#holding him by the scuff like a cat

[pigeonstab]

they're brothers your honour

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and without extras:

#he's got those older brother instincts #holding him by the scuff like a cat #this isn't very clean #but eh #it was supposed to just be a sketch anyway #bad sans gang #bad sanses #undertale au #my art #sans au #sans #utmv #horror sans #killer sans #killer!sans #killersans #horrorsans #horrortale sans #Pigeon's art stuff #digital art

[lovebugism]

How about "89. I’m drunk and fall asleep in a snow bank and you’re the kind stranger yanking me to my feet and lecturing me on how dangerous that is" with Steve?

ty for requesting!! — steve harrington rescues you, his worst enemy, after finding you all alone on a snowy bench on main street (enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, tw for toxic relationships, 2.4k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

On his way home from the Wheeler holiday party, Steve thinks he sees a dead body in the snow.

He slows at a stoplight and knows he sees a dead body in the snow.

With nothing but sheer stupidity and a savior complex, the boy rushes out of his warm car and into the vacant road on Main Street. The piling snow crunches under his sneakers and dampens them instantly. Crystalline flakes fall from the pitch-black sky at a merciless rate, sticking to his lashes and his fuzzy Christmas sweater. 

The snow glistens as it clings to the limp body lying on the bench. A girl, Steve realizes as he gets closer — a pretty girl in a pretty dress who’s not at all clothed for this kind of weather. 

He steps closer, blinks snowflakes from his eyes, and realizes that it’s you. The reigning princess of Hawkins. The homecoming queen. His absolute worst enemy. 

Steve loses his sympathy in an instant. Now that he knows you’re not dead, anyway. 

But he nudges at you gently — just to make sure — and you grumble something unintelligible into your folded-up arms.

“What are you doing?” he wonders aloud.

“What’s it look like?” you slur, rubbing your cheek against your sleeve like a cat.

“It’s freezing out. You know that, right?”

“Really?” you muse sleepily, eyes still shut. “I haven’t noticed.”

Steve scoffs a bitter laugh and rolls his honey eyes. He puts his hands on his waist, cocks his hips to the side, and leers down at you even though you can’t see him. He wonders if you even recognize his voice — if that’s the reason you’re being so short with him or if you’re just too drunk to care.

“It’s good to know you’re still a priss after all this time. It’s really refreshing, actually.”

He expects you to argue with him. That’s what you used to do, anyway. Your relationship (or lack thereof) is built on this kind of petty, meaningless banter. So he feels a little empty when you don’t bite back. Maybe even a little bad.

You fall back to sleep, a soft snore sounding from your throat. You shift in your slumber and it sends you rolling off the bench. Steve catches you before you can. He puts you back into place with two warm hands around your arms.

“Alright. Get up,” he says with an annoyed huff.

“No, thank you,” you sigh, still sleepy.

“No. Seriously. Get up before you get frostbite.” 

His voice is coated with an obvious concern. You don’t miss it — not even in your exhausted, drunken, and heartbroken state. Maybe that’s why you don’t fight him as much when he forces you to sit up, but you’re still hardly more than dead weight. He’s forced to hold you so you don’t fall over again.

Steve can see you better now that you’re fully upright. Snowflakes stick to the strands of your done-up hair, made-up lashes, and the knit material of your dress. Your eyeliner is smudged beneath your eyes, and your lipstick has been mostly kissed off. There’s a hole in the knee of your tights, too, and scuff marks on the toe of your boots.

You’re pretty. You’ve always been pretty, but just a little extra now. Way too beautiful to be all alone on this bench in the middle of Main Street.

“What are you doing here?��� Steve blurts as he crouches in front of you. Snow wets the knee of his jeans, but he’s too distracted by you to care. “Where’s your boyfriend? Why isn’t he with you?”

He can’t even say the name — of your douchebag boyfriend, that is. Just thinking of the words Billy and Hargrove makes him feel like vomiting. Steve didn’t think he could hate anyone more than he hated you until he met that asshole. The two of you deserve each other, really.

Your tired head lolls to your shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut as you shrug.

“You weren’t with him?” the boy presses.

“I was,” you slur dramatically. “But he left.”

“He left you?”

You nod, slow and lazy.

“He left you here?”

You nod again.

Steve’s chest stings. His heart aches for you, even though he knows it shouldn’t.

“Why?” he agonizes.

“I got too drunk at a party… And I talked to a guy he didn’t like very much.”

“Then what?”

You start to go limp in his hold. Exhaustion weighs you down again, accelerated by the winter’s bitter cold. Steve squeezes your arms to keep you upright. Your eyes open again but the lids of them are visibly heavy. 

“Um… We fought in the car. And he told me to get out,” you explain in mumbled slurs. Your voice is calm and airy, as light as the falling snow. You’re too drunk to understand how heartbreaking this is. “And I tried to get back home, but then I forgot how to walk.”

Steve’s eyes start to burn. He feels like he could cry. Because sure, you’ve been his enemy since the third grade, but you’re soft and you’re gentle and utterly undeserving of Billy’s assholery. 

Because of this (and his lingering savior complex), he feels the overwhelming urge to take care of you.

“Here. C’mon,” he huffs as he rises to full height again, jaw tense to keep his teeth from chattering. He tugs at your arms to pull you up with him. You comply (as best you can on frozen, drunken limbs) but not without confusion. Your face twists with it.

“What?” you murmur.

“Get in the car, okay? C’mon.”

You plant your feet. It becomes virtually impossible to move you. You and Steve idle at a standstill with your shoes digging into the piling snow. Your toes feel close to frozen, but your hands are strangely warm with Steve holding them so tight.

“No,” you insist, dramatically stubborn in your less-than-sober state.

“No?”

“Billy will get mad.” 

Steve scoffs. “Screw Billy.”

“I do that already.” Your reply comes so swiftly, and without a single hint of a smirk, that it’s impossible to tell if you’re joking or not. Maybe you aren’t and you’re just too drunk to understand sarcasm. Maybe you are joking and the receptors in your brain aren’t firing properly enough to tell you to smile at yourself.

Either way, Steve’s face scrunches with disgust. “Gross,” he mumbles under his breath.

—————

Steve has to drag you to his car. 

He puts his palm over the crown of your head to keep you from bumping it when you duck inside. He guides your legs in, too, when you have trouble maneuvering them. Then he reaches over to buckle you in before you have to ask him for help — because god knows there’s no way you could do it on your own.

He smells like cedar and something sweet when he leans over you. His whole car smells like that, actually. It’s nice. Comforting. Almost achingly warm. 

You curl into the heated seat and provide exactly zero help when he drives you home.

“You still alive?” he asks after a couple minutes of driving.

You grunt, slumped over in your seat with your forehead pressed against the window.

“What’s your address?”

“Hm?” 

“Where do you live?” he presses.

“Why do you wanna know, perv?” you slur, obviously not all there as you shift to get more comfortable in the passenger seat of his car.

Steve scoffs. “Oh, right. I’m the perv ‘cause I didn’t leave you out in the freezing cold. Makes so much sense. Maybe next time, don’t call me when your asshole boyfriend abandons you, alright?”

He’s bitter. Intentionally hurtful. 

You’re too drunk to understand. “I didn’t call you in the first place,” you retort sleepily.

He falters. “Well— you know what I mean.”

“I can’t go home,” you answer finally.

His structured features twist with concern, but your eyes are closed so you don’t see it. His honeyed gaze squints with worry, flitting from your limp form to the darkened road and back again. “Why?”

“‘Cause I live with Billy. And he doesn’t want me there,” you tell him with a lazy shrug. Then, more quietly, you mumble. “Nobody wants me anywhere…”

You say it so softly that he barely hears it. He wishes he hadn’t. It’d make it a whole lot easier to hate you if you were still the same priss he grew up with. He isn’t so sure that you are — or if you ever were. All you are to him now is a heartbroken girl he found in the snow, in desperate need of some kindness.

So when you drift off again, he lets you. And he doesn’t wake you until you get to his house.

You feel the warmth of his presence first — the weight of his chest at your side and his hand on your waist. Your heavy eyes flutter open to find him leaning over you. He fusses with the seatbelt buckle for a moment before it clicks.

“What are you doing?” you wonder aloud, voice weighed down by exhaustion. There’s a million questions swirling in your head right now — where am I, why are you here, why are you taking care of me. That was just the first to slip out.

“Good. Now I don’t have to carry you,” Steve jokes.

He holds your hand to help you out of the car, then wraps an arm around your waist to keep you from falling. He guides you towards a too big house, lit up white with expensive Christmas decorations.

“Where are we?”

“My place. You can sleep off the alcohol on my couch.”

Your head lolls to your shoulder, eyes red-rimmed and glassy as you blink up at him. “And they say chivalry is dead,” you tease, still slightly misarticulate — though not nearly as much as when he found you in the show.

Steve’s rolling his eyes at you one moment, silently scolding himself for getting out of his car in the first place — and the next, he’s standing in his kitchen, filling up a glass of water and putting slices of bread on a plate for you. He even cuts off the goddamned crust. Just in case.

He left you on the couch in the living room, but you’re gone when he gets back. It’s like he blinks, and he’s annoyed with you all over again. A huff tumbles from his mouth as he trudges up the stairs to find you.

The door to his room is cracked open. 

He finds you curled up in the center of his bed.

“No. Nope,” Steve scolds as he walks further inside. He sits the bread and the water on his nightstand and tries to shake you awake. You’re totally knocked out, hardly anything more than deadweight from the alcohol. 

And he can’t even be mad at you about it because it’s not even your fault. You shouldn’t have gotten left in the first place.

“C’mon. Get up— you’re not sleeping in my bed,” he insists. His hand curls around your arm with the intent to pull you up before he realizes how cold you are. You’re freezing, even over your dress. The notion makes Steve stop in place. 

He squints to take a better look at you — to really look at you — and swears the color of your skin is tinted blue from the cold. Your mascara is smeared — from where you’d been crying, maybe. He thinks those might be dried tear stains on your cheeks, too.

All at once, he doesn’t have the heart to wake you. He curses himself for being so hard on you. You never deserved it — not tonight, not ever — and he figures this is his time to atone.

He maneuvers you beneath his navy blue sheets with a warm and gentle hand. He brings the top of the comforter up to your jaw and you curl into his bed on instinct, sighing as you settle further into the warmth. 

Your eyes are still closed and you’re still barely conscious, but the pillow is soft against your cheek. It smells like floral detergent and musky cologne and sweet-smelling hairspray. It brings you a foreign comfort that lulls you into a deeper, much-needed sleep.

Steve settles beside you, over the covers and with his clothes still on. He wants to be awake in case you need him. He doesn’t want you to get sick and not be alert enough to help you. 

He’s laughing at the sound of your gentle snores one moment, then falling asleep to them the next.

Hawkins’ royalty. Arch enemies since elementary school. Sleeping together in one bed like you haven’t spent the majority of your lives hatingeach other.

You sleep soundly together in spite of all that. You don’t wake for several hours — not until you’ve slept the alcohol off and your suddenly sober brain reminds you of the night before. Touchy guy on the dance floor, Billy’s rough hand around your wrist, “God, you’re such a slut!” 

The last thing you remember is passing out on a bench on Main Street, so you’re not entirely sure how you ended up in a bed. 

You wake with a start, distinctly and palpably terrified. 

You’re rousing wakes Steve up, too.

“Billy?” you murmur, heavy with sleep, as you squint in the navy blue darkness. 

A part of you hopes it was all just a too vivid nightmare. Or, at the very least, that your boyfriend came to his senses and picked you up after completely abandoning you — but somehow that feels more unrealistic than all the shit he put you through the evening before.

“No—” Steve answers groggily, then clears throat when the word gets stuck there. He rises to his elbows and looks over his shoulder at you, squinting a tired eye to see you better. “No, it’s— it’s Steve.”

He can’t see you too well, not in the pitch black of his bedroom, but he swears he hears you sigh. One of relief, maybe, or maybe one of ease. Either way, you don’t seem very upset that he’s here with you.

“Oh,” you answer, still a bit breathless. “Okay…” You lie back down again, feeling eons safer than just seconds before, as you curl back into your shape on his mattress. You sigh into your pillow and try not to gravitate towards the warmth beside you.

Steve’s hands fidget with a similar fight to keep from holding you. “It’s okay,” he settles on instead, hoping his words can embrace you in a way he doesn’t let himself. “You’re okay.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: blurbcember

[norrisleclercf1]

My wife @faithm120601 will tell you that I'm a...well...slut for Jenson. If not already could you give us some headcannons or a short fic for Mafia!Jenson? 🥺

A/N: I've never written Mafia!Jenson before but babes.....opening the floodgate you are

Trope: Mafia!Jenson x Assistant!reader

"Mr. Button," Knocking on the door to your bosses office, you wait to hear his reply. "Come in," His voice calls and you push it open and walk in smiling gently at him. Jenson sits there, holding a phone to his ear as he watches you walk in.

Setting down the files you move around his desk and get everything fixed for him. You feel his eyes wandering over your body, but you do your best to ignore it. Jenson Button wasn't only your boss but also the head to one of the British Mafias. You kept him at an arms distance.

Something that Jenson didn't like. Whatever he wanted, he'd always get and right now you were something he wasn't able to get ahold of he it was something he was fighting. Moving his arm, he reaches out, wrapping around your waist. Yelping you throw your hands out and splash them against his chest.

"Love this color on you," He whispers and sits the phone down, muting his end and putting it on speaker. "Jenson, let me go." You whisper, but your boss just smiles and plays with the straps of your top. "Why? You're mine." You scuff and push back stumbling until you get your baring.

"You have a meeting in 20, please be there on time." You fix your top and turn on your heel, stomping off. Jenson smirks as he watches you go.

-------------------

Standing in the meeting room you feel disgusted with the way Jenson's business partner rakes his eyes over your body. You can't help but move closer to Jenson, feeling safe with him.

Jenson knew you were uncomfortable with the way the man across him eyes were trailing you, and the gun in his belt was on fire. He wanted nothing more than to shoot the fucker, but he couldn't. He needed the weapons he was supplying to him and right now he hated it.

Jenson leans back ready to pull you into his lap. Smirking he moves and curls his fingers around your wrist. "Come here, sweets." You stumble and land in his lap and he pulls you close. He can't help but trail kisses on your neck. Watching the way the vein pops in his enemy's forehead.

"She's gorgeous, no?" Jenson teases and you blush, hiding your face in his neck which has Jenson, tightening his hold protectively. "Jens," "Shhhh, I've got you sweets." He whispers as he glares at the man, leaving his marks over you.

"Meeting over," Jenson growls as he pulls you closer onto his lap. When you hear the meeting room door slam you leap out of his lap, face red and neck littered with his teeth and lips. "I have to go," Jenson just sits there, legs spread out with his head cocked to the side as he watches you rush out.

"Little Cat and Mouse? I can do that."

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 scenario #f1 fluff #f1 angst #f1!mafia #mafia!f1 #mafia!jenson button #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 one shot #jenson button x reader #jenson button smut #jenson button imagine #jenson button one shot #jenson button f1 #jenson button blurb #jenson button oneshot #jenson button x you #jenson button x y/n

[catcze]

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

“Stop moving your fucking head,” you growl. Wriothesley sits on a bench, black compression shirt drenched in sweat after his spar in the fighting ring. There’s a cut on his head, just underneath his hairline, that you dab at with some antiseptic and a cotton pad. 

You still think that he should have called Sigewinne, just in case, but he was adamant that she didn’t need to bother over ‘something as small as this.’ Granted, he wasn’t hurt too bad— it was just the aftermath of a small accident between him and his opponent in the ring, after all. No broken bones or the like, just some bruises and scuffs. You were just worried over him.

“I’m fine, you know,” he tries to tell you again, trying to duck away from the cotton pad to look you in the eye. You scowl again, grabbing him with a hand on his collarbones, dangerously close to the base of his neck. Wriothesley immediately stills, and you resume. 

“I know.” You keep dabbing until the last of the blood is gone, and there’s just the cut left. It’s not even that deep. You doubt it’ll even scar. “Just… just let me worry for you for a little bit, would you?”

He swallows. You can almost feel the movement of it against your hand. You know of his history— of how he’s barely had anyone give a shit about him his entire life. You wonder if he’s ever had anyone patch him up or worry about him like this.

You think of a much younger, much more baby-faced Wriothesley having to bandage his own bloodied knuckles in some dark corner of the fortress of Meropide, and your heart aches. 

“Okay,” your Wriothesley finally says, voice quiet. He stares at you in a way that you cannot decipher. In a way that is softer than you’ve ever seen him look at anything before. 

Your hand transfers to his shoulder, and one of his own comes to hold it in place. You press a kiss to his nose, then either of his cheeks, then end it sweetly on his lips. 

The kiss doesn’t drag on very long— it’s quick and chaste, little more than a peck on the lips. But Wriothesley still smiles at you when you part.

“You sure you’re fine?” You ask, hand cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch the way a cat would lean into the sunlight. 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. Turns his head. Presses a kiss to your palm, locking eyes with you the entire time.

“Okay.” You’re breathless, never breaking eye contact with him. “Okay, that’s good.”

You feel his smile against your skin, then. Tender and sweet. His arm wraps around your waist, drawing you near. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“For patching you up?”

“For caring, baby.”

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

#astronetwrk #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw gn reader #wriothesley #genshin impact #fun fact i wrote this as like some shitty little drabble under one of those like character playlist video things on yt #and then i ended up going too hard on it so i was like #yk i should post this on my blog too HAHHAHA

[chokepoet]

Kittens & Perverts (PG-13)

GIF by @kitherondale

Summary | A month after Logan’s passing, Roman stumbles onto an abandoned kitten and seeks the help of his assistant in caring for it.

Genre | Angst, The Fluffiest Fluff

TW | animal sickness, mentions of death (no actual death), panic attacks, drug mentions, slight allusions to an eating disorder

Word Count | 3.9k

A/N | This is for all my soft hearted bitches that just need that doe eyed lil’ shit to feel held. Even if just by a hand.

I had just walked out my door when I received a call from a very frantic Roman.

“I found a kitten. What the fuck do I do? It’s like, fuckin’ shivering and oh god- I think it? Coughed? Do cats cough?” His voice gets slightly quieter as if pulled away from the receiver. “Did you just cough?”

After having me find, in his words, the Mayo Clinic of emergency vets, he sent a car after me to meet him there. The entire drive was spent trying to calm him through the phone. He kept sending me horrific screenshots of every worse case scenario he found on Google. When I entered the waiting room I found him pacing with wide eyes and fidgety hands. He’d wound himself onto the verge of a panic attack.

“It’s got fucking pneumonia. Hooked up to IV’s and all this shit. They’re like incubating it- I think? With this big ass oxygen tank. Did you know they did that for cats? Like iron lung ‘em?” His hand roughly drags back through his hair. “I dunno if some sick fuck just left it there ‘cause it was ugly as shit with lil green goo comin’ out its eyes- aw, man, you shoulda seen it. The poor little fucker was like- like straight outta Cronenberg’s wet dreams, just- oh man, fuckin’ nasty.” He laughs to himself but it’s more of a stuttering rush of mirthless air. “And I’m supposed to feed it with these like freaky fucking heroin needle things apparently? I don’t-“ Placing both of my palms on either side of his cheeks gently, I tried stilling him.

“Hey- hey look at me. Breathe with me, yeah? In through your nose for a count of 4, hold for 7, out through your mouth for 8. Just like your blowing out birthday candles.” Face bunched up, he shoves me away.

“Fuck off! Birthday candles? The fuck are you on about? I’m fine. You know whose not fine? The fucking cat! It’s so tiny and-“

“Roman! Just fucking breathe with me real quick, okay? Just for a sec-“

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? I’m breathing fucking fine! Are you deranged?“

“No I’m not fucking deranged but I’m about to shove a vial of ketamine up your ass if you don’t just fucking trust me and breathe with me.”

Exacerbated, he finally follows me through the breathing exercise for three rounds. Albeit while rolling his eyes. The tension in his face had fallen slightly. Though, his shoulders remained tense as ever.

“Better?”

“Fuck you.” He shakes his head and refuses to meet my eyes. “Yes.” His reply reluctant and slightly cartoonish with annoyance. He’d been having bouts of anxiety and panic attacks ever since his father passed. He was always like this whenever I’d guide him through it. Embarrassed and frustrated. Depleted.

He sank into one of the seats lining the wall with a long sigh. Head falling back for a moment before pulling his knees up and anchoring his heel to the edge of the metal chair. Hugging himself. I take a seat next to him and criss-cross my legs beneath me.

“Is he gonna die?” His voice now small and hushed as he intently stared at a floor tile. I felt the ghost of Logan grip my heart and squeeze.

“Honestly?” His big brown eyes flicker up at me. Searching, scared. “I dunno, Roman.” He quickly stares back to the floor tile. “What I do know is you did the very best you could for the lil’ guy.” He scuffs.

“Yeah-well, my best has historically done fuck all so…” he mumbles and I gently nudge him with my elbow but he doesn’t look up.

“That’s not true and you know it.” He shoots me a look that tells me he does not in fact know it. “That kitten wouldn’t have had a chance without you. You gave it a fighting shot at life, Rome. That’s worth something.” Just then a vet walks through the waiting room doors. Roman quickly stumbles out of the chair to stand. I join him and cautiously press the palm of my hand to his back for support. He doesn’t brush me off.

“It’s a good thing you brought him in when you did. If it had been any later, I don’t think he would have made it.” I steal a glance at Roman, who swallows before clenching his jaw. “He seems to be responding well to the oxygen and antibiotics. You all should be able leave with him after he’s been stable for a little while longer. I’ll start filling the scripts for his medications here soon.”

The warmth of the vet’s reassuring smile was in stark contrast to the color draining from Roman’s face. He nods slowly and blinks as he processes the responsibility of this kitten’s health being placed onto him. As the doctor leaves, Roman climbs back into the cold metal chair like an anxious gargoyle. I pull the vet aside before he can walk back through the doors and ask him to go over care instructions with me. He offers me a packet instead. Flipping through it, I search out a supplies list.

I knew Roman was far too out of his depths to retain any of the information. Valid, considering he referred to a nursing syringe as a heroine needle. Upon walking back, I find he’s made the full transformation into human stress ball. Full moon be damned. He looked like one pull of an imaginary rubber band and he’d fall apart all over the floor.

“Hey, I’m going to run to the store and get everything we need. I’ll set it all up at your place so we’ll be ready when you come home.” I tried using we instead of you to let him know he wasn’t going to be tackling this alone. I don’t think he noticed.

“You’re leaving me here?” His eyes were wide and horrified. “I can’t- I don’t- what if-“

“You’ll be okay Roman. You’ve got thi-“

“Like hell I’ll be! I most certainly do not got this. What the fuck!” Sighing, I sit beside him as he continues to gape at me.

“The vet has everything under control. All you need to do is sit here, try to relax, and think about a name for the little guy, okay? You don’t wanna have to deal with shopping for all this shit once you have him.” The lines between his brows were deeply creased.

“Can’t you just send a-“

“Roman. Stop.” He does, though a silent plea remained etched in his features. “Just let me do this for you, alright?” His eyes shut as his head falls back against the wall. This was important and I didn’t really trust that anyone else would get everything needed. Having to deal with a forgotten item later tonight sounded like a hell I wished to avoid. “You’ll see me again at the apartment. My phone is at full volume. You know you can call me the second I leave this building and I’ll answer.” He grumbles, refusing to look at me. “And I promise to have that boba tea you refuse to admit you like waiting for you.” One eye opens and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Sugar-free?” He didn’t need to know that the boba had been soaking in brown sugar before reaching his cup. Too elated that he felt some sense of joy in something food related and knowing full well he’d never touch it again if he knew. He still rarely allowed himself a cup of it as is, let alone finish it all. I didn’t have the heart to break it to him, so I never did.

“With extra boba.” His lips defy him as a small smile escapes. Groaning loudly and dramatically, he lifts his head.

“Fine.” He jerks his wallet out of his pocket and hands me his black card. “If that thing fucking croaks on me while you’re gone, I’m blaming you.”

As I walk out the doors I catch a quick glance back to find him, eyes closed, doing those breathing exercise.

Sure enough, the second I’m in the car my phone rings.

“The fuck all do you even have to get? Do pet stores sell heroine needles? Ask Kendall, I bet he’d fuckin’ know.” The entire shopping excursion was spent with the phone cradled between my ear and shoulder as I picked up supplies. As soon as one call would end, it wouldn’t be a few minutes later that it’d ring again. “Do I have a humidifier? I’ve got that fuckin’ facial steamer. Is that like the same thing? I feel like- no, you know what? Just pick one up while you’re out. Someone on Reddit said it helps with pneumonia.”

Upon arriving to his apartment, I open the fridge to sit the promised boba tea inside. Lonely amongst the near barren shelves of wilting lettuce and protein shakes. Trying not to think about it too much, I return to the task at hand. I had successfully gathered all needed supplies, plus a plush heated blanket that I hoped might warm both their spirits. He rarely left his room most days so I figured it’s the best place to set up everything. As I spread the blanket across his bed, my phone rang.

“In route with Jerry.”

“The fuck you doin’ with Gerri?”

“Check your texts.” Clicking the notification, I’m met with a photo of Roman and the kitten. It’s small form curled up under the palm of his hand, nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

“That’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” His chuckle reverbs through the speaker.

“He is kinda cute, right?” You’re both kinda cute.

“The cutest. Please tell me you named him after the cartoon and not that Gerri?”

“Of course I named it after the fucking cartoon. Why would you even- yeah. I named a fuckin’ kitten after Waystar’s legal counsel.” His voice dripping with sarcasm even though he totally did do just that.

“You fucking would.” I can’t help but laugh. “And you say I’m deranged?”

“Yeah, yeah. Call my therapist.”

“Why? You’re already on the phone with ‘em.”

“Well you’re doing a shit job.”

“Clearly.” I began setting up Jerry’s bed. A nest of soft blankets over a heating pad in a small box. “Well shit’s hard with a sick fuck like Roman Roy as my client.”

“I can tell ya somethin’ else that’s hard.”

“I’m calling HR.”

“Ooo, three way?”

“Hanging up now.” His laughter reflects off his floor to ceiling windows as I cut the line.

While finishing filling the humidifier, now resting on his side table, I heard the front door open. Roman’s light footsteps click across the pristine hardwood floors.

“Aye! Lil’ man’s hungry, did you get the goods?” I’m soon enough greeted by a softly mewing Jerry in the same spot as he was photographed in nearly an hour prior.

“Yeah, your boba’s in the fridge.” Roman rolls his eyes before scrunching his nose up and sticking his tongue out at me.

“Hardy-har har. You’re hilarious.” Sticking my own tongue out at him, I give him a wink. “Seriously, did you get- the fuck that come from?” He waves a limp wrist towards the bed.

“It’s a heated blanket, I got it while I was out. Just thought you two could use it. And yes, the formulas in the kitchen.” Roman eyes the thick white blanket before waltzing over to run a hand over it. His lips threaten a smile but he fights it off.

“It’s… nice.” He clears his throat.

“You know, I haven’t gotten to officially meet Jerry yet.” Tilting my head, I gaze upon the little creature with a small smile. A tabby that reminded me of my first cat. I carefully reach out my pointer finger to stroke his head. My smile grows even wider. I was grateful Roman had found him and that he was okay. The fist of worry I kept hidden in the pit of my stomach began to unfurl. My cheeks warm as Roman’s gaze studied my face while I pet the kitten held against him.

“You can hold him.” Our eyes meet and there was something in his that made my chest flutter. He looks down quickly. “I mean-if you wanna or whatever.”

“Yeah? You sure? Y’all seem pretty cozy.” Roman rolls his eyes before carefully handing Jerry over to me. I cradle him over my heart while rubbing his side with my thumb. I can’t help but lean down to lay a soft kiss atop his head. “You are just the sweetest lil thing in the whole world, you know that?” I murmur into his fur before pulling back with a smile.

“Oh he fuckin’ knows it. He had all the nurses in a tizzy. Had to fight ‘em off with my humongous dick.”

“Oh Jesus, Roman. Do you ever just shut the fuck up?”

“Nope.” Roman smiles as he reaches to pet Jerry. His finger brushes my hand and our eyes fall to one another. The corner of his mouth twitches along with his finger. The air begins to fill with static as we stood falling into each other’s gaze. There was maybe half a foot of space between us. Out of nervous habit, I bite my bottom lip and Roman’s eyes immediately flicker to my mouth. Jerry mews against my chest.

“Should we go get the formula ready?” My voice comes out quieter than I intended, just above a whisper. He blinks a few times before meeting my eyes again.

“Huh? Y-yeah.” Clearing his throat, he quickly turns on his heels and heads out the bedroom door. I follow with a blush on my cheeks and a smile on my lips.

Atop Roman’s bed, he lay on his side with me mirrored beside him. Jerry was stretched out between us with a full belly pressed to the heated blanket, sleeping peacefully. Roman had one hand propping his head up and the other holding his boba tea. My arms were crossed under one another as I used them as a pillow. Both of us watching the rise and fall of Jerry’s breathing.

Feeding him earlier was an ordeal to say the least. Roman quickly became overwhelmed. Only confident in his abilities as a fuck up. He was twitchy, anxious, and swear-y as he made a mess of the kitchen. Glancing up to his face, I notice the circles under his eyes seemed darker. He looked utterly exhausted as he chewed on the straw of his drink with a furrowed brow.

“Hey, Rome?”

“Mm?” He hums addressing me but doesn’t look up from Jerry.

“Do you wanna try and get some sleep? I can stay up with Jer-Bear and make sure he’s okay.” Eyes finally meeting mine, his brows stay pulled together.

“Fuck no. I’m not tired.” He lied through his teeth; quickly and firmly. I had just seen him yawn not five minutes prior. My brows raise.

“Uh-huh…” I look him over. He was still dressed for the day, though without shoes. His tie, dusted in formula powder, hung loose around his neck. His sleeves were rolled to his elbow. Once gelled hair now flung in nearly every direction.

“Hey! Stop fuckin’-“ He waves the plastic cup around. “Checkin’ me out in front of the child, ya heathen.”

“The child?” I laugh quietly while propping my head up in one hand and stealing his drink from him with the other. He gasps dramatically with a hand to his chest. “Alright, cat daddy.” His brows raise as I take a sip.

“Cat daddy?” He smirks suggestively. “What are you then? Cat mommy?” Chewing on some boba pearls, I shrug with a smile.

“Seems fitting.” He goes to steal his cup back, causing his hand to fall over my own. He doesn’t remove it. Just stares at them clasped together. His touch feels electric. The familiar static returning to the air. Roman’s thumb slowly begins to brush my knuckles. Back and forth, almost shyly. I let out a shaky breath and his eyes suddenly meet mine, startled. He pulls the drink from me and I let my hand fall. The phantom of his thumb sending small shockwaves through to my bones.

Refusing to meet my eyes, he focuses them on Jerry instead. His fingers quickly and rhythmically tapping at the side of his cup. The hand once holding his head was now scratching at his jaw. A bundle of nerves before me. I yearned to soothe them and missed the warmth of his touch. The lonely ache blossoming throughout the skin of my palm made my head feel fuzzy. I then feel my last remaining brain cell sprout something akin to courage. Reaching out, I grasp the top of his drink and take it away to place on the side table behind me.

“What the fuck? I wasn’t finished…” He trails off as I look back to him. All furrow browed and handsome. Cautiously, I reach for his hand and lace my fingers with his. His eyes immediately drop to them interlocking with a sharp inhale. He falls tense. My stomach flips as I fight off the flaming arrows of nerves shooting down my arm. Just as tentatively as he had before, I start to gently rub my thumb against the side of his hand. He doesn’t respond; his hand feeling limp and dead beneath mine. Dread pools down the back of my throat.

“S-sorry.” Pulling back, I try to unthread myself from his hand. Suddenly his fingers come to life and clasp around mine. Gripping tightly as if his body was silently pleading with mine to not let go. Don’t leave. His eyes finally meet mine and his brows twitch. A wash of different emotions flash across his features. Behind those stormy brown eyes, I could see the waves of doubt and fear threaten to drown out the rest.

What we were doing could be considered small. Insignificant even, sure. We were simply holding hands. Yet it felt like something big for some reason. Maybe because neither one of us could recall the last time someone held us. Even if it was just our hands.

It felt intimate.

He didn’t want it to stop but he didn’t know what to do with the feelings it was bringing up either. I pull our hands towards my face and lean forward to meet them. Softly biting down on his middle knuckle then smiling up at him. His mouth twitches before slowly smiling back.

“You’re so fucking dumb.” He laughs softly, slightly bewildered.

“Watch it or I’ll bite it off.” His smile only grows.

“Do it, I fuckin’ dare ya.” I bite down onto his knuckle once again, harder this time. He drops my hand immediately, only to thread his own through my hair and pull me into a bruising kiss. Both of us smile against the other’s mouth. He nips at my bottom lip when I pull away with a laugh. I lightly shove his head playfully before throwing his words from earlier back at him.

“In front of the child?” The near constant and crushing weight of his stress seemed momentarily absent as we giggled in bed like schoolchildren. “Ya heathen.” Jerry had continued sleeping soundly between us. Careful not to wake him, Roman begins brushing a finger down Jerry’s back, ever so gently. “You can be really sweet when you wanna be, you know that?” His eyes meet mine in an attempt to look stern. Though, the smallest hint of a smile still lingered.

“You tell anyone about this and I’m chuckin’ ya into the Hudson with cement shoes.” With a wide grin, I return to my earlier positioning. Arms curled beneath me to lie atop. The day was finally catching up and my head felt heavy. “You realize there’s pillows directly above you, right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen a pillow a day in my life.” My eyes were struggling to stay open as I watch the rhythmic rise and fall of Jerry’s back with Roman’s finger stroking gently.

“Smartass.” The next thing I know, Roman’s hand has slid beneath my cheek to lift my head. A pillow is nestled into the space between soon after. I hum approvingly and he mumbles. “Thanks… for today.”

“Happy to help.” I rub my face into the pillow as if it could wipe off the sleep threatening to overtake me. In a weak attempt to stay awake, my mouth begins to ramble. “I got pneumonia a lot when I was a kid. I’d have to take these breathing treatments with an oxygen mask.” Letting out a soft chuckle, the memories flood back to me. Absentmindedly, my finger begins drawing circles against the blanket as I sleepily look to Jerry’s face. “But since I was a child, they tried to make it less scary so the mask was in the shape of a fish head. Whenever Jerry was in the hospital, I just pictured this tiny kitten wearing my little fish mask.” My eyes flicker up to Roman. He was wearing a small smile. “I dunno… it just made me feel better for some reason. I guess like he’d be okay because I was okay.” As the words tumbled out in a mumble, Roman’s eyes seemed softer. My cheeks started to warm with a blush so I shyly tuck my chin in and look back to Jerry.

“That’s really cute actually.” My eyes rise back to his. The tips of his own cheeks seem to turn almost pink under my gaze. “Corny as fuck, but… cute.” Clearing his throat, he looks back at the sleeping kitten before him. “I’m calling you fish face from now on.” The corner of my mouth tugs into a smile as my eyes fall heavy with sleep.

“You did good today, Rome.” If I had the energy to look back to him, I would have caught the pinks of his cheeks turning crimson. Saw his mouth twitch in a losing battle between a smile and his lips. The smile won.

The blinding light of morning had me waking with eyes squeezed tight. A steady electric hum met my ears and I tried to mentally deduce where it could be coming from before giving up. Fighting off the violently bright assault to my vision, my eyes finally part and focus. A cloud of steam billows through a sun ray to greet me. My gaze follows the plume towards it’s source. A soft electric hum. The humidifier.

The next sight to greet me fills my heart with something so sweet and so warm, it overflowed. The feeling overwhelmed my every being and threatened to burst through my chest and coat the very walls. Taking its disembodied hands to pull the corners of my lips upwards as a soft snore escapes the sleeping form beside me.

Roman looked even messier than he had the previous night. Lying on his back with one wrinkled sleeve pulled down. It appeared to have milk dampening the expensive fabric. The formula powder, once just on his tie, was now kissing across the scruff of his jaw. Somehow, it looked to be in his hair as well. His shirt lie halfway open, unbuttoned. A tiny ball of fur lay against the bare skin at the heart of his chest. There, Jerry slept underneath Roman’s cradling palm. The two of them warming the other peacefully.

My cheeks were aching but I couldn’t stop smiling. The humidifier’s buzz seemed to morph into a familiar high strung murmur inside my head.

You fucking love me, don’t you?Dumbass.

I haven’t written fan fiction in ages, let alone for Succession. I’m high-key fucking terrified of the response lol But this was so much fun to write and turned out extremely wholesome so I had to share. Please excuse any spelling/grammar/formatting fuck ups. I did all this in my notes app and haven’t shared any writing on here since like… 2018? I think?? Anyways, to whomever might be reading this, I really hope you enjoyed it. ♡˚ ✧ ༘ ｡ ˚ ⋆

#Roman Roy #Succession #Succession HBO #Gender Neutral Fanfic #Roman Roy One Shot #Roman Roy Fluff #Roman Roy Angst #Roman Roy Imagine #Roman Roy x Reader #Roman Roy x Gender Neutral Reader #Succession Fanfic #Succession Imagine #Needy!Roman #Insecure!Roman #idk what else to tag here??? #help???? #mine #kittens & perverts

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Enigma

Elks Chapter 4

Chapter Rating: M. Chapter Summary: Joel comes over to your home and stays for dinner, coffee, and a couch make out. Chapter Warnings: Domestic fluff, making out, some petting, internal dialogue panic, whiskey and coffee. Words: 3,600 Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: Life in Jackson is quite comfortable and simple for you. You love teaching your students and running your library, you love the comforts of living here, perfectly complacent with the company of your two cats, guitar, tattered CD book, and a few friends. You like comfortable and simple, though the feelings you feel whenever you see Joel Miller are quite the opposite. Once you meet him, it seems like he needs you in his life as much as you need him. Reader Background: Reader is in her 30's and comes from Colorado. No other physical descriptors besides her having long enough hair to put up. A/N: Godddd, this Joel is so soft and I love creating this happy ending for him. Hope you love it too.

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Masterlist Playlist

***

“Ain't No Sunshine” by Bill Withers. 

Saturday morning dawns, you haven’t slept that soundly in years, falling asleep to the thought of Joel’s lips on yours. The sun is out after days of rain and gray skies, a fresh start. 

Your foot runs into something hard as you step out your front door, sitting in the middle of your porch is a wooden box, the perfect carrying size complete with handles cut into the sides. A note with sharp handwriting rests on it. 

Your cardboard box isn’t going to make another trip. This should help. I’ll drop your guitar off tonight. - Joel

You lift the hinged lid to see more than enough room for all of your paint jars. Tears well up in your eyes. What did you do to deserve this? Did he really go home and make this last night? You put the box inside your home, taking a quick moment to rub your hand over the smooth sanded wood. Joel’s thoughtfulness causes a grin as you tuck his note into your back pocket. Beginning your early morning journey to the schoolhouse, you still glance for a peek of Joel as you pass his house. 

——

You love your library, you love the look on fellow resident’s faces when they tell you they enjoyed a book that you recommended, being able to provide an escape with every page turned. You love that you hold volumes of encyclopedias and reference books, one of the few ways people can learn now. You love to catalog and fill your shelves with every single dog-eared and well read book patrollers bring you back.

You’re so fulfilled by your two jobs, your friends, your home, and the life you’ve carved out in Jackson. Now, after spending time with Joel, the emptiness you’ve been good at ignoring beats louder. You want his friendship, you want his attention, you want him. 

You try to focus as much as you can on your work. Cataloging, checking out books, tutoring a couple of kids having difficulty learning to read. When you lock the doors to the school house at the end of the day, you sigh out in relief. Joel will be coming over soon.

——

A quick succession of knocks land on your door. You practically jump out of your chair and run to the door. Taking a deep breath to calm your nervous energy, smoothing down the fabric of your cotton shirt and linen pants. You haven’t had to second guess what you’re wearing in years, but today, you want to impress Joel. 

A small exhale escapes your lips when you open your door. There stood in a flannel over a dark blue t-shirt is Joel holding a guitar with a small smile on his face. He looks so handsome, your knees feel a little weak.

“Hi,” you smile at him. 

“Evening.”

“Come in,” you’re nervous now. 

You love your home, and now Joel’s going to step into it. He’s about to metaphorically walk into your mind, all of your art on the wall, some of it found and some of it your own, your mismatched throw pillows on the couch, your chipped vase filled with fake flowers, your boot scuffs on the floor. You wonder if he felt the same way on the first day he opened the door for you, letting you into his studio where all of the things he loved laid. You are proud of your home, it’s no longer the desolate tiny apartment in the Denver QZ with only a threadbare blanket on a flat mattress.

He walks in, eyes roaming around your small and cozy living room. Shelves full of books, paintings, and little trinkets you’ve curated over your time in Jackson. Your mirrored wall that you hated when you first moved in but now welcome the bright light it reflects across the room. You painted birds all over it, making the few cracks into branches on a whim a year ago, and now it’s your favorite thing.

“Never thought people like you could still exist,” Joel focuses in on a sparrow you painted on a branch. 

“People like me?”

“Yeah,” he turns to you, “still wanting to make things… nice.”

“I like what I like I guess,” you blush. “I really like the box you left on my porch, you really didn’t have to Joel, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“Was no bother, wanted to do it for you. Didn’t like the thought of that box ripping and spilling everything.”

“Well, thank you. I love it.”

“You’re welcome, there’s this too,” handing you the guitar. “S’all fixed and new, tuned it for you.”

“This is incredible, thank you.” It feels good to hold a guitar again, a huge smile breaks across your face. “I can’t believe it.” 

“Believe it.” 

You strum a couple of notes. You haven’t played guitar in almost a month, your fingers no longer need to play phantom notes, you have music back.

“Did you want to stay for dinner? I feel like I owe you a meal.”

“Of course, I’d love to.”

“I made sure to dust and I put my cats in my painting room, just in case you wanted to.” “Awful sweet of you.”

You hand your guitar back to Joel. “Do you want to play me some songs while I cook?”

“‘Course.” 

——

The smell of peppers, onions, potatoes, and eggs fill the kitchen. You feel Joel watch you as you cut slices of bread and toast them in a pan, his eyes have been on you since you lead him to the kitchen. Sometimes you’ll glance over at him, he doesn’t even hide that he’s looking.

“How do you want your eggs? I’m having scrambled.”

“Over easy. Hate scrambled eggs…”

You nod and turn back to the stove, listening to Joel strum a song.

“That song’s really pretty. What is it?” You ask as you dish out the food and bring the plates of food over to the table.

“Pretty sure it’s called ‘Ain’t No Sunshine.’ Used to play it a lot when I was younger.” Joel puts your guitar against the wall as he watches you open a cupboard and pull out a small bottle of red sauce.

“It’s really pretty, I liked it,” placing the bottle on the table. Joel picks it up and brings it over looking at the little label that you drew a skull and crossbones and peppers on. 

“Is this… hot sauce?” Joel’s eyes widen. 

“Yep.”

“How did you get hot sauce?” 

“Made it.”

“Wow, heh. I didn’t know people could still make hot sauce,” Joel says as he opens the bottle cap and smells it.

“Yep, I grow peppers in the Summer and boil them down with vinegar. My dad was pretty famous around town for his hot sauce, he used to make me help him during the harvest,” you sit down across from him. “I used to hate it, but now I’m thankful he made me learn.”

Joel sticks his finger out and places a couple drops of hot sauce on it. He holds it up to show you and with a nod tastes it. He smiles as his lips form around his finger, tasting the sauce. 

“Mm, it’s good.” Your breath hitches as he takes his finger out of his mouth, the sound of his lips smacking reminds you of the kiss the two of you shared last night. Blinking out the memory you grab a piece of toast.

“Glad you like it, I have a few bottles, I’ll send you home with one.”

“Can’t believe you’re real,” murmurs out of his lips, as if he really didn’t mean to say it out loud. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” You hide a smile behind taking a bite out of toast. “Can’t tell you the last time I had breakfast at night…”

“I always have it. I love breakfast for dinner. It always seemed so special when I was a kid, eating pancakes after the sun goes down…now it just makes sense because I always have eggs and potatoes. Though I’d kill for a cinnamon roll…” 

It all seems so normal, like Joel always comes over and sits across the table from you. Like you’re always putting two plates on the table, always hearing the sounds of two metal forks scraping against ceramic. 

You’ve been alone for so long… happily. Satisfied by everything else in your life, never paying much attention to anyone who wanted your attention. You were good with alone, until you saw Joel… and now he’s wiping yolk off his chin from the egg you just cooked him in your kitchen. 

——

“Did you want to stay for a bit?” Your boldness surprising you as you put away the rest of the dishes after dinner. 

“Sure, of course I do.” Joel’s smile lighting up his entire face.

You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to making him smile, seeing the way his lips curve up, the glimpse of his teeth, the dimple deepening in his cheek. You’re used to drawing the things you want to see, to be able to make Joel smile is better than any art piece you’ll ever create.

“Did you want coffee or tea? Saturday’s my late night, might make it to midnight if I have company.”

“Coffee sounds good.”

“Whiskey?”

“Please.”

Normal, again. The two of you falling into conversation easily, never about anything of importance. Your favorite things about Jackson, the TV shows you used to watch, your first concerts. Nothing heavy or scary, a quiet agreement that you both understand that to reach the ages you both are, you mutually had to live through the worst of the worst. Joel doesn’t mention his daughter and you don’t bring her up. You sit in your plaid reading chair across from him on your couch his body taking up half of the cushions as he rests an arm on the back of it. He looks so comfortable, so relaxed. You’ve been splitting a flask between the two of you for the past hour, the taste of your coffee getting weaker each time you add whiskey. 

“What was your couch like?” You ponder.

“Hm?” 

You take another sip of your coffee, the whiskey causing a slight burn down your throat as you swallow. 

“Your couch. What was it like in Texas?”

“What a weird question,” Joel’s smile gets blocked by his coffee cup as he takes another drink.  

“I think you can tell a lot about someone by the type of furniture they choose. My mom very much liked neat and tidy and loved her house to look like it was right out of a catalog. We had some fancy regal looking floral abomination that was so uncomfortable to sit in but she thought it looked good. My dad didn’t care as long as he had somewhere comfortable to watch the Rockies… so it was just a normal brown couch that had recliners and pulldown cupholders in the middle.”

He sighs and adjusts in his seat. “Had a brown leather sofa, took up most of the living room, but didn’t mind because it was so comfortable.”

“See! I knew you had something big and leather.”

“Really now?”

“Yes, I swear. I look at you and I think… big.”

“Big?”

And right when Joel lifts his eyebrows at you is where you know you should’ve stopped talking.

“Yeah,” you exhale. “You always look so big and broad. Strong but gentle, capable but eager to learn and listen, rugged yet soft like… someone I’ve never seen before. You’re like a full on enigma.”

Your big mouth strikes again. 

“An enigma?” Joel chugs the rest of his coffee, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “M’sorry sweetheart, what’s that?”

“A mystery… like I can’t figure you out. I haven’t been able to since the Tipsy Bison that first day I saw you…” stop talking, stop talking, “…you have this aura around you that you’re Joel Miller, Tommy’s brother, don’t talk to him…” seriously, shut up “…and yet you were so kind and gentle to me when I fell. You practically forced me to let you help with the books and then you stuck around to help set up everything…” stop talking, shut up “…and then you have me paint flowers in your house and you’re so sweet and so welcoming to me…” Okay, be quiet. You’re about to say something you don’t want to say. “…I’ve watched you since I first saw you and I still can’t figure you out…” and now you’ve said too much, “an enigma.” You huff the last words out, tipping your head back against your chair. Damn whiskey.

“You know, s’funny, I remember seeing you when I first got here too.” The way his words are gently spoken causes you to look at him. His eyes are on you, zero judgment lines his face. “Was a bad day, had a lot of feelings about Tommy and how he found happiness so easily here. I was in my head so much and at the worst moment, I look over and see you staring right at me. You made me forget those thoughts for a split second, just seeing you standing there. So beautiful and bright eyed in that light purple shirt… same shirt you were wearing when I helped you with your knee… kinda like you dropped from heaven in front of my house.”

His honesty takes your breath away, the admission of shared feelings between the two of you sent back and forth across your coffee table as your two empty mugs rest atop it. What you see is what you get from Joel, what he says he means, you know he’s not struggling internally at his oversharing like you.

You sit dumbfounded, the silence that creeps between the two of you allowing the time to let Joel’s words settle in you and bloom across your body. 

“So,” Joel leans forward, "if that’s how you feel ‘bout me, then I’m happily an enigma.”

He’s pinned you with his gaze, determined brown eyes stare straight into yours. You know he can see what his words are doing to you. You’re surprised the nerves radiating inside of you aren’t making an audible buzz. 

Joel cuts the silent tension first. “Speaking of couches… do you want to come sit next to me?”

You nod. Your heart hammering in your chest as you rise and seize the opportunity. Joel watches you as your bare feet pad over the rug with a small smirk on his lips like he’s getting exactly what he wanted. 

You take a seat next to Joel, your body sinking closer to his as you adjust. 

“S’nice,” Joel brings his arm around you, resting his hand on your shoulder as you move closer to him. “You have a beautiful home, love how every surface has something nice to look at. It’s so warm and pretty, perfectly you. I like being here, s’like walking into a different world.”

Your body begins to burn as Joel’s fingers brush back and forth against your arm. You don’t nod, you don’t say anything, you just focus on controlling your breathing and your rapid heart beat. 

“You okay like this sweetheart?” 

“Y-yeah, sorry, just haven’t done this in a long time. I like it, it’s just a lot.” 

“S’okay sweetheart, we can just sit here and enjoy each other if you’d like.” 

“Okay.”

Joel pulls you even closer against him, your head rests against his chest, you haven’t been this close to someone in so long. It feels good, it feels right. Hearing him breathe, feeling the softness of his soft t-shirt against your cheek, smelling the scent of wood and coffee on him. It was only last week that he was practically a stranger, now he’s holding you in your living room.

You breathe out a contented sigh, Joel’s chest vibrates against your cheek as he lets out a low chuckle. This moment right here feels like a turning point for your life in Jackson.

You’ve welcomed Joel into your home, much like he did with you. You want him to stay here with you, you don’t want him to leave tonight. 

You want to feel his arms embrace you again. You want to kiss him again. You want to be selfish tonight. You never allow yourself what you want, always sacrificing for others and the greater good. You want to put your needs first tonight… so you choose to be selfish. 

“Joel,” a whisper leaves your lips. 

“Mm?”

“When we kissed yesterday…”

“Uh huh.”

“What would have… happened if the water didn’t spill?” You crane your neck up to look at him, Joel looks down and locks eyes with a small smile on his face. 

“Well, I would have kept kissing you, obviously.”

“For how long?”

“As long as you’d let me sweetheart.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Me too,” Joel’s hand comes up to rest under your chin tilting it up towards his lips, “do you want me to kiss you now?” His tongue drags across his lower lip, you copy the movement as you lean forward into his hold and kiss him.

You love being selfish. You love how pillowy his lips are against yours. You love how you can taste the coffee and whiskey on his tongue. You love how he groans into your mouth as you move to sit on his lap. You love how his hands grab your hips as you straddle him. You love how rough his jeans feel against your linen pants. You love how Joel begins peppering kisses from your mouth to your neck. 

“You taste so sweet,” Joel utters against your skin, feeling the smile in his kiss as you let out a moan from his words. A hand comes up to feel the underside of your breast, his touch eliciting another loud moan as he cups it in his large palm. The fire for Joel that’s been smoldering inside of you has been set ablaze by his mouth.

You begin rocking your hips against him, gasping and moaning as you look for pressure where you need him the most. Your hand reaches between the two of you, rubbing against the bulge of his pants. 

Joel pulls away, his hand leaves your chest. “Hold on, hold on sweetheart, I don’t want to go too fast. I want to take our time, okay?” His hand cups your cheek. “I know what you want, ‘n I want it too… but you’re too special to not savor.” 

You hate that you agree, you wish you could throw caution to the wind and take what you want to take, but you also know you’ve never felt this way about someone before. You nod as Joel leans forward and rests his forehead against yours.

“I really like you sweetheart, and it’s only been a few days…”

“I know,” you kiss his lips one last time before extracting yourself from his lap and sitting next to him. “We can just sit here again if you’d like, or you can get going if you want.”

“I’d like to sit here with you,” he wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in closer, your head resting against his chest again. He feels so good, like you’ve never known comfort until you felt the broad expanse of his chest underneath your skin. 

“Sorry I don’t have any music… tonight would be a perfect night to listen to something.”

“Don’t mind the silence.”

“Me neither.”

You shut your eyes after awhile, the sound of Joel’s steady breathing against you lulling you to sleep. 

——

“Sweetheart,” Joel’s soft voice wakes you up, blinking your eyes open to soft blue denim. 

Somehow during sleep you’ve migrated down to rest your head on Joel’s lap.

“Mmph, how long was I asleep for?” You look up at Joel’s tired eyes looking down at you. 

“Dunno, but it’s dawn. I also fell asleep, just woke up,” Joel answers with a yawn.

“I’m sorry,” you move to sit up and yawn. “Guess I was either tired or you’re just really comfortable.

“S’okay, it was nice. Once I knew you were asleep I didn’t want to disturb you, you looked so peaceful.”

“Thanks,” you stand up and stretch your arms over your head, Joel’s eyes darting to the sliver of your exposed skin as your shirt rises. 

“Should get going home,” a small hint of reluctance in Joel’s voice.

“I know,” you attempt to shield the tone of disappointment. You grab the hot sauce bottle sitting on your console table. “Don’t forget this.”

“Thanks sweetheart. I have long patrol this week. I’ll be gone Monday, should be back Friday evening.” Your stomach drops at the thought of not seeing Joel for that long. “Can I see you Saturday?” 

“Of course, yeah. I’d like that.” 

“I’ll stop by the library then, ’n we can talk,” Joel grips your chin and brings his lips forward to plant a kiss on your lips. “Good night sweetheart, this was really nice.” 

“Good night.” 

Joel opens your door and looks back at you with a smile and nod before leaving. 

Your face lights up for nobody to see. You go to check on your cats and fall asleep in your much less comfortable bed compared to Joel’s lap. 

A/N: Thanks for reading! Things are starting to heat up (got to change the rating from T to M! Building up to E! 😉) and I'm very excited where this story is heading. See you next Monday! I've never written fan fic until two months ago, so I really appreciate all of you who have commented/liked/reblogged, it's a very cool thing to experience. If you'd like to be added to the taglist, let me know.

Taglist: @orcasoul

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #elks #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou fanfic #joel tlou #joel miller fic

[liminalpebble]

Stray (A Lokitty Tale): Part 3

Masterlist link

Stray: Part 3

Loki was beginning to fall into a pleasant sort of routine with the human. He enjoyed the soapy smell of your freshly showered skin as you cuddled him against yourself each morning before rushing out the door. No matter how tired or stressed or how much of a hurry you were in, you never failed to tell him good morning and hug him goodbye, and it thawed his icy heart. It seemed so strange to him; that a being would simply selflessly care for a creature who could offer nothing at all in return except companionship...and yet you did.

He noticed other things about you; that you had scuffed up one specific patch of the wall from grumpily kicking your shoes off each day (the closest to angry he ever saw you), that when you came home you always made a cup of coffee and curled up with a book, that you'd put a record on and hum along as you made dinner and did the dishes, that you especially liked The Velvet Underground, that you winced whenever the phone rang but, without fail, spoke so kindly to whoever was on the other side, that you'd go to see movies by yourself and stack the little ticket stub into a tidy collection as you gave him your film review. He learned that your favorite color was purple, that you would buy little bundles of fresh herbs and set them out in makeshift jam-jar vases just to smell them and enjoy the little pops of color in a gray world. All of these things gave him an irrepressible fizzle of warm feelings for you...feelings he couldn't quite define.

I'm...used to her? I find her pleasant? She...doesn't bother me...not like Thor and Odin do, anyway. He thought to himself, uncertain of how else to explain it.

On more than one occasion when you left for work, Loki would transform himself back into his smart black suit with the crisp white shirt. He would straighten his tie and check his slicked-back hair in the mirror as he summoned up the green glow of his magic, preparing to transport himself away to the next step of his fugitive journey. And yet...each time he stood there, staring at his perfectly polished shoes, simply unable to make the feet within them move. He couldn't leave when he thought of how sweet and sad and panicked you would be, calling his name over and over in vain, holding the little green makeshift collar, totally devastated. It wasn't like him to stagnate like this, and the fact that he was getting comfortable was...well...uncomfortable. Each time he was ready to go he would turn the little leather band in his large palm, reading his name in your handwriting over and over again. With a sigh of resignation, Loki would finally loosen his tie, sit back down, and settle into being your house guest for a little longer. Just a few more days, he kept telling himself.

Life sailed along this way until one day you seemed markedly...different. As your heels clicked down the hall and Loki transformed back into a cat, he happily anticipated curling up in your lap as you'd stroke his back aimlessly while reading. He wanted more than anything to enjoy your humming to your records and the savory smell your cooking, but today wouldn't go that way.

As you came in the door you slammed it shut behind you, and this time when you kick your shoes off you cursed loudly and etched a darker scuff in the wall. Loki's eyes wondered to your face and he was distressed to see your eyes wet and red-ringed. You had obviously been sobbing hard. You dropped your things and made your way straight for the couch, flopping down with the palms of your hands against your eyes, weeping inconsolably.

Loki was alarmed, having never seen you so upset. He was afraid to come near you in this unpredictable state, but he longed to be close to you so much more than he was afraid of you. Slinking carefully, he made his way to lay on your stomach. Gingerly settling and watching your face, he waited patiently for you to move your hands and meet his eyes. When you noticed him your angry demeanor immediately melted away as you gave him a pacifying stroke along his spine.

“Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry,” you said, gravely-voiced and sniffing. “I didn't mean to scare you,” you soothed. He purred, trying to let you know that he was fine and comfortable, as long as he was with you. You gave a comprehending wan smile, looking into the jewels of his irises as your fingertips combed through his fur. As your breath stilled you said, “Loki, you know, sometimes I think I'm going crazy because I could swear you understand me...that we're having conversations...that you follow along when I read to you. Insane, right? Totally insane.”

You chuckled, saddened yet amused by the absurdity of life and human emotions. Loki, however, was shocked at how close you came to the truth, and that you seemed to have connected more than he planned. He desperately wanted to know what was going on to upset his 'dear mortal' so much (this is how he designated you in his own mind) and it frustrated him more than ever that he couldn't simply talk to you and ask.

Loki had an idea. He could enchant you and use his power to see inside your mind for himself. You would be none the wiser, but he was still reluctant to invade your privacy. In the end, curiosity got the better of the cat and he gave in. Of course...curiosity...that's all it is, he told himself again.

-----

He reached into your mind, traveling with you as you stepped into a large building with the sign saying Mullen Department Store. It was interesting to him, seeing what you did all day (endlessly stocking shelves, dealing with customers, cleaning the shop, preparing the products). He began to wonder if they ever let you sit down.

Around noon, a coworker approached you saying, “Hey, good luck with that interview with Mr. Mullen! This could be your big break!”. You thanked them and trudged up to the office on the top floor.

Before you knew it you were handing a paper to a balding man behind a large tacky desk. Loki felt his heart ache seeing that your hands were shaking. His darling mortal was so nervous! This must be important to her, he thought.

“...so as you can see here, Mr. Mullen. I have my Master's degree, fluency in three languages, and background in academic writing and journalism. I think I'd be a perfect writer and translator for the office team. I work very thoroughly and...”

The older man huffed, “Let me stop you right there, sweetheart. I'm sorry but we really don't need some dame doing that kind of work.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don't get me wrong, on paper you're impressive, but we have a...professional image...here. Our ladies in the workforce have to look the part.” He shrugged, “Now, if you worked on your appearance a little, maybe lost a few pounds or wore a bit more makeup you could be be Johnny's secretary. Do you make a good pot of coffee?” He said the last part with a chuckle, clearly pleased with the pitiful thing that passed for his sense of humor.

Your voice rose. “Excuse me, but I fail to see what my appearance has to do with my competence. You have plenty of men as writers on staff who were hired without being told to lose a few pounds first. This is absurd! It's 1971, Mr. Mullen, not 1950!”

He stared you down with his beady little eyes, “Now listen here, young lady, don't give me that feminist horse shit. You are very very lucky to have the job you do have with this company! I wouldn't expect you to understand the standards we have up here, and that just goes to show you're not what we're looking for.” He checked his watch with a sigh, “That's all the time I have today, and you need to be back on the sales floor.” He dismissed you, not even with a handshake, but by simply waving his hand toward the door and using his other one to crumple your resume and drop it in the trashcan.

You didn't say a word, too stunned and disappointed to react to this rejection. Loki felt the sting of your thoughts as they churned around in your head the rest of the day. I'm never going to go farther. This is my life now...my stupid fucking life....not even pretty enough to type or pour coffee for a living...Jesus Christ...I wanted so much more than this. I worked so hard to have more than this. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to learn so much. I barely even have friends.”

Loki thought to himself, and wished he could tell you, oh darling, how dare he make you feel this way! You're so clever and unique and kind....and beautiful. Sweet moral, I think you're the most beautiful creature I've ever met.

He floated back out of your mind then, shocked by the return to reality and to his sudden swell of feelings for you. The god of mischief realized in that moment that he wanted something he had never wanted for another person before. He wanted you to get all the good things you deserved even if he had to forgo some for himself. He wanted to avenge and defend you, putting the fear of God (or rather, a god) into the idiotic and insulting little man. Most of all, he just wanted you to be okay, and safe...and loved. Loved...he finally allowed himself to think the word.

He watched your lovely face as you began to nod off. Your wet lashes closed, and your brow furrowed with worry, even as you drifted off holding him against your heart. He could feel it pulsing in your chest, and sense the slowing of your breath. He finally dared to admit that he wanted to give you love...all the love everyone else wasn't giving you but you so sorely deserved. Loki darted out his little pink tongue to lick your arm where it rested around him. He tried to say, sweet dreams, little mortal. Just rest. We'll find a way. And though it only came out as a contented purr, he was surprised to hear you murmur “thank you,” in return, as you sank further into dreams.

@mischief2sarawr @ladyofthestayingpower @acidcasualties @unlucky-number-13 @goblingirlsarah @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokihiddleston @chokeanddagger @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @marcotheflychair @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @littlespaceyelf @little-wormwood @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @eleniblue @loz-3 @the-haven-of-fiction @sweetsigyn @muddyorbs @icytrickster17 @holdmytesseract @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @sailorholly @peachyjinx @coldnique @sarahscribbles@peaches1958 @infinitystoner @mischiefmaker615 @jennyggggrrr @tripleyeeet @itsybitchylittlewitchy @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss @madi0987 @buttercupcookies-blog @annoyingsweetsstranger

P.S. Thank you all for reading and liking and sharing and requesting to be tagged. You're all so sweet and it means the world to me.

Peb.

#lokitty #loki fanfic #lovely fanfic friends #loki fluff #loki x reader #d.b. cooper loki

[soulreapin]

happy valentine’s day klancers here’s our favorite tragedy getting to be happy for once. xoxo soul

—

Keith wakes up to the sharp, pungent smell of roses in his nose.

That’s not always as alarming as it is right now, sometimes Lance gets flowers from the farmer’s market and sets them in delicate clear vases all over their apartment (Keith will always hate the smell of daffodils), but the farmer’s market hadn’t been in town for a number of weeks.

He sits up in bed, pushing the red flannel comforter down from where it was safely tucked up underneath his chin and looks around wildly. Their comfortable bedroom has a vase of red roses on every surface, even on the vanity tucked in the crook between the wall and the door of their ensuite bathroom.

They look fresh, vibrant and sweet in the low light.

He glances to his side and Lance’s side of the bed is noticeably empty. That should’ve been clue number one that something was up, not the smell of roses, but apparently it hadn’t been long enough since his time in the desert that waking up with his arms wrapped around himself and his knees tucked into the crook of his chin wasn’t considered abnormal yet.

A splay of his palm against the sheets tells him Lance has been up for some time. Something ugly and foreign squeezes itself around his heart, but Keith, under any circumstance, does not give himself time to figure out what it is and slides out of bed, stepping into his red lion slippers and following the apparent trail of red rose petals on their usually pristine wooden floor.

His slippers scuff on the wood as Keith trails down the short hallway into their living room, and if he thought their bedroom was bad, this is catastrophic. Floral arrangements sit large and pretty on their dining table, on their kitchen counters, on the coffee table where instead of fake fruit they set their feet in the middle.

Varying shades of red and pink and white flourish in the home Keith worked so hard to build for him and Lance, the life they hold on to with tight grips and locked elbows decorated with pretty scalloped petals and white lace keeping them all standing at attention.

On the center of their dining room table, where there are pencil marks thoroughly worn into the wood from hours doing homework for Lance to get his masters, are several fake candles set up around a red envelope, and from this distance Keith can’t tell if it’s sealed with wax or not, but he’d bet his braid that it was.

As Keith is walking over to the envelope, he panics. “What did I forget? Our anniversary isn’t until October, his birthday is in July, it’s February—oh. It’s February.”

He reaches the letter at the same time he has the realization. Today is February 14th, it’s Valentine’s Day, and Keith did not forget. There are reservations in his name tonight for their favorite mexican restaurant, the one Lance picked himself because it tasted the most like home, and he’s got a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a hand-written card tucked into the back of their closet because he knows Lance doesn’t look back there.

So he picks up the envelope with steady fingers, pops open the definite wax seal and before he can judge it, presses a kiss to the cold wax with the reminder that Lance’s careful hands had poured and pressed it into a heart shape, and slides a thin, white paper card out of the envelope.

In Lance’s scraggly, all-caps looking handwriting, he’s written, ‘good morning, keithy cat! happy valentines day. i know you freaked this morning when you saw all the flowers. mad i missed it. anyways i didn’t have to go into work like you were thinking. you’re going looking for me but because im SO GRACIOUS and an AMAZING HUSBAND ill give you your first one free, go down to nightsky florals. love, loverboy,’

Despite it all, it brings a small smile to Keith’s face. He folds the note delicately and tucks it back into the envelope, deciding to leave the battery-powered candles running.

“Damn you, Lance,” Keith mutters, but trudges back to their room and changes into simple, loose-fitting Lucky jeans and a red sweater. ‘Tis the season, and all that.

–

A small bell rings over Keith’s head as he pushes the door open to Night Sky florals. Shiro must have installed that after he went off to college, but the rest of the shop was still the same. Wooden bins of flowers sit on racks going all the way up to the ceiling, there are displays in the center with red roses and assorted bouquets on them, and greenery climbs up the sides of the racks and up the counter near the back of the room.

It’s light and homey. Keith spent a lot of time in Night Sky florals, sitting behind the counter and doing his AP Lit homework, staring daggers at To Kill a Mockingbird and scribbling down Quizlet-approved bullshit answers.

Now, Shiro is sitting on a stool behind the counter, assembling a small array of red roses, baby’s breath, and camelias. He looks up and sees Keith standing in the doorway, “Hey, kid!”

“Hi, Shiro,” Keith grumbles, smiling despite himself, skirting around the center displays to get to the counter, “How’ve you been?”

“You were at my house for dinner a week ago.” Shiro stands up and comes out from behind the counter to wrap Keith in a hug that basically breaks every rib in his body and eliminates a need for a chiropractor. “I think you know how I’ve been.”

Keith shrugs in his hold and hugs him back, “I don’t know, it might have changed in the week I haven’t seen you. Forgive me for caring about my brother.”

After a few more bone-crushing seconds, Keith is let go and allowed to expand his lungs to full capacity again. Shiro tosses over his shoulder as he turns away, “Denied. Back to the desert with you, creature.”

“You’re so odd,” Keith shakes his head and picks at a piece of stray fuzz on the sleeve of his sweater, “I was here for something. Lance sent me here. Is there something here for me?”

Shiro’s face lights up and he disappears off into the back. “He stopped by this morning! This is so cute, Keith I almost kind of hate it, I’m so glad you guys are happy together—aha! Found you, fucker.”

“I’m almost a little nervous about it,” he admits, “Like, he’s doing this for me, what if dinner and chocolates and a card isn’t enough?”

Something clatters to the ground in the back and Shiro reappears holding another red envelope with a pressed wax seal and a small, thin piece of paper. “Keith, I promise you, if you got him a pair of socks and a bag of cherry cordial Hershey’s Kisses, he’d love you forever.”

He accepts the letter and the small piece of paper, his face screwed up, “Those are absolutely disgusting, they taste like cough syrup. The peppermint ones are so much better.”

“Cough syrup aside,” Shiro comments, shaking his head like he can’t believe Keith has a correct opinion, “You know what I meant. He’s happy just having you.”

Keith sighs, a little dejectedly, and slides his thumbnail beneath the wax circle.

It reads, ‘congrats, keefers, you made it! this is the place we met for the first time. i bet you remember it. i came in to get funeral flowers for hunks robot and you insulted me various times all while giving me the most beautiful flowers i had ever seen. i thought you were beautiful too with your shitty ponytail and your silly looking apron. you had a pansy tucked into the pocket i think. ‘

“It was a rose.” Keith says, out loud, without even meaning to.

Shiro glances up from his bouquet in progress, “Congratulations?”

“No, um,” Suddenly embarrassed, Keith scratches the back of his neck, “The day I met Lance here, I had a red rose tucked into my apron. He said it was a pansy.”

“Are you blushing?” Shiro exclaims.

“Shut up, Shiro, go back to your flowers. In the time you’ve spent insulting me three more people have either died or gotten engaged and you are holding them back from their floral arrangements,” Keith sasses, looking back down at the letter.

‘whatever it was i thought it was really cute. im glad we ran into each other that day. rip hunk but if his robot hadn’t died i wouldnt have married this beefcake so who really won here (me its me i won). anyways. the little white paper shiro should’ve handed you will give you a little clue as to where to go next. love, lancelot.’

He slides the letter back into the envelope and flips the small paper over. On it are two dragons intertwined, one small and red and the other bigger, black, and missing its right wing. Keith knows this image; this image sits squarely over his spine.

“So, where are you off to next?” Shiro asks casually.

Keith glances up at Shiro, missing his right arm, and offers a small smile. “Ocean Waves Tattoo Parlor.”

“That’s right across the street from us–oh, that’s where Lance used to work when you two met, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I’d better be off now. I’ll see you for dinner next Wednesday?” Keith starts to move around the store, picking flowers out of bins and collecting them in his right hand.

“Same day, same time,” Shiro confirms, “Adam’s making pasta salad, I think–what are you doing?”

Keith has gathered a full bundle of red roses, pink carnations, greenery, and forget-me-nots. He drops a handful of cash onto the counter that seems like a vague approximation of what the total should be and waves goodbye, hurrying out of the shop before Shiro can throw his money back at him or realize Keith had probably underpaid.

—

After his brief stop at Night Sky Florals, Keith went to two more places. Ocean Wave Tattoo Parlor, where Lance used to work and coincidentally where he got his back piece done in Lance’s chair, the ice cream shop where they went on their first date to receive another letter from Romelle, and even at the library on the other side of town where Keith had dedicated hours of his life to helping Lance review for a final (that he passed with flying colors).

He ends up at Fortune Coffee House, their favorite spot to grab a drink or a muffin and just eat breakfast together before they go their separate ways. Keith had stopped at home first and dug the card and chocolates out from the back of the closet, since he had a feeling he’d be seeing Lance here, as this was supposedly the last location.

The door creaks closed behind Keith as he steps into the warm air of the coffee shop, a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit cordoning off the counter from the rest of the shop. Fortune Coffee House is decorated in warm shades of brown and cream, reminiscent of Keith’s college days.

“Welcome in–Keith Akira Kogane, where have you fucking been?” Pidge yells from behind the counter, pushing her glasses up her nose.

Right. Pidge Holt, Keith and Lance’s oldest shared friend, had ended up with a job at Fortune Coffee House, and Keith had been neglecting going out for a beer with her, Hunk, and Lance. Copyediting kept him busy, what can he say?

He sighs and walks up to the counter, flowers, card, and chocolate all balancing very precariously in the crook of one arm. “Hi, Pidge.”

“Don’t hi, Pidge me, you dirty fucker. I missed you!” If she could, Keith would bet every dime he had that she’d throw her pen at him. “Your hair is longer.”

Automatically, his hand shoots up to fidget with the end of his braid. She’s right, it has gotten a little longer, the tail now dangling over his heart instead of at his collar. “I guess it is. What’s new with you?”

“I got into AST.” She says nonchalantly, looking up at Keith with a devious grin.

“That’s great—holy shit, that’s great!”

AST, or Altea State Tech, was the best college in the entire area if you wanted to work on rockets one day, which Pidge did. Her grin is so bright, it blinds him a little, but he leans over the bar and wraps his free arm around her shoulders in an awkward hug.

“I know, isn’t it?” She gushes. “I start in September in the astronautical engineering program, the one Matt did, it’s going to be so, so great!”

“You’ve gotta tell me everything once you start,” Keith says when he pulls back, shifting all of his items between arms, “Has Lance stopped in today?”

“Basically used an entire giftcard stress-drinking iced green teas. He’s been here since eleven, so not very long.” Pidge snorts and picks up her mug with some silly science joke on it, taking a sip of whatever she’s concocted now. “I think he might’ve worn a hole in the floor. Same table as usual.”

“Oh, great,” an exhale rushes out of Keith’s chest, “Can I get a—”

“No, shut up. On the house.” Pidge points at an admittedly very large sign that says, Coming in with a special someone? Your first drink is on us!

“Well, I tried. Seeya, Pidgie. Have fun at AST.” Before Keith leaves, he drops a five dollar bill into the tip jar and slides between tables to get to the second, library-like room.

Fortune Coffee House had two spaces, the actual coffee bar and a second room with tables, an assortment of armchairs, and couches for studying, worship, or just to chat quietly. Keith slips through the doorframe and sees Lance sitting in his usual armchair, tucked into the alcove created by two windows. An empty plastic cup sits on the low table behind them.

Lance looks just as beautiful as the day Keith met him. His hair is longer and curlier, better taken care of, and freckles make their homes loud and proud across his face, but the Pacific ocean that sloshes around his pupils never changed, nor did the tilt of his smile or the slight scrunch of his nose when he laughed. Keith has kissed that scrunch on several occasions, to no fault of his own.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, blue,” Keith says as he approaches Lance, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “Got these for you.”

“Keithalicous, Keith, god, you scared me!” Lance exclaims but accepts both the kiss and the gifts he’s handed, running a gentle finger over the rose petals. “Did you get here okay?”

Keith thinks back on all the running around he’s done today and can’t tamp down the laugh. “As okay as I could’ve been. I liked the little game you sent me on. It was nice to go back to St. Taffy’s. Romelle still works there, yaknow?”

“I was just there this morning, goober.” Lance reminds him gently, setting the flowers and the chocolate on the table, working on opening the card. “I’m glad you liked it. I wasn’t sure.”

He remembers what’s written in the card. It was written late at night when Keith couldn’t sleep and instead spent precious minutes watching Lance’s sleeping face shift. “Right, yeah, ‘course, ah, I knew that.”

“Wow, did your code just stop working?” Lance jokes as he finally gets the sealed white envelope open (it was spit-sealed, Keith didn’t fuck with wax,) and pulls out the card.

Keith had found it months ago. It was a deep green and pictured a featureless white deer, standing small amongst towering trees. He found it pretty, and by the way Lance traced a reverent finger over the spiny branches of the trees, he did too.

The card itself wasn't a problem. It was what was written inside the card, or more rather, how much was written inside the card. Keith had used every available inch of space from the top edge of the right side to where the small inscription was on the left.

While Lance reads, Keith pulls at a loose thread in his sweater. It pools in his hand by the time Lance glances up at Keith and slowly folds the card shut. His crystal-clear eyes are glassy and wet with tears.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up,” Lance cuts in, “Shut all the way up. You’re such a gifted fucking writer, oh my god. That was beautiful. I love you too, Keithers.”

His hammering chest eases up and is replaced with birdsong and unbridled joy. “I’m glad. Did you…have a favorite part?”

Lance pauses, “Hm. I think it might’ve been ‘The stars could love me and the moon could cry for me, but I’d still choose you. Every time.’ Or ‘You are my north star over the ocean guiding me home and there is nowhere I would rather tilt my chin than up to your light.’ I told you, Keith, you’re a brilliant fucking writer.”

Keith doesn’t respond, but he does reach across and link Lance’s hand up with his. Lance tightens his grip, the gold metal of his rings digging into Keith’s fingers, and pulls Keith forward into a kiss that he wasn’t entirely sure was coffee shop appropriate.

“Can you cut that shit out? People read the Bible in here.” Pidge calls from the doorway.

“Sorry, Pidgie,” Lance says sheepishly, pulling away from Keith, “Thanks for the coffee.”

His mouth tastes like Lance’s strawberry Carmex and green tea. Keith accepts the hot strawberry mocha that’s handed to him and takes a sip, but he’s watching Lance like he’s the only star in the sky.

To Keith, he might as well be. There wasn’t room for much else in Keith’s night sky, anyways.

#vld #voltron #keith kogane #vld keith #keith voltron #lance mcclain #vld lance #klance #voltron legendary disappointment #vld shiro #vld pidge #soulficlet #soulreapinfic #keith vld #voltron lance #lance vld #in honor of valentine’s day #both of the quotes from keiths card are things ive written myself so #����

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Old Habits, New Faces

Epilogue for Sweet Treats AU: by character | chronological | epilogues

Warnings: these drabbles will include dark elements such as noncon, control, intimidation, and other stuff that may not be specified. Take this as you chance to scroll by.

Note: Hope you don't mind...

Please let me know what you think <3

🍒🍒🍒

“Here you are, sir,” you approach the table, trading the contents of your tray, a plate of apple crisp and an American, for the slender metal centerpiece that holds the table number, “nice and warm from the oven.”

“Mm,” he grumbles without looking up from his phone, a stitch between his brows. You hold onto the metal card holder and try not to stare. You lean back on your heel, you should leave him alone.

He sighs and puts his phone down. He stares at the empty seat across from him. A line forms across his forehead as he scowls.

“Thanks.” He balls his gloved fist on the table top. His left hand. Not very subtle when you know who he is.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but are you the Bucky Barnes?”

“If you don’t want to, why–” He begins sharply. You flinch as he looks at you, a glare that softens at once. He cringes and corrects himself, forcing a smile that sets a handsome dimple in his cheek. “Sorry, long day. Yes, I am the Bucky Barnes.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I’ll get back to the counter.”

You turn on the ball of your foot and scurry away, embarrassed. You knew better and you did it anyway. You just can’t believe it’s really him. Here of all places. This deadbeat town in the middle of nowhere. Wait! Is he on a mission?

You stand behind the till, fighting not to look over at him. Another customer enters. Kathleen. You have a tray of cupcakes waiting for her. You slide the box across to her as she pays on the machine. You wish her a good day and you’re left once more to languish in the tension.

You can’t just stand there. You know it’s probably a bit creepy to just stare out the window. Or him. Don’t look!

You go to the shelves and start your inventory. You should wait until a bit later but it’ll keep you busy. You slide some loaves over and rearrange the display case. 

His chair scrapes and his treads scuff. You don’t dare peek up as you wait for him to leave. Then you can wallow in your embarrassment alone. He clears his throat loudly and you pop your head up.

“Oh, hi again,” you close the display and sidle over with your best customer service.

“You have any of that left?” He asks, his voice gristles like gravel. He looks tired. Bags under his eyes and a pallid hue to his skin.

“Um?”

“The crisp? It’s my favourite.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, lots actually.” You try not to show how nervous you are. If he knew you had him as your phone wallpaper, oh gawd. “I could get you another piece. On the house. As an apology.”

“Apology?” He shakes his head.

“I really shouldn’t have asked earlier. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

“It’s fine,” he says gently, “Didn’t mean to scare ya. I’m sure you folks don’t get many newcomers around here… do you?”

“No, not really. There was a group that passed through a few weeks ago. They stayed at Margot’s. She runs the B&B around here– um, that doesn’t matter, I guess. But, yeah, no, pretty tame her. Bodunk, if you will.”

He scoffs and nods, his expression eases up and his blues eyes consider you.

“Not to stroke my own ego, but are you a fan?”

“Er, a little,” you confess. “I mean, you and Cap. That’s big time compared to anything around her. But Bill Foster, he’s a volunteer firefighter, he got a cat out of a tree the other day… I’m rambling again.”

His lips curl at the edges, almost indiscernible. He rests his hand on the counter and his fingertips tap as his gaze clings to you. You squirm and wipe your sweaty palms on your apron.

“So uh, how about that crisp?”

“Think it’d be better with company,” he intones.

“Hm?”

He reaches in his pocket and takes out his wallet. He slides out a bill and lays it down. 

“On me. You been working hard. I’d love to treat ya.”

“I… can’t, Mr. Barnes, I have to…” you look around desperately. Still empty.

“You got a few minutes,” he insists, “don’t you, doll? Kinda dull ‘round here, ya know?”

“Ya, I know,” you look down at the twenty. “I guess I could sit down for a few minutes.”

“Oh, and it’s Bucky,” he corrects you as a full blown smile blooms across his face, “could I also ask for a name with my crisp?”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x cherry #drabble #drabble series #sweet treats #au #mcu #marvel #captain america #winter soldier #avengers #bucky barnes x reader #dark!fic

[fanficimagery]

Mending the Heartbreak

When your boyfriend cheats on you, you find yourself hanging out with Max more and more. In doing so, Billy Hargrove proves he's a changed guy. Could this be the start of something new?

Words: 8.7K Author's Note: I love Eddie and Chrissy, but sometimes you need a bad guy and sacrifices must be made. Just a few words said out of frustration are mentioned- no cat fight because Chrissy really is too kind for that. AU because Vecna doesn't happen. I actually don’t remember writing this. It sucks, but you guys voted so here you go lmao.

With tears in your eyes, you walk across the street and then down the sidewalk until you're two houses down. The house you're approaching has a blue Camaro parked in the driveway, which nearly makes you turn back around until its owner is gone, but you need to speak with Max and you need to speak with her now.

Knocking on the front door, you step back and cross your arms over your chest. You scuff the toe of your shoe on the front stoop, waiting patiently, and are rewarded when the front door is yanked open. Billy Hargrove looks disgruntled at being interrupted, but his demeanor softens just a bit and an eyebrow arches at your appearance.

You sniffle and attempt to gulp down the lump in your throat. "Hi, Billy. Is, uh, is Max home?"

"She's sick."

"I just- I need to speak with her real quick and then I'll leave. Promise."

"Whatever." With his gaze still on you, Billy barely turns his head to call over his shoulder, "Maxine! The door's for you!"

It takes a few seconds for the familiar redhead to stomp through the living room, but when she catches sight of you on the other side of the door with red puffy eyes as you attempt to hold yourself together, her expression immediately softens as she asks, "YN? What happened?" She steps in front of Billy, but Billy is apparently interested to know what's going on with you now and doesn't attempt to give you any privacy.

"Did you know?" You ask.

"Know what?"

"That Eddie fucked Chrissy." Her eyes widen as Billy snorts something that suspiciously sounds like fuckin' idiot behind her back. "Did you know?"

"What?" Her tone is eerily calm and then she explodes. For someone who's sick, her anger is still something to behold. "When did this happen?!"

"Last month." Your shoulders sag since it seems she didn't know either. "Jason taunted me with the information like the asshole he is and then confronted both Chrissy and Eddie in the cafeteria in front of everyone. Apparently all of Hellfire knew, so now I'm just trying to figure out who my friends really are since the boys quickly banded together in support of their dungeon master. He can do no wrong in their eyes."

"All of Hell.." she trails off, glassy eyes hardening. "Lucas knew?"

"Yep. All the youngsters looked apologetic, but Eddie needed them more than me, I guess."

"That stupid son of a-" Her fist smacks into the door jamb in her anger. "I'm going to murder him!" You wince when you see how angry she truly is, most likely more at her boyfriend for not telling her, but still. "And Eddie too! I mean, what the hell was he thinking?!"

"I don't know, but- please don't do anything rash. I didn't tell you to make you upset with them. I just- I needed to know that at least one friend wasn't a liar."

"What about El? Or Robin?"

You shrug. "I adore El, but you're my favorite freshman. Plus, she and Mike are sickeningly dependent on one another. And Robin? I don't have lunch with her so I don't know if she knows what's happened yet. I left school after Eddie didn't deny the accusation."

Max takes a few breaths before calming herself and she sags against the doorway, her exhaustion catching up to her. "If I had known, I'd have told you. I can't believe he would- and that the others would-" She stops, sighing in aggravation.

"I guess this is what I get for getting too comfortable with a guy I assumed wouldn't cheat on me because everyone thought he was a freak." You shrug, offering her a faint smile. Max doesn't say anything in return and you take a moment to look her up and down. Most teenagers fake sick to get out of school, but Max doesn't look like she's faking it now. "Go back to bed, Max. I, uh, I didn't think you were actually sick."

She looks at you, gaze momentarily unfocused. "Yeah. Yeah, I should. We'll talk more later and plot your revenge."

As Max tiredly turns and walks back to her room, your romantic issues take a backseat while your concern for your young friend blossoms. "Has her mom been giving her anything to help her get better?" You ask since Billy is still by the door.

"Hell if I know. There's a bunch of medicine bottles on the counter, but she keeps barfing everything up."

You frown and then meet his gaze. "I'm skipping school tomorrow. Do you mind if I come over after your dad and her mom leave? I know a recipe that'll help with the nausea."

"It's your deathbed if you catch whatever she has." You huff and his lips faintly twitch in amusement. "That'll be fine. Maybe then you can keep an eye on her while I head to the garage and clock in for a few hours."

You nod. "Sounds like a plan."

"My dad leaves at seven, but Susan's not out of here until nine thirty."

"Susan's not an issue, Neil is," you tell him. He tenses for the briefest of moments and you're quick to assure him that while you know just what Neil gets up to behind closed doors, you don't plan to stick your nose in his business. "I know a shitty parent when I see one, Hargrove. You just get home before he does. That's all I ask."

Billy mumbles an agreement and then he's shutting the door on you.

Since you had a private phone line in your room, you had no problem disconnecting it when you were suddenly bombarded with phone calls after school had let out. You locked up the house, pulled all the curtains closed, and then told your mother about your breakup when she got home so she'd know to send anyone who came looking for you away.

And since you were heartbroken, your mother had no problem letting you skip the day since it was Friday and it'd give you an extra day to pull yourself together. Though after she left, you quickly gathered all the ingredients you'd need for soup, and a pot, and waited patiently until Susan left the Hargrove house.

When you finally get to the Hargrove house, Billy is already dressed and lets you in before taking his leave and promising to be back by three.

Max is relieved that she doesn't have to listen to Billy's music blaring and that she actually has someone to talk to. You make soup for lunch and give her some ginger ale that she's immediately grateful for, and you spend the day crying in her room as she promises to give the boys a piece of mind when she's feeling better.

The weekend goes about the same, the only difference is that you take to hiding out at Max's when Eddie shows up to your house and then continuously stops by after your mother repeatedly sends him away. And then Lucas makes the mistake of showing up at Max's window one day (luckily you were sprawled on the opposite side of her room, so he didn't see you), and Max ripped into him about knowing about Eddie's deceit and the fact that he kept it from you- you, of all people, who never treated them like they were kids when everyone else did. Lucas was ashamed, but still held fast that he didn't want to get in the middle of it. Max had huffed and told him he put himself in the middle of it when he took Eddie's side rather than making sure you were okay.

It's now Monday morning and you're still not ready to face the masses, but you know you have to. And since your usual ride to school is with your boyf- ex-boyfriend, you take off walking a lot earlier than usual so you can hopefully make it to the school on time.

You've been walking for fifteen minutes when you hear a vehicle approach from behind and you hunch your shoulders when you hear the telltale sound of metal music being lowered. As the van pulls up beside you, you offer Eddie a brief look before looking forward and continuing on your way.

"Can we talk?" He asks, hanging out the driver's side window.

"Nope. I'm good."

"Sweetheart, please." You shake your head, scoffing. As you cried yourself out over the weekend, anger started to mingle with your sadness and you can feel that anger bubbling to the surface right now. Instead of lashing out, however, you grip the straps of your backpack and squeeze to focus on something else. "Just get in the van. I'll take you to school. We won't talk if you really don't want to."

"No, thanks.."

"YN."

"Don't!" You suddenly whirl on him, eyes blazing. Eddie brakes, eyes wide as he takes you in. "You don't get to plead or be sad or demand my time. You fucked up! You."

"I know. I fucked up and I'm sorry," he tells you, eyes getting glossy. "I'm sitting here telling you I'm sorry. Chrissy doesn't- she doesn't mean anything. I don't need her, sweetheart. I need you."

"Yeah? Well that would have been nice if you felt that way last month."

You shake your head at him, jaw clenching. Then just as you move to continue walking, a blue Camaro screeches to a stop just on the other side of the road. The driver's side window is rolled down and Billy's head lolls to the side, sunglasses shielding his eyes. He slowly smirks just as Max exits the passenger door so she can look at you over the roof of the car.

"Get in loser, Billy's chauffeuring."

Your anger immediately melts as you laugh. Before you can cross the road, though, you glance back at Eddie to find him frowning at the stepsiblings. "Hey, Munson?" He quickly looks back at you, expression turning hopeful. "In case it wasn't clear, we're done. I don't want to talk and I definitely don't want to hear any excuses or apologies. Just.. just stop."

"YN!" Eddie calls out one last time, but you pay him no mind.

Looking both ways to make sure no one is coming, you jog across the road to a grinning Max. She readily climbs into the backseat and you take off your backpack to rest at your feet as you settle into the passenger seat. You can still see Eddie's van from the corner of your eye, but you only look at Billy. "Thanks for the ride."

"Max's idea," he drawls. Billy takes his car out of park and peels out, picking up speed as he heads towards Hawkins High. But you're used to chaotic driving, so you merely sit back and exhale softly in contentment. From the corner of your eye, you see Billy glance in your direction before saying, "That conversation didn't look fun."

You huff. "Not one bit."

"Eddie seemed like a decent dude, even if I thought you were out of his league," Max says and that surprises a laugh out of you, "but you deserve better than that. Don't let him sweet talk himself out of this colossal fuck up."

"Hey!" Billy barks, glaring at her in the rearview mirror to which she rolls her eyes. "Language."

You grin as Max rolls her eyes. "I told him we were done," you say. "Now it's just a matter if he'll listen and actually leave me alone. I don't have any classes with him, but I do have lunch with both Eddie and Chrissy, and then my last class is with Chrissy."

"Chrissy won't dare to confront you," Max tells you. "And as for lunch, we'll form our own table. Screw Hellfire."

. . . .

Heads always turned when Billy's Camaro careened into the student parking lot, no matter that he had already graduated, and today was no different. Especially when people realized just who exactly was getting out of his car.

You grimaced at all the staring and whispering, Billy soaked up all the attention, and Max glared at anyone who stared a little too long. Dustin, Mike, Lucas and Will stood by the bike rack and Lucas tried to eagerly wave down Max, but she merely sneered at him before hooking her arm through yours and dragging you into the school building. You tried to tell her to not let your issues with the boys interfere with her relationship, but she merely brushed your words off and told you to shut up.

You had to endure pitying stares and snickering behind your back throughout the first half of the day, but by now you'd learned to tune them out.

At lunch, poor El looked torn between choosing to sit with you and Max or sitting with her boyfriend at the Hellfire table. You assured her you wouldn't hold it against her if she sat with Mike, but after giving it some thought she sat with you and Max. She mentioned something about girl power and you chuckled as you tried to eat under the heavy stare of your ex.

Then the much-dreaded class with Chrissy Cunningham is finally upon you and you take your seat without even looking in the direction of where she usually sits. You take out your notebook, textbook, and a pen, and wait a little too anxiously for class to start.

But the seconds seem to drag on, giving Chrissy an opening to approach you. "YN?"

Her timid voice makes you grip your pen a little harder than necessary and your ears start to burn in embarrassment when you hear the students sitting around the room stop talking in hopes of a confrontation. But you're not going to give them one. "Stay on your side of the room, Cunningham. I'm not in the mood to hear your excuse."

"I'm really sorry." Her cracking voice makes your jaw clench, but you still refuse to meet her gaze. She sniffles. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Jason is just really mean, and Eddie was so nice as he listened to me vent, and then one thing led to another and-"

You slam your hands on your desk, startling Chrissy, and glare up at the crying girl who's seen better days. "Then you talk to a goddamn counselor about your issues," you seethe. "You don't fuck another girl's boyfriend because he's better than what you have." Chrissy hiccups on a sob, but you're done with the conversation. "Now get the hell out of my face."

Uncapping your pen, you open your notebook to a clean page and start doodling. Chrissy hurries back to her seat, gathers her belongings and then runs out of class. Shoulders slumping, you inhale and then exhale deeply to center yourself. You just have this last class and then you're free to go.

You occupy yourself by taking notes during the class, ignoring the looks you can see being thrown your way from the corner of your eye. People whisper and pass notes the entire time, and you're relieved when the final bell rings.

You make a quick stop by your locker to leave your backpack since you have no homework and then make your way outside. You reluctantly intend to walk home, but you spot Billy leaning against the hood of his car as he smokes a cigarette. No doubt he's waiting for Max and, not in the mood to spend half an hour walking home, you walk towards him in hopes for yet another ride.

"Hey, Hargrove."

"YN." You come to a stop a few feet before him, thumbs hooking into the pocket of your jeans. "So, uh, I know the ride this morning wasn't your idea, but could you possibly help a girl out and give me a ride home? I'm so over today and don't want to get caught off guard again."

His lips twitch. "Munson still groveling?"

You shrug. "He stared, but Chrissy tried her luck during my last class. I'm over it."

"Did she have better luck?"

"What do you think?" You deadpan and Billy chuckles as he flicks the butt of his cigarette away. He seems a lot more mellow than he used to be, then again a near death experience inside a burning mall would probably do that to a person. "She tried to pass off their hook-up as one thing leading to another and it took everything in me to not scream at her. But I still made her cry even more than she already was, so I'm pretty sure those still loyal to her think I'm a bitch."

"Screw them." He lights another cigarette and takes a long drag from it. Exhaling the smoke, he nods to the spot beside him. "Get comfy. Max usually takes a bit longer."

You sag in relief. "Thank you."

Being single after spending nearly an entire year in a relationship takes some getting used to. You still have your moments where you mourn everything you lost when you broke up with Eddie, but Max, Robin, and Steve are there to make sure you don't spiral. Even Billy gives you support, which is weird, but you figure he just takes great joy in being seen with you in front of Eddie or his friends and rubbing it in their faces that you speak to him of all people.

Eddie's taken to staring at you from across the school parking lot or cafeteria, and Jason surprised everyone by taking Chrissy back and keeping her tucked under his arm at all times when walking the hallways.

For weeks, a new routine makes itself known- Billy driving both you and Max to school, and then picking you up afterwards. His only condition is that you stay with Max when their parents are out so he can do whatever he wants without them jumping down his throat for not knowing where Max was. You easily agreed.

But sooner or later you knew Max's ire with Lucas would dwindle and you'd be stuck on your lonesome.

Or so you thought.

Walking over to the Hargrove house, the only vehicle out front is the Camaro. It's lifted on some jack stands and you can see a pair of oil splattered jean-clad legs peeking out from beneath the car. Rock music plays on a stereo not far from where Billy lays and you walk up to it, crouching to lower the volume.

"What the-"

"Just me, Hargrove," you tell him before he can get too pissed. "Is Max home?"

Billy slides out from underneath his car and you arch an eyebrow at how messy he looks. He rolls his eyes when he sees you holding back a laugh. "She took off to the arcade to see those other friends of hers."

"Oh." Your shoulders slump. "Well damn."

He snorts. "Got a little dependent there, huh?"

"A little." You wince when you realize you had attached yourself to Max and had possibly taken up too much of her time. Then again, if she didn't want to hang out, she was the type to speak up. "Well there goes my day," you mumble. "I'll let you get back to work."

But before you can turn his music back up, Billy stops you. "I'm almost done here. If you want to hang out, we'll hit up a diner afterwards. You're buying."

"Do you think I'm made out of cash or what?" At his deadpan stare, you huff and roll your eyes. "Fine. Whatever. I'll buy."

He smirks. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"Bite me."

Billy laughs as your nose wrinkles at the affectionate nickname and pulls himself back under his car. "Be a good girl and hand me a wrench. It's the-"

"I know what a wrench is, jackass." You reach into his tool box and grab the tool he's requested. "I might be a girl, but I'm pretty sure I'm one of the only girls at Hawkins High who knows her way around a set of tools."

As Billy works, you sit there on the pavement of his driveway, handing him tools and rags when requested as you fill him in about how nothing's really changed at school. People are still gossiping dicks and you lost quite a handful of friends who were more loyal to Eddie.

Billy huffs and scoffs at certain points of your rambling, and then shares a bit about his past in California. You're surprised to find out that one of his first relationships ended with his ego being wounded when he found out the older girl he was seeing was also seeing someone else on the side. He isn't a fan of cheating either, which is why he prefers hookups over a relationship.

Or at least he did.

Apparently, he hasn't given dating a second thought after what had happened over summer. He'd been more worried about getting his car in working order after he'd crashed it and working to save up some cash so he could get out of Hawkins.

From that day forward, after you've treated Billy to a late lunch, you find yourself seeking out his company to give Max a break every now and then. She notices you hanging out with her stepbrother more and more, but she doesn't seem to mind so you take that as a win. She does, however, tell you to not get too attached. While Billy has seemed to have changed, she doesn't think he's changed too much and doesn't want you to have your heart broken yet again.

You assure her it's not like that between you and Billy, but the more time you spend with him, the more you find yourself at ease with him.

And knowing yourself, the more at ease you are with someone, the easier it is to catch feelings.

New Year's Eve is upon you and you're comfortably snuggled up on your sofa, watching the events before the ball drops on TV. Your mother is at a work party, ringing in the new year with her coworkers a few towns over and is staying overnight in a fancy hotel all thanks to her boss. She had felt bad leaving you, but you assured her you would be more than fine on your own.

Steve and Robin had invited you out, but you declined in favor of comfort.

At eleven o'clock, however, there's a pounding on your front door. Grumbling, you get up to answer it and groan when you find Billy standing there on your porch. It's freezing outside and this idiot has the audacity to wear a red dress shirt that has several buttons left unbuttoned to show off his toned chest and a gold chain hanging around his neck.

"No."

Billy smirks as you turn to walk back to the comfort of your sofa, following you in and shutting the door behind him. "Come on. It's the new year, YN! You should be out partying."

"I've already showered and am ready for bed as soon as I see everyone ring in the new year on TV."

"What are you, seventy?"

"I'm not leaving, Billy." You settle down onto the sofa, pulling the blanket over your lap.

"Show up with me and stay at least until one in the morning, and I'll stop making you buy me food in exchange for rides to and from school."

The offer makes you freeze because feeding a bottomless pit is not fun whatsoever, and you take a moment to mull it over. The longer you stay quiet, Billy starts to smirk, and you know you're going to be going out. When you groan, he laughs in victory.

"Fine, you asshole."

You stand up, grumbling all the while, and as your back turns, he says, "Wear a dress."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?!" You whirl back around. "It's cold!"

"Not inside the house."

"But my jeans are comfy."

"I don't care. You're my pseudo-date for the night. Wear a dress. Or a skirt. I'm not picky."

"Ugh. You're the worst."

"You have fifteen minutes. Make them count!" He calls out when you turn around to head towards your room.

Hidden away in your room, you head straight for your closet. It's been a long while since you've dressed up, so donning a dress is the last thing you want to do.

But towards the back of your closet, there's a leather dress you had bought a little while ago to surprise your then boyfriend at one of his shows. It was sleeveless and the neckline practically choked you, but it was well worth it since from the tops of your breasts to your neck was all mesh. Even the rectangular cutouts down your thighs were made of mesh and it was the most jaw dropping outfit you owned.

So throwing caution to the wind, you pull out the dress. It's a little bit more snug than when you first bought it, but it fits like a second skin and hits you mid-thigh, and you just know you're gonna catch someone's eye. You forgo tights and slip your feet into a pair of black booties that have a chunky heel to them. Then your hair, which had been secured in a loose bun, is released so you can run your fingers through your tresses. You loosely plait your hair over your shoulder, leaving a few strands free to frame your face. You keep your makeup light and smoky, but don a red lipstick to give you a bit of a striking look.

As you're checking yourself out in the mirror, you allow yourself a moment to smile and feel pretty.

It's been a while since you felt this pretty.

"Hurry it up, YN! At this rate we're gonna miss the midnight hour!"

"Shut up, Hargrove!" None of your jackets compliment your outfit, so with a sigh you turn off the lights to your bedroom and bathroom, and then join Billy in the living room. "Hey, do you have a jacket I can borrow? None of mine go with my outfit." You're busy slipping earrings into your ear that you don't see Billy staring, slack jawed. And when he's quiet a little too long, you glance over at him. His eyes are on your thighs. "Billy?"

"Munson is a moron."

You roll your eyes, huffing a short laugh. Then snapping your fingers, you garner his attention. "Eyes up!" He quickly meets your gaze and smirks, unashamed. "So jacket?"

"It's in the car."

"Good. Now let's go."

Billy refuses to walk out in front of you and your eyes roll yet again. You know exactly where his gaze is going to land the second you step foot in front of him.

In the Camaro, his leather jacket is laying across the passenger seat. You pick it up and place it in your lap as you situate yourself, then slip your arms through the sleeves of the jacket. As Billy situates himself behind the wheel of his car, he takes another moment to look at you.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Billy starts his Camaro and starts to drive towards whatever party he's dragging you to. You quietly mumble the lyrics to whatever song's playing on the radio, feeling content in the passenger seat. A few minutes in and Billy's fingers are tapping along the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song before he glances at you and chuckles.

"What?" You groan.

"Nothing." His smile is infectious, and it makes you smile, squirming in your seat. "I just can't believe you've been hiding yourself beneath flannels and band tees and loose jeans all this time."

"As if I'd waste a look such as this on the boys of Hawkins High," you say while gesturing to your body.

"Well aren't I lucky I'm no longer a boy from Hawkins High."

His leering look makes you laugh out loud, shaking your head in amusement at him. "I actually don't normally dress like this. The outfit was bought on a whim a while back and then just never worn. But I wanted to feel pretty tonight, so..."

"Well mission accomplished. You look very pretty."

When you glance at him to gauge his expression, you find the leering look is gone. He's.. he's actually being serious at the moment. "Oh. Well, uh, thank you."

The rest of the drive is quiet and you sit there twiddling your thumbs until you arrive at a house where people are spilling in and out of the doorway. Snow covers everything, multi-colored Christmas lights twinkling along the house's roof and hanging from the trees. As you get out of the car and walk around to Billy's side, he readily tucks you under his arm.

"If you hook up with anyone, it better happen in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I am not walking home in this outfit."

"Relax. I'm not looking for a quick hook up," Billy says. "I'm just here to have a few drinks and not be a total loser locked in my room."

"Yeah, yeah. You say that now."

Tucked under Billy's arm, you wrap your own arm around his waist so as to not get separated from him. People call out, excited to have him gracing them with his company, and you try not to shrink when you see numerous people give you a double take.

Billy makes a beeline for the kitchen and you breathe a little easier there. It's not as packed and you readily accept the first drink he passes you.

Turning towards you, Billy raises his cup in a toast. "To a new year, a new you," he muses.

You raise your cup with a roll of your eyes. "To getting out of Hawkins."

His eyebrow arches. "I like that." Tapping his cup to yours, he repeats your toast. "To getting out of Hawkins."

The two of you down your drinks and Billy waste no time in getting you another.

Side by side, you and Billy remain under the archway to the kitchen. The TV is blaring, playing the exact same thing you had been watching, and everyone's energy is amping up the closer the clock ticks to midnight.

You're people watching as Billy talks up a few people, smirking behind the rim of your cup when female after female approaches Billy in hopes of walking off with him. But he surprises them, and you included, by brushing them off and curling his arm around your shoulders as to tell them that he's there with you.

You get a few lingering stares, especially stares that stay a little too long on your legs, and you're glad you've kept Billy's jacket on.

One female, however, apparently doesn't like the attention you're getting.

She approaches, a small crowd of her friends trailing after her. "Hi." Her tone is sickly sweet and directed at your friend.

Billy tenses at your side. "Courtney." He gives her a nod of acknowledgment, shifting uneasily and you start to chuckle under your breath.

Oh boy. Was this someone he hooked up with? Ex- hook ups are never fun.

You're ready for her to rip into Billy, but then her eyes slide to you, gaze going steely. It's your turn to tense.

"YN, right?" She asks a little too nicely. "Aren't you like dating that freak?"

Your back straightens a little at her tone and your jaw clenches in anger. Because while you and Eddie ended terribly, you're not one to bad mouth him, and you'll be damned if other people bad mouth him in front of you (Billy's the only exception because you know he does it jokingly to rile you up). "His name is Eddie," you tell her, keeping your tone as unaffected as possible. "Which you know since you clearly know who I am. No need to be a cunt just to gain the attention of a past fuck that wants nothing to do with you anymore."

"Oh shit." Billy barks out a laugh and you arch an eyebrow as the girl gapes in front of you.

"Now run along, Courtland. You're kind of killing the mood."

"I-It's Courtney!"

You shrug. "We don't care."

She splutters just as the countdown starts and her friends reach for her arms to drag her away seeing as Billy is not interested. You're glowering at the girl, making sure her friends drag her far enough away that you're not paying any attention to your friend. The countdown hits one and fingers suddenly find your chin to tilt your face upward. Lips descend upon yours, and for a second you lose yourself in the kiss, but the moment you feel a tongue seeking entrance, you break away with a gasp.

Eyes wide, you stare up at a smirking Billy. "What..?"

"You didn't think you'd ring in the new year without a kiss, did you?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Did you think that I would?"

"I actually thought you'd walk off to find someone else," you say, eyes darting to his lips before giving your head a subtle shake to clear it. Subconsciously, you lick your bottom lip and lean a little further back from him. "I lost track of time."

Clearly," he muses. He takes a sip of his drink, gaze solely on you. "We good?"

"Mhm. Yeah." Your squeaking voice says otherwise and you roll your eyes at yourself. Taking a moment to down the rest of your drink, you nod. "We're good. I was just caught off guard."

"Mhm." He hums. He placed his arm back around your shoulders and you can't help but lean against them. He lowers his mouth so it’s right next to ear and says, "Don't look now, but Courtney is fuming."

You laugh and refuse to look at the girl who is probably mentally plotting your demise. "Let her. I don't like pettiness."

Billy lets the conversation drop for a few seconds before he's saying, "You sure did jump a little too quickly to Munson's defense. You got something you wanna own up to, YN?"

You sigh. "Eddie was my friend long before he was my boyfriend. Just because we aren't together doesn't mean I'm gonna let people talk shit about him."

"Is that all?"

"Yep. Now drop it, Hargrove. Enjoy what time you have left before we have to go."

Billy huffs but does exactly as he's told, only he makes sure to drag you along tucked safely under his arm.

The days following New Year's Eve, you spend them holed up in your room. You don't seek out Max and you definitely don't seek out Billy, and you spend two days ignoring anyone and everyone. Then on the third day, your mother confronts you just as you're exiting the kitchen.

"YN?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you come here please?" With a bottle of orange juice in hand, you walk into the living room. Your mom smiles and pats the spot next to her on the sofa. As you sit, she asks, "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Really? Then do you care to explain to me why your friends are approaching me in the store and asking about your whereabouts?" You wince and sink further into your seat, leaning into your mother's side. She wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close and kissing the top of your head. "I understood when you needed some time after Eddie, but what happened now? You were doing so good."

You sigh and start picking at the label on the bottle in your lap. "Billy kissed me."

"Excuse me?"

"It was just a kiss to ring in the new year, but-"

"But?" She wonders, urging you to go on.

"It messed with my mind," you finally admit aloud. "I'm well aware Billy is an attractive individual, but I had him dead center in the friend zone. And then that stupid kiss went and ruined everything, and now I can't face him or anyone until I get my head all sorted out."

A scoff behind you makes you tense briefly before leaning forward so you can turn in your seat and your eyes widen when you see Billy leaning against the wall as if he'd been hiding just around the corner. "Seriously? That's why you haven't called or came by?"

Your mouth drops open in shock and then you look at your mom, eyes narrowing. "You're such a traitor."

She grins. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I don't like to see you moping. Billy told me what was going on and he figured it was the kiss that set you off."

"The two of you are no longer my favorite."

"I'm your mother. I'll always be your favorite." She then pats your knee before pushing up off the sofa, turning to grin at Billy. "You, however, are on your own. I'm going for a drive. Good luck!"

Billy huffs as your mom takes her leave and then he walks around the sofa, taking the spot your mom vacated. He's too close and you attempt to scoot over, but his hand on your knee stalls you. "Is the kiss really the reason why you pulled away?"

You exhale softly. "Yeah." Billy doesn't say anything and your gaze stays on his hand that's still on your knee. "I'm sorry. I made it weird and I'm trying not to be, but you're apparently too impatient to let me-"

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe I like you too?" His words are quiet, almost too quiet, and they make your heart speed up. "I've never kept a female around that I didn't attempt to hook up with, but you? You were different. You are different which is why I tested the waters with that kiss." You finally meet his gaze and you're awed by his genuine expression.

"But you- you don't do relationships," you tell him. "I, unfortunately, do like you, but I won't risk what we have now for a quick hookup." Billy huffs, lips twitching, and you set aside your drink in order to grab Billy's hand on your knee. "I didn't enter this friendship with the intent to catch feelings. I mean, I'm well aware of your reputation, but then you just had to go and show me a different side to you and-"

"I don't want a hookup." His words make you fall quiet and you gulp at his admission. Billy angles himself more towards you and you do the same. Then with his free hand, he tucks a few pieces of hair behind your ear. "You are the only girl to look past my car and the rumors other girls spread around the school. You spend time with me because you want to and not because you wanted to see whether or not those rumors were true. I never thought I'd ever entertain the idea of another relationship after I left California, but then here you are making me go absolutely insane trying to determine whether or not you're over your ex. I like you, but I don't want to be a rebound."

You gape at his honesty and your heart starts to beat faster when Billy starts to slowly smile. "I, uh, I don't want to be with Eddie. I actually want to be with you."

"Good. Then you're telling Max."

"Hey!"

Billy laughs at your betrayed expression, quickly leaning in to smooth things over with a kiss. You mentally berate yourself for melting into him so easily, following his lead as he slowly moves back and then squeaking when he pulls you into his lap.

With your knees on either side of his hips, you sit back on his thighs and attempt to catch your breath. His hands hold onto the curve of your hips and yours find purchase on his shoulders. "So we're really doing this, huh?"

"Yep."

"And you're not going to fuck me over?"

"I mean we're gonna have our disagreements; every relationship has them, but I can promise you that I won't cheat on you."

Sliding your hands from his shoulders to the sides of his neck, you lean forward so your forehead is resting against his. "If this thing between us ever fizzles out, you need to tell me. I rather you break my heart by actually breaking up with me rather than having to find out from someone else that you were seen with another girl."

"That ain't gonna happen, but okay."

"Billy.."

"Nuh uh. Not happening." He captures your lips with his, briefly stealing your words and breath away. "I won't be making that mistake."

"Okay. Whatever. Just shut up and kiss me."

Billy laughs and this time it's your turn to steal his breath away. You bite his bottom lip as your hands slide back into his hair, gripping the strands there at the base of his skull and pulling his head back. Billy groans and you smile as you let the tip of your tongue flick his bottom lip.

"Have I mentioned that Munson is really, really stupid?"

"Mhm. Couple of times." You seal your mouth over his once more, tongues sliding against one another as you intimately familiarize yourselves with one another.

You lose track of time and only remember you're out in the open when you hear the front door open. You're laid out along the sofa now, Billy on top of you with one of your knees hitched along his hip and one of his hands beneath your shirt. "Well at least you're not naked." The words make you and Billy instantly pull apart, both panting and heaving as you turn to see your mom looking far too amused. "Glad to see you worked whatever this is out, but Billy? Please stop defiling my daughter on the sofa I nap on."

Billy gapes as you break into a fit of embarrassed giggles, hands instantly covering your face. He's quick to get off of you and you hurriedly sit up to pass him a pillow for his lap. "Don't look so pale, Cali. She's not gonna murder you."

Billy watches your mom disappear into the kitchen. "You sure about that?"

"Yep. Mom knows I'm far too smart to give her grandbabies. If anything, she'll mercilessly tease me about our predicament after you leave."

Turning to look at you, he cracks a grin. "She's gonna love me, isn't she?"

"Unfortunately."

Billy barks out a laugh, shifting in his seat. "I've never had a girl's parent approve of me." His grin eases into a leering smirk. "This is going to be fun."

After your mom, Max is the next to know about the change in yours and Billy's relationship. She had looked at you like you were dumb, mentioned she knew it was only a matter of time, and then told you not to cry to her when Billy messed up. You thought she was mad about you dating him, but she proved you wrong when she treated you no differently afterward.

Your mom and Max had no problem about the shift between you and Billy, but you were nervous about what everyone else would say. You didn't care whether they liked it or not, but you did care whether or not they'd bring up his past or come to the conclusion that he was a rebound when he wasn't. You didn't feel like arguing with anyone.

The two of you have days to yourselves while you finish off your Christmas break, hanging out and going on dates after Billy gets out of work. You didn't run into anyone you knew during these nights out, so you know it's going to be a shock when the PDA moments make an appearance whether it be when he drops you off for school or picks you up.

The morning you return to school, you leave the car but not before chastely kissing your boyfriend. Max made a noise of disgust and dragged you away by the back of your shirt, and no one uttered a word throughout the entire school day. But the moment you walked up to Billy after the last bell had rung and he pulled you into his arms to kiss? Yeah, everyone lingering in the parking lot stared and you knew it was only a matter of time this new piece of information spread like wildfire.

Dustin, Lucas, and Mike were the only three to give you shit for dating Billy, but you merely let them say their peace before politely telling them to fuck off. You were unsure of where you stood with anyone associated with Hellfire, so you weren't going to let them talk shit about your new relationship after weeks of silence on their end.

The news of you and Billy dating lasts for weeks, and you surprise everyone with how happy you seem to be with him. In fact, you're able to finally acknowledge Eddie with a nod when you happen to catch each other's gaze in the cafeteria or hallways, you don't outright sneer at Chrissy when she tells you hello in class, and you outright laugh at Jason's attempts to get into your good graces all because you're dating Billy Hargrove.

You're content and more focused than ever to graduate.

And when you do finally walk the stage to collect your diploma, Billy is there with a bouquet of flowers standing with your mom and Max afterwards.

You take a few minutes to take pictures with your friends, even going as far as taking a picture with Eddie when his uncle Wayne spots you and asks for one. Eddie was nervous, hell you were too because you were unsure of what Billy would think, but your arm went around the back of his waist with ease and his around your shoulders. Wayne snapped the picture and you quietly congratulated Eddie on finally getting his diploma before making your way back towards Billy. Thankfully, he understood and merely pulled you under his arm so you could finally leave.

Days after graduation, you're boredly filling out job applications, unsure of what you want to do now. College was out of the question, you having agonized over assignments for years to want to put yourself through four or more years of it.

The front door opens and you glance at the archway to see who it is since Billy and Max had taken to just walking into your home unannounced.

It's your mom, however, who walks in. "Hey, hon."

"Hey, mom." You set your pen down and stretch in your seat. "What are you doing home early?"

"I decided to take a half day," she tells you. "I had some business at the bank I needed to take care of."

"Yeah? And what was that?"

"Your college funds." You look up at her, prepared for a lecture about your plans now that you're out of high school, but she surprises you by smiling and handing over an envelope. "Relax. I started it when I found out I was pregnant with you. I know you're not interested in more schooling, so I figure you could use the money to help you get started with the next stage of your life."

Opening the envelope, there's a bank card and a post-it note with the amount of money you apparently now own. Your eyes bulge at the number. "Holy shit. Are you just- you're really giving this to me?"

"Yes. It's yours. I'm trusting you to use it responsibly."

"Y-Yeah. Of course!"

You set the envelope aside and start filling out the rest of the job application you had been working on. Your mom gives you a moment before she asks, "You know you don't have to stay in Hawkins, right? I have a well paying job and I'm happy here. But you.. this is time for you to go out on your own and find your own thing."

You subtly gulp and slowly lower your pen once more, allowing your uneasiness to momentarily shine through. "But what if I fail?"

"Then you come back home and we'll take it from there."

You smile at your mom then, huffing a laugh as you get out of your seat and rush to hug her. "Love you."

"Love you too. Now get out of here and go find that boy of yours. I saw his car in the driveway and he seems like he's anxious to get out of Hawkins too. I wouldn't be surprised if he decides to follow you out of here."

Grabbing up your envelope, you put it inside a drawer for safekeeping before rushing to find some shoes. Though the second you exit your house, Billy is pulling up to the curb right outside. You laugh and chuckle as you jog up to the passenger door, opening it up and practically throwing yourself inside.

"Excited much?" Billy muses.

"Always." You lean across the seat, pecking his lips. Then settling back down, you ask, "Where are we going?"

"Everywhere."

You grin as Billy peels out, stretching your arm out the window and letting the air rush through your fingers. You love moments like this, the music playing at a decent level while Billy just drives. You don't feel the urge to make conversation and neither does he.

Billy eventually picks up speed on the backroads and you laugh as the wind whips your hair back and forth. He drives for what feels like hours, but really it's only minutes and he eventually pulls off near a park.

"So are you going to tell me why you're really excited?" He asks as he parks.

Turning in your seat, you grin and shrug. "Mom gave me what should have been my college tuition money."

"Oh yeah? Making plans to spend it already?"

"Kind of." You always knew Billy wanted to leave, but as of late he seemed content. And now that you think about it, he hasn't really mentioned leaving in quite a while. So with you wanting to leave, you're not sure how he's going to take it. "She, uh, she wants me to get out of Hawkins. She basically told me now is the time to do my own thing and have fun."

"And do you? Want to get out of Hawkins?" Billy clarifies.

"I do, but only if you come with me."

You chew on the corner of your bottom lip nervously, waiting for his reaction. Time crawls by slowly and then Billy is smirking at you. "As if I'd seriously let you go anywhere without me."

"Really?" You ask, hopefully.

"Yeah. You know I've been saving up for myself. I was just waiting for you to bring it up."

"Thank god." You laugh as you lean over the seat, kissing Billy once more and keeping it chaste since there are people out and about. "If we do this, all bills are fifty-fifty."

"Obviously."

"And both of us have to get jobs. We're not going to sit on our asses."

"I do love a working woman," he grins and you bark out a laugh.

"Is that why you flirted with all the housewives?"

"House wife," he corrects and you roll your eyes. "I only ever flirted with one. It's not my fault all the other housewives took me greeting them as flirting. I was just being a polite boy."

"Oh I'm sure you were." One more kiss and then you're settling back into your seat. "So where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere with a beach."

"I can work with the beach," you say. "Did you want to go back to California?"

"Yeah. I still have some connections over there, so I can make a few calls and see if there are any places available before we make the drive out there."

"I like the sound of that." You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. "You find the house and make sure it's actually affordable, and I'll start making a list of shit we're going to need. I'm sure my mom and a friend of hers can rent a moving truck to help us out."

Billy lifts your joined hands and kisses the back of yours. "We really doing this?"

"Hell yes we are."

The dimpled smile he flashes you is one of the most genuine smiles you've ever seen and it makes you mentally swoon just a little. Last year you had dreams of leaving with Eddie, but now you're making plans to leave with Billy Hargrove.

Not in a million years did you ever see anything happening between you and Hargrove, yet here you are happily plotting out the next step of your lives together.

Life truly is funny that way.

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #max mayfield #eddie munson #stranger things

[wuahae]

✶ seventeen, after it all ends.

post-breakup hcs, ft. performance team

-> vocal | hip hop

junhui still sees you in everything you left behind. it speaks to him in echoes, scattered light in afterimages, scuffs of shoes on the floorboards near the front door and missing keys on the wall hook and gaps on the refrigerator door where ghosts reside in the emptiness. you had left him slowly, packing away belongings as you hovered over places you had once called yours, small trinkets and old clothes buried in forgotten boxes offered to him for safekeeping ("do you want to keep it?" you asked, holding out a scarf. it had been shared so much it developed from 'yours' to 'his' to a hazy state of 'ours.' "it'll keep you warm when it gets colder here."). old memories dug up and split into two, postcards written and photos strung up in the bedroom placed in the care of those who they never wholly belonged to, junhui tries to remember that day in the way it happened in its fullness—soft sunlight, quiet smiles, intimacy he knew would be for the last time. you had set aside a couple dishes next to a half-full glass of water, things to take or leave; there was a mug with a chip on the rim you insisted on taking (you were the one who had dropped it in the sink, after all), but junhui slid it over to his pile before you could say any more. (there was a cat painted on the side. you were the one who picked it out.) weeks later, the glass is still half-empty where you'd left it; junhui doesn't think he can ever fill it again.

soonyoung loses himself in the noise. he throws back another shot, the liquid burning on its way down his throat, a dull roar in his ears. it's a sick sort of satisfaction as the heat sears through his skin from the inside out, but soonyoung has always been one to relish in pleasure not so easily earned. you had once told him that was what you loved most about him, his passion fueled with sweat and blood and devotion for things just out of his reach, but soonyoung thinks it's a little cruel of you, then, to turn into the thing he hopelessly longs for. his finger hovers over your contact in an alcohol-blushed daze before he knows it, only pausing when a brief moment of clarity settles gently on his shoulders; jihoon's told him countless times to just delete your number already (keeping relics of old memories allows the loss to fester, he's been told), but it feels a bit too akin to giving up, like turning off practice room lights when he's yet to perfect a dance move, or settling for a performance worth silver when he knows he could turn it into gold. soonyoung is stubborn, almost to a fault, but that was what you had loved about him, right? (do you still? a tiny voice in his head asks. his thumb slips, the voicemail beeps.) then again, maybe loving you was a fault of his, too.

"i'm fine," minghao insists, for what seems like the hundredth time. his skin prickles under the hidden looks everyone sneaks when he has his back turned, pity and concern and minghao wishes they would just stop because he really is just fine. ("we broke up weeks ago," he says, irritation carefully patted down like static flyaways. "there's nothing to worry about." doubt can be traced even before minghao can see their faces, and he rolls his eyes, suppressing a sigh before leaving.) minghao returns home and a quiet "i'm back" almost slips out before he catches himself, biting his tongue as the click of the door echoes through the silent apartment. he wonders when habits will break, when he will stop looking for things that once were— the other toothbrush by the sink, extra leftovers in the fridge, articles of clothing draped across the furniture for convenience. it's almost funny, when he thinks about it, the way he only now sees glimpses of future in spaces where it no longer exists; or maybe they had always been there and he just had taken them for granted, had gotten used to the feeling of his hand in yours and the warmth of your body by his side and if he were being completely honest, home has never quite felt the same ever since you left. minghao supposes love made all the difference (the clock on the wall ticks hollow, cold, every second fraying away at his edges). "i'm fine," he reiterates softly, to himself. he hopes one day the love that remains will allow him to truly mean it.

chan knew he should have just stayed at home. it was a mistake to let himself be worn down by seungkwan's insistence, but he only has himself to blame as he downs another drink, watching as you giggle another quiet whisper into another man's ear. chan's grip tightens around his glass, fingers slick against the perspiration, gaze burning and molten-stuck to the stolen sight of you. and almost as if you sensed the lingering, your gaze catches his and he immediately averts his eyes, stool scraping against the floor as he gets up to leave. your stare sears holes in his back as chan weaves his way through the crowd, and he wonders how it's all come to this—how you both can only bear to look at one another when the other has their back turned, how everything he knows about you has turned into a burden with no place for to go. a part of him chides gently that he should just let it go, (it was over, after all—it has been for a long time. maybe it was time for him to let the knowledge of you go, to finally meet your eyes when he says goodbye) but the past eclipses with the present too vividly for the memory of your breath on his neck to not feel like salt on never-healed wounds. so chan pushes his conscience aside under the lasting buzz of liquid amber, ignores your eyes still searching for his, and curses that he really, really, should have just stayed at home tonight.

#seventeen reactions #seventeen headcanons #svt headcanons #svt reactions #svt scenarios #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #jun x reader #junhui x reader #hoshi x reader #soonyoung x reader #minghao x reader #the8 x reader #chan x reader #lee chan x reader #dino x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst

[matchamiko]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: fox quirk!reader, muzzling, injuries (scratched knees). Touya is around 9 and reader is about 10.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ note: I got some inspo for my oc nd decided to turn it into an insert, it’s very self-indulgent nd actually part of something a little bigger I wanna do T-T

It was a little bit rude of you to interrupt his outside playing, his scooter time in the street outside his house. It was his time to be silly and race the shadows of the pigeons flying above him, his time to scuff his knees and stick his tongue out at the kids walking home from after school club. But you ruined it with your whimpering and pitiful crying, somewhere behind the across-the-street-neighbour’s bins. 

Touya crunches to a halt beside the boxes and cans, hearing shuffling and whining the closer he rolls towards them. He intents to tell you off, that this is his street and not yours, that kids play hide n seek down at the park or in their gardens, and he also intends to chase you away on his scooter, showing you how fast and how crazy he is,

“You’re not allowed back here, it’s dirty and not yours,” he begins, lisp pronounced with the absence of one of his front teeth, “You need to go away,” Touya squats and pushes a bin bag out of the way, socked feet and a plush tail appearing before him. You’re cowering, eyes glistening with tears and nose running, short pointed fangs glinting in the amber light of the afternoon sun. Instead of letting his scooter drop to the floor, Touya gently lowers it to rest against a box of recycling, icicle eyes never leaving yours. You start to cry again when he doesn’t say anything, silent with a wobbling chin. 

There’s a heavy wire muzzle over the lower half of your face. Leather straps cut into your cheeks and stretch over your head between two powdery orange ears tipped in black, flattened to your hair and quivering all over. 

Touya doesn’t say anything, shuffling forwards slowly, grit scratching under his trainers and you, at first, flinch as if about to flee. But there’s something in the way he holds out his sticky fingers and prods the grazes on your knees, face soft and curious and boyish. 

“Did a bully do that?” he’s referring to the muzzle, voice soft and you shrink in on yourself, hiding in the shadows of the bins, “I can help take it off, I bet it hurts alot,”

Your eyes are sharp and calculating, afraid and still flooded with tears, 

“M-my tea-cher,” you stutter through sobs, “I accident-tally scratched -,” you gulp in several heaving hiccups, “I hurt-ed someone, accidentally!” 

Touya spots the short, almost blunt claws at the ends of your fingers, looking more like the long nails his mom would get painted at the salon sometimes. He sits lower in his squat, chin leaning on his folded arms over his knees, watching you and your tail that twitches and flicks to and fro. He knows from watching cats that at least you seem less agitated, allowing him to come closer on his knees and reach for the muzzle, 

“I’m Touya, and my house is just that one there,” he offers just like his mom did when she was dressing a cut knee, talking over the pain and shame just as he knows you must feel, “Do you like banana milk? Mom’s got some in the fridge, you want some? It’ll make you feel better I think,” you allow him to touch you, nine year old hands fumbling with the heavy metal clasps behind your head, “makes me feel better when I get a bad grade at school, or if stupid Natsu’ is being stupid,”

The muzzle comes free and he throws it to the floor, the two of you staring at it with fear and repulsion. After a moment, Touya picks it up again and takes it over to the general waste bin, dumping it unceremoniously into the filthy depths. 

“D’you want that milk then?” you’re crawling out from behind the rubbish, ears up and twitching when he picks up his scooter, “I would get you some plasters for your knees but - wait,” Touya thrusts his toy at you, ignoring your yelp as you catch it clumsily, the handle jutting into your cheek, “I can go get some! Mom left the box on the table!” 

He trips as he rushes through the gate, a little oof! making you giggle into your hand and sending a rosy flush to his cheeks, “Don’t play on my scooter! It’s special!” he doesn’t see you nod, disappearing into his house with a shout of his brother’s name. 

It takes him a little while to return, the sun beginning its descent and the streetlights flickering on while you wait patiently with his scooter. You’ve seen kids at school playing with them, riding them to school far ahead of their parents or older siblings and it makes you a little resentful towards the sleek black car that drops you off every morning and picks you up every afternoon. Except for today. You ran away today, not even taking your school bag, ignoring the shouts of the driver and his panicked phone calls. Tears threaten again and you scrub them away, feeling the welts of the muzzle still present on your cheeks, and it’s Touya’s return that shakes you out of your misery. 

“I got a lot of stuff, but I gotta be quick cause it’s getting dark and dad’ll be so mad,” he shudders at the thought, careful not to trip over the step this time and you catch the carton of banana milk that falls from his arms. Touya drops everything to the floor away; several plasters with aliens on them, a damp dish cloth that has grit on it now, a chocolate bar and a second carton of milk, this one mango flavoured. He squats down to brush off the rag, flicking your skirt out of the open wounds on your knees, cleaning them roughly and a little terribly, sending tears spurting out of your eyes again, 

“Oh m’sorry,” he says quietly, looking up at you and frowning at you rubbing wetly at your cheeks, but you nod through it, encouraging him, “I’ll put the plasters on now, they’re my actual favourite, and you can drink the milk by the way, I got it for you,”

You juggle his scooter and the straw for the milk, successfully piercing the cardboard and sipping with a sniffly nose, giggling when Touya points out his favourite alien and then his least favourite one, blobby and red (“looks like Natsu’ when he was born”). Then, after criss crossing your knees with plasters, he tells you all about his recent birthday and how his scooter was his absolute best present ever, how he’s ridden it every day after school and also on the weekends,

“If you wanna ride it, you can! You don’t cry all loud and gross like the little kids so you’re not that annoying,” Touya stands and opens up the chocolate bar, halving it very badly and handing the larger piece to you, “You could come round tomorrow after school, unless you have a club or study or something but if you don’t come inside, then dad won’t mind,”

“I don’t do clubs after school,” you say with a scratchy voice, “m’not allowed,”

“Oh,” his mouth is full of chocolate and he swallows loudly, goo stuck to his upper lip, “well, that’s okay, that means you can come and play whenever you want, I think I like you alot so I don’t mind if you wanna use it but you are not allowed to go faster than me, I’m the fastest,” Touya’s threat is empty and followed by a big gummy grin, teeth brown and sugary. You nudge him and laugh with your belly, chomping on your own snack and drinking your milk with crinkled eyes, 

“You’re funny Touya, and you're really nice, I think I like you too,”

all rights reserved © matchamiko. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

#near nd dear to my heart #I had to get it out or it would consume me #touya x reader #touya todoroki #touya fluff #bnha x reader #mha reader

[lovebugism]

hi bug! you are one of the best writers on here. I love your work! I was wondering if I could request eddie and shy!reader watching a scary movie? maybe it’s early on in their relationship and she’s afraid that he’ll think she’s a baby if she says no, even though she’s pretty freaked? I love their dynamic!

ty lovie! hope u like it!! — eddie (the local freak) loves you, horror movies, and halloween, in the order. you (the scaredy cat) just love eddie. (new relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort-ish, 1.7k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Orange lamplight illuminates the dark trailer. You squint at the brightness, still curled up on the couch and missing Eddie’s warmth. He’s too busy rifling through his collection of VHS tapes beneath the TV stand, searching for a scary movie within a sea of scary movies.

He’s giddy like a kid on Christmas despite having seen all of them a thousand times over. But, then again, the Halloween season tends to be like Christmas for metalhead freaks like the one you love so dearly.

“Okay, Texas Chainsaw Massacre or The Exorcist?” the boy offers when he rises again, chestnut curls as wild as the bright beam on his face. He stands in front of the small television where red names scroll against a black screen and holds both options in eager hands. “Which one do you wanna watch next?”

You shrink inside yourself at the sight of both tapes. On one, a screaming girl — on the other, a masked man with a weapon. Your organs writhe with a fear most irrational. It runs ice-cold through your veins. 

You pull the woven blanket up to your chin and shrug, feigning a nonchalance despite your tightening chest. “Whichever one—”

“—And don’t say whichever one I want, alright? You always do that,” Eddie interjects, all boyishly harsh compared to how softly you had spoken. His playful grin hasn’t yet left him, though, and even in the dim lighting, his dark eyes still sparkle when they look at you.

You cower again, more visibly and with a different emotion this time. 

The corner of your lip quirks with a poorly hidden smile as you peek at the boy from beneath your lashes. “I don’t mind, Eds. Seriously,” you assure, still quiet in your way.

He pouts like a child, features scrunching in a childlike disdain. “But we always do the stuff I wanna do! You never have an opinion on anything. It’s always just, like, ‘whatever you want, Eds’ or ‘I’m good with whatever, babe—’”

You laugh at his obviously poor imitation of you.

The bubbly sound makes his smile widen.

“—You don’t have to be so sweet all the time, you know? You can be a little mean to me. I won’t mind, I promise.” 

It’s in his nature to make dumb, dirty jokes at arguably the worst times — especially with you, ‘cause he loves watching you get all flustered about it. But he thinks if you ever got the least bit assertive with him, he’d turn into a puddle at your feet.

“It’s because I don’t really care what we do,” you confess, warm with the blushy pink feeling he stirs in your chest. “I just like being with you, you know?”

Eddie’s stomach whirls. He’s too metal to let it turn him to mush.

“As cute as that is, you’re not sweet talkin’ your way outta this one, princess,” the boy retorts with a scrunched nose and twinkling eyes. “Pick.”

Too indecisive and too in love with the boy standing before you, you whine, “Eds…”

“Babe,” he grouses to match your pouty tone. His socked feet scuff against the carpet when he walks the short distance to you. “C’mon. You’re killin’ me here.”

A staring contest ensues, each of you stubborn and playfully serious with it.

It’s embarrassingly brief.

It’s hard for you to stare too long at Eddie before you get completely lost in him. You too quickly realize that he’s real — that he’s looking back at you and that he loves you — and you feel a bit like your feet have been pulled out from under you. 

Stern, but still gentle, you cave. “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

Eddie beams when he gets his way. 

“See? Was that so hard?” he teases quietly, bending at the waist to kiss you.

You tilt your chin to meet him halfway. It’s instinct at this point, like he’s got his own gravitational pull. His breath smells like warm nicotine and buttery popcorn as it fans against your chin. 

He pulls back before you can reach him, though, and your fluttering eyes widen at the sudden refusal. 

You find Eddie already squinting down at you. 

“Are you just saying that ‘cause you know it’s my favorite?” he interrogates lowly.

“Maybe I like it because you like it,” you argue, too soft to be as serious as you seem. “Ever thought of that?”

“You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that, right?”

Your playfully taunting gaze gives way to a more genuine grin. “Now, I do.”

Eddie leans in to kiss you. For real this time. It’s a fleeting peck that leaves you grieving. His plush lips press pink against yours for one moment, and they’re gone the very next.

The couch dips beneath his weight when he plops down beside you. He coaxes your folded-up legs onto his lap with an urging hand on your knee. 

“Okay, how about this,” he offers with rosy lips so suddenly kissable. “We go down to Family Video — bother Steve for, like, ten minutes — and you get whatever movies you want instead of the old shit we have here. My treat.”

Your chest warms. You’d follow Eddie blindly for the rest of your life if he let you. You’d do whatever he wanted and not think twice about any of it. It feels nice to know he’d do the same for you. 

“Any movie?” you press, soft with a girlish giddiness you fight to keep hidden.

“Yeah,” the boy scoffs like it’s obvious. Then, in a vaguely posh accent, he assures, “What my lady wants, my lady shall get.”

You grow so suddenly sheepish, shrinking inside yourself like you always do when you’ve got something to say but lack the confidence to put it into words. It’s dumb to get nervous about it, and you know this, but you don’t want Eddie to think any differently of you — not for a moment, not even in the most innocent way.

“Does it have to be scary?” you wonder with a scrunched nose and a bashful gaze that doesn’t quite meet his.

Eddie falters for a moment. Not because it’s a big deal, but because he thought you liked horror films — that you both had that in common. 

“Well— I mean— No. It’s just— It’s October, you know? So, I thought scary movies would be more appropriate. ’Tis the season or whatever.”

“I think I just need a break for a bit,” you confess with a wavering smile, picking tiny balls of cotton from the blanket with a fidgeting hand. “Especially after that last one… It was pretty scary…”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. Too clouded by the haze of puppy love, he thought you were having just as much fun as he was. He thought you were clutching his arm and digging your nose into his shoulder because you wanted to be close to him. 

Because he’s an idiot. 

Realizing that you’ve been scared out of your mind for the past several hours feels a little like a knife to the gut. 

“I thought you liked scary movies…” Eddie quavers with pinched brows.

“I like them because you like them—”

“Babe!” he exclaims suddenly, as though offended by how much you love him.

“What?”

“That’s, like— That’s totally not cool!” he gapes in a boyish outrage. “That means I’ve been, like, fucking traumatizing you this whole time!”

You can’t help but giggle at his dramatics. You’d been scared, of course, but it hadn’t been all that extreme to you. “It’s okay, Eds. It’s not that serious—”

“Yes, it is!” he retorts firmly, with wide eyes and a stern nod. “If I knew you weren’t into them, I wouldn’t have forced you to—”

“You didn’t force me.”

“—To come over every weekend and watch them!”

“That’s why I didn’t wanna tell you, Eds,” you admit with a shy, halfway-forced giggle.

He goes quiet again. “…Why?”

“‘Cause I was scared you wouldn’t wanna hang out with me… I mean, what kinda girlfriend would I be if I was too much of a scaredy cat to watch stupid slasher films with my boyfriend?”

“Well, that’s just— that’s just not true. I just meant that we coulda been doing other stuff together,” Eddie affirms, gentle but in the overtly firm Munson way. A chuckle sputters from his lips as his palm squeezes your knee, warm and reassuring. “Stuff that wasn’t scaring the absolute shit outta you, preferably.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just laugh. 

Eddie smiles back at you, mostly because it’s terribly hard not to, but he grows suddenly somber again. 

“Seriously, babe,” he presses, leaning closer so you can’t duck away from his sparkling gaze. His chocolate eyes are dark enough to drown in. They flit between both of yours. “You gotta tell me shit like this, okay? You’re not gonna hurt my feelings— or, like, make me like you less or whatever. That’s pretty much impossible, I think.”

Your stomach does a backflip. It unleashes a thousand butterflies that flutter relentlessly against your ribcage. “Yeah?” you press softly and with a shy smile you try to keep hidden.

“Oh, totally,” he answers without thinking twice. “Our friends are idiots, but they’re right— I’m so fucking whipped for you, it’s not even funny.”

That joke was only halfway gratifying when it spilled from Steve or Dustin’s mouth. Hearing Eddie say it — with his nose mere inches away from your own and with his cigarette smoke and candied breath entwining with yours — it’s that times a thousand. A million, even.

“Well, maybe a little,” you tease quietly in return.

Eddie shrugs with a jutted-out lip. “Just a bit, I guess.”

He might as well be telling you I love you. It feels like he is, in his own special way.

“Are we still gonna go to Family Video?” you wonder aloud when the silence becomes too heavy to bear.

“Oh, yeah. You’re getting whatever the hell you want, alright? I’ll buy out the whole damn store if you want.” 

He only has mere dollars to his name. You know this, too. But he says it with so much hubris that it feels just as real, anyway.

Beaming fully again, you joke. “Are we still gonna bother Steve while we’re there?”

“Yes,” Eddie answers with a single nod and a deadpan, like he’s offended you would even ask. “That answer’s always gonna be yes.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things image #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: fictober!

[montrealmadison]

Tater 27 please ?

i have never written tater before - ever! - so this was incredibly fun! thank you so much for the prompt and for helping me stretch my writing muscles a little bit ❤️ the only things i know about patater are inspired by a frankly shocking quantity of sidgeno rpf so make of that what you will

27. tater + i’m so tired by lauv & Troye Sivan for @shygryf

Strangers, killing my lonely nights with strangers And when they leave, I go back to our song, I hold on Hurts like heaven, lost in the sound Buzzcut season like you're still around Can't unmiss you, but I need you now

Tater’s letting some girl he doesn’t know shoot tequila out of his belly button when he gets the text.

Kent Parson: you awake? Kent Parson: sorry know it’s late

It is late, three or so, and the club’s fun but the idea of not being here is just as good. Maybe it’s rude, but he doesn’t care; he props his elbow on the table for better leverage and sends back, yes, and then ok?

Kent Parson: no Kent Parson: popped my achilles Kent Parson: we're out

Shit. That means the end of their playoff run, which in turn means about five hundred other things. He doesn’t even have the chance to formulate a response before Kent adds, will you come?

A cold thing settles in Tater’s chest, a weighty purpose that he doesn’t stop to examine. Maybe it's the shots making this seem like a good idea; of course he will, and that’s the end of it. There’s something about clambering up off the table, tequila soaking down into his open fly, and shouldering his way to the exit without a word that makes him feel about a thousand feet tall.

read more below or on ao3 | request a fic here

Kent lives in a nice building. Not nice enough for the security guy downstairs to make any real effort to stop Tater from getting in, but then, Tater is six foot seven and built like the desks that lesser men hide behind. He hits the button for the elevator and zips upward, chewing on his lip, watching the numbers tick higher.

This is stupid. This is an absurd way to spend a thousand dollars and God knows how many days, catching a frantic red-eye to Vegas like he’s going to be able to do anything the Aces’ trainers haven’t already tried. It’s more absurd that he stands in the hallway with his fist poised to knock on Kent’s front door for at least five minutes, wondering if he should have brought food. Does the kid even eat? He’s awfully tiny.

He finally gets over himself and knocks. There’s a voice from inside at once: “Open.”

Tater does.

The apartment is nice, modern. It’s also a complete fucking mess. There are ostentatiously dirty shoes scattered all over the entryway, possibly-related scuff marks up the bare white walls. Tater has to do this dainty hop through a minefield of Yeezys just to make it to solid ground, and is very glad that no one can see him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Parson?”

“In the living room.”

Tater drops his bag in the kitchen and heads for the voice. The close little hallway seems much more inviting than it did in the dark last time he was here, and the living room is spacious and airy without a couple hundred bodies packing it. There’s a big TV on one wall, running something trashy. In the middle of the room is that ugly couch, brown suede and covered with cat hair, and in the middle of the couch is Kent.

Relief spreads through Tater at once, numbing the tingle in his hands. Okay, so maybe he spent the whole five-hour trip picturing the worst-case scenario. Guys in their line of work are not, as a rule, great at handling their injuries, especially later in the season; Tater only has to look at Jack for proof of that one. But Kent’s eyes are clear, if tired and a little wet-looking, and he’s sprawled out comfortably with his hand in Kit’s fur and his wrapped ankle carefully supported by a pile of throw pillows. He’s wearing ratty old sweats, white socks gone gray on the bottoms, a couple days’ worth of scruff that marks his sorry excuse for a playoff beard. 

“Shit, man,” he says, seeing Tater in the doorway. “You came.”

“You call.” 

It’s not quite that simple, but somehow, faced with the fact of Kent’s obvious, boneless relief at having him here, it feels like the right sentiment.

“I did,” Kent says. He sounds croaky, exhausted. The deep shadows under his eyes make them look more green. Tater wonders if he’s slept, or how much. “Thanks.”

He has this weird impulse to poke the bear, which maybe isn’t fair to Kent, but it’s all he knows how to do. 

“You miss me?” he asks, slouching further into the room. Kit lifts her head imperiously to watch him settle a polite distance away on the couch. “That why you ask me, not teammate?”

This is the dynamic they built at the bar, in the darkness of Kent’s bedroom: push and pull, catch and release. Things are still too new, too fragile between them; they’ve never implied a sense of belonging to each other, or at least not the kind that prompts something like this. 

As it stands, Kent doesn’t play along with the teasing, and that’s what finally gives Tater a sense of how shitty he feels. 

“Let ‘em grieve, right?” he says listlessly, tipping his head into the back of the couch. “Shit game. Didn’t wanna bother them.”

You were okay with bothering me, Tater thinks but does not say. A guy you’ve hooked up with twice who lives across the country. What the fuck does that mean?

He knows what he wants, what he wants it to mean. It’s part of what caught his eye in the first place: this kid is so, so young to be a captain, to bear this weight. The Aces are out of the playoffs not because they played their hardest, but thanks to a non-call and an injury that’ll have Kent in PT all summer. Now he’s curled up on the couch in his disaster of an apartment with only the cat for company, his teammates pushed away or otherwise nowhere to be found. It’s incongruous with the spitfire who finds a reason to drop gloves every time they share the ice, who likes to have his wrists pinned down and kisses with too much teeth and, holy hell, called Tater in Providence when he got hurt.

“Bother me anytime,” Tater says before he can bite down on it. He scoots a little closer, clasping his hands briefly between his knees. “Poor Parson. Need friend when teammates being sad.”

Kent’s laugh turns into a cough and Kit scrambles off his chest, affronted. 

“Is that what you are?” he asks. “My friend?”

“Maybe,” Tater hums, pretending to consider. “Well. Maybe not yet.”

“Not yet,” Kent echoes. He sounds puzzled. “Okay?”

“We not really know each other,” Tater says. Maybe it’s mean, the way this is lighting him on fire. Kent likes to bottom, but never to lose control; even in bed he runs his mouth like everything that comes out of it is gospel truth. Opportunities to catch him on the back foot are few and far between, and—well. Tater likes to take care of his people, likes to show them love, and above all likes a challenge.

“We don’t—”

Tater decides to take pity on him. “Sex not knowing, Parson. Think maybe you think that way.”

Okay, yeah, this is definitely mean. Kent’s breath is coming faster, and the line of his jaw is set and trembling. But Tater wants to push him a little bit, get his money’s worth for the flight, the worry; Kent can pay him back in kind, and will. Tater just has to help him get there.

“So what if I do?” Kent asks. His laugh is tiny. “Man, I’m confused. Not like we’ve had much more time to figure each other out.”

And yet you asked me here, Tater thinks, and decides to play his trump card.

“It’s summer. You not play, I’m not play.” Tater spreads his hands wide, goes for broke and scoots in close to curl a hand slow and sinuous around Kent’s good ankle. “Need rest, someone to take care. Seem like good time to me.”

Kent’s breath catches in his throat. He smells sweaty and kinda gross, but his smile is soft, a fragile thing, and Tater knows he’s gotten it right. 

“Captive audience,” Kent says, barely a whisper.

“Yes,” Tater agrees, and leans in to meet his mouth.

#kent parson #alexei mashkov #patater #omgcp #omgcheckplease #my writing #efickegster 2024

[alexanderlightweight]

May I humbly request more manipulation is rehab? :)

here we go, hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

(no explicit sex but there is heavy flirting and nudity because alec gets his bath)

“Are you sure you’re okay, me being in your personal space like that?”

Magnus blinks, shocked at the very fact that this is something Alexander considered a worthwhile worry.  While sweet and something Magnus would normally appreciate, it’s irrelevant when there is nothing Magnus wishes to do more than share his personal space until the line between his own and Alexander’s blurs into nothingness.

It’s a risk — and risks involving Alexander are something Magnus is loath to take — but he’s already manipulated so much of tonight that he wants to take this small risk, for Alexander. 

“Why should it matter if you’re in the depth of my lair, Alexander?” Magnus asks, voice carefully casual but eyes dark with sincerity as he looks into Alec’s own languid, hazel eyes. “When you’re already in my heart, something infinitely more intimate?”

Alexander’s eyes go wide, an almost tortured look of awe and hope clash across his face and his hands are strong as he reaches out to hold Magnus’ shoulders but his voice wavers.

“Magnus?”

The hope in Alexander nearly breaks Magnus, because this is not a man who thinks himself capable of truly being adored and loved.  This is a man who hopes — and if that hope is broken it will break him in return.  Alexander lacks confidence in the depths of Magnus’ affections but he doesn’t lack trust in Magnus’ himself.

That much is very clear.

“Come lovely,” Magnus says and he opens his room with a wave of his fingers, pulling Alexander through the door and letting magic spark through the room with little golden orbs of light. “My room is and bath are the least of what I'd allow you. Let me take care of you.”

Trust me.

Magnus is asking and Alexander does, the hope and awe never wavering as he steps into the bathroom Magnus specifically designed with him in mind.  The tub is large enough for two, but that’s not the point of tonight.  It’s circular and with a sunken seat that slopes and filled with the eucalyptus salts that Cat promised him.

Between the salts and the candles, the scent is head and fragrant and Alec melts into Magnus’ touch.  There is a moment where Magnus almost offers to leave — or offers to use his magic — but Alexander needs grounding and well, so does Magnus.

He undresses his hunter with tender, soft motions even as hot, mineral moonwater continues to splash into the deep tub. Magical plumbing is a delight and Magnus has never appreciated it more than now — when he slides off Alexander’s shirt and reveals a motley of bruises on his shoulder. 

Magnus doesn’t ask what caused it, only presses a kiss to the bruise and imbues it with numbing and healing magic. Some of the bruises on Alexander’s body are undoubtedly from his normal patrol, but Magnus treats every single scuff and hurt as if it were caused by his own machinations.

Magic erases every injury it can find until Magnus slowly slides to his knees and smirks as he vanishes Alexander’s shoes and socks. Alexander blinks at him, cheeks pink and asking to be nipped and then he nods, something settling in him as he surrenders this last bit of his care to Magnus.

Magnus is gentle, careful as he unzips Alexander and slides down his pants.

The skintight underwear is uniquely designed and Magnus grazes his fingers lightly over the thickly padded front, tapping his knuckles gently but curiously.

“Groin protection,” Alexander tells him.  There is clear humor in his voice and sure enough — when Magnus looks up at him — his gaze is teasing and fond. “All hunters on patrol are required to wear forms of it.”

“More logical than I’m used to from shadowhunters.” Magnus teases and Alexander rolls his eyes, lips curling in a smirk because while he won’t outright admit it, they both know it’s true. “Well, as much as I am enjoying this introduction to the intimacies of shadowhunter fashion. There’s a bath to be had.”

Magnus winks then, tapping glossy nails over where Alexander’s precious cock is cleverly kept safe and then lets his nails drags down skin as he slides the fabric down. 

His boy’s gaze is heavy and yearning and Magnus lets himself have one more touch, his hands cupping Alexander’s hips. 

Hands are cupping Magnus’ elbows and he’s been hauled up — relishing the strength in Alexander’s arms — and Alexander whines not having realizes that with Magnus refusing to let go of his hips. He was unaware that Magnus’ clothes and body would be teasingly dragged up his body, as close as a kiss. 

Alexander is panting harshly by the time Magnus is up and steady on his own feet. It’s delicious and the sweetest symphony Magnus has heard in an age. 

“Sweetheart,” Magnus croons tenderly and presses the endearment to the corner of Alexander’s slack mouth, “you need a bath.”  He lets himself reach around and sighs as his hands settle on the lean, firm muscle of his boy’s ass.  It’s deliciously tempting and Magnus indulges in how the flesh kneads beneath his palms and the way Alexander stutters forward, somehow grinding even closer to Magnus.  “A bath—” Magnus says again, firmer this time even as his grip tightens.

Like he isn’t the one keeping Alexander from obeying.

Magnus hadn’t planned for any of this thought and while he’s gotten closer to Alexander than he ever expected tonight — and certainly far faster than he’d could have imagined — he still has a plan.

Magnus’ goal hasn’t changed, if anything the importance has intensified. 

Alec steps into the bath with a lingering of his skin under Magnus’ hands and then he hisses, head tilting back as he slowly submerges into the pale green water. 

Magnus summons a cup of tea to the rim of the bathtub and then sits himself, shirt unbuttoned halfway and sleeves rolled to his elbows.  He sees the way Alexander’s gaze lingers on his biceps and he has to bite back as a smirk as he trails his fingers through the water to test the warmth.

Originally, Magnus had intended to give Alexander his privacy unless otherwise asked, but it seems he is effortlessly allowed this. 

Alexander looks hauntingly beautiful.

Wane and worn with exhaustion and eyes half-lidded, only opening so he can look to Magnus, as if constantly reassuring himself that Magnus is still there. 

As if Magnus could ever bring himself to leave.

-

magnus: alexander you are temptation incarnate and my self-control has its limits darling

alec: what is self-control? i've never heard of her?

(alec a day before lecturing his insitutte on self-control)

-

maryse: downworlders are slaves to their impulses

alec: i fucking wish that were true. maybe he'd stop being such a gentleman, but no. he controls his impulses just fine. thanks mom, you set my expectations up so high. but no. impulses are a slave to magnus' will.

cat & ragnor: ... oh he is smitten, wow.

magnus pretending to buff his nails: i don't know what you two are talking about

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #manipulation is rehab #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #malec

[yunho0o0o0o]

Scout's Honor [chapter 1]

Fantasy AU, Soulmate AU

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut

Pairing: OT8 Ateez x fem!Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, attempted theft

Word Count: 2123

Note: Hello! Here's the first chapter of Scout's Honor. I'm having a lot of fun writing this and I hope you enjoy reading it! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Mini Masterlist

The sun’s golden rays are sparingly cast over the market street, but the work day is far from over. Vendors still shout advertisements for their products and crowds mingle around each booth, browsing the contents.

Having already bought what you came here for, you’re sat on a stoop at the far end of the path simply watching over the businesses. Your hand mindlessly reaches into your satchel, patting the section your coin pouch is tucked in. Not many people join you, too busy rushing to finish up sales. 

The market streets have become thick with tension over the past month, with the war in the far country of Sena cutting off trade supplies. Not many materials are affected currently, but those that have been are far too expensive for you to even consider purchasing.

Your heavy brown cloak is settled over you, obscuring your figure from those around you. The hood over your head serves to further hide your features, as well as to shield your eyes from the harsh light of the near-setting sun. This scene is one you’ve grown familiar with over the past few years of living in Priua. 

The call of one particular merchant draws your attention to the opposite side of the street. Under your hood, you can see old man Dal waving his arms around with a scowl as he scolds a slim man dressed in fine leather.

The younger man seems more interested in the minuscule scuffs on his boots and dirt under his nails than in whatever Dal has to say to him. 

Your town sees its fair share of travelers, but this one has a careless attitude that has you on edge. Rising from your viewpoint, your feet take wide strides across the cobbles until you stand just a pace away from the man.

When Dal catches sight of your hood, his face relaxes a degree and his hunched shoulders square to meet you. He gives a slight bow of his head before stating his case.

“Sir Eun, This boy tried stealing from me!” the man cries. Your eyes catch onto the form of this supposed thief, tilting your head slightly as you study him. “Right from under my nose like I’m senile!” His boots are high quality, yet they’re scuffed and muddied. 

“He asked for an item then tried snatching these off the table when I wasn’t looking!” he yells, holding up a worn pouch of herbs. From what you can see of the dagger on the traveler’s hip, it would go for a good price at the market. “As the best healer in the city, you would know the hard work it takes to procure this fine product.” 

Trailing up the new man’s form, your shadowed eyes eventually raise to meet his cat-like ones. His eyebrow twitches upwards as does a corner of his lips. You level your stare at him, thinking. He hardly looks like someone who would need to steal.

Shifting your glance between the merchant and the man, you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. You take steady steps towards Dal and pull the coin pouch from your satchel.

 “Perhaps our friend here is down on his luck at the moment. Here-” you pass the necessary coins with a soft, diplomatic smile, “for the herbs.” You pause, then tuck a few more coins into his palm. “And for the trouble.” 

“You’re too kind, Sir Eun.” You wave away his comment and grab the bundle of herbs from him, then turn to face the newcomer again. 

Only this time, nothing but open air awaits you. Your eyes dart around the darkening street, but you catch no sign of the man. “That bastard…” you grumble under your breath, settling for tucking the herbs into your satchel and trudging back to the tavern for the night.

You leisurely kick a pebble down the path for the short walk there. While you walk you ponder what you could do with the herbs. Perhaps you could simply resell them? From what you recall of the rare item, they aren’t good for much unless you’re working with poisons. Even then, its presence is hardly discreet.

By the time you set foot in the tavern, the regulars have already gotten comfortable at their usual tables. Come to think of it, you’ve become somewhat of a regular yourself here these days. However, you don’t go drinking yourself into a stupor any chance you get as the typical crowd here does.

You sit in the middle of a long table. With how dead the tavern is tonight, no one will mind if you take up a large space for yourself. The soft clink of glass on wood in front of you raises you from your thoughts. 

“Your mind must be quite busy to not greet me first thing, Eun. I brought you two tonight, as a precaution. I’ll have to go back to work in a second, but I always make an exception for my most valued customer.” Your eyes shift to meet those of the person sitting across from you, hands locked around two pints of ale on the table between you two. 

“Sorry, Jihye,” you say, gaze jumping around the room. “Just stressed, is all.” The chair gives a loud creak as you lean back into it.

“What’s stressing you?” she asks wiping her hands on her apron and leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. You pause a moment before responding.

“I have to meet with Sir Iseul of Chion,” you state, a distant look covering your features. Chion is not a terrible city by far, but you’d much prefer to stay in Priua where you’ve made your home. 

“Chion? But that’s so far! Nearly a month’s travel! What business is so important you must go to Chion? You shouldn’t be getting any closer to Sena!” she exclaims, eyes and mouth wide with shock. 

“It shouldn’t concern you, Jihye. It simply has to do with the healing arts. And Chion is a full two months travel from the battlefront. There’s nothing to worry about. We would know of the approach long before they ever reached the city.” you wave off her worries, taking a few sips from the closest pint.

Jihye shifts in her seat before her eyes raise to the door at your side. You take another sip from your pint of ale and follow her gaze, only to nearly spit it out when you see the form entering the tavern. 

The man from before pauses a few feet into the establishment to look around. You turn and lower your head as his gaze sweeps over your table, hoping your hood will help you blend in. The approaching footsteps alert you that your attempt at stealth was unsuccessful. Jihye seems to notice his approach and stands from her chair.

“Well, I should be getting back to work, Eun. Yell for me if you need anything.” She dusts off her apron before quickly walking towards the kitchen. In the next moment, the chair to your right is pulled from under the table and flipped around. The man sits down on it backward and sets his arms on the backrest. He looks over to you with a quick smirk.

“You know, I didn’t get to thank you properly earlier.”

“Perhaps because you were too busy running away?” You send him an amused grin.

“I didn’t stray too far. I was close enough to see you bought what I wanted.” He leans forward against the backrest, gesturing with his hands as he speaks. “How about I buy it off you? I swear I’ll pay this time.”

“Hmm... I’m not sure.” You pick at your nails, seemingly disinterested. “What if I happen to find myself in need of some…”you pause to recall the name of the herb in your possession, but come up short. “What if I plan to keep it?”

He pulls a coin pouch from his satchel and places nearly double the amount you had paid on the table in front of you. “Would this amount suffice?” he asks, lip curling into a smirk. You pretend to contemplate the decision momentarily, tapping your chin.

“I suppose it could,” you say, gathering the coins into your palm and retrieving the bundle of herbs from your bag. As soon as you lay the herbs on the table, he snatches them away. “What do you plan to use those for anyways? They’re hardly common around here.”

“A friend of mine asked me to retrieve them while we were in town. I have no clue what he plans to do with them.” A loud series of footsteps from the entrance grasp your attention.

“San, who’s the new friend?” Seven more men take seats at your table, all but encircling you.

“This would be Eun. He saved my ass from an angry merchant earlier today.” Your eyebrows raise slightly at his informality.

“Have you thanked him properly?”

“I was getting to that before I was so rudely interrupted by you all.” He pauses a second before continuing. 

“Eun, let me introduce my friends. This is Seonghwa.” The blond man who spoke earlier perks up and sends you a calm smile.

 “Hongjoong.” Next to Seonghwa, the man with light brown hair waves politely. 

“Yunho.” The taller man sitting to your left gives a mumbled greeting with a nod of his head.

 “Mingi.” He smiles wide at you from across the table.

 “Yeosang.” He simply raises his hand. 

“Wooyoung.” To Yeosang’s side, a hand waves enthusiastically. 

“And Jongho.” A soft ‘hello’ comes from the last. “We’re passing through Priua on our way to Krae.” Your eyes widen at that information. Krae is a settlement Northeast of here and perhaps a week's travel from Chion. In fact, they would pass through Chion if heading there from Priua. 

“Can I get you men anything to eat or drink?” Jihye stands, observant as ever, in front of your table. Hongjoong raises his hand.

“Eight pints, please.”

“Of course. I’ll be out with those in a moment.” Silence washes over the group.

“I want to join you,” you say. Exclamations of surprise echo around the table.

“Why?” Hongjoong questions immediately. A glance at the others tells you they’re all wondering the same.

“I need to get to Chion. I’m meeting with someone.” The men share a look with each other before Hongjoong continues.

“Why should you join us? What do you have to offer to the group?” Glasses clink on the wooden tabletop as Jihye sets one in front of each of the newcomers. She sends you a charming smile.

“Well, Eun is the best healer in town. Hell, maybe even the country. He’s extremely skilled.” A slight flush rises on your cheeks at the praise and you look away from her gaze.

San leans closer to you and says in a low voice “They must be very important to you for you to travel so far.” You nod. 

“Extremely,” you answer, adorning a determined look.

“So just how good of a healer are you, Eun? Surely you have some stories.” Yeosang asks with a flat expression.

“Aish- Detective Kang back at it again” one of the men murmurs.

“What?” he asks with a glance around the table. “ I want to know more about who we’re dealing with here.” he shrugs.

 Jihye makes her way back to refill everyone’s pints just in time to answer for you. 

“Oh, he’s the best! Once Hyunjin snapped his arm clean in two and Eun here was able to get it back together, healed, and functioning in record time! And one time In-Su got bit by a venomous snake and Eun sucked the venom out! Don’t doubt his abilities, he’s called the best for a reason.” she finished with a stern look at Yeosang.

“That’s good to hear. We could use another healer considering the trouble we’ve had recently.” Hongjoong says, shooting a half-hearted glare at the man to your left.

“It was an accident, I swear!” he exclaims. Seonghwa and Hongjoong whisper to each other for a minute before their attention returns to you.

“I suppose if it’s just to Chion, you can accompany us,” Hongjoong says, extending a hand to you. “Welcome aboard, Eun.” A few cheers and mumbles erupt from the surrounding men at his exclamation. Some of your new companions seem eager to celebrate, with how they’re throwing back ale like there’s no tomorrow.

“We leave Priua tomorrow before dawn, will you be ready? Chion is three weeks away if we’re quick.” Seonghwa asks, eyes searching your own. You give a nod. “Good. We’ll meet in front of this building. Bring all you’ll need.” he says, leaning back into his chair.

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