garage, too shy to add on to the hustle and bustle of the race day.

“You look lonely, want some company?” you hear a voice to your right.

“Oh! Um, sure. If you want.” you reply, flustered.

“Okay.” he heartily laughs, “So, are you here for a sponsor or something?” he asks.

“A personal guest? I think.” you chuckle, “It’s complicated.”

“Well, complicated, nice to meet you. I’m Daniel.” he grins, offering you his hand to shake.

“I actually know who you are.” you smile back as you shake his hand, “Not that I stalk you or anything! I’ve watched a few of your races.”

“I’m a driver too. Well, currently in Formula 2.”  you continue, embarrassment tinging your cheeks, “Y/n y/l/n”.

“Oh no, more young drivers!” he dramatically gasps, “Another reminder that I’m aging.”

“You don’t look a day over 70!” you joke, face immediately paling when you realize what you just said. “Oh God! I’m so-”, your apology cut off by Daniel's laughter.

“Oh, I like you. You’re funny.” he breathily sighs. “We can be friends now.”

“So sense of humor is part of your friendship checklist?” you tease, mentally thanking whichever angel God sent you. “Sadly you didn’t tick that box on mine.”

“Okay,” he pouts his lips. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” you roll your eyes.

“Chickens.”

“Chickens who?”

“Enkkk.” he voices out, mimicking a buzzer. “Owls hoot, chickens cluck.”

You purse your lips. “A for effort. We should be friends so we can work on your sense of humor, grandpa.”

Daniel scoffs and places his hands on his chest, feigning hurt.

“Daniel!” someone hollers. “Mate, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Damn it.” Daniel chuckles. “I really thought I was gonna win at hide and seek this week.”

“Christian says we have to go over some notes before the race” he goes on, clueless to your presence.

“Well, it seems I have to bid you adieu.” Daniel turns to you, bowing to add to your amusement. “Till next time, mademoiselle.”

Daniel leaves, heading to what you guess is their meeting room. The stranger follows him, sending you a sheepish smile, presumably his form of apology for interrupting your conversation. You wave him off with a smile, shouting a quick “Good luck!” as they pass.

If you never touched me, I would've Gone along with the righteous If I never blushed, then they could've Never whispered about this And if you never saved me from boredom I could've gone on as I was But, Lord, you made me feel important And then you tried to erase us

Despite both of the Red Bulls not being able to set foot on the podium, the garage still celebrated points; P4 for Daniel and P5 for his teammate, Max. Daniel, being Mister Congeniality, insisted (quite ruthlessly) that you come to the afterparty. This is how you and Abi ended up back in your room, flipping out over outfit options.

“I think we need to find you the perfect ensemble that screams I’m classy but I can be a slut if I want to.” Abi shouts from inside your closet, another batch of dresses being thrown towards the growing pile on the floor.

“I can’t look like a slut, Abi. My father might be there.” You mutter, setting up your makeup at the vanity.

As much as it bothered you, you knew better than to try to clean while Abi rummaged through your clothes. She once gave you an earful, going on about how messy people are creative geniuses. Thus, the artist shall not be disturbed.

“We’re trying to attract a driver and a driver’s seat, not your father. ” she gags, head peeking out of the closet. “Have you seen the way that Max guy looked at you?”.

“No, because I’m not looking at him.” you turn away. “Besides, I thought you were rooting for a certain Monegasque.”

“I am, but it's rude to disregard other contenders.” she shrugs, passing you a little black dress. “I think this is it. Max will definitely keep his eyes on you tonight.”

Just as always, Abi was right. When you had finally arrived at the pub, Max immediately spotted you, nudging Daniel towards your direction.

“Glad you can make it, mademoiselle.” Daniel greets you, reenacting his bow from earlier that day.

“Good evening, Sire.” you curtsy in response.

“May I escort thee to thy party chambers?” he continues his act, mimicking a posh accent you’ve mostly heard in period dramas.  

“I’d be most delighted, o good Sir.” you nod, locking arms with him and Abi with the other. “I’d like to introduce my companion. Sir Daniel, meet Lady Abigail.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Abigail.” he waves with his free hand.

“You guys are crazy.” Abi snorts. “But likewise, Sir Daniel.”

He leads the two of you to a booth, excusing himself to get the two of you a drink. Max was still seated at the same spot, nursing a half empty bottle of beer.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your conversation with Daniel before the race and for not introducing myself then.” he sheepishly smiles at you. “I’m Max.”

“Y/n, and no worries about that. It was a busy time.” you smile back. “This is my friend by the way, Abi.”

“Congrats on P5.” she nods at him, eyes immediately darting back to the crowd.

Before Max could get another word in, Daniel returns with drinks in his hands.

“Three margaritas for the lovely ladies and myself.” he gives a cheeky smile while passing out the drinks. “Another beer for Max.”

The four of you spent the night getting to know each other better. Halfway through your drinks, Daniel excuses himself to mingle with other guests. Abi excuses herself as well, saying she needs to get water but you later catch her wink at you while a guy talks her up at the bar. That bitch (affectionately).

“So, you come to races often?” Max asks, shifting your attention back to him.

“Mostly busy with my own but I watch you guys from time to time.” you smile.

“You race too?” he chokes on his drink.

“Currently in Formula 2, yes.” Handing him a tissue, you chuckle. “I kinda take offense at your shock.”

“Sorry, it’s just that-” he starts off, wiping off his lips. “I think it’s best if you don’t finish that sentence.” you giggle. “So, Max, how long have you been racing?”

“Well, pretty much ever since my dad thought I was old enough to start.” he mutters.

“So, since you were in the womb?” you joke.

“Pretty much.” he laughs. “You?”

“Similar. Got into it because of my dad as well but continued for myself.” you look down and fidget with your rings.

“Anyways,” he clears his throat. “What’s your favorite team?”

“Ferrari.” you grin. “Big Vettel fan here.”

“You were hanging out in the wrong garage then.” he muses. “Any way I can switch you over to my side?”

“I can be convinced,” you tease. “if given enough incentive.”

“How about I convince you over dinner?” he asks.

“Bold ask.” you giggle. “I’d have to think about that.”

Oh, oh You're a crisis of my faith Would've, could've, should've If I'd only played it safe

At that time, it seemed like the world was working in your favor. You had three consecutive podiums in Hungaroring, Spa and Monza. To add to the excitement, all of those races coincided with that of the F1 calendar, giving you more chances to hang out in the Red Bull garages.

The highlight, though, would be Monza. After winning first place, Christian invited you to breakfast to celebrate and “make up for lost time”. Abi, being the perfect balance of tough love and unending support, decided it’d be best for you to go alone, much to your dismay. You paced back and forth in the hallway, making a mental list of things to not bring up. Your thoughts come to a halt when you hear the click of the door, revealing Geri on her way out.

“Y/n! Christian’s inside. You can just head in.” she smiles, hand holding the doorknob.

“Oh, okay.” you breathe out. “Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“It’s alright.” she chuckles. “He’s nervous too if that’s any consolation.”

“A little.” you giggle. “Um, I hope it’s not an intrusion. Me being here, I mean.”

“That’s nonsense!” she exclaims. “I just thought it’d be better for the two of you to talk things out alone. But, if you’re open to it, I’d love to get to know you better as well.”

“I’d like that.” you exhale. “Well, I think I should head in.”

“Of course.” she laughs, moving towards the lift. Turning around she says, “He’s trying, you know.”

Not knowing what to say, you offer a smile and head inside their room.

“Honey, do you think she’d want more food? Or is this enough?” you hear him shout.

Heading towards the dining area, you chuckle. “She left already. But, if you’re planning to feed the entire grid, maybe we can order more food.”

“Y/n.” he grins. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“You too.” you mutter, taking a seat opposite him.

“So,” he clears his throat. “I saw you win yesterday, congratulations!”

“Thanks.” you beam. “I heard you guys got P2 and P3 for quali. Must be looking forward to this race huh?”

“Quite.” he hands you a plate of waffles. “You still like this, right?”

“You remembered.” you gasp. “Even the strawberries and bananas.”

“I checked with your mom to make sure I got it right.” his cheeks tinges with embarrassment. “Gotta feed next year’s potential F1 driver well.”

“What?” your jaw drops. “Formula 1?”

“I introduced you to Franz Tost for a reason. He told me he’d love to have you in Toro Rosso next year.” he muses. “Maybe after that, you’d be racing for Red Bull.”

“HOLY SHIT!” you scream. “Is this for real?”

“Yes. It is.” he chuckles.

“Wait, who’s leaving?” you pause.

“Well, you’ll be taking Daniil’s seat. Carlos is moving to Renault for the last few races which leaves you, hopefully, and Pierre to complete the team next year.”

“Will they still be racing next year?” you ask.

“Carlos will be with Renault and I’m still unsure about Kvyat.” he says. “So, thoughts?”

“I’d have to discuss it with my team but personally, it’d be an honor.”

If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners, you and I Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first

You get up from your bed, hands still clutching the picture frame. Based on the dark view outside your window, you assume you overslept, completely missing supper. You tuck the frame in a random drawer. Out of sight, out of mind.

You make your way to the kitchen, moving quietly to not wake anyone else up. You almost scream when you see your grandpa sitting on a barstool, a faint light casting a shadow.

“Why are you up so late?” you clutch your chest, trying to calm your heart.

“Just thinking, you know.” he mutters. “Worrying about you.”

“Oh Pa, I’m alright.” you hug him, taking a seat at his side. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, kiddo.” he breathes out. “I heard you crying earlier. I know you’re not fine.”

You sit there in silence. Although you were raised so open to emotions, you still had trouble expressing your own, worried about worrying others.

“When you had your first accident during your karting days, I freaked out. I almost had your mom pull you out, thinking that the sport was too much for you.” he starts. “Then, on our way to the car, you walked up to me and Nan and said, ‘look Pa! I have battle marks! I can go against the tough ones now!’. You had tears in your eyes and a bruise on your leg and arm, but you looked so happy.”

He grabs both of your hands, rubbing his thumbs across the back. “I knew then I didn’t have to protect you, not because you didn’t need it. God knows I tried my best to do that. But, you didn’t want it. You were so good on your own.”

“Not to be a sexist asshole but there were times when I wished you chose a more common hobby. Ballet, piano, anything that didn’t have a high risk of me losing you.” he breathes out. “It wasn’t just the physical aspect too. I just- I see complete strangers say just cruel things about you and how you started losing bits of yourself.”

“You’ve grown, but I used to be able to still see that little racer in her braids and a goofy smile with a missing tooth. Now, it’s like you turned into this machine. I get that it’s a tough sport but I worry you will lose your heart and spirit.”

“I- ” you sniffle, “I love racing. I know that.”

“I can see myself doing this for the rest of my life but right now I feel so lost.” you continue. “I never would’ve imagined being this close to achieving my dreams and now it’s gone.”

“And it’s silly. Like, I know I have mom. I have you and Nan. Abi too.” you breathe in. “But he should’ve been part of my life as well. He’s not just mom’s friend from college who knocked her up. He’s my father.”

Although your tears start to flow, you continue. “As much as his absence hurt, I still tried. I gave up my childhood and other dreams I had to be here.”

“The worst part of it all was me thinking I finally got what I wanted. That I finally had a dad.” you exhale. “Then he sold my femininity to the world then threw me away.”

God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind I regret you all the time I can't let this go, I fight with you in my sleep The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign I regret you all the time Oh, God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind I regret you all the time I can't let this go, I fight with you in my sleep The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign

Heading to the track felt like hell, dread filled your stomach and your hands were clammy with sweat. For your sake, Abi had ensured you wouldn’t get any press time and to your surprise, the teams agreed. Thinking about it now, you assume it was to save their dwindling reputation. Although your social battery was at an all time low, you still stopped to interact with your fans on your way to and from the paddock. As genuine as your gratitude was, your smile and thank you’s were visibly forced.

Everyone knew what this race weekend meant to you. You’ve been looking forward to racing in Silverstone, making it your goal of the season to go on the podium at your home race in your dream team. However, that seems like something only possible in an alternate reality. Despite Max’s pleas of you staying in Red Bull, you refused. You didn’t even bother telling him about your shift back to Toro Rosso or that you had moved out of his place. He’ll find out one way or another.

Thankfully, your schedule and distance from their garage minimized your interactions with certain members of the Red Bull team. Nevertheless, keeping true to your promise, you invited Daniel and a couple other drivers to meals in between practices, doing your best to front a “I’m doing better than you think” facade. You even reached out to Alex Albon, making it clear that there is no bad blood between you and that his replacement isn’t something you took personally.

Come Sunday morning, you have grown accustomed to your new (or old) team. Staring at the mirror gave you a sense of deja vu; the bold text of “Red Bull” across your suit mocked you. Wiping off a few stray tears, you can’t help but think about yourself from a year ago and what she would’ve thought about your situation. Would she laugh at the irony or would she cry with you?

You turn around when you hear a faint knock. Abi peeks in, a small smile gracing her face. “It’s almost race time. Are you ready?”

“Fuck no.”

a/n: as always, would love to hear your thoughts so feedback is more than welcome (but please be kind) !!!  to all that shared their love for Dear Reader, you have my heart and i hope this part did not disappoint 🫂 took a while to get here (seriously wrote a long ass piece then completely changed everything but ohwell) and i think i’m happy with the direction so far?? also, please let me know if you want to be part of the taglist or if it’s not working (still unsure abt how this works but i shall figure it out!)

taglist: @lighttsoutlewis @holy-macncheese-balls @for-fuck-sake-im-alive​ @idkiwantchocolatee @dan3avocado @aquamariene-me 

#red bull racing #dear reader #would've could've should've #midnights #F1 #f1 x reader #F1 drivers #Max Verstappen #max verstappen x reader

[anystalker707]

A little reminder

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x [male, amab] Reader Words: ~ 3 200 Summary: Do you need a reminder about who you belong to? Ace is glad to help. Tags: Jealous Ace / Rough / Oral / Chest fixation / Bruises

Requested by anon [Ace and male reader (rough and possessive smut please) Ace gets jealous of someone near Y/n and decides to take him away and show him that Y/n’s his and his alone.]

MASTERLIST

          “And that’s how we got the ship.” Usopp grinned as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the mast. “We are a very skilled crew, but we wouldn’t make it if it weren’t for me!” He laughed, a hand on his hip and the other pointing to himself. “The great—”

“Would you like a drink, (y/n)-san?” Sanji stepped in front of you out of sudden, hence you needed to blink a couple of times until you focused on the glasses on the tray in front of you, not even noticing how Usopp complained at Sanji for stealing the spotlight. “It’s a warm day! You gotta keep yourself hydrated! I bet you and Ace don’t even have the time to settle down properly since you’re always rushing around! Both of you need to make sure you eat properly!”

“Thanks!” You grinned, taking one of the cold glasses in hand. “And don’t worry, Sanji! We make sure to eat enough! And you can bet that Ace and I will eat a lot of your food while we are here!” You winked at him and took a sip of the drink, humming at the fruity, sweet taste of the drink. “This is so great, Sanji! I missed your food, to be honest! It’s been a long while since we met in Alabasta, isn’t it!”

Two years ago, Ace told you his brother had been heading to the same place as the two of you3, which made you excited to meet him. Turns out you met not just Luffy, but all of the Straw Hats and the adventure across the desert of Alabasta was interesting, despite you and Ace finding out you’d followed false tips.

Later, the two of you met again in The War of The Best, but the rest of the crew wasn’t there, so it was nice to be there now with all of them once again. The weather was warm and the sky had a few clouds on it so the sun wasn’t unbearable, hence you dismissed the use of a shirt just like Ace, and also making it the perfect weather to hang out on Sunny’s deck with the Straw Hats. Ace was off with Zoro and Luffy while Sanji, Nami, Chopper and Brook had your attention at the moment.

Sanji grinned, letting Chopper and Nami take the drinks that remained on the tray before he tucked it under his arm. “It indeed is! And don’t worry, I will make sure to prepare a delicious dinner tonight! Also, don’t forget to let me know when you are leaving so I can pack you some meals, okay?”

“Really?” You gasped as you looked at him then grinned more with a nod. “That’s very sweet!”

Sanji’s eyes lightened up. “No worries! It’s a pleasure to—”

“Sorry to interrupt!” Ace’s voice cut him off and you looked up to see him behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I might have to steal (y/n) away for a while! I gotta discuss a few things with my pretty boyfriend!” He laughed and, despite the way the others reacted—Nami and Chopper finding it adorable while Sanji raised his eyebrows a little—, you could notice the forced tinge in Ace’s chuckle and the urgency as he made you stand up. Ace still had that weird expression on his face as he guided you off to the side of the ship until he just pulled you inside a random room with him.

“Ace?” You sighed with a frown. “What’s all of this about, love? I—”

“(Y/n)...” He exhaled sharply and looked away, but you just rolled your eyes and kept sipping on your drink.

“Storage room?” You raised an eyebrow and sipped on your drink again, looking around. There were only wooden boxes, spare wood, barrels, shelves—

Ace had his hands on his hips, blinking slowly as he looked at you with that smirk that didn’t extend itself to his bored eyes. A scoff escaped his lips as he shook his head and took the drink away from your hand, putting it on a shelf before he could step closer.

“Y’know, I wonder if I’m not imposing enough or something.” He placed his hands on your hips, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. “They keep treating you like that. Mainly Sanji. Don’t they know you’re mine?” He clicked his tongue, gently pushing you to take steps back until you could feel the cold wood of the wall meet your back.

“You know it’s not like that, Ace...” You whispered, trying to make some sort of comforting tone as you placed your hands on his freckled shoulders; his skin was warm from standing in the sun. “We are great friends, and it’s been a long while since we saw them!”

Ace raises an eyebrow, twisting his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. Know who else were great friends? Mhm, that’s right! You and I!”

You scoffed, chuckling. “It’s not like that and you know it!”

A scowl was on Ace’s face as he looked at you, dark eyes and low eyebrows. He decided against arguing and pressed his lips firmly to yours instead, not caring if your teeth grazed together or if you struggled to keep up with the rhythm he imposed, sinking your nails into his shoulders at the surprise, because all that mattered was the fact he was touching you right now.

The kiss left you breathless, panting for air as he started to mouth at your neck, nibbling and pressing close in a way you struggled to keep the gasps from escaping from your lips since the touches came one after the other, with a little more pressure than needed. His teeth tugged on your skin harsher than usual, but the sharp, short spurts of pain did have sparkles going through your body. Your breath grew heavier as even your mind struggled a little to keep up with what was going on—and what would go on, as well.

“A—Ace!” You gulped, feeling fingers tugging on the waistband of your shorts. “We can’t! We are in someone else’s ship and we—”

“It doesn’t matter!” His whispers were a little louder than yours. “Don’t you understand that I need you? That you belong to me?” His lips pressed to yours once again, messily.

You kissed back for a second, but then pressed a hand to his shoulder. “You know that’s not what I meant! I—”

Ace’s face twisted bitterly before he kissed you again, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting hard enough to make you wonder if your mouth was bleeding when he let go to continue his way down your neck. His teeth tugged on your skin in between soft sucks that only didn’t leave many marks behind because he didn’t have the patience to continue on the same spot for too long.

You relaxed a little under his touches once you started to get used to the intensity of everything, though it’s not much; Ace’s big palms spread over your waist to massage the skin softly as he keeps pressing you to the wall don’t really do anything to help with how uncomfortable your shorts started to feel. The zipper was painful against your cock, making you hiss a little, only to moan when his thigh pressed to your crotch instead; it had a quiet moan escaping your lips as you squeezed his shoulders. It was hard to resist it now.

“Ace...” You whispered, trying to figure out a way to ask for more without clearly doing it; why would you admit to giving on to Ace’s wishes? A gasp escaped your lips with how he pressed closer, his lips low going lower to leave nibbles and kisses on your pec and risking going around your nipple. His name escaped your lips among poorly suppressed moans as you pressed a hand to the back of his neck to pull him closer, which of course made him keep going—you gasped, covering your mouth with a hand to stop a damn moan because of the way his teeth sunk just right around your nipple.

Ace’s name escaped your lips in a messy moan that didn’t even sound comprehensible while his tongue ran flat against your nipple. Still, those weren’t compared to the way he even made you double over when his teeth sunk into your peck, high on your chest.

“You gonna continue walking around without that shirt of yours,” he mumbled against your chest, but his wide, dark eyes were on yours, “and gonna show everyone who you belong to.”

The idea of it just made you want more, unfortunately, slowly giving in more and more to Ace’s whims and rolling your hips into his thigh in response.

A sigh escaped Ace’s lips as he pulled back, allowing his warmth against your body to be uncomfortably placed with cold air while he started to unbutton your shorts. The bulge in his pants drew your eyes inexplicably easy, making you gulp seeing his shorts seemed about as uncomfortably tight as yours.

The shorts fell to the ground and his lips were on yours again immediately, with slow, open mouthed kisses as his hands slipped into your boxers, rubbing your thighs a little as he slowly pulled your underwear down. You stepped out of it with how the way he held onto your hips made you move until Ace helped you on top of a barrel. You gasped as you looked down between the two of you, seeing your flush cock rest back against your lower stomach, swollen and leaking from how he had been teasing you so far, twitching at the way Ace’s hard cock rubbed against your ass despite still being clothed.

“Don’t you think you still have a little too much clothing on?” You mumbled, resting your back against the wall.

“Are you in a position to ask for anything?” Ace raised an eyebrow. “Giving attention to the others. Did you even know where I was? What I was doing?”

You narrowed your eyes and let out a soft scoff, shaking your head a little. “You’re so...”

The words escaped your grasp, making a smirk stretch across Ace’s face as he hooked his hands under your thighs, bringing them up in a way you were forced into a not quite sitting position anymore, almost slipping if you didn’t hold onto the edges of the barrel and Ace didn’t hold you. His hands were open against your thighs, fingers sinking into them to squeeze the skin for a moment, thumb rubbing circles into your inner thighs.

It was agonizingly good and Ace knew that, holding the strong eye contact as he slowly inched lower, keeping track of the little hitches in your breath while you held yourself back from squirming under his touch. A look of victory took over his face at the moment you let your head rest back against the wall, moaning and pushing into his touch once his hand wrapped around your cock. It wasn’t necessarily good given how dry his hand was, barely moving, but it was already some sort of relief.

You observed Ace through half-lidded eyes, swallowing dryly as you watched him lean forward until warm lips met the inside of your thigh, at first just lingering over them lightly enough to make your skin rise in shivers. It was almost mesmerizing, hence you only came back to reality when Ace’s tongue poked out, warm and wet against the base of your cock.

A gasp escaped your lips, your breath hitching in your throat multiple times with how Ace kept mouthing at the area, letting his tongue poke out now and then; his fingers sank into your thighs to keep them open despite how you threatened to close them around his head.

An embarrassingly high pitched sound came from you when you felt his tongue against your hole. Ace paused before he licked it again with enough spit to trail down your skin. There was certain concentration in Ace’s face as he did it, eyebrows furrowed and eyes sometimes averting up to check on your reaction, especially when you shifted, thighs tensing up under his touch because his tongue started to poke in.

“Ace,” you whispered through a moan, fingers tightening around the edges of the barrel because of how he lapped inside you, keeping you open. Another moan was silenced with a hiss as you tensed up and curled your toes, trying to roll your hips into his mouth out of reflex at the moment he leaned in, trying to reach his tongue deeper and, fuck—

One of your hands flew to Ace’s hair, holding him there, which didn’t really work well given the way he pulled back a little and licked his fingers up. Turns out it wasn’t bad—not at all—, you gasped, feeling your body grow hotter at the feeling of his fingers lining up with your entrance at the same time his mouth pressed to your cock, licking along the underside of it at the same time he pushed his fingers in and curled them up inside.

“Ngh, Ace...” You gasped, struggling to keep the sounds in; you tried to keep yourself quiet by holding your breath whenever a moan threatened to escape your throat, but it just fucking ended up making you out of air and having everything become each time more difficult. “A—Ace—” Maybe it was a little louder than it should this time, your thighs almost closing around his head because of how his fingers curled up and pressed just against the right spot. All of that was dangerous, making you squirm a lot, becoming dangerously close.

The way you clenched around Ace’s fingers only had him pushing his fingers in deeper, making more desperate gasps and babbling pleas spill from your lips at the same time you tugged on his hair. It was so, so close, and you were almost there when Ace just pulled away.

“No...” You whined, feeling the previously crescent pressure in your lower stomach now start to dissipate, much to Ace’s amusement. He only grinned, proudly sporting his face wet with drool as he took a step back and started to undo his belt.

Light throbbing was the only thing that resulted from Ace's strong grip on your thighs, leaving you wanting for more as you quietly watched him finally help himself, lowering his shorts and boxers just a little down his thighs, just enough. Ace spit on his hand before he wrapped his hand around his own cock, giving it a few pumps, mixing the spit with his precum. Just the sight was enough to make your cock twitch in anticipation, leaking as you ached for his touch to return, knuckles going white around the edges of the barrel again.

Ace’s hand sent sparkles through your skin once it pressed to it again, kneading into the fat of your thigh, the other one holding the base of his cock and letting it press gently against your entrance, feeling it flutter. Your breath hitched in anticipation, which easily happened again as you gasped and suppressed moans with how he started to push in, finally.

Your eyes watched Ace disappear inside you, making your breath shaky as you tried to suppress all the sounds that tried to push past your lips; feeling him stretch you out so nice and good, slowly sinking in deeper. He paused once his hips met the back of your thighs in a short pause that allowed you to attempt to regain your breath only to moan at the moment he started to move his hips, moving right away with harsh and heavy thrusts.

“A—Ace,” you couldn’t help but whine, interrupted by a loud moan at the moment he hooked his hands pressed to the underside of your thighs to push your legs back against your torso, allowing him to reach in deeper and just at the right spots. “A—Ace, I need to— The others, they—” You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds because of how his cock managed to reach just into the spot that made your thighs quiver, forcing against the grip of his hands in fruitless attempts to press shut.

“I don’t care.” Ace moaned lowly, breath labored as he looked at you from under his lashes, messy black strands gluing to his sweaty forehead. “Why’d I care if they learned that you are mine, hm? Learned how well I can please you?” He scoffed, with that goddamn grin across his face, his fingers sinking into your skin as his hips snapped against yours with more force, making useless the attempts of at least muffling your sounds since you could barely hold your hand to your lips, and Ace didn’t even fucking care about it.

His lips continued stretched in that fucking grin as his hips slammed against yours again and again and, damn it, you were cumming already, all over your torso, hot and sticky as you tried to keep yourself together.

Ace’s eyes met yours with a different gaze this time, in a wordless ‘I hope you know that I’m not ready yet’ as his hips worked more intensely against yours, fucking you through your high and relishing your overstimulation that quickly came with how one of his hands reached forward and squeezed your peck.

“Fuck,” Ace gasped with a pause. He wrapped one of your legs around his own waist, throwing the other over his shoulder before he could squeeze your chest again and go back to moving his hips; they slammed against yours in a messy rhythm at first before finally picking up a pace that made your cock twitch again.

Your whimpers and heavy breathing filled his ears along with the obscene wet sound of skin against skin. Ace let out a moan as he looked down between the two of you, watching his cock disappear inside you repeatedly, leaving a creamy, white line around the base. Damn it. A string of moans escaped his lips as he squeezed your thigh and your chest more; he was fucking coming, pumping cum inside of you as he continued to move his hips and make sure it pushed in deep, coating your insides all over.

Shaky, whiny breaths cut through the thick silence of the room as the two of you slowly came back to reality. Ace pulled away from you, biting his lip as he watched the cum drip out of your hole. Why was it so fucking hot? His hands rubbed your thighs soothingly, pressing kisses to the soft skin as he slowly let your legs down.

“That was good,” Ace mumbled, adjusting his underwear and shorts again. “Want me to clean you?” He licked his lips and grinned, glancing between your legs and at your eyes again with wiggling eyebrows.

“Ace!” Your cheeks burned hotter and you pressed your thighs together, finally, looking away.

Ace laughed. “Right, right.” He bent down, handing you your boxers and your shorts. You struggled to get off the barrel, legs shaking as the ground seemed to twirl under your feet, but you grabbed your clothes and started to put them back on. “Your chest looks kinda nice, may I say.” That damn grin was over his face again, making you flustered and annoyed all at the same time.

“Fuck off, Ace,” you mumbled. How were you even supposed to leave that room given how you were probably too loud and none of you had a shirt? “Damn it, Ace...”

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

#one piece #portgas d ace #x reader #x male reader #amab reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgaz d ace #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #sanji vinsmoke #nico robin #nami #tony tony chopper

[revasserium]

balter + sakusa 🥺

send me a word and a character, and i'll write you a fic

practice makes perfect

sakusa kiyoomi; 2,272 words; fluff... that's it, sakusa isn't good at dancing, you convince him to do it anyway

“wow… i didn’t know that he could move like that…”

“ah… but uhm… it’s kind of shocking, isn’t it?”

“what, that sakusa kiyoomi could be so bad at something?”

komori laughs into his hand, glancing over to the dance floor where one sakusa kiyoomi is doing what seems like his best attempt at a popular dance move and failing rather miserably.

“well… at least he looks like he’s having fun,” komori says, grinning as he catches your eyes over sakusa’s shoulder and raises a hand in greeting. you smile back, shooting him a wink before going back to your equally abysmal dancing by sakusa’s side.

“but. i don’t dance.”

sakusa blinks at you from across the hotel room table, his black coffee steaming between you, his jersey laid out in pristine condition on the freshly made bed. you hum as you reach for another piece of toast, applying a generous dose of butter and strawberry jam with a the same knife, seemingly oblivious to sakusa’s tiny wince as you jab the knife back into the jam jar. the toast is satisfyingly crunchy as you take a bite, making your toes curl as you finally look up to meet his eyes.

“yeah, so?”

sakusa licks his lips, his eyes flickering between the half-bitten monstrosity of toast in your hand and the crumbs littering the corner of your mouth. he bites down the urge to lunge across the table and wipe them away and maybe push you back into bed in the process, but he knows that there isn’t quite enough time for that. not today, anyway. but maybe tomorrow —

“so, why did you put me on the guest list for the dance party tonight?”

it’s a perfectly reasonable question, he thinks, even as you let out a melodramatic sigh, cramming the rest of the butter-jam-toast into your mouth and making for another slice.

“because, all your friends are gonna be there. and weren’t you saying just last week that you missed them?”

“i never said i missed them.”

“you said it’s been a while since you’ve seen them.”

“yeah, because it has.”

“so, you miss them.”

“that’s not —” sakusa sighs, reaching for his coffee. he takes a slow sip, counts his breaths, savors the bitter and tang. meanwhile, you crinkle your nose and frown at him, slathering more butter-jam onto your toast.

“kiyoomi-kun… have you ever done anything you were bad at?”

sakusa frowns at the question — what a strange thing to ask — why would he ever do anything he knew he’d be bad at? he narrows his eyes as you grin and shove the rest of the toast into your mouth. you lick your lips and sakusa bites back the urge to sigh — caught halfway between endeared and annoyed at the mess you’re making.

“no. i can’t say i have.”

“you should try it — could be fun!” you make a show of licking clean your fingers and smacking your lips.

sakusa shudders, unsure if he’s put off by the motion or turned on by it.

“right.”

you hike an eyebrow, “oh, c’mon — you can’t have been good at everything the first time you tried it — what about volleyball? were you good at it the first time you ever played?”

“yes,” sakusa deadpans, and you roll your eyes.

“okay then — maybe you were put on this earth to play volleyball and that’s not a fair example. hm…” you cast about for something else before a devlish grin spreads across your lips like butter and jam and sakusa is held still by both his curiosity and his certainty that this is not going to turn out well.

“what?” he asks, already snappish.

“i mean — i was just thinking — the first time we had sex… you weren’t as good as you are now but you seemed to have had a great time.”

sakusa sputters, nearly upsetting the tall glass of orange juice by his hands.

“that — what — you weren’t that good either!”

but then you’re laughing, shaking your head, “no! i wasn’t! but i also had a great time! see? you can be bad at something and still enjoy it!”

“that’s not — i mean — it’s different!”

“how would you know? have you ever danced before?”

sakusa clamps down on his bottom lip, glaring at the butter-dish, “no but — i know i wouldn’t like it.”

you lean forward, propping your chin on your hands, “how though? if you’ve never done it before?” your grin is just on the other side of a challenge and sakusa can’t fight down the feeling that maybe, just maybe — this is one battle he’s not going to win.

“i just — it’s just stupid.”

you giggle, stifling the sound behind your hand and he shoots you the best glare he can muster.

“c’mon — c’mere.” you motion for him to stand up as you push back your chair and jump to your feet.

sakusa stares, “what?”

“get up! c’mon!” you reach over and tug on his arm, nearly dragging him out of his seat before he has the good mind to stand up, if only to stop himself from tipping over.

you pull one of his hands around you waist and hold the other, palm to palm with your own. you laugh as you force the pair of you into a strange, crab-like march across the length of the hotel room and then back again. sakusa is red-cheeked and frowning by the time you finish your second pass.

“what are you doing?”

“we are dancing!”

when you try to tug him back across the room again, he pulls you to him, letting out a soft groan as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. you feel your warm breath against the tender of your skin — it leaves you shivering.

“that’s not dancing.”

you laugh, gently this time, curling your arms around the width of his body, leaning up on your tiptoes to try and hook your chin over one of his shoulders. you are fighting a losing battle — he’s always been too tall, too quiet, to suspicious — but he’s also always been yours.

“how would you know, hm? you’ve never done it!” you tease as he walks you both back towards the bed, smirking as you tumble back onto it, the length of his shadow long enough to cover your whole body, the light spilling in from the balcony window only serving to paint him in sharp, and shaper lines.

the curls of his hair look nothing short of angelic.

“because i know what it feels like to be good at something,” he answers, his breath a husky wisp of a thing, rolling like thunder across the horizon of your stretched out body and you’re powerless to resist him. you smile, you lay back. you let him tug you towards him by the soft of your hips —

“y-yeah? well… i think you could be good at dancing… if you just tried.”

“i don’t like to waste effort on things that won’t serve my future.”

you feel the mattress around you shift as he crawls over you, his arms by your ears, the tips of his curly-cued hair tickling your forehead. you reach up to sink your fingers into its depth.

“i dunno… i’d actually call it an investment.”

he pauses, cocks his head.

“and how do you figure that?”

you allow yourself the most indulgent smirk you can muster.

“i dunno… it’s just… i hear that dancing is pretty common place at weddings… but that’s just me, y’know?”

and or a second, sakusa merely blinks down at you — just long enough for doubt to start bubbling at the base of your stomach. and then —

“ah… i see…” he leans down to ghost his lips along the bare column of your neck, “so… i suppose it’s something we should practice, hm?”

“or — we could just be bad at it… and enjoy ourselves at the same time.”

his grin is decidedly lopsided when he pulls back, his head cocked.

“is that why you signed me up for the dance party tonight? to practice?”

you shrug, still pinned beneath him, your chest heaving at the proximity, the closeness of his body never failing to make yours simmer with anticipation.

“that depends, are you asking about dancing or practicing being bad at something and enjoying it?”

he leans down to kiss a slow, languid line along your collarbones, your thoughts fizzling out to mere static as he chuckles against your skin.

“either… both.”

“th-then both.”

he’s grinning when he pulls back, his expression just a tad sadistic.

“but first — we’ve still got… what? 15 minutes before we’ve gotta be downstairs for the press conference? why don’t we try doing something we’re both good at and will enjoy, hm?”

you open your mouth to answer, but he cuts you off with his lips, and then soon after that, coherent thought leaves you completely.

later that night, you’re both more than a little drunk, and for once sakusa is laughing like he actually means it, his arms flailing wildly as he tries to work through a series of ill-conceived dance steps.

you catch komori’s eyes over sakusa’s shoulder and shoot him a grin, raise your glass, and down the rest of your champagne in a single gulp. sakusa grins, wide and lazy and very, very drunk before he pulls you in, tucks your body against his and slows the pair of you to a soft sway, even as the music picks up and up and up.

eventually, komori wanders his way over to you both, his cheeks flushed with color, nursing a half-empty champagne flute as he looks you both over with an amused half-grin.

“and what might be going on here, hm?”

you grin as sakusa slowly spins the two of you in a circle and your eyes meet komori’s.

“can’t you tell? we’re practicing!”

komori’s eyebrows skyrocket, “practicing… what?”

“dancing!” this time, sakusa responds, a half-formed frown creasing his forehead as he looks over his cousin.

“you’re practicing… dancing… and can i ask why?”

you giggle as sakusa tries to dip you and it’s only by the strength of his arms that he doesn’t drop you flat on your ass.

“f-for a wedding!” you say, as sakusa pulls you back up and the pair of you continue to turn on the spot.

“w-wedding?” komori has the decency to look confused, “have you guys been invited to one?”

“nope!” you answer cheerfully.

komori blinks at you both for a full ten seconds before realization hits and his eyes go wide.

“o-oh! well — uhm — i’ll let you two get back to it, then!” he makes to back away before sakusa calls after him.

“make sure you practice too! y-you’re gonna be invited!”

komori nearly stumbles over his own feet as he turns to wave at you both.

“su-sure! alright — i’ll uh — look forward to the invite, then?”

you laugh as sakusa spins you out under his arm and pulls you back in again, almost stepping on your feet.

“don’t hold your breath — it won’t be for a while!”

komori cocks his head, “and why’s that?”

you squeal as sakusa hoists you up by the waist and spins you around.

“w-we’ve got a lot more practice to finish before we’ll be ready for it!”

and at this, komori finally laughs, shaking his had as he turns back around, flapping his hands at the both of you as he heads back towards the bar and his own group of friends.

behind him, sakusa positively pouts as he lowers you slowly to the ground.

“what’dyou mean we need alot more practice? i — i think we’re great.”

you lean up to brush your nose against his, “yeah but… i think we could be better.”

sakusa rolls his eyes, “fine — fine — we can —” he hiccups and crinkles his nose, “we can practice a bit more.”

“and then… after?” you ask, feeling suddenly breathless for a whole different reason.

“after… well after — we’ll be married.”

you bite your lips, searching his eyes for any sign of uncertainty, any clue that this might all just be a drunken farce but you find nothing except warmth, except sincerity, except a bone-deep sureness, a marrow-thick knowing.

“but… what if we’re bad at it? being married…”

sakusa leans down to cup your cheeks, his thumbs pressing against the smooth of your skin as he smiles.

“we won’t be… and if we are then… we’ll just have to practice.”

“yeah? you sure?”

“yeah — because… you can be bad at something and still enjoy it right? and… between the two of us — we can get good at anything with a bit of practice.”

you laugh, feeling something very close to tears prickling at the back of your eyes, hot and unsteady and you try your best to blink the feeling away. you clear your throat and nod.

“yeah — practice sounds good. practice sounds perfect.”

sakusa presses his lips to yours, his hands still cupping your face, “no… practice makes perfect… and that’s exactly what we’ll be — perfect.”

find my favorite prompts here || find my masterlists here

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu drabbles #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi imagines #sakusa kiyoomi scenarios #sakusa kiyoomi fanfic #hq!! #hq fanfic #haikyuu fluff #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #haiCUTIES #floofy floof floof #i liked writing drunk!sakusa LOL that was fun #i've had the start of this fic written for like 4 months i kid u not but i just never got the inspo to finish it BUT TONIGHT #tonight it happened and im actually pretty pleased with it :) #oh yeah i made those volleyball dividers LOL pls credit me if ur gonna use them

[its-jaytothemee]

Tonight...And Every Night - Chapter 4

Pairing: Astarion x Tav, Halsin x Tav; Astarion and Tav POVs

Word count: 1,653; Chapter 4, Astarion POV

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3

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Summary: Tav fails to convince Astarion to reject the Rite of Profane Ascension and refuses to help him complete it. He leaves her and the party, but regrets his choices later. Angsty and fluffy, POVs from both Astarion and Tav.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Spawn!Astarion, Angst w/ Happy Ending

Author's Note: This was inspired by my playthrough where I somehow failed all of the persuasion checks for Astarion after the Cazador fight, leaving me obviously devastated. First three chapters will come together, then hopefully one or two at a time after that!

Astarion slowly shuffled his way across the streets of Baldur’s Gate. The sun was setting across Grey Harbor, bathing everything in a soft warm light. He didn’t really know where he was going, he just kept taking step after step until he found himself in front of the Elfsong Tavern. He only had a few gold coins on him, the rest was of course in Tav’s pack. He figured a good stiff drink was as good a use for his little remaining gold than anything at this point.

‘You couldn’t have even tried to loot the bastard’s palace before you left, idiot?’ He chastised himself again.

The tavern was crowded, as usual. He found a small table in the corner and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head as he sat down. His nervous eyes darted around the tavern, intensely aware that he no longer had any backup if he ran into trouble. A chipper voice startled him nearly out of his chair.

“Hey there, traveler! Can I get you a drink?”

Astarion looked over to see a friendly, familiar tiefling. She gasped when she saw his face. Lakrissa started looking around the tavern, obviously looking for his companions…his former companions.

“Astarion! It is Astarion right?”

“Yes, that would be me.” He answered flatly.

“I do hope you don’t take this the wrong way but you look awful.” She set her empty serving tray on the end of the table.

“I’ve had worse.” He grumbled. She gave an uncomfortable laugh in response.

“Where are your friends? Should I clear a bigger table for you?” She smiled at him sweetly.

“No that won’t be necessary.” He heard the involuntary crack in his voice and felt the tears welling in his eyes again. Lakrissa studied him for a moment and then placed her hand over his and gave it a soft squeeze.

“I think you could use a drink, my friend.” She smiled at him and disappeared back into the bustle of the tavern. He blinked away the tears threatening to run down his face.

Eventually Lakrissa returned with a wine glass and sat it in front of him. She also returned with another tiefling.

“Well, well. If it isn’t one of the heroes come to save Baldur’s Gate.” Alfira’s sing song voice teased as she sat across from him. Lakrissa turned to walk away, giving a quick wink to her partner in crime.

“Oh yes, hello bard.” Astarion managed to mumble out to her as he took a large drink of the wine in front of him. It was the perfect level of sweetness, Lakrissa had a good eye for wines.

“Where’s the rest of your merry band?” She asked innocently. He felt anger and embarrassment and despair rising in his throat threatening to choke him.

“Change of plans, darling. Looks like they’ll have to save this city from the Absolute without me.” He took another large drink of his wine. When he sat the glass back on the table, he saw Alfira studying him intently.

“Would you like to talk about it?” She asked after a moment.

“Not even a little.” He replied, keeping his tone ice cold.

“Alright, my apologies for bothering you then. It’s obvious you’d rather be alone right now.” She started to stand up from her seat.

Alone. A spike of panic ripped through his chest at the word.

“Wait…” He started. Alfira stopped just a couple of inches off of her chair. “I…I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day. Please…sit.”

She smiled and sat back down in her chair. Astarion shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t really one for small talk. She absentmindedly plucked at the strings of her lute, quietly humming along with the notes ringing from them. Alfira was the one to finally break the silence between them.

“You know, I had really lost all hope before I met you and your friends.” She was still softly strumming her lute. “I remember when I first saw you and your companions stroll through the gates of the Emerald Grove, covered in goblin blood and desperately seeking a healer.”

“Yes, yes. A real group of knights in shining armor.” He said with an eye roll. He picked up the glass in front of him and gently swirled the dark liquid around.

“To a group of scared, displaced, and battered refugees? Yes. That’s exactly what you were.” She stopped playing her lute and stared Astarion down over his glass of wine. He looked away, ashamed of himself all over again. He would have never agreed to help the grove, that was almost all Tav. Sure, everyone else agreed they could stop and help those in need, but she was the one who insisted on it.

“Well my dear, I hate to be the one to ruin your fantasy, but I had nothing to do with that.” He drank the rest of his wine down in one large gulp, stinging his throat. He looked back to Alfira who was giving him a puzzled look. Giving an exaggerated sigh, he continued.

“If I was alone, I would have walked right by that grove. I would have let you all be slaughtered by goblins. Hells! I probably would have joined the goblins if I thought it would have saved my own arse.” The confession felt oddly satisfying to him.

“But you weren’t alone. And you did keep us from being slaughtered by goblins.” She countered.

“No,” he insisted, “I didn’t. That was all Tav.” Saying her name caused the pain in his chest to return, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Alfira seemed to catch the break in his voice over her name.

“Ah…” She smiled, “So this is about her.” Her voice started to take on a bit of a teasing tone, but he shot her a warning look that stopped her from continuing.

“So why did you stay then?” She said after a moment.

“Excuse me?” He didn’t even try to hide his confusion.

“Why did you stay with her if you didn’t agree with her choices? If you didn’t agree with her leadership? You could have left. You could have stayed safe in your camp, you could have hid from the fights. You didn’t.” She had set her lute to the side, folding her hands in front of her on the table.

“What do you suggest I should have done? Wandered off alone in the wilderness? To fend for myself? With a fucking mind flayer tadpole in my head?” He realized he was starting to raise his voice, and it probably wasn’t the best idea to announce his condition to the entire tavern. No one nearby seemed to notice his little outburst.

Alfira studied him for a moment before answering, her brows furrowed.

“Yes.”

Astarion could only blink in response. Before he could speak again, Lakrissa arrived with another glass of wine, and he immediately took another large swig.

“There were countless opportunities for you to leave, Astarion. You could have parted ways with everyone the moment you reached the city. You could have cowered with the rest of us at the Last Light Inn, waiting to be rescued. You didn’t.”

“Like I said…all Tav.” He countered. “Not to mention I needed protection from the aforementioned tadpole, and she carries the artefact that allows that.”

“So why leave now? You’ve followed her into nightmares most would never recover from. You’ve helped people against your better judgment all because she simply asked you to. Why?”

He knew the answer of course. Because he would do anything to gain Tav’s approval. He would do anything to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to feel her touch…but he also knew that he didn’t deserve her.

“So?” She prodded, her sweet face seemed to see straight through him.

“I…” Astarion stammered.

“She loves you, Astarion. It’s horribly obvious.” Alfira said with a smile. “The way she looks at you? There’s no doubt about it.”

“You don’t understand…” he started, “I hurt her. Badly.” Astarion looked away, shame welling up inside of him again.

“Did you try apologizing?” Alfira asked.

“Not exactly.” His stomach lurched, but for some reason he felt compelled to tell Alfira everything. Every gory detail of his past, his treatment of Tav and his other companions, everything. He suddenly felt suspicious.

“Did you charm me, bard?” He asked, slightly defensive. She just chuckled in response.

“The guilty mind sees tricks everywhere. Unfortunately, my bardic capabilities start and stop with music. No magic here.” She held up her hands innocently in front of her face. Astarion relaxed slightly.

“I…ran away.” He admitted. And with that, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He tearfully recounted the events of the day. How he betrayed the trust of Tav and his companions. He told her of the awful things he said to them. She was hanging on his every word. He told her about his relationship with Tav, how he meant to manipulate her into protecting him but ended up falling for her, hard. He told her how he felt about Tav, how she made him feel safe and seen. He briefly told her of his miserable life with Cazador.

Alfira sat back in her chair after he finished his tale, thinking on his words.

“Wow,” she said quietly, “it seems our hero is even more incredible than I thought.”

“That she is.” He responded, staring into his glass of wine.

Alfira grabbed his free hand with both of hers, bringing his attention back to her.

“Listen, we’ve both been to the literal hells and back. We’ve seen horrors beyond comprehension and come out the other side alive, odds be damned. If you have found someone that makes all of that suffering worth it…” She looked away briefly to glance back at Lakrissa who was cleaning up a spilled tankard of ale. “What the fuck are you doing here drinking alone?”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #halsin x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 headcanons #bg3 brainrot #astarion ancunin #bg3 angst #bg3 fluff #Can't stop writing about these dummies

[tgmsunmontue]

Bird on a Wire (Part 2)

TGM AU. Hangster Meet-cute. This is an explicit chapter (and the next bit is even more explicit, so just stop with part one if you don't want that). There will be a third and final chapter in 24-48 hours.

PART ONE

PART TWO

            They step outside of the restaurant and Rooster’s eyes spark with amusement and promise and holy fuck this is good. Jake's entire body is thrumming.

            "You want to take me on a date huh?” Jake asks, because he definitely likes the sentiment, but he also wants to make his intentions very clear. "You cooked me dinner... surely that counts as a date? Also you've met my sisters, and we're talking months of dating before I make the person I'm dating meet my family."

            “Yeah I cooked, but I didn’t get to talk to you and I… Look. I really don’t do this. Mav would be proud.”

            The complete non-sequitur has Jake blinking, glancing around and wondering who or what Mav is.

            “Mav?”

            “My godfather. He’s all about don’t think, just do.”

            “Oh, okay.”

            “Sorry. Just, a little nervous. As I said, I don’t do this and I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

            “About what? A date? Or… sex?”

            “Both,” Rooster admits, looking away with a shrug and Jake glances a look back inside and they’ve got a fucking audience so he shuffles down the street after giving his sisters the finger.

            “Look…”

            “What?”

            “Cards on the table. I’m attracted to you, pretty sure you’re attracted to me. I’m not turning down sex with you, but it’s also not a deal breaker if it isn’t. You want to date, we can do that, but I’m good with… just seeing where tonight takes us. And following tonight up with other nights,” he states, reiterating his interest in something more than sex.

            “Okay. Yeah. Come on. There’s a little boutique ice cream place a couple of blocks that way. Do you mind walking?”

            “Lead the way…”

            Then Rooster is taking his hand again and they’re walking down the street hand-in-hand and Jake will never hear the end of it if he ends up having an anniversary that’s his sister’s fucking birthday. They arrive at a dinky little shop and when Rooster pushes the door open there’s a literal bell hanging above, which rings. There are plenty of people around, forming a wonky-queue leading to a glass-fronted counter. He looks at the flavors and pulls a face, some of them sound disgusting.

            “You want a cone or cup?”

            “Uh, cup thanks. The peanut butter cookie dough…” He goes to take out his wallet but Rooster is shaking his head.

            “Hey kid, what can I do you for?”

            “Hey Ron, two cups thanks. Roasted white chocolate and miso for me, and peanut butter cookie dough… Thanks.”

            “No worries kid, I’ll put it on your tab…” he says with a wink and Jake looks between them and notes the flush to Rooster’s cheeks as they take the cups and head back to the darkening street.

            “Another family member?”

            “Yeah, he’s my Uncle Ice’s best friend. My family is… kind of big. And weird.”

            “I have three sisters, and my parents are both from families with at least three kids…”

            “Wow. Okay, my family isn’t big like that, but it’s… kind of more a chosen family I guess.”

            “That’s cool. Do you have siblings?”

            “No. Closest I have is Phoenix.”

            “Huh. Explains her attitude towards me.”

            Instead of being apologetic Rooster just laughs, shaking his head.

            “Yeah, she does that. Come on, there’s a little park up here…”

            They settle opposite each other at a little picnic table, their feet brush a couple of times accidentally, but then Rooster’s foot hooks around his ankle and settles there permanently, occasionally rubbing up the back of his calf. It’s distracting, not as distracting as watching Rooster eat ice-cream though, seemingly oblivious to just how pornographic he looks. Jake manages to finish his ice-cream and not stab himself in the face with the little wooden spoon.

            He's not an idiot, this is everything and nothing all at once and while he really wants it to develop into something, right now he doesn't care over much either way. Rooster reaches out across the table and Jake lays his hand and they sit there, hands and fingers touching. They talk, Jake mentions his job in cyber security in the vaguest of terms, because it’s not something he can go into detail given the confidentiality around it. He learns about Rooster’s mom, and his upbringing in the hospitality industry which sounds absolutely wild, especially compared with his own one having parents in academia. The lamps in the park flicker on and they both look at each other a little ruefully.

            "Come home with me? We don’t… “

            “I thought we already agreed to just take everything as it comes?”

            “Yeah, okay. Come home with me?”

            “Can we get into your place without your entire workplace seeing us?”

            “I don’t care if they do.”

            “Oh. Okay then.”

            No secrets in his family then and something inside his gut unclenches at that information and that’s something he can unpack later. They walk back toward the restaurant, and when Rooster waves at his father before giving him the finger Jake just throws his head back and laughs. There are undeniable fluttering butterflies in his stomach as Rooster puts a key in the lock of a hidden door just down from the restaurant entrance and Jake wonders if he’s imagining the tremor in his hands. Up a few flights of stairs and then there’s another door being unlocked and Rooster is stepping back to let him go in first.

            Jake doesn't get why he's nervous now, when he's made it obvious what he wants. That Rooster has made it equally obvious that he wants the same thing. There's no fear of rejection, no expectations, no possible miscommunication just… this. Except he really wants sex right now. He’ll live without, has lived without for months, but this whole evening has been so wonderfully flirty and amusing and arousing… He feels hands settle on his waist and he sways back ever so slightly, feels the warm solid wall of Rooster’s chest behind him and relaxes against it.

            There's a pause, he can feel warm breath against the skin on his neck and he presses back into him, just in case he thinks that he might not want this. The lips he feels pressing into the nape of his neck have him tilting his head, allowing better access and he lets out a low hmm of encouragement. The hands move to his hips, pressing a bit firmer and he turns with them, turns until he's facing Rooster, looking into warm brown eyes and he can't help but return the soft smile.

            "We don't have to do anything…"

            Jake stares, knows the look he's giving him very clearly spells out that something will definitely be happening. He's been half hard since they had the ice-cream, watching Rooster lick his little wooden spoon with intent. He's over thinking it so just leans forward, hand reaching to curl around Rooster’s neck, bringing their mouths together in a kiss. He feels the fingers move a bit lower, firmer and then he's being pulled against Rooster’s body, crotches pressed against each other, and he notes gratifyingly that he's also half-hard.

            “Or we could do everything… Come on Rooster…”

            He doesn’t expect the reaction he gets, which is pulling away, a look of almost disgust, but he realizes it isn’t it, not quite.

            “Shit. My name’s Bradley. Sorry. I just… Fuck. I never told you my name. Well. It’s not Rooster. It’s Bradley. Please. Call me Bradley.”

            “Oh thank god…”

            “Did you seriously think my name was Rooster?” Bradley laughs, and Jake can’t help but laugh as well, some of the nervous tension leaving him and he rests his forehead on Bradley’s shoulder.

            “Yes. And I still went and got ice cream with you, and came up here, and kissed you… So your dad’s name isn’t Goose then? What about Phoenix?”

            “My dad is Nick, but I don’t think I’ve heard anyone call him that in years. My mom when she’s angry with him. And Phoenix is Natasha. And for the record, I know your name is Jake…”

            “Yeah, but that’s because Phoenix asked.”

            “Yeah, she probably did a background check on you.”

            Jake raises an eyebrow, well aware his record is absolutely squeaky clean. He didn’t get where he is today by making mistakes.

            “Okay, well, regardless of your stupid name I’m not going to go anywhere.”

            “That’s reassuring,” Bradley says, his lips twitching and then he’s kissing Jake again, back in his personal space and Jake presses back, removing and white-space between them. They're not gentle with each other, but there is a certainty to each of their movements, firm pressure met with equally firm resistance and Jake’s breath catches in his throat. It had started off slow but soon enough they’re thrusting against each other, Bradley’s thigh between his own as he grinds his erection against the jut of Jake’s hip.

            Mouths open, tongues sliding wetly. His entire body tingles suddenly and he lets out a little sound of contentment, pushing himself closer to the hands, body, lips that are trying to touch every part of him. He's more than okay with that, and he pulls at his shirt, wanting it off off off. Now. He ends up pulling away from him, simply so he can get naked, and the speed at which the hands return to his now bare skin is wonderful. Bradley has taken the opportunity to remove his own shirt, which he's torn about. He'd have liked to remove it himself, or at least watched him remove it… but now there's just an expanse of honey-hued skin and he licks his lips, swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

            "Did you want to do this in my entrance way, or do you want to see my bedroom?"

            For a brief second he feels embarrassed, that he's that desperate they didn't even get more than a few feet, then he remembers it was Bradley who couldn't seem to get his hands on him fast enough and he smiles slowly, hooking a finger into one of Bradley’s belt loops and nods. He tries not to break eye contact but fails miserably, eyes flicking to lips, bare chest, and the slightly paler skin that is revealed where the jeans are pulled away from Bradley’s body.

            "Hey, careful." Then he's being turned, he's almost walked backward into a coffee table.

            "Mmm. Can’t blame me if I'm a little distracted. Come on… show me where I’m going darlin’."

            He almost expects Bradley to pick him up, and huffs a laugh at his own fancifulness, instead muttering about being eager, although he's not sure if it's aimed at Bradley or himself. All of Bradley’s attention is focused on him and he lets out a long breath at that realization; it's been a while since he's had the undivided attention of someone he finds equally compelling. He finds it reassuring that it seems mutual, this lust and attraction between them. Bradley doesn’t stop touching him, hand around his waist as he gently directs them toward the bedroom.

            "Let's see if the rest of you is just as gorgeous out of clothes hmm?"

            Then there are fingers easing down his fly and his fingers scramble to Bradley’s in return. He might have missed the opportunity to remove his shirt, but he can definitely help with this. Of course he’d seen him shirtless in the restaurant, it’s what had caught his eye after all and fuck, nothing could have prepared him for how his evening would pan out and he has no regrets. Murmurs sweet endearments about how hot Bradley is under his breath which make him chuckle lowly in response, the sound of which sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

            He means every word he says, even if it sounds cheesy. Bradley is one of the most attractive men he's seen in a long time, and while he has no idea if he's flaky, he suspects not. He knows Bradley has a good sense of humor, and Jake’s had relationships based on less. Not that he's had many relationships, he's slept with plenty of people, and some hung around for a while. Others were trash fires he’d rather forget, and he worries briefly about what details Laura shared with Phoenix.

            He pushes Bradley’s jeans down, palms a hand over his ass cheeks and presses his erection to the firm line of Bradley’s hip. The movement traps Bradley’s hand between their bodies, where it had been skirting the band of his boxer briefs, jeans already around his ankles and while he remembers he toes off his shoes. Lowering his mouth he sucks and licks at the now naked skin between Bradley’s shoulder and neck, and he can taste salty-sweat and warm heat.

            He makes a trail of sucking nipping kisses down his torso, enjoys the gasped 'oh fuck' Bradley lets out, head tilting back and hips snapping forward. He kicks his shoes and pants to the side and then lowers himself to his knees, his hand still massaging an ass cheek through the stretchy fabric of Bradley’s underwear, the tang of musk and heat has him running his nose up the length of his erection, breathing in deeply through his nose. He pauses and looks up, finding Bradley watching him intently, chest rising and falling rapidly.

            He wants to ask if this is okay, but he hopes that he'd say something. Fingers slide the waist band down and he pushes them down, along with Bradley’s jeans. He licks up the length of his cock slowly, savoring the silky smooth softness of skin, the warmth and heat, the salty-bitter drop of pre-come that explodes on his tongue and sets his taste buds racing and his mouth fills with saliva. Fingers curl into his hair as Bradley balances on one leg, allowing Jake to help him pull off his sneakers and jeans and toss them to join his own clothes somewhere on the floor.

            He doesn’t want to rush this, not when it's been so long. He's not being rushed though, Bradley’s fingers in his hair aren't directing him any which way, just there. He licks his lips, using the pooled saliva to moisten his entire mouth. Using a light touch he holds Bradley’s cock and then pushes his pursed lips over the head, creating as much suction as he can.

            Then the fingers in his hair tighten, and he hears Bradley swear creatively. He'd grin, or say something, but instead focusses on the slide, the contrast in texture, the smell. He moves his hand back to cup an ass cheek, his other hand resting on Bradley’s hip, thumb brushing over the taut skin on his lower stomach as he starts the instinctive up-down motion. He's not going for fancy licks or twists, there will be time later to find out exactly how to make Bradley fall apart. Judging from the sounds he can hear above him, muffled by the blood rushing in his own ears, he's doing just fine anyway, Bradley’s body thrusting toward him as much as he allows.

            The twinge in his jaw reminds him he's out of practice but he ignores it, instead pays attention to the drag of soft skin against the roof of his mouth, the taste of leaking pre-cum on his tongue, the sounds Bradley is making, the smell of their combined arousal and the sight of Bradley, watching him do this, cock sliding in-and-out of his mouth.

            He looks up and Bradley’s head is thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing and Jake wants to bite it. Then Bradley shifts, eyes open and he’s looking down the length of his body, gaze intense and Jake pulls off. Watches him lick his lips, body shuddering slightly and Jake’s hands tighten on his hip as Bradley makes a soft whine and Jake wraps a firm hand around his erection and stands up again.

            “Sorry, out of practice…” His voice is rough, and he scrapes his teeth over Bradley’s earlobe, sucking gently at the pulse point just below. He shifts his hand on his cock a little firmer, little faster. "Can you come like this? Not too rough?"

            "Yeah. Yeah. Definitely," Bradley hisses and Jake can feel his nails digging into his shoulder. “Fuck. You know, you can practice on me you know. Every day. I’m generous like that…”

            “Oh, I just bet you are darlin’, come on now…”

            He wouldn’t be able to stand the treatment he’s giving Bradley’s cock, would be too rough, but Bradley’s fingernails rasp through Jake’s chest hair roughly, his body has started trembling and he manages a breathy-shaky 'fuck close, please' which just spurs Jake on, hand firmer and faster. Then Bradley’s coming, white hot, all the muscles in his body seeming to flex and release at once and he can hear his breath, coming in sharp pants.

            He doesn't have a chance to catch his breath before he's being kissed, his open mouth a clear invitation and he kisses back, tongue sliding against hard teeth and warm hot flesh. Then he's being jostled, guided backwards, and god, they didn't even make it to Bradley’s bed, although at least he can say they made it to his bedroom. Just. Bradley pulls the sheets and duvet back and Jake watches, heart rate slowing down slightly but his skin prickles with the knowledge that the night has only just started.

PART THREE

#top gun maverick #hangster #rooster x hangman #top gun maverick fanfic #this was meant to be a one-shot and now it's 3 parts

[mirisss]

No Reason to Worry

Pairing: None idol!Yoon Jeonghan x afab! reader

Wordcount ≈ 1.5k

Warnings: jealousy, sexual innuendo, minors dni, a guy who can’t take a no, 

Summary: Yoon Jeonghan knows he is a good-looking guy and that his girlfriend is in love with him, but even he can end up feeling jealous

Please reblog!

Jeonghan’s POV

(Y/n) and I were getting ready to go to Seungcheol’s birthday party. I was just about done and was now sitting on the bed waiting for (Y/n), I was excited to celebrate my best friend’s birthday but at the same time, I didn’t have too much energy and would have preferred to just stay in and watch a movie while cuddling had it been any other day. “Hannie, did I leave my earring on the counter in there? I can only find one here,” “Uh, I don’t know but I’ll check,” I walked over to the counter and as expected, (Y/n)’s earring lay there right where she had put it before going into the bathroom. I picked it up and walked into the bathroom, as I walked in and laid my eyes on (Y/n) I gulped. “Holy shit, babe, honey, love, you look amazing! When did you buy this dress? And how come you’re wearing it for Seungcheol?” “Jeonghan!” She turned to me with a playful glare and also gave me a playful weak push on my chest as we both laughed. “I meant what I said though, you look so good, oh, and also, I found your earring, here,” “Thanks, honey, you don’t look too bad yourself. Wearing your shirt so open for Seungcheol, or maybe for Shua?” “Of course, I have it so unbuttoned for Joshua, and Seungcheol, I have to remind them that I’m incredibly hot,” “Ahh, yes, of course,” We both burst out into laughter. I loved this about our relationship, we have been dating for a long time and we’re never awkward with each other, we always have a lot of fun and act like we’re best friends most of the time. We have many inside jokes, it’s amazing. “The taxi will be here any minute, you almost done?” “Yeah, the earring was the last piece of the puzzle so I’m ready,” “You sure?” “What? Why? Have I forgotten something?” “Yeah, your lipstick is a little messy,” “Huh?!? No it isn’t?” (Y/n) quickly turned to look in the mirror before she looked quizzically at me, as she turned back to me I quickly moved closer and kissed her. As I pulled away I gave her a wink. “It is now,” “Yoon Jeonghan! You damn devil,” “You love me and my devilishness,” “I do, I really do. Huh, who knew you would look better in my lipstick than me?” I just chuckled before taking a makeup wipe and wiping my lips to remove the lipstick. 

Soon we found ourselves outside the venue where Seungcheol was having his party, the music was blasting so high we heard it from 3 blocks away, the venue was overflowing with people, the stank of alcohol mixed with sweat was very potent in the air, and lights were blinking every color you could imagine. “Let’s go!” (Y/n) was very excited, we haven’t seen the boys in quite a while, having been too busy with our jobs and everything. We walked in and tried to find some of our friends, which took a while because Seungcheol invited every person on Earth or something like that. After around 30 minutes we managed to find Seungcheol, Hoshi, Joshua, Dino, Jun, and Minghao. “Happy birthday CHEOL!” “Thank you, (Y/n)! Yoo girl you’re looking so good, damn that dress is fire!” “Thanks, Cheollie, though I should really thank Minghao, he was the one who said I should buy it when we were out shopping a few months ago,” “I got an eye for fashion, what can I say, I’m a fashion god,” Now, most people would probably think I would get jealous because Seungcheol complimented my girlfriend and Minghao went shopping with her, but here’s the thing, I’m not, I know (Y/n) is looking super good right now, and she often goes shopping with Hao because she values his advice when it comes to fashion, they’re like siblings though. I have no reason to worry, also I trust her, I know she loves me and I love her. We stayed there chatting for a while before (Y/n) said she was gonna go and try to find some of her girlfriends to say hi. 

About an hour and a half later I decide to try and find (Y/n) again to see if she’s eaten anything yet or if she wants to hit the buffet with me. It took a while but eventually, I found (Y/n) sitting on a bench talking with some guy, which usually doesn’t bother me but this dude was sitting very close to her and he was flirting like crazy. (Y/n) didn’t seem to notice though as she was talking about a trip she and I went on last year. “Hey, you’re really pretty, wanna get out of here and do something fun?” “What? Uh, no” “Why not? I’m hot and really good in bed, I can promise you that you would be satisfied,” I heard (Y/n) let out a sigh before she answered him. “Mmm, really? You can guarantee it?” I couldn’t believe it, was she considering it? It didn’t seem like her. “Of course, I can already guess what you like,” “Really?” (Y/n) crept a little closer to the guy, almost like she was about to kiss him. “Then, you know exactly what I want right now?” The guy leaned closer too, staring at her lips. “Yeah I do,” He seemed very confident. (Y/n) put one hand on his cheek before smirking. “Then, how come you’re still here? Leave me alone, I said no, accept it and fuck off,” She harshly turned his head right before he could kiss her and I couldn’t help but start laughing at his face, his expression. “Hannie!” (Y/n) got up and ran over to me the second she saw me. “Hey baby, I’ve been looking for you, wanna hit the buffet with me?” “I’d love to,” For good measure, and to settle the jealousy that had sprouted at the thought of (Y/n) flirting with the guy, I gave her a passionate kiss. As we parted from the kiss the guy was looking like he was seconds away from crying. “Come on, do you think they have pineapple at the buffet? I’ve been craving it like crazy lately,” “I don’t know, let’s go check,” 

After we had gotten some food, and a lot of pineapple slices, (Y/n) and I found a spot to sit down at. “Jeonghan, were you jealous or worried when you found me talking to that douchebag?” “Well, to be honest, I was jealous when it seemed like you were into him but as I got closer I heard you telling him about our trip last year but that feeling just wasn’t leaving,” “You know I only have eyes for you. I love you. Only you. He approached me and it seemed fine when he only wanted to know where I got this bracelet, you know the one you bought me during the trip, so I told him but I don’t think he listened or heard me say that it was an anniversary present from my boyfriend.” “I know. I love you too, only you. Seems like he was more interested in your lips and curves rather than the bracelet,” “Yeah, I realize that now. I’m just glad he actually left us alone after I rejected him the second time,” She gave me a peck on the cheek as we began talking about something else. 

“Wanna go home? It’s like 3 am,” “Yeah, let’s go home,” We called a taxi and went home after having spent the last hour dancing and talking with our closest friends. When we got home I couldn’t help but remember how it felt to be jealous, it was probably my first time feeling like that, it was not fun. But I know something that would help make me feel better and that is fun. “Hey (Y/n),” “Huh? OH!” She turned to me and I pulled her close kissing her passionately, she returned the kiss with just as much passion. “You look amazing in the dress but right now I’d prefer you without it,” I gave her a wink after I had whispered that by her ear and began pulling the dress off of her body. “Yoon Jeonghan, you handsome devil,” Though I doubt she was complaining as she unbuttoned my shirt. Let’s just say that we definitely solved the jealousy.

#jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #svt x reader #svt x yn #svt #svt jeonghan #mirisss #mirisss.writings #mirisss.stories #mirisss.writing #Seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x yn #seventeen x afab reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen onehsot

[softrosehale]

That Took A Twist! - Rosalie Hale

A/N: hi so i was really high when i wrote this and i intended it to be a funny, light-hearted crackfic. don’t get me wrong, i have no idea wtf is wrong with me, like some parts of this don’t need to exist but here you go. anyways, i genuinely think that rosalie is one of the most complex characters in the series and smeyer fucked her over that’s all bye 

“You know what I love about you?” You asked, peering at your mate from your upside-down perch from the couch, legs kicking playfully in the air. Rosalie quirked an eyebrow at you, full lips pulling up into an affectionate smile. “And what would that be?” She asked, her voice honey sweet. 

“Is it her ample bosom?” Emmett asked from his spot on the ground, brows furrowed as he gripped his remote controller tightly, cracks forming in the flimsy plastic. Rosalie’s eyes rolled, and she turned to the gigantic teddy bear. “Excuse–”

“Nah, it isn’t her bosom,” You answered. “Though,” You grinned at your mate, practically leering at her. Your eyes glinted predatorily. “Her bosom is indeed ample.” Rosalie squinted at you, even though you could feel through the bond, that she was internally preening at the twisted compliment. You growled softly in her direction, the lust in your eyes evident. Rosalie swore that if she could blush, she would. In fact, she could feel the phantom heat of blood rushing to her cheeks. She winked at you, crossing her arms across her chest, pushing the subject of the conversation higher. You let out a soft squeak and turned away quickly, feeling faint. 

“Hey, can we please stop using the word ‘bosom,’ please?” Jasper grunted out from his spot on the love seat in the corner, Alice twined around him. Edward, in the same position with a golden-eyed Bella, nodded in agreement. Bella turned to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong with the word bosom? You complimented me on mine just an hour ago, Edward.”

Edward choked silently while Emmett and Jasper roared with laughter. You turned to Edward. “Really? Bosom?” You shook your head sadly at him. “This is why you were still a virgin at 110 or some shit,” You lamented. 

“Seriously,” Jasper agreed. “Why not call them what they are?” 

Alice quirked an eyebrow at him. “And what would they be?”

“Are we speaking about Bella’s bosom or yours?”

“I thought you said that we weren’t using the word bosom anymore?”

“Can we also put Rose’s bosom back on the list? Hers is ample.” 

“So are Bella’s!”

“So are Alice’s!”

“Why are you lying to her?”

A half an hour later, three broken walls and about half of Emmett’s limbs removed, courtesy of Jasper, Bella, Edward– well, everyone, really. Alice was searching on her phone about which push-up bras were best and pouting. Jasper was still nursing both bite marks and biting hurt from insults hurled (“Shut the fuck up, Jasper! You were a fucking Major for the Confederates, you’re used to suppressing someone else’s rights!”). Edward was rocking back and forth, his hands carding through his hair, raking it into a wild mess. His eyes were haunted– they grew that way when an impromptu wet t-shirt contest was held. Bella was looking at you and Rosalie thoughtfully, nodding her head. Yes, Rose’s bosom was quite ample. Emmett was still sulking about the lost arm-wrestling match between you and him– hence one broken wall explained. 

Rosalie, as always, was unbothered, staring at her perfectly manicured nails. She made sure to keep them shorter this time. You were curled against her, head rested on the reason for three broken walls, Emmett losing half of his limbs, and a slight but repairable rift in the family. You nuzzled your face into your mate’s chest, a soft purr rumbling through your throat. “You never answered my question earlier,” You murmured, softly enough for only your mate to hear. 

“Yes, you can go on top next time,” Rose murmured back. “It’s quite fun when you’re on top, not gonna lie.” She mused. You blinked. “...That wasn’t the question I was talking about, but…” You trailed off, cocking your head thoughtfully. “That’s good to know. No, I meant, wanna know what I love about you?”

Rosalie’s expression melted into something warm and soft, eyes full of love. “What would that be, my heart?” She asked, brushing her fingertips along your cheek. You leaned into her soft, tender touch. “I love everything about you,” You smiled, capturing her hand in yours. You pressed soft kisses to each of her fingers, happily noticing the much shorter length of her nails. You ended it with a kiss to her palm. She curled her fingers around yours. “There’s nothing about you that I don’t love,” You continued. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me this life and wanting me for eternity. I promise to love you for as long as that is for us, and beyond.” 

Alice’s eyes unfocused for a second, and she smiled to herself. Edward, seeing the vision through his gift, smiled as well. He and Alice unobtrusively herded Bella, Jasper, and Emmett, who was still subdued from his loss (of limbs and arm-wrestling match) followed along silently.

Rosalie’s eyes welled with tears that could never fall. For so long, she loathed her existence, cursing herself for her beauty. It was all anyone had ever noticed about her– nothing below the surface of the complex girl with the face that rivaled Aphrodite’s. Until you. You’d seen beneath the cold, stoic, angry mask– clawed your way past the surface with bare hands and a determined heart. You knew her. You saw her. Her beautiful face and ample bosom were just three bonuses– very nice ones, but bonuses nonetheless. 

“I love you with everything I am,” Rosalie’s reply was soft, but no less filled with heart than yours. “My entire heart is yours.” She intoned. You squeezed her hand gently. “I promise to treat it with nothing but the utmost care,” You replied. “I know that others in the past have not, but I promise that I’m not like them.”

Rosalie inhaled shakily. Those wounds, no matter how old, were still raw. She wondered if they would always be– wondered if the pain ever lessened. She hoped it did; she had to hope that it did. “I know,” She agreed quietly. She leaned forward until her forehead pressed against yours. “And me?” She breathed softly, liquid gold eyes wide. “Do I have your heart as well?” Her voice was teasing, playful, but her eyes held hope that both heartened but broke your heart as well– that she could doubt her worth to you. 

You pulled her closer, twining yourself around her like a koala would a tree (minus the chlamydia). You looked up at her, golden eyes glowing with warmth, your love for her practically roaring through the bond like a wildfire. “You know you do. You have, ever since the first ‘hello.’”

#Rosalie Hale x Reader #rosalie lillian hale #my writing

[telvess]

Record of Ragnarok, Jack the Ripper x S/O (shot)

What a lovely day it was to enjoy a cup of Darjeeling tea. Jack headed to the restaurant, humming Mother Goose’s lullaby to himself. His mind was as clear as sky above him. It was crowded at this time. Who would’ve thought that even in afterlife humans would find something worth chasing. Well, Jack now also had a new purpose. Was it destiny or twist of a fate that the moment he thought about it, potential purpose simply collided with him? — Ah, my apologies — he mumbled, hearing loud ouch. Before him stood woman of average heigh, her auburn hair was blowing in the wind. She rubbed her forehead, turning eyes towards Jack. Colour of her soul became slightly yellow as she noticed his serious face. She might not have heard him. — My bad — her voice was weak. Jack immediately put on a smile, he didn’t mean to scare her. — Be not afeard — he said. A woman blinked as if she heard a ghost. In one moment her soul filled with red which Jack interpreted as confidence. — The isle is full of noises — she whispered with content smile. Jack’s eyes widened. — Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. — Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices… — he began reciting with her. They both lowered their voices to better reflect the tone of the work. Red colour exploded inside a woman, passion completely took over. — That, if I then had waked after long sleep, will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, the clouds methought would open and show riches ready to drop upon me that, when I waked, I cried to dream again — they finished together. The woman sighed as if she had just smelled a delicious cake. When she looked into Jack's eyes again, there was pure joy in them. — William Shakespeare, The Tempest — she winked at him. — Act three, scene two — added Jack. — Isn’t it beautiful? She nodded with a broad smile. — I thought you wouldn’t get it when I started and think I’m a weirdie, but I just couldn’t deny myself! What a great surprise! — Indeed, meeting another person who can recite so finely word for word such a magnificent part… A shadow flickered across woman’s face. Her inner colour changed; intense red washed out, became faded. Jack interpreted it as an embarrassment. — Oh, I’m so sorry — her cheeks turned red — I think I might have made wrong first impression on you. You see… — she scratched her neck and with closed eyes said in a single breath — I don’t know much more about Shakespeare. She opened her eyes, her face was contorted as if she had eaten something sour. — How so? — I tried to read his work but… truth to be told, I don’t think I am bright enough to understand it. Language issue. I was born long, long time after him. Jack’s shoulders dropped a bit. — Disappointed, aren’t you? — she laughed. Jack smiled. — It’s odd you know that one. — Well, I heard it when I was a teenager and it kinda stuck with me. It’s sounds so beautiful I had to learn it by heart, but until today I’ve never said it out loud. Red colour brighten up again and her soul filled with passion that Jack shared. The loud noise of a passing car reminded them that they were both heading somewhere before this conversation started. They exchanged shy smiles and began to walk hand in hand in silent agreement. — You seem like man who is well-read — she said after awhile. — I have read all of Shakespeare's works. Woman’s eyes widened. — Really? — she sounded impressed. Jack felt a flush of heat in his ears that spreaded on the cheeks. — Be or not to be… — she whispered slowly, glancing at Jack in tense silence. — That is the question — he obediently followed, imitating the right tone of voice. — A horse, a horse! — her voice became more livelier, almost desperate.

— My kingdom for a horse! — he scouted with her. Woman giggled and Jack couldn’t have helped but admire how beautiful someone’s soul was when they enjoy themself. Just how wondrous it would’ve filled with fear-… no. That’s the past. What's done is done. He was living a new life now. — These are hackneyed — her voice brought him back to reality — Beside them I don’t know more except one. I really like… wait, how does it go, I don’t want to spoil it… Ah! To thine own self be true… — … self be true — he finished with her. — But I don’t know where is it from. — Hamlet, Polonius said that — Jack answered almost immediately. — Ah, Hamlet. My English teacher would kill me for not knowing that. She gave him another smile. Jack’s heart started beating faster. Where this heat in his belly was coming from? Almost as if he was wounded, but without blood and pain. Such strange feeling and that colour he was emitting… Jack couldn’t have interpreted it at all. — What’s your favourite quote? — Mine? — that question caught him off guard — Hmm… Jack never thought of that. He adored a whole lot of them. He knew what happen in every act of every scene but to chose one out of so many marvellous works… would it be even… fair? — I believe I don’t have one — was his reply. — Oh, come on! — woman scouted. — You must have the one you like a bit more, the one that stands out. Jack allowed himself to drown in the endless abyss of words. Maybe he had to choose his favourite work first to find it? Which one could it be? Shakespeare’s sonnets? That was his very first after all. If there was one good thing that Jack’s father did, it was leaving that book in the brothel. — Hey, stranger! — Jack looked around and realized that his companion wasn’t walking by his side anymore. The woman was standing few meters behind, pointing out side street where she obviously intended to go — What’s your name? — she shouted. — Jack. He felt unpleasant sting in the chest knowing that they had to separate so soon. — Jack… — she said, her voice was still confident, but Jack saw blue stains of disappointed in her soul — … the next time we meet, you will tell me your favourite part! A larger group of people showed up and due to lack of space, the woman had to go with the flow. But she was looking at Jack as she was walking away and didn’t stop until Jack nodded. And then she was gone. Jack didn’t even ask for her name.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror x reader #snv x reader #ror jack the ripper #snv jack the ripper #ror jack the ripper x reader #ror jack x reader #jack the ripper x reader #udj

[alexanderlightweight]

If the muses agree can there be a continuation of Ragnor-met-Alec-first? With Magnus getting his date and Alec asking Ragnor (firstly if he is dreaming) and for advice on how to treat Magnus right.

this is a bit like that so i hope you like it, this is where i ended up with it. i hope you enjoy! thank you for the prompt

<3 lumine

-

Alec isn’t really sure what’s going on. But he also finds he doesn’t mind, not a single bit.

He’s being taken care of with more care and consideration than he would even at what is supposed to be his Institute. There’s a bitter part of Alec that doesn’t want to return to a place that he’s failed — that he feels has failed him — but there’s a larger part that doesn’t want to leave Magnus.

Alec’s heard about the High Warlock of Brooklyn, has seen glimpses of his profile in the clave database, but it’s nothing compared to seeing him in person.

It was never enough to prepare him for the touch of Magnus’ magic and the weight of his interest. Alec is consumed by every atom of Magnus’ being and it’s more terrifying than anything he’s ever felt. His life is falling apart, nothing he does goes right, his siblings are throwing away everything he’s worked and sacrificed for, and Alec is very close to giving up.

But Magnus, Magnus is… he’s magical.

He’s the kind of magic that had Alec biting his lip in awe when he was little. The kind of magic that Alec used to dream of would rescue him.

It feels like dreams have come true, now.

With Magnus soothing over him with magic and bringing ice to his mouth and his fingers threading through Alec’s hair with a gentleness that hurts Alec deeper than any blow could.

So, when Clary and Jace are ushered through a portal and Alec is cut off from any kind of backup, he’s not nearly as concerned as he normally would be.

He can’t be upset or suspicious, not when Magnus is nothing but sincerity and there is something dangerous about him, something deadly that makes Alec’s brain feel fuzzy.

Alec’s been injured worse before, probably. He rarely remembers these kinds of injuries, but he finds himself hoping he remembers this one.

When he slips, murmuring the last part aloud, Magnus asks him why and Alec can’t help but stare at him, because he honestly thought Magnus was smarter than this.

—

Magnus blinks, surprised and torn between delighted and outraged at Alexander’s audacity.

His boy just guilelessly blinked up at him and told Magnus — to his unglamoured gaze — that he thought Magnus was smarter than this. What exactly Magnus is supposed to be smarter than Alexander has yet to mention.

“Oh? How so, darling?”

“Of course, I’d want to remember this. If I forgot, I wouldn’t remember you.” Alexander tells him, so endearingly honest. “Enduring any kind of pain would be worth that, Magnus.”

There’s a moment, where Magnus feels the world white out around him as his magic latches onto something and he feels a hunger in his soul, a yearning that finally feels sated and he doesn’t even recognize the tendrils of Edom’s magic as he curls one hand around Alexander’s nape.

The other he uses to tilt Alexander’s head up and smirk down at his blushing, avoidant boy.

“You can’t say such things and then try to hide, sweetheart. I’ll think you insincere.” Magnus is teasing even as he says it, but from the flicker of devastation in alexander’s eyes, it’s clear that Alexander considers it serious.  There’s a stubbornness to his chin as he tries to make himself meet Magnus’ gaze and Magnus feels both cruel and powerful and he shudders.

“Alexander, you delightful temptation.” Magnus murmurs and he leans forward to press a kiss to Alexander’s cheek, “whatever shall I do with you?”

Alexander sends him a glower, which is really just a pout that Magnus wants to kiss off of Alexander’s face.

“Very well then, I’ll just keep you until I figure it out.” Magnus winks here, but his fingers tighten, because he’s never been more serious in his life.

-

“I have a date?” Alec asks for the third time and while normally, Ragnor might be annoyed, he’s more sympathetic than anything.

“Yes. As soon as Cat clears you for concussions, Magnus is waiting to whisk you away to the garden for a proper supper.”

“Supper?”

Ragnor stares at Alec and contemplates whether or not it’s worth it to explain the differences, when he catches the twitch of the lad’s lips.

“Oh, I see. You save my life only to wound me.” Ragnor deadpans and is rewarded with a tiny curl of a mouth before it evens out.

“Of course not. It was the concussion.” Alec tells him, as if he isn’t thirty seconds away from being declared fit, as a finely tuned but delicate cello.

“You—” and Ragnor shakes his head with a huff. “What were you thinking, laddie? I thought you were the intelligent one of your groups, but you tore through that demon with your bare hands.”

“I had no weapons.” Alec tells him neutrally and then, right as Magnus steps close, he adds. “You said we would only be considered allies as long as no nephil weapons entered your abode.” Alec smirks, a disarming and dangerous look that has Ragnor’s spine tingling. “I would never risk making you an enemy when unnecessary.”

Ragnor laughs, because he’s delighted by the cheek of this lad and he reaches out and is generously given a ducked head to pat. Ragnor is pretty sure it’s because Magnus is watching, but he doesn’t mind because he’s genuinely endeared.

“Absolutely not.” Magnus interjects, stealing Alec away before the third and final pat. “Ragnor, he already saved your life. Don’t be greedy.”

From the possessive hand Magnus has on Alec’s shoulders, it’s clear who is having trouble controlling himself.

“I’m fond of the lad.” Ragnor huffs because he lives to tease Magnus. “And gratitude after being saved isn’t greedy.” Ragnor sniffs pointedly and Magnus rolls his eyes, fingers tightening from where they’re gripping Alec’s shoulders. “But go on, keep him to yourself.”

“I will.” Magnus vows and his eyes glint a deep gold and Alec blushes a bright pink before Ragnor chuckles and excuses himself.

“Don’t overexert the lad before Cat clears him.” Ragnor reminds him, earning a vicious, sharp curse from Magnus and he peeks over his shoulder just in time to see Magnus pull away from where he was cooing over Alec to send him a piercing, molten glower.

“Ragnor. Leave!”

“This is my home.” Ragnor reminds him, letting a bit of sulk into his voice. “Honestly, no respect.”

#writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #lumine writes #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #shadowhunters au #my fanfics #my ficlets #malec

[cdyssey]

One Bed

Summary: When Barbara and Melissa get to their conference hotel room, they're unduly shocked that there is only one bed. [Post-2.16]

CW: Alcohol, Drunkenness, Emotional Infidelity/Infidelity, Sexual Innuendo/References

AO3

—

It’s a mistake, of course.

A clerical error most likely.

Perfectly reasonable given all the administrative duress that the hotel must be under since it’s hosting PECSA.

When Barbara and Melissa get to their shared room, huffing and puffing and ready to park their tired asses down—having lugged their suitcases all the way down a long hallway that looks like it could have come straight from The Shining—they quickly realize that instead of two queens, there’s only one king-sized bed that’s clearly made for two. 

Barbara reacts as she’s supposed to, as is to be expected of her, a zealous woman of God—scandalized and righteously bewildered, stopping dead in the middle of the doorway, clenching the handle of her makeup bag far too tightly…

(… battling unsolicited images of Melissa’s beautiful hair splayed across a white pillow.)

(And she isn’t wearing a shirt in this vision for some inexplicable reason either, the contours of a black lace bra doing absolutely nothing to contain those creamy, voluptuous—)

“Oh, almighty God in Heaven,” she exhales with shuttered breath, blinking rapidly. Melissa nearly runs into her, the tip of her shoe clipping her heel as she also tries to teeter to an abrupt standstill with all her luggage.

It’s almost funny.

The way that Barbara barely feels the ensuing sting.

“What?” The younger woman grunts as she peers over her shoulder. “Is the room not clean yet or somethin’ because I swear to God, I ain’t carrying all this crap down aga—“

But she stops short, clearly sees the dilemma.

That one bed.

“Ah,” she only says, temporarily rendered speechless, which is a damn near feat for Melissa Schemmenti, who has strong opinions on pretty much everything, from the starting lineup of the Flyers to which Wawa hoagie is the best.

(The Gobbler obviously.)

“We should call downstairs,” Barbara suggests weakly, her throat strangely dry. Maybe it’s just the Allentown weather, and her sinuses are acting up, as they’re wont to do in strange environments.

Because surely, it’s not the prospect of sharing the same bed with her dearest friend in the entire world.

That would be ludicrous to be bothered about. 

Absurd even.

It’s merely a bed, and she’s a grown-ass woman who is perfectly capable of cohabiting a bed with another grown-ass woman.

If it has to come to that.

(She doesn’t think it would be a particularly good idea for it to come to that.)

“See if we can get it changed,” she continues, attempting a smile that stretches across her lips like rusted wire.

“What?” Melissa teases, having regained her composure far more quickly than Barbara. Her chin is nearly touching her shoulder, and that makes the kindergarten teacher feel some kind of way too, as though there’s a tightness coiled just behind her navel. She also blames this on her incredibly sensitive allergies, inwardly lamenting that she forgot to pack her Sudafed. 

“You scared to sleep in the same bed with me? ‘Fraid I have cooties?”

She receives an accompanying smirk and an elbow nudge at this, pinned down by twinkling eyes that remind her of both hearth and home, and Barbara can’t help it; she laughs in spite of herself. 

Because it never really matters in the end. 

Not with Melissa Schemmenti.

Whether she’s irritated about paperwork, stressed after a long few weeks of fearing that her husband has prostate cancer, or experiencing inconvenient sinus symptoms, the younger woman always knows how to tease a smile out of her. She’s a menace and one hell of a saint; she absolutely delights in doing so. 

Barbara used to hate that when she was a younger woman, loathed that there was apparently one person who could sneak past her well-constructed defenses and disarm them all with a sly wink and a shit-eating grin. She used to nag at Melissa all the time for being facetious.

It was utterly inappropriate.

All the jokes and games and innuendos that would make a preacher blush.

They were supposed to be adults. 

But now, nearly three decades down the line, she’s forever grateful to Melissa for continually reminding her of how to play.

“No, of course not,” she insists vigorously. “I just know that you and I would both be more comfortable if we had our own beds. Our backs are more twisted than those kids who won at the end of Footloose.”

“Pssh, that’s the moral you took at the end of Footloose, Barb?” Melissa snorts incredulously, shaking her fiery head. 

“Yes!”

No, it absolutely was not, but she isn’t going to admit to spending an inordinate amount of time admiring Lori Singer’s toned arms. 

As inspiration for her own exercise regiment, naturally. 

“God bless ya,” her friend chortles fondly, “but hell yeah, sure. We can grab our swag bags from the ballroom and swing by the front desk afterwards. And then it’s—“

“—pool time, baby,” Barbara finishes with delicious zeal, unable to contain herself, affecting a theatrical, little shoulder shimmy. 

She’s been looking forward to PECSA for at least a month now, anticipating all the best parts in advance: the long car ride with Melissa and the inevitable hours in the pool with her too, luxuriating in the sauna with Melissa, boozing it up with Melissa, staggering back to the room gloriously drunk at 2AM with Melissa, (wondering why life isn’t always as lovely as this in a tequila-soaked daze).

Waking up to Melissa as the first sight she sees in the morning.

Nursing a nasty hangover.

Thinking it’s an appropriate and welcome punishment for ever daring to be so perfectly happy.

(With Melissa.)

These are the traditions that they’ve threaded for themselves in all these years upon years—their rituals of unbecoming, of leaving school and family chaos and the consummate professionals that they always have to be behind. And, of course, what happens at the conference stays at the conference. That’s their maxim anyway—maybe even their chosen excuse—for the ways they tend to act when they’re alone.

“Well, I was gonna say booze time,” the younger woman grins, “but I guess the two aren’t mutually exclusive the way we do it.”

“No,” Barbara easily returns the smile, affectionately knocking her hip against Melissa’s own. “Not at all.”

—

An hour later, they’re stretched out side-by-side on lounge chairs by the pool—pre-gaming for PECSA-geddon with piña coladas—when Melissa gets a call from the concierge; they’d stopped by the lobby before heading upstairs to change into their swimsuits and made the manager aware of the error, leaving with a promise that he’d look for another room and get back to them as soon as check-in rush was over.

But to no avail.

There are no doubles left in the inn.

“He said they’ll send us a complimentary bottle of champagne for the trouble, though,” the second-grade teacher shrugs as she tosses her phone into her beach bag again. “So that’s a plus. I’mma need copious amounts of alcohol to cope with seein’ my sister’s ugly mug.”

Barbara, who had been stuck on the fact that she is in fact going to have to share a bed with Melissa tonight—(again, not that it discomfits her at all! she’s a grown-ass woman!)—is a little late registering what she just said, but when it hits her, when she remembers that they’d run into Kristin Marie before leaving the vendor ballroom, she sharply recalls the way the two sisters had so viscerally sparred.

As they always do when they encounter each other in the wild—claws out, hackles raised, their words like sharp teeth at the edge of the other’s exposed throat.

Barbara frankly thinks that their estrangement has gone on for too damn long. She’s seen enough of their fights to know that beneath all the name calling and cooking-based insults, they clearly love and miss each other, even if they’re both too stubborn to ever admit it. But all the same, she hadn’t appreciated Kristin Marie’s remarkably low blow about Joseph.

Hell, she may have even said something herself had Melissa not gotten there first.

“About that…” She begins, biting her plump lower lip. It tastes like pineapple. She briefly prays—perhaps inappropriately—that the rum will give her liquid courage. 

Barbara is well-aware that they have an implicit but long-established rule not to bring their personal lives with them to conferences. Last year, for instance, they did an exceptionally fine job of not talking about the fact that the Howards had been in unhappy straits, their marriage strained by Gerald’s recent promotion. His long hours exacted a toll from them; his frequent out-of-town trips caused an abyss that neither of them knew how to functionally bridge.

They didn’t argue necessarily—they just constantly disagreed with each other in their normal tones of voice—but that was somehow the exact same thing and possibly even worse.

(Maybe they were too apathetic to even muster themselves to fight.)

They persevered and made it through that dark time, though.

(Mostly.)

They tentatively reconciled.

(They never directly spoke about the thousands of tensions between them, steamrolling over and through them instead, affecting a normality that neither of them looked like they could wholly feel.)

Of course they did. There was no other option. Divorce was synonymous with quitting, and quitting was in neither of their vocabularies. 

But things had been complicated there for a while.

Life had been.

And this time last year, Melissa didn’t have to ask if something was wrong. Attentive to every microgesture, she just capably knew and didn’t press Barbara about any of it. 

Just kept plying drinks into her open hand.

And Barbara Howard had loved her for that—for her discretion, for her clear sensitivity to the delicate situation, for all her innumerable and wordless acts of care—the drinks, her purposefully inane chatter, the way she would sometimes rub circles into the side of the kindergarten teacher’s wrist when they sat at the bar, and every tall man with a sad smile unfailingly reminded her of Gerald.

She’s too something or another—(Involved? Hypocritical? Christian?)—to ever extend her the same courtesy.

“Don’t,” Melissa warns, sucking on the straw of her drink rather petulantly. “I don’t wanna hear it. I ain’t makin’ up with her.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that,” she replies patiently. (Well, she is. Eventually. If the two of them keep it up this weekend. Both for Melissa’s sake and her own. She’s not willing to play referee to the Schemmenti sisters’ knock-down-drag-out fights again. She’s been there, done that, and every attempt has unfailingly ended with her needing to imbibe copious amounts of wine for doing so.) “I was just going to ensure that you’re okay—see if you wanted to talk about it.”

It isn’t entirely lost on her that Melissa had said the exact same thing to her just two weeks ago when she’d nearly set the school on fire, distracted and undone by the stress of Gerald’s health scare. It isn’t beyond her grasp of irony that they’d concluded that same conversation on a laughing agreement that neither of them believe in the necessity of advertising their stressors.

But still.

It’s them, and they talk through these things when they’re ready or just on the verge of being so. It’s them, and they both implicitly know when the other needs a little push off the terrifying ledge. In fact, it probably wouldn’t be them if they didn’t—push each other and need to occasionally be pushed, that is—always challenging each other in their relationship in some way or another, more than willing to be what the other lacks. 

Melissa immediately averts her eyes, staring at the water mere feet away from them, how it rhythmically laps against the side of the pool, and Barbara stares at her, intransigent and yet so gentle, knowing it is a form of love to not let the moment go.

“What’s there to talk about?” She eventually shrugs. Her green cover-up slips at the gesture and the magenta strap of her swimsuit briefly becomes visible, her slightly freckled shoulder exposed.

Barbara blinks rapidly, forcing herself to concentrate, briefly unspooled by a sudden desire to kiss the creamy skin there, to sample the anatomy of her all the way down…

She coughs into her free hand, briefly choked.

Damn sinuses.

“Kristin Marie’s a little shit,” Melissa goes on, oblivious, still looking away, now idly swirling the colorful umbrella in her cocktail glass. “End of the story. Same old, same old.”

“A little shit who is also your sister,” Barbara parries back with a knowing smile as her friend just as deliberately scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Which is what makes it so complicated, sweetheart—the people we love know how to wound us far more effectively than any knife.”

“Did ya get that off a Snapple lid, Barb?” Melissa retorts. Melissa jokes. Melissa capably deflects. Always, always, always. It’s one of her less aggressive defenses against unwanted vulnerability, the one she tends to wield most in conversations with Barbara. 

(With other people—outsiders—she’d just bark and perhaps even bite.)

But Barbara solemnly shakes her head, unwilling to let her get away with it, thinking of her best friend’s kindness in these last few weeks—how, ever since the fire, not a day has gone by that she hasn’t made sure that she’s okay. Gerald even told her the other night—as they laid in their sheets after yet another round of celebratory relief sex—that he was glad that she’d finally told Mel. 

Mel.

He called her that because he loves her too.

Not in the same way Barbara does, of course…

… whatever way that happens to be.

That’s too complicated for her to ever fully—or at least, audibly—define.

Messy even.

And she despises mess, especially within the immaculate temple of herself; she scrubs it clean at the altar every Sunday, asking God’s forgiveness for a sin that she can’t even name.

She thrilled at her husband bringing Melissa’s pervasive specter into their shared bed, relieved that she didn’t have to be the one to do so; and yet, her hand splayed against his bare chest, she could not bring herself to interrogate the root cause of her own pleasure.

“I was worried about you,” he went on gently, his warm knuckles skimming her forearm as he held her in the dark, “keeping it all on the inside.”

“It was the only thing I could do,” Barbara returned, perhaps a little too quickly, echoing the same sentiment that she had said to Melissa. She could only pray and not talk about it; she had desperately wanted to talk about it, had almost dared to—several times, in fact—as she and Melissa sat at the same table that she’d later burned, as was their habit, as was their decades long norm. But the words remained lacquered on her tongue; the weight of them rendered her incapable of speech; she was convinced that speaking her fears to Melissa would make them all real.

I’m afraid my husband is sick, she could not bring herself to say.

And if he is—if this is our lived reality—then I am devastated, Melissa.

I am so, so guilty.

Our marriage is not what it once was.

She loves Gerald Howard; she always will—he has been her best friend for thirty-seven beautiful years—but she secretly wonders if their renewed closeness in these last few weeks is just mutual and desperate apology, a last-ditch attempt to mend what has certainly been disrupted between them.

They’ve been distant from each other for a long time now.

And it hasn’t been anyone’s fault, really.

All their polite disagreements aside, Barbara is more than aware that Gerald’s promotion was not the fundamental breaking point in their marriage; it was just the easiest grievance to turn into an excuse, the tangible obstacle that they could both offload their hundreds of insecurities into without delving further into any single one of them. They could blame the promotion because it was there. It kept them from having to confront each other, which was far more complicated than having an impartial something to unite against. This lack of introspection allowed their middling reconciliation to be easier to swallow than it probably should have been, and yet, conversely, it made Gerald’s irregular prostate exam results all that much harder to bear three weeks ago. After the fact, they both became alive to the reality that their marriage has long been broken, and they’ve done everything since then to try and bandage the festering wounds.

The sex has been passionate.

Has been sensational even—(they’re both overachievers)—and yet, strangely controlled, as though both of them are seeking atonement from the other’s satisfaction. Barbara appreciates the intimacy; she deeply fears that it is compensating for something that they can never, ever get back. 

“You’re happier now that you’ve told her, though,” Gerald continued, and his voice was so kind as it wound its way down to her in the quietness of their room, and yet, she could distinguish that his eyes were shrewd… and perhaps even a little sad.

That had scared her a little.

And maybe a whole lot.

What was there to be shrewd (and perhaps a little sad) about when it came to her relationship with Melissa?

What did he know?

Was it something that she didn’t? Was it the unspoken thing that she could not force herself to articulate—the twinges in her gut that she sometimes experienced when she looked at Melissa, the recurring visions of the woman in her underwear, the thrill that she just experienced when he had only said her name? Was Melissa the unnamable sin that she kept committing—over and over again—without ever fully acknowledging that she was doing so?

“Gerald—” She started, the slightest plea in her voice. She curled her manicured fingers into the dividing line of his sternum and wished that he had said something that she could truthfully deny.

But he cut across her; he enveloped her hand with his own and lightly squeezed.

“—I like it when you’re happy, Barb.”

And somehow, in their nearly four decades long marriage, that was the cruelest thing he had ever said to her because of what it indirectly and yet so clearly implied.

She was not happy with him.

She found, even in the rawness and the immediacy of that moment, that she could not wipe her hands free of blood and cleanly refute this assertion either, and so, only one ruinous fact remained.

She and Gerald love each other deeply and so much.

They’re hurting each other all the same.

“Be serious, girlfriend,” she tells Melissa, frowning firmly, her mind full of her husband, her chest aching because of her best friend. “I’m not talking about Snapple lids and you know it. I’m talking about lived experience.”

I’m talking about your sister.

I’m talking about Gerald Howard.

I’m talking about us.

(She always is in some way or another.)

We both know what it’s like to be hurt by loved ones.

And equally, what it means to hurt them back.

Maybe she and Melissa—without ever really realizing it—hurt each other every blessed day, just by inhabiting the same spaces and fooling themselves into believing that they are careful about never crossing any of its dutifully articulated lines.

“And I don’t wanna be serious, Barb,” Melissa huffs, the playful smile slipping sideways from her mouth. “I want to drink my piña colada and inhale so much chlorinated water that I accidentally get high. Is that so much to ask for PECSA weekend?”

The answer, of course, is no—it’s not a demanding request at all, and if Barbara is any sort of friend, she’d drop the conversation right here and right now, and allow them to return to their various attempts at self-medication… but she can't entirely help herself, a little reckless under the influence, freer here in Allentown from the facade which circumscribes her in every other given context.

PECSA Barbara has a lot in common with Sea Barbara.

They’re both almost truthful.

“Perhaps not,” she admits grudgingly, watching as Melissa places her drink down on the table between them and starts to take her cover-up off, clearly about to make a run from her feelings by diving into the pool. This is yet another one of her friend’s go-to diversionary tactics, the one she commonly resorts to when joking about her pain doesn’t work.

(It never really works on Barbara.)

“But you miss her, Melissa, and she’s here,” she continues, now dry-mouthed and overwhelmed at the sight of the younger woman in just her bathing suit: the ample exposure of her cleavage, the powerful silhouette of her thighs, the thin pink fabric that stretches tightly over her belly. “Perhaps God is trying to tell you something.”

Her chest bruises even as she utters the words.

She probably shouldn’t be invoking God when she can’t keep her eyes off of Melissa Schemmenti’s ass.

“And maybe it’s just a coincidence,” her friend says bluntly, suddenly standing up and kicking her sandals off. One nearly flies into the water.

Barbara winces at the tone, knows that she provoked it and hates that she did—(why can’t she ever leave well enough alone?)—which Melissa immediately catches, her green eyes softening, her entire expression, a conciliatory smile rising to her lips. It’s as crooked as the necklace of saints nigh perpetually strung around her neck.

“But, uh, enough chit-chat,” she says, jerking her head towards the pool, her messy ponytail violently swinging from side-to-side. “You comin’, hon?”

Barbara quickly decides that she’s pushed her luck far enough in this conversation and nods emphatically, slowly tugging her own cover up above her head, revealing her sky blue bathing suit underneath. It doesn’t escape her notice that Melissa’s cheeks have slightly reddened at the sight, that her pupils have dilated, that she’s rubbing at the hollow of her throat with three fingers. Indeed, thoroughly aware of all these reactions, she swallows thickly, suddenly self-conscious. She makes a meal out of neatly folding the garment and placing it in her bag, giving both of them time to recompose themselves.

“After you,” she eventually says in a voice that’s not her own.

And so, when Melissa wades into the water, Barbara dutifully follows, drawn siren-like by the fiery undulations of the other’s hair. 

—

Barbara showers first, and Melissa follows. 

Afterwards, of course.

Separately.

That’s probably the one thing that they’ve never shared—well, besides a bed, but even that’s about to change in the course of a few hours.

The entire time that she’s getting dressed, blow-drying her hair, smartening up in a green dress and turquoise blazer, meticulously applying her mascara, she’s thinking about that damn bed. She can’t escape it no matter where she moves in the room. It’s too big. It invades the entire space and all her rational senses. Even as she was showering, rinsing off the sharp stench of the pool, she could not escape the inexorable pull it had on her, the sensual thoughts that it engendered…

Red hair on a pillow.

Lace bras that don’t do their one and only job.

Hands touching hands.

Verdant eyes peering out of the darkness, pulling her inwards into the jungle of the night, a beautiful kaleidoscope of revolving bodies… scarlet curls, plum-colored lips, thighs like creamy taffy, skin like smoky quartz.

She can’t remotely blame any of this on her sinuses, so she rationally concludes that she should stop drinking for the evening—

—a resolution she almost immediately gives up on when a bellhop knocks on the door and delivers the hotel’s apology champagne. 

She pours herself a glass in one of the red solo cups she and Melissa had brought with them for the trip and unslowly drinks it, sitting on the edge of the bed that she and Melissa will eventually share. Some paint-by-the-numbers procedural show is playing on the television. She stares at it without really comprehending it and idly wonders if Melissa is the big spoon or the little spoon.

But then that particular line of thought makes her remember that her best friend has a boyfriend, and her stomach unpleasantly lurches at the thought of Gary the Vending Machine putting his hairy arms around her waist, pulling her in to his chest, working his undeserving fingers beneath the elastic band of her undergarments…

She’s never entirely liked the man.

(Yes, she absolutely pushed Melissa to date him in the first place.)

He’s good, he’s fine, he’s perfectly okay—but those are the same sorts of adjectives that one might apply to a functional kitchen appliance, not a romantic partner. 

She takes another distracted swill of her drink and doesn’t clock the precise moment when Melissa apparently steps out of the en-suite bathroom in a white robe, her vivid hair wrapped in a towel. But when she looks over and apprehends this dizzying sight, Barbara can only stare.

“Forgot my bra in here,” she chuckles, which is precisely the worst thing she can possibly say because Barbara’s eyes immediately roam upwards to the v-shaped divot of the robe, where little is visible except for curving shadows, the tantalizing suggestion of something more. “Kinda need that.”

“Yes,” she hears herself agree in a pathetically small voice, squeezing her plastic cup as Melissa saunters past to her suitcase, which is resting on top of the armchair in the corner of the room. It’s all very hypnotic, the pendulum-like swing of her hips, the graceful coordination of all her white-clothed limbs.

Barbara wonders if this effect is intentional, if Melissa knows exactly what she’s doing to her.

But she doesn’t give the thought too much air lest she accidentally name the animal of an emotion prowling around her gut for what she thinks it might be.

(It’s certainly nothing her fellow brothers and sisters in Christ would sanction, that’s for sure.)

(Happiness, her own husband might call it in the dead of night, in the sanctum of their shared bed.)

Melissa bends down to rummage through her suitcase, which doesn’t help matters much either, and Barbara tugs at her layered necklace, thinks she may have clasped it on a little too tightly.

“Listen, Barb, I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said earlier,”' Melissa starts falteringly, clear reluctance in her low voice. “About Kristin Marie. Y’know, at the pool.”

After Melissa had so firmly put a stop to that conversation, Barbara hadn’t brought it up again, and within minutes, they had returned to their jovial selves again—or, perhaps more specifically, the selves who they were at PECSA—hedonists, only thinking about the next physical pleasure. They laughed. They played. They were both experts at compartmentalizing, well-versed in the art of drowning out the noise with a facsimile of a smile. They dried off, finished their piña coladas, and enthused about the party tonight like it was the only pressing matter in their two-person world.

“Oh, do allow me to apologize for that, Melissa,” she frowns deeply as the other teacher finally straightens up with something in her hands. “I know your sister is a sensitive subject for you, and I… I shouldn’t have brought her up… we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

But Melissa vehemently shakes her head, a few damp curls falling from her towel, and finally turns to face Barbara again, a sad smile crooked at the corner of her mouth, a silky black bra dangling from her fingertips.

One hand still gripping her solo cup, Barbara buries the fingers of the other into her right thigh.

“Good, yeah,” her friend laughs, though the gesture doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She shifts uncomfortably, rolling her weight from foot to foot. “That works for me… but, uh, I also just wanted to say thanks, Barb.”

Barbara can’t pry her gaze away from that damn brassiere; Melissa’s own is darting anywhere but her: the ceiling, the carpeted floor, the empty space just over her shoulder. What a pair the two of them make.

“For what?” She asks in a constricted voice, and the oddness of it must draw the other’s attention because suddenly, they're finally looking at each other in the face again. They’re staring, mutually constituting each other in the wordless interaction.

Seeing and being seen.

It is all that they have ever done.

It is all that they seem to want to do.

“For bein’ there for me,” comes an equally charged reply, freighted by that which neither of them can openly name. “I know you were just trying to help out, and I appreciate that.”

“Always,” Barbara breathes immediately, so glad that there is space between them—some six feet and something even more intangible than that. The elaborate ring on her fourth finger digs into her thigh too. “You’d do the same for me.”

A slight beat; she smiles so widely that it almost hurts.

“You have done the same for me,” she adds passionately. “I don’t know who or where or what I’d ever be without you, Melissa Schemmenti.”

But she does in fact know—maybe they both do. Maybe even her sweet husband does too. Maybe it's the most horribly kept secret in the whole wide world.

“God, you’re such a sap,” Melissa laughs because it's easier than actually engaging, and Barbara allows her the indiscretion this time, even joining along.

“Girl, you’re one to talk!”

“Hey!”

She is more than dimly aware that it’s probably better for them both if they continue to treat their relationship like it’s some huge joke.

Because isn't it, though?

They love each other, and they can never actually say it aloud.

Isn’t that the funniest punchline in God’s almighty world?

They love each other, and they can never act upon this reality in any meaningful way.

They live with this crucial fact every single day and spend so many of their waking hours dangerously straddling the borders that they've so carefully articulated to keep themselves apart.

But, of course, that's only when they're sober.

—

With each math-a-rita that they guzzle at PECSA-geddon, the more liberal with their affection that they get, all of their studious inhibitions subsumed beneath the ministrations of tequila. 

One drink in, they start with little gestures.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Innocuous even.

Forgivable.

Barbara places a guiding hand on the small of Melissa’s back as they weave their way through the throng of nicely dressed people, looking for a table with room enough for two. The younger woman is wearing a leopard-print dress.

And she never wears a dress.

And she thinks about this, much longer and more sinfully than she probably should.

Melissa curls her fingers into Barbara’s wrist when they realize that they’re sitting with the Dawn Nichols, whose school supplies are legendary amongst educators. The second grade teacher gives her a knowing look, the kind that clearly says, Holy shit, there’s an opportunity here. 

We can make something happen.

And Barbara shivers with quiet delight as their ankles accidentally glance beneath the table, as the expression in those green eyes does something to her, unloosing her at her tightly knotted core.

Two drinks into the night, they’ve run into Kristin Marie by this point, and Melissa’s entire body is wound so tightly that Barbara thinks that to touch her is to break her.

But she does it anyway—touches her, that is—a little reckless with her head buzzing so pleasantly, the sermonizing voice who often tells her no locked outside her personal church for the night. She interlinks their arms together as they revolve around the ballroom, and Melissa vents about her younger sister being a total puttana—whatever that means—and a shithead—which is perfectly comprehensible.

She gets a little tired of this after a couple of revelations, though, her feet aching in her heels, and she doubles back on her initial resolve to not interfere with the Schemmenti sisters, suggesting the impossible in the same breath—that they try to make up with each other. 

And she touches Melissa’s arm when she says as much.

She presses her thumb into the crook of her soft elbow.

And when they look at each other—really look at each other—less than two feet between them, an island unto themselves in the middle of this crowded room, Barbara somehow knows that they’re both thinking about their conversation in the hotel room earlier—about the fact that they’re always there for each other, and it's not just a trite thing that either of them have unthinkingly said.

It's the truth.

Trust me, Barbara tries to say with just her eyes. I’m here for you.

If it doesn’t work out, I’ll be there to catch you if you fall.

Fuck you, Melissa all but communicates with her own, though with the deep sigh that comes shortly afterward, she just as immediately intimates, Okay.

Yeah.

Sure.

I believe you.

Trust has been hard won between them in over twenty years of companionship.

(It is a part of the love that they can never fully say.)

Two plus one math-a-ritas in, they’re back at the round table with Dawn Nichols and Kristin Marie—the Schemmenti sisters have finally made up!—and they’re all tipsily laughing about a story that Melissa is telling. Something inappropriate, of course. Something crass. Something about a wild escapade that she’d had when she went to France with a few of her friends for her college graduation trip, where she somehow became very close friends with a young Parisian couple she met at a bar.

“So we go back to their place and I’m thinkin’ that we’re just gonna throw back some shitty European wine,” Melissa carries on, simply exuberant, her cheeks suffused with a rosy glow, “and the guy, God bless him, he was flippin’ hot, but he didn’t have a thought in his head.” 

“Just your type,” Kristin Marie snorts, but the quip doesn’t have any real bite to it anymore. She grins at her older sister lopsidedly, with a reluctant tenderness that makes the striking resemblance between them all the more apparent.

“Yeah,” Melissa acknowledges cheerfully, nodding once, and Barbara is just happy to see her friend so happy, even though she’s not exactly sure where this adventurous story is going. “So his girlfriend’s in the bathroom, and he starts jabberin’ away at me, askin’ if I wanted to take my jacket off." Her eyes twinkling with mischief, she affects a spectacularly bad French accent. “Do you need to use ze restroom? Would you like some… lotion, mon chéri?”

She switches back to her normal voice, snickering at herself.

“Only he didn’t say lotion, y'know."

Dawn Nichols and Kristin Marie must arrive at similar conclusions at the exact same time because the former claps an amused hand over her mouth, while the younger Schemmenti sibling goes, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

“What?” Barbara purses her lips, pouting a little, feeling left out, as she stares between the three women. She’d gotten sidetracked by the leg brushed up against hers beneath the table and perhaps lost the nuance in the conversation as her companions laugh raucously. “What am I missing?”

“It was lube,” Melissa proffers without the slightest modicum of reserve, shrugging her nearest shoulder. “They wanted to fuck me, Barb.”

Barbara can't recover her face fast enough; her mouth falls open where she sits, and she can only blush and suddenly be assaulted with a thousand new images pirouetting through her head—all of which have to do with Melissa and none of which are remotely acceptable to God.

“And did they?” Dawn asks in a hushed voice, her own features delicately feathered with pink, as she leans forward in anticipation of an answer.

“Oh, hell yeah,” her best friend smirks as Kristin Marie guffaws at Barbara, who is now currently choking on air.

Melissa, unshaken and unfazed, takes it in stride, though, rhythmically patting her on the back.

“Oh, shit, ya’ve broken a woman of God,” Kristin Marie snorts, wiping at her eyes.

“Nothing new,” Melissa says charmingly and she leans over to press a kiss against Barbara’s cheek as though to prove a point. 

Barbara cradles her burning face in her hands.

“Lord,” she exhales into her palms, fully incapable of looking at the woman next to her, “I don’t know why I’m even still friends with you.”

Melissa just laughs and laughs, and she continues to massage the spot between her shoulder blades, and she laughs.

Four drinks in, and they’re having a math-a-rita drinking contest with Derek, a bellhop whom they’ve become friendly with over the years. 

Well, Melissa has a drinking contest with him, while Barbara uses the barest sliver of common sense and sobriety that she has left to cajole Dawn Nichols into working with Abbott for at least a year.

“Thank you,” she enthuses, briefly squeezing the other woman’s arm where it rests on the table. “You don’t know how much this will mean for our students.”

“Of course,” Dawn says, warmly observing the drinking game happening a few feet away. Melissa has nearly polished off another glass to Derek’s growing chagrin and Kristin Marie’s violently loud delight. “It’s clear to me that you and your partner are excellent educators; I know you’ll put the resources to good use…”

In her unadulterated surprise at the word used to describe hers and Melissa’s relationship, she nearly forgets to be gracious.  

“Oh, we aren’t—“ She suddenly starts and then stops herself, reevaluating mid-sentence. 

Partner isn’t necessarily a romantic term. Partner simply implies companionship and association with another, inseparability and togetherness. And they have absolutely been those things.

Inseparable.

Together.

A united front.

Partners.

Yes, of course they are and have always been.

“I mean, thank you,” she amends herself politely. “Melissa is truly one of a kind.”

The second grade teacher’s ears must be burning because she apparently hears this and turns back to face them with a radiant smile on her lips, as red as the blush that enlivens her soft cheeks.

“Damn straight I am,” she jests, comfortably resting her chin on Barbara’s shoulder. “What are we talkin’ about again?”

Barbara naturally leans into the touch as Dawn briefly turns away, now engaged by Kristin Marie asking a question about supply packages.

“Oh, nothing, sweetheart,” she muses in a low voice, suddenly feeling herself pulled into the other’s mischief, even wanting to play along; she's simultaneously breathless, intoxicated, by her intimate proximity and the scent of her orange blossom perfume. “Just about how you and I are partners. It’s a rather lofty descriptor for the shenanigans we get up to, isn't it?”

“Yeah, it’d be far easier to just say gay.”

“Melissa Schemmenti!” She nearly chokes. 

Again.

“I kid, I kid! Jesus, Barb! Get a sip of water!”

But there’s not one ounce of water to be found on their table, and so Barbara has to compromise with another hearty swill of margarita.

Tragic.

But she'll cope.

An ungodly amount of alcohol later—(Barbara has lost track of how much either of them have consumed)—they finally stumble into their room around 2AM, supporting one another as best as they can with their altered equilibriums, giggly and utterly euphoric, triumphant in their respective conquests. 

Melissa has outdrunk Derek for the fifth year in a row, and Barbara has secured a contract with Dawn Nichols.

And they are both so drunk and so exhilarated and so unbelievably alive in the moment, that they don’t entirely know how to extricate themselves from each other in the come down from such an exquisite high; they fall into bed—that one, singular bed—in a tangle of loving limbs, still in their dresses, only just capable of kicking their shoes off into the semi-darkness of the room. They didn’t close the curtains all the way before they left for PECSA-geddon, so moonlight intrudes upon the moment, silver and stunningly bright, catching both of them in the simple act of being happy.

Frankly, though, at this current junction of time, as compromised as they are, it’s beyond either of them to fully care. 

“Shit, fuck,” Melissa laughs so hard that she shakes the mattress beneath them. “Your ring’s caught in my hair, Barb.”

“Oh, sorry, girlfriend,” Barbara apologizes and attempts to unravel her fingers from that mass of scarlet waves, but her ring is caught in the wilderness of it, snarled and apprehended. Somehow, in the incredible dysfunction of her mind, she thinks that raising herself above Melissa as she lies vulnerable on the mattress is the best way to set herself free, but all this does is give her a proper aerial view of her prone best friend.

All this does is nearly place her on top of her, their heaving chests inches apart, threatening to collide every so often by the force and desperation of their breathing. Barbara’s slender hands are splayed on either side of Melissa’s head. 

Her face.

She can see every pronounced lineament in the younger woman’s face. Its dramatic height and angular proportions. The complicated expression in her eyes: the profound tenderness of them and something else too. Hunger. Reverence. Melancholy. She can trace the crow’s feet that gather beneath them and at the very edges of them. The redness of her slightly parted lips and the parentheses which enclose them. The slope and the playful upturn of her sharp nose. 

She is beautiful, so unspeakably gorgeous.

Melissa Schemmenti.

Her very best friend.

Her partner.

Maybe even the love of her life, the opportunity who has always eluded her, the what if? just beyond her reach. But, at long last, there is no barrier between them, no insurmountable wall. There is only them and their bodies and the chemistry that electrifies them both whenever they so much as look each other. There is this feeling in her stomach that has been building all day, a tension that she cannot swallow, a queerness that she cannot properly digest. It erects itself in her like a monument, scaffolding its way up the column of her spine.

It will reach her tongue finally.

Those three glorious words.

Fuck me, Melissa. 

(Because I love you is something she still won't be able to say.)

(I love you would make all of this so very real.)

(And precisely none of it can be real; these are the fantasies; these are the fairy tales.)

(The delusions.)

“Ouch,” Melissa murmurs as her hair is pulled. 

By Barbara Howard’s diamond encrusted wedding ring.

It shines in the irradiated light of the moon, glinting harshly, in clear and damning reprimand, and Barbara flinches viscerally, as though stricken. The ring becomes a token again, symbolizing something else besides its own beauty.

Gerald is a good man.

She loves him so much.

She isn’t in love with him, though.

But even still, what gives her the right to ever hurt him?

She straightens up into the air so fast that her head spins, that her stomach lurches, that all the booze she has consumed in the past few hours nearly crests within her and outside of her. She frees her hand; she undoubtedly tugs some more of Melissa's hair. She almost reels backwards into the TV, unable to recapture her balance. She covers her mouth with the hand that always reminds her that she is a married woman, a taken one; the silver band firmly scolds her lips.

“Shit, Barb,” Melissa breathes, abruptly sitting up in the bed, concern in her eyes, such tender and evocative care. “You okay?”

She nods mutely, incapable of trusting herself to speak without expelling all of the accumulated pollution inside of her. Tears form in her eyes and leak over her lower lashes anyway. 

“No, you’re flippin’ not,” her friend readily supplies, standing up herself on rather wobbly feet, but she takes a step towards Barbara anyway, as though to bridge the gap between them, the untenable, omnipresent distance.

And Barbara equally takes a step back, her lower hip hitting the wardrobe that the TV sits upon. 

“Don’t,” she hisses painfully, finally uncovering her mouth.

“Why not?” Melissa challenges, at once defiant and wounded, her brow furrowed over her eyes. The recognition of this makes the kindergarten teacher want to scream. In not hurting Gerald, she’s surely plunging a knife into Melissa. She’s proving her own point from earlier.

Love is a weapon.

It maims and occasionally destroys.

“Because I would kiss you,” she admits, and it feels good to finally say it aloud, to give shape and dimension to these feelings that have seethed inside of her for so long, for so many of the years upon aching years that they've taught at Abbott Elementary side-by-side.

“… and that would make a monster out of me,” she quickly adds because this is also true, and it needs to be said aloud.  

It needs to injure, push away, and deter; she doesn't want to do it; necessity drives her on.

“Oh, yeah?” Comes a reply gentler than it has any right to be. Kind. It Is far less than what she deserves. “And what would that make me then, huh?”

One too.

Complicit. 

Just like me. 

She could say any of these three things but doesn’t; it was clearly a rhetorical question; she can see in Melissa’s darkly lashed eyes that she is willing to accept every wayward epithet if this is the price, if this is the blood sacrifice of their communion.

They can be monsters with each other; they can be so totally in love.

Barbara swallows; thoroughly inebriated though she is, she is not insensible to the magnitude of this offer, the knowledge that all she has to do is say the word and down they’ll descend into hell, hand in monstrous hand.

Alone.

Together.

“I can’t,” she rasps anyway. She swipes angrily at the tears still slipping down her face. She sniffs noisily and loathes herself for it.

“I know,” Melissa returns, her own eyes suddenly overbright. 

But then Barbara Howard leans down and almost does it anyway, gathering the silky hair at the back of Melissa’s neck in her fist, her knuckles softly scraping the skin there. And their noses brush. Their boozy breaths gather in hot pockets in the barest space between them. 

Their lips never touch, though.

Sacrilege remains uncommitted.

“You can’t,” Melissa echoes as a singular tear spirals from the corner of her eye and down the tall plane of her cheek. It collects calmly on the vertex of her chin and remains there.

Barbara brushes it away with her thumb before completely letting go.

“No,” she agrees hoarsely, stepping back for good, and there is a finality to the act that saves and devastates them both.

—

They take turns showering, rinsing the night off them, the copious amounts of booze. Melissa goes first this time, and Barbara follows. 

Afterwards, of course.

Separately.

And when Barbara eventually stumbles back into the bedroom, wearing pajamas that she’s pretty sure are inside out, she sees that Melissa is already in bed, covers pulled up to her face, clearly asleep, lightly snoring.

She’s erected a pillow wall between the two halves of the one bed. 

It’s a smart move.

And an incredibly isolating one.

But smart moves usually are.

Barbara accepts this for what it is and staggers to her side, slipping beneath the sheets as quietly as she can, briefly tossing and turning to get comfortable, which eventually means facing the two feet tall chastity belt, staring at it as her eyelids begin to droop.

Loving it.

Hating it.

Eternally grateful to it.

Disappointed at its necessity, disappointed with herself.

She is so weak in a thousand myriad ways; maybe that, too, is love…

… she doesn’t exactly know what compels her to in the end—(weakness, loneliness, monstrosity, love)—but before she entirely drifts away, she reaches underneath the pillows and is relieved to find a hand waiting for her there.

A concession.

A forgivable compromise.

And so, Barbara allows herself this one pittance too. She intertwines their fingers beneath this latest boundary that divides them, understanding that this—yes, this—is the sole degree of happiness that she can afford without too high of a moral cost.

She falls asleep haunted by the way that the striations of their fingers so perfectly align.

#work wives #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #s: abbott elementary #reginianwrites #THIS FLIPPING THING IS 8K WORDS #AND FOR WHAT REASON MAGGIE?! #HDIOHFIHI