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realmofimagines · 2 years

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Don’t Make A Habit of Dying (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

follow @cowboybxtch (my other account) for more ghost content, as i will not be posting on this blog anymore <3

Wordcount: 3241 Content: swearing, near death, graphic depictions of gore, blood, injury, ghost is in love with u, soap is oblivious, heroic ghost, pre existing relationsip, tension Request: no Note: *just wanna preface this by saying it is not proof read lol* i am absolutely unashamed to be jumping on the ghost bandwagon. i finished the campaign yesterday and honestly i sort of rushed through it bc it was a lot of fun so this is sort of based on one of the missions but it’s all from memory so if anything is wrong or out of place just ignore it and lets call it canon divergence AO3 version here

“Fox, how copy?”

You grunted, clawing at the rain-soaked concrete and grit beneath your fingers as you stretched to reach your communications device. Your head was still spinning from the impact, and your eyes blurred as if you were lying underneath a moving river staring at the wrinkled water surface above. A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, and you are intensely aware of the urge to vomit.

With a sharp breath, you are able to level yourself onto your knees. Your hand closed around the slippery radio, and you pulled it toward your mouth whilst collapsing your back against a slick brick wall. Your free hand pressed against the sharp, pulsating pain in your abdomen.

“(Y/N), I repeat, how copy?” Ghost’s voice crackled.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, before pressing the voice activation button on the radio. The strong rush of adrenaline burned in your chest, but it didn’t match the wash of relief upon hearing and recognising Simon’s voice. You closed your eyes and relished in the sensation for a moment.

“I read you.”

He audibly sighed. “Thought I lost you there.”

“Nearly did.”

“You injured?”

You stared down and shakily inspected the palm pressed against your wound. Your fingers came away glistening with rain and blood, and your undershirt was soaked a deep red around the site of the injury. You replace your hand on the wound, applying as much pressure as you can muster with a heavily clenched jaw. As much as you wanted to be honest, you knew that due to the personal obligations Ghost felt toward you because of your secret relationship, letting him know just how hurt you truly were could compromise his position. He would, without a doubt, make his way straight toward you.

“I’m alive.”

“That’s not what I asked, Sergeant.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Good. Are you in sight of the church?”

You blinked hard to clear your vision and glanced around your surroundings. Through a rusted, paint-chipped iron gate, you could see the distant glow of the religious building and gathered that it was about half a mile away. You weren’t sure how much steam you had left in the tank, but you sure as shit were going to use every last drop to get your ass to that church.

“Yeah, I see it.”

“We’ll RV there. Johnny’s on his way now.”

“Copy that.”

“Do you have a weapon?”

You fumbled with your gear, cursing to yourself when you found nothing but empty holsters. All that remained on your person was a singular, small combat knife hidden within your boot, and you silently thanked yourself for taking such precaution.

“A knife.”

“That’s all you need. Stay safe, Fox.”

“Sure, Ghost.”

You released the radio trigger and clipped it back onto the front of your tactical vest. With a deep breath, you managed to pull yourself to your feet with the solid support of the brick wall. Your bloodied hand mixed with the rain, dripping down your chilled fingers and spreading the blood down your arms. You looked like a damn mess. You felt like a damn mess.

You first attempted to push through the iron gate but found it chained and padlocked from the other side.

Never the easy way, you murmured to yourself.

Turning back on yourself, you stumbled through a fruit market. Bruised and trampled limes and apples rolled across the puddled floor, seemingly abandoned in a hurry rather than packed away in their crates. Upon leaning on a stall for aid, you noticed that the civilians, presumably the shopkeepers, had been shot dead in their stalls. It was bloody and gruesome and told the tale of just how relentless the military-for-hire group were.

Your wobbly vision was clouded, and your lashes were thick with rain droplets concentrated with the blood dripping from your head. Your lips and fingers were icy cold, and each breath felt like the air was taking shots at your lungs like they were punching bags. You pressed onwards, however, knowing that if you wanted a chance at living that you needed to make it out of the Shadow’s web, and you could only do so by pushing yourself forwards.

The detour through the fruit market leads you to a couple of Shadow mercs, who chatted idly amongst themselves as if they weren’t standing upon the consequences of their war crimes. Families, including children, cried and screamed in the distance. Gunshots followed, and you tried not to flinch against the sound.

The mercenaries were armed, and they were blocking the only route you had. There was no easy way around this, but you had to improvise given your lack of weaponry and physical power. Your body was betraying you, and try as you might, you’d never be able to take these men in your current situation.

You tossed a beer bottle down the alleyway, hoping to distract them enough to get the upper hand. The left merc stubbed out his cigarette with a sizzle under his boot, before trailing down in the direction of the smashed glass in pursuit of the sound. Noticing your chance, you steadily crouch-walked your way over to the lone hostile and plunged your knife into his side and then into his neck.

“Just an empty bottle. It’s nothing,” the other merc stated, then turning on his heel with a final glance at the broken glass before he whipped his head around with a double take to notice his friend in a gargling heap on the floor, and you standing above him. “What the fuck?!”

He raised his gun toward you, leaving you no choice but to slam straight into him to throw off his aim. His gun flew upwards as he pulled the trigger, spraying an arc of loud, bright bullets into the air whilst you attempted to disarm him. He retaliated with a hard shove, though not before you were able to get your hands on the pistol in his hip holster. You flew to the ground with a thud and splash, but before he had the chance to regain composure and take aim at you again, you’d blasted two rounds into his chest, and then his throat. He collapsed on top of you in a heavy heap.

Another soldier rounded the corner, but you didn’t quite have the energy to recognise the threat before it was a second too late.

You were just lucky that Soap barged through the cafe door on your left and took him down with a clean shot straight through the temple. He turned his gaze from the man on the floor after confirming his death and reached over to you on the ground. He heaved the dead mercenary off of your chest and offered you a strong hand. You grabbed onto him and groaned as he yanked you upright, a firm hand on your shoulder to steady you as you fell towards him. With a concerned eye, he straightened you with a gentle nudge.

“Christ, Fox,” Soap murmured, eyeing the wound on your side. You immediately clutched at it defensively. “You’re not lookin’ so hot.”

You wheezed a breath and mustered a smile. “I’m running on fumes, but I’ll be fine. Let’s just get to that church.”

“Aye, Sergeant. I’ll take front.”

“Be my guest.”

You trailed sloppily behind Soap, cursing yourself for your inability to be as sharp as you usually were. You hated being a burden, but you hated letting the team down more. Your carelessness in the fight that broke out with Graves had cost you a life-threatening injury in a team that refused to leave anybody behind, even if it got them killed. You only worried that if you weren’t going to make it, you wouldn’t be able to see Simon before you went and that you wouldn’t be able to tell him you were sorry.

Your heart ached at the thought.

You and Ghost had been dating, briefly. It happened slowly. First, there were inside jokes, and then there were gentle teasing pet names, and then more than friendly touches… until one night the tension seemed to break, and you slept together, which was just a week ago now before everything went to shit. You almost regretted doing so, for fear that now you’d never get to see him again, to touch him again.

You stumbled to your knees and caught yourself barely by planting your hand solidly on the gravelled floor. Soap spun around and cursed under his breath before reaching for his radio.

“Ghost, we have a situation here.”

He leaned forward and grabbed at your biceps, throwing your arm over his soldier for support.

“What situation?”

“Fox was WIA,” he grunted with a low voice, pulling your body towards cover as a squadron of Shadows passed by in pursuit of the gunshots from only a few moments prior. Any second now, they would find the bodies and be alerted of your presence.

“Don’t piss around the bush, Johnny. How bad?”

Soap studied you with an uneasy glance. “We’re gonna need backup if we’re gonna get the lass outta here.”

“What’s your location?”

“Uh—” Soap paused and checked for any noticeable landmarks. “We’re at the coffee shop just a ways from the fruit market—”

“Hang tight. I’m on my way.”

“What about the RV?”

“Stay put, Serg.”

“Yes, sir.”

The distance from the church to the market was about ten minutes, but Ghost cleared the distance in about four. His eyes were cold and steely behind his mask but became soft and expressive upon noticing your strained face and bloodied abdomen. He was gentle when he leaned for you.

“Jesus Christ, Fox,” he murmured, his tone an edge softer than usual. He leaned toward you to help stabilise you on your feet and apologised under his breath when you yelped in pain. “Who did this to you?”

You grunted and leaned against one of his large arms for support. You blinked the rainwater away from your eyes and maintained eye contact with him. Even now, at a time like this, you felt your stomach flip. You were so in love with him and that somehow made everything scarier.

“One of Graves’ boys. Not sure who. Didn’t get a good look before I killed him.” You answered.

“Atta girl,” Ghost praised. Your heart clenched.

Soap stared on with a worried look, his back tense with stress.

“Hold up,” Soap said, raising a fist before lifting his gun to level his eyes with the sights. mercenaries stormed past the windows, and there was a sudden series of heavy bangs on the cafe door that Soap had barricaded with bar stools. “We’ve got company, Ghost.”

Ghost nodded, and then turned to you with an urgent look in his eyes. “Can you walk?”

You cringed at the stabs of pain and clenched your jaw. “Simon, I’m a liability. Leave me here and I can hold them off—”

“I am not leaving you here!”

You blinked in shock at the intensity of his tone. His eyes beyond the mask seemed desperate, and he clutched your face in a gloved hand as if uttering his silent pleas through his palm. You truly believed him and his words, for there was no reason for a man like himself to lie to you at a time like this.

“I said, can you walk?”

You nodded stiffly.

“Then let’s fucking walk,” Ghost answered, tossing your arm over his shoulder to carry the most of your body weight as he essentially dragged you toward the exit point of the cafe. His other hand gripped his pistol so hard that his knuckles began to numb beneath his glove. “Cover us, Johnny!”

Soap tailed your backs with a raised gun, and Ghost was just able to tug you out of the door before the hostiles blasted through and started swarming the place with bullets. Ghost seemed to lug you along with desperation, as you were practically limping at this point.

“You stupid girl, getting me all worried like this,” he cursed, turning briefly to shoot one of the incoming adversaries before continuing onwards. “Do you know how lucky you are that I’m here?”

He was acting characteristically sharp and dry, but you knew that it was just to glaze over his worry. Ghost didn’t often lose his cool, but you were certainly shaking his faith. You couldn’t judge him for his words and simply offered a weak smile in response.

You heaved a laugh. “Let’s just say I owe you one.”

He seemed to soften. “Let me take you to dinner when this is all over. Call it even.”

“It’s a date,” you wheezed, your words accompanied by laboured breaths. The pain was intense and radiated in waves of white-hot pulses and aches that made you limp and shudder in the agony. Your feet and hands were starting to feel numb, and your head felt like it was full of TV static. You just needed a short break, and then you would be able to continue.

You began tripping over your feet, and albeit he tried to keep you upright, Ghost’s strength wasn’t enough to counter the sudden push of gravity as you slumped to the floor.

“(Y/N)!”

Your face was white, and your eyes rolled back. He was immediately at your side, grabbing your face in his hand to inspect your breathing, and then the pulse on your neck with fingers that he’d torn a glove from. He was momentarily relieved when he felt the feedback of your heart, regardless of how faint it was. It was enough to keep going, to revive the easily extinguishable flicker of hope.

Soap rounded the corner, seeming urgent as he fired shots down the alleyway.

“Ghost, they’re gaining on us!”

“Shit!” He cursed.

Without a second thought, he unsheathed his pistol and handed it over to Soap who took it without question. Simon scooped his arms under your legs and back and held you securely to his chest before nodding at his comrade.

“You keep us safe. That’s an order, Serg.”

“Sure, LT, but we need to get a move on— now.”

“Let’s go!”

You jostled in and out of consciousness. It was soft and gentle, like a slow beat of butterfly wings. You would open your eyes momentarily, but there wasn’t enough adrenaline supply in the world to keep you awake, and things would quickly return to darkness. Your grasp on reality started to slip when the blood loss became critical, and the only thing you were aware of was the bruising grip Ghost had on your flesh and the overwhelming fear that you were about to die.

You vaguely notice the sensation of cold marble on your body, and then the tightness of gauze and tape being wrapped around you.

Ghost was manic as he watched your pale, lifeless body show little to no reaction to his movements. He’d torn your battle vest off and inspected the damage beneath your vest. He’d swallowed his anxiety and wrapped you up as best he could with what little supplies himself and Soap had scrounged from the village and proceeded to perform CPR on you when he noticed your breathing had come to an abrupt stop.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You couldn’t move.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Crack.

A blooming pain in your ribs.

A warm press of lips on your own, and the uncomfortable sensation of being filled with air.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The thrum of helicopter blades. Distant shouting. Ghost’s voice.

Ghost’s voice.

“Simon…?”

——

When you next woke, it was a slow and unpleasant sensation. White, fluorescent lights pierced through your eyelids, which felt heavy to open. The sharp sensation of the gunshot in your side felt dull, and you could tell by the swimming sensation in your head that you were drugged. You vaguely recognised the sound of a beeping monitor, and you flinched. The smell of bleach filled your nose.

“Good mornin’, sunshine.”

Your eyes fluttered open, wincing against the harsh ceiling lights. You turned your gaze to the figure hunched over in a small brown chair— a heavily-built man, adorning a balaclava with a skull painted on it. Ghost.

“Simon.”

“(Y/N).”

You attempted to lift yourself into an upright position, and immediately felt a flare of agony that had you coughing out a broken sob.

“Hey, hey, take it easy there, Fox,” Ghost murmured, immediately reaching forwards to settle you back down. You grit your teeth together and blinked away the sudden onslaught of tears that were born from the shock of the pain. He tried to sit back down, but you caught his gloved hand before he could leave and he didn’t have the heart to pull away. His stature immediately softened, and his thumb smoothed over your fingers and knuckles in an attempt to comfort you.

“They outta put more drugs in you. They sure did a number on you. Surprised you’re still with us.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

Simon huffed through his nose and tugged the chair closer so that he could sit beside you and hold your cold hands in his. “I thought you were, too, sweetheart.”

“How the Hell did you get me out of there?”

You couldn’t see it, but by the wrinkle of his eyes, you knew he was smirking. “This old dog still got his ways.”

A concern suddenly popped into your head as bits and pieces of memories began to slot together. “And Soap?”

“He’s fine, unfortunately.”

You smiled gently, feeling yourself relax a little. You turned to him and held his gaze, suddenly feeling intimidated by his sharp eyes. The heart monitor next to your bed began to beep at an increased pace, and your cheeks flushed.

Ghost seemed bemused. “Am I makin’ you nervous, darlin’?”

You buried your face in your hands and only dared to peek through your fingers when you heard him start to laugh.

“Don’t hide from me just yet. You still owe me a date.”

You threw your hands down to your sides and smiled. “Look who’s gone all soft. I wonder what the boys would think of you right now.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“Don’t kid yourself, LT, you loved playing hero,” you retorted, a glimmer of mischief sparkling through your grin. You suddenly felt the atmosphere become slightly tense and heavy with the weight and reality of the situation. You could’ve and likely should’ve died back there. You weren’t aware enough of your surroundings to remember just what Ghost and Soap went through to get you out, but you could only imagine.

“Thank you, Simon.” You said, more serious this time.

He glanced away as if embarrassed. “It’s nothing.”

You reached closer and grabbed his masked face. In private, he would remove his balaclava just for you. You felt the selfish desire that he would do so just now so that you could kiss him but swallowed your urges for you knew he couldn’t compromise himself in the med-bay. Too many prying eyes.

He grabbed your hand from his face and kissed it, the warmth and pressure of his lips still present even through the fabric on his face. You were butter in his touch, practically melting through his fingers.

“Just don’t make a habit of nearly dying, you hear me? Nearly gave me a bastard heart attack.”

You smiled, staring at him dazedly. “Yes, sir.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #x reader #angst #injury #pining #ghost is in love #soap mactavish #john mactavish

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rockrosethistle · 5 months

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A list of Nightmare Time episode ideas that I thought of and I think would be cool:

1.) Mr. Chasity has been trying to sell the old Waylon Place for far too long. After trying and failing over and over, he decides to take matters into his own hands by going in himself to see what all the fuss is about. But nothing could have prepared him to meet the real ghosts of Waylon Hall. And boy oh boy do they have shenanigans in store. (The episode would be called 'Unholy Ghost') .

2.) It's been a few months since Hatchetfield was destroyed in that awful 'accident'. Emma and Paul have been living under the aliases Kelly and Ben Bridges. (there can be a joke where Emma doesn't even pretend to care about her alias and Paul cares too much.) They live in Colorado now. Emma's finally started her pot farm, and Paul is working in marketing. For the most part, they have a good life. Only Paul's acting a bit different lately. Emma caught him humming company jingles, tapping his foot to a beat she can't hear. Maybe those spores he inhaled had some effect on him. It's probably nothing, but he's never sung in the shower before...(I don't have a name for this one yet.) .

3.) Max Jägerman is failing remedial algebra. In fact, he's doing so poorly that his dad shells out and hires him a tutor, PJ. (Bryce's nerd from 'Literal Monster.) He reluctantly lets her help him. At first it seems to work and his grades are rising steadily, but as PJ lets her guard down, Max starts to notice some things. Strange symbols scribbled in the margins of her notebook, almost like...jagged smiles? Weird stains on her hands, when she gets too close she smells like roadkill. And there's this white spider that keeps showing up in his room. Sometimes he feels like it's trying to tell him something. Or warn him. Without knowing what he's gotten himself into, Max has to evade getting his soul swallowed by a hungry god of darkness. (The episode is called 'Dirty Dude Soup') .

4.) Charlotte Sweetly is jealous. Her church friend, Carol Davidson, has exactly the kind of life she wants. Charlotte's seen the way her boss talks about his wife, and would give anything for Sam to feel that way about her. One day, Charlotte finally gathers her courage and asks her how she does it. Carol takes pity on her, and decides to reveal an important secret: it's all the product of a ritual, an ancient spell she stumbled upon on a trip to an amusement park. She claims that ever since she did it, her husband can't get enough of her. "I am all he sees. He calls me the apple of his eye." Charlotte doesn't believe her at first, but Carol gave her the instructions, and why the hell not? She tries it. Unfortunately, Charlotte messes up the wording. The spell still works, but not quite as intended. And an all-seeing police officer could be a good thing, but Sam is not a good police officer. (maybe let's call this one 'Omnipocop'. But that's awful to spell so suggestions are welcome) .

5.) While trying to be an assistant, Steph accidentally botches one of Pete's science projects. He forgives her, but she still feels bad even as he assures her it's no big deal, throwing the mix of chemicals out his window just to prove it. What he doesn't know is that the last family that lived in the Spankoffski house buried their dog in the backyard, and Pete's chemical slurry just brought it back to life. On a probably unrelated note, Paul has been trying to ignore the damage he's finding in his apartment. He's been chalking most of the tipped over garbage cans and torn apart cushion up to rats--giant rats?--or maybe a squirrel. But when a decades-old "missing dog" poster shows up on his doorstep, he can't ignore the truth for any longer. (the episode would be called "Patches' Revenge" and I thing it would work because it's just the right amount of weird. It would end with Paul teaming up with the nerds to defeat undead Patches with science.) .

6.) To his utter delight, Miss Holloway finally agreed to go out with Duke on a proper date. Nothing huge, just some ice cream and a walk on the beach. They're both enjoying themselves when Miss Holloway hears something. Duke can't hear it, but he still follows her down the shore to some kind of cave grotto, where she claims the noise is coming from. She tosses a pebble into the water, testing how it might react. A few moments later, the pebble come flying out again. Duke is stunned, but Miss Holloway tosses her ice cream cone. Sure enough, a few moments later is comes flying back, perfectly dry. They've clearly discovered something, and over the next few days, Duke and Miss Holloway experiment and try to learn about the grotto and the water in it. It's too deep to see the bottom, so their tests mostly involve tossing different things to see how they'll react. Little do they know, there was a reason Miss Holloway could hear a noise coming from the cave. There's a reason it drew her in, too. There's something singing to her, something that lives at the bottom of the grotto. And with each thing they feed it, it becomes a little bit stronger...(and then it's called something unassuming like "Wavecrest Cave")

So that's Nightmare Time season four all lined up. Please tell me if you have a good name idea for episodes 2 and 4. Also if anyone wants to use these as writing prompts, be my guest (just tag me so I can read them)

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01zfan · 3 months

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mango flavored | o. st

coworker!shotaro x fem. reader | 7.6k words

thought about how shotaro was studying economics in school and i started thinking a little too much…i promise i’m so normal about him.

contains: secret relationship, reader and shotaro are tipsy, fingering (fem. receiving), teasing, unprotected sex (but reader is on birth control)

the mango flavored alcoholic beverage got you by surprise. it went down like juice at this point in the night, although it didn’t go down with any problems to begin with. it was sweet and barely tasted like alcohol, the fruity cocktail tasted like juice with a little bit of a punch.

you weren’t normally the type to drink in a work setting, but it was a special occasion. you and your team were wrapping up the end of a project that ran all your lives for a month. it was extremely ironic to have another late night out after spending the last two weeks in the office after hours. it had gotten to the point that your team would take power naps in the conference room just to come right back out and type away. you thought your eyeballs were going to melt out of your head from the blue light and lack of sleep. but you couldn’t miss out on a celebratory drink with your coworkers. especially because you knew what followed after each project was closed.

“i think you should pace yourself, yeah?” shotaro said into your ear.

he spoke to you quietly, leaning backwards to remove himself from everyone’s line of sight. shotaro tried to be sneaky for no reason—none of your coworkers had picked up on your secret relationship. if they didn’t know what you guys were doing they definitely wouldn’t find out tonight. they were drunk a long time ago, going straight for the hard liquor in contrast to your mixed beverages. they were two shots deep before the food even arrived, and it only got worse from there. you could make out with shotaro in front of them and they probably wouldn’t pay it any mind, and if they did it would be forgotten by the morning.

you looked to your coworkers sitting directly in front of you and shotaro, engaged in their own conversation. you could hear them a little too well, the alcohol making their speech slurred and loud. you kept staring at them, waiting for them to acknowledge your stare that was less than an arms length away. they were unbothered, shit talking your bosses boss that was elusive and never in the office. you turned back to shotaro to see him staring curiously at you, waiting for a response. you almost forgot what he had asked you when you let your eyes shamelessly eat at him, resting on his lips.

letting the thought of kissing shotaro enter your mind was a mistake, because now it was all you could think of. it became more and more tempting when his tongue ran over his pink lips. you’re sure he would taste like a mix of the mango beverage he finished for you and the shot he had at the beginning of the night. you thought about how his lips were probably soft from the balm he applied religiously, kept in his front pocket (and a spare in his backpack) for maximum convenience.

if you were going to hypothetically kiss shotaro in front of the entire marketing team you would have to hold his face too. when you two kissed, his hands always found their place on the back of your neck while yours rested on his face or ran through his hair. his skin was always so soft underneath the pads of your fingers, firing off all the dopamine receptors in your mind. his skin was glowing underneath the warm light of the restaurant, and a little glossy from the warmth and alcohol in his system. shotaro looked cherubic, the apples of his cheeks shining each time he laughed or smiled.

you constantly felt like you were fighting two wolves each time you thought about shotaro. on one side you saw the angelic sweetheart that everyone in the office loved, but on the other you saw the confident and attractive man that had you on your knees. you thought he was hot in his business casual attire for work but outside of work he was even more captivating. his carefree spirit translated into his fashion, with a hint of classiness that had intrigued you. you had already fucked shotaro by the time you first saw him wearing his casual clothes at a company lunch months prior. it was pleasantly surprising to see a new side to him, the complete opposite of the button ups and slacks he wore to work. you were checking him out the whole lunch, barely contributing to the conversation your bosses were having. when he looked at you worried asking why you hadn’t eaten you lean to whisper in his ear that you were hungry for something else. you saw shotaro’s eyes widen and his ears that were tucked into his beanie get red when he understood what you said.

ever since the lunch you both started unabashedly flirting with the other during office meals, loving the risk of it all. it was easy to cover it up if someone did ask what you two were chatting about, you and shotaro were friendly. you guys were assigned to nearly every project together so how could you not be cordial? if shotaro had his arm on the back of the chair behind you it was only because he liked the comfort of having an arm up. not to mention shotaro was even more chatty when he was tipsy, talking to anyone who would listen. you became bratty when you got alcohol in your system and you became an awful liar too.

“i’m barely tipsy.” you said, looking back at shotaro. “what’s it to you anyways?”

shotaro ran his hand through his hair for the nth time of the night, staying in the pushed back position he wanted it in. you let yourself look at the rings on his hand then drift down to his face, where a knowing smile had you smiling back. you had crossed the threshold of “tipsy” a long time ago. you were at the part where you wanted to do unspeakable things to your coworker and you didn’t care if other people saw it. shotaro seemed to know it too when he leaned close to your ear. he was at the part where he started to care less and less about getting caught.

“i don’t know if you’ll be able to handle it later if you’re too drunk.” shotaro said innocently.

it was whatever shotaro had planned for you once you both made it back to your apartment after drinking. it was usually shotaro pressed against your sweaty body while feeling you up or you on your knees for him. it had become plenty of things ever since you started seeing him.

when you first met shotaro you didn’t think he had it in him. he wasn’t shy by any means, instantly hitting it off with everyone in the office but he was just so kind and seemed so innocent. his bright smile and expressive eyes gave the impression that he was the human embodiment of purity. you found out that this very much wasn’t the case half a year ago.

you and shotaro were working on a project about consumer preferences for off brand versions of skincare products alone when the question first came up. it was simple and non assuming on your part, just a question to try and keep yourself awake.

“do you have a girlfriend?” you asked.

shotaro took a break from typing on his computer to turn and look at you. you instantly clarified that you weren’t asking romantically, only curious as to why he transferred to your office’s location. shotaro went back to typing before answering you.

“no i don’t have a girlfriend.” he answered. “i transferred because my friend needed a roommate and i wanted to leave my hometown.”

“cool, cool.” you typed on your keyboard a couple of times, trying to move on. “any particular reason?” you asked.

shotaro laughed, still typing on his computer. you took a quick peak over your shoulder and saw shotaro with perfect posture filling out endless cells on the spreadsheet. he was a terrible multitasker, having to pull away from his computer before answering you.

“that i don’t have a girlfriend? or why i left my hometown?” shotaro asks.

shotaro smiles at you tripping over your words. you thought this interaction would be the other way around, with him being the mess instead of you. but you have to clear your throat and look at the random words you typed on your computer as an excuse to look away from shotaro.

“why you left. if you want to answer the first question too go ahead.” you said.

shotaro laughed before explaining his reason for moving. he wanted a change of scenery and a chance to spread his wings. he woke up one day realizing he was an adult who had never seen life outside of his prefecture. so when his friend from college told him he was moving shotaro leaped at the chance, transferring from his previous location to this one. shotaro didn’t have a girlfriend because he was too busy with work, which you understood. there was no way to have a significant other when a majority of your day was spent in an office. unless you were seeing your coworker.

it was silent between you two again, the only sound in the office was typing on the keyboards and the occasional sigh. shotaro stopped typing again and turned towards you, a smile on his face.

“do you have a boyfriend?” shotaro asked.

he didn’t clarify why he was asking you that question, you assumed it was to embarrass you. you felt you face heating up as you shook your head staring at the graphs on your computer. it was getting to the part of the night where nothing made sense and your eyes were losing focus.

“i don’t understand how you don’t have one.” shotaro said. “you’re beautiful.”

you thought that your lack of sleep was making you delirious when you heard shotaro say that. you turned in your chair to face him, and his smile confirmed that you weren’t just hearing things.

you had foolishly believed that shotaro wasn’t hiding anything underneath his smile and big shining eyes. you thought that you had him figured out, a typical twenty-something that had never pursued a woman before, much less slept with one. but shotaro pursued you that night in the dark office and he got you. you ended up with your back pressed deep into the chair with one foot perched on the edge while the other one pressed into the ground. you could feel your toes curling in your dress shoes from the pleasure while shotaro sat in the chair next to you with his hands shoved into your pants. the sound of typing in the office was replaced with your quiet pants and the subtle squelching while shotaro told you how good you feel. you ended up returning the favor, palming him through his slacks while he put his fingers that were inside of you in your mouth. he held on tight to the armrest of his chair when he came in his pants and squeezed his eyes shut, whispering quiet explexitives. his face was tinted red and sheepishly smiled when he said you two should do this again.

you learned that night that shotaro was far from innocent. you also learned that you needed more of him. so you two worked out an agreement that everytime you finished a project or were alone in the office together you two would have sex. sex in the office became a rarity especially with the onslaught of group projects.

but now the project was done and shotaro was telling you he had something in store for you. you suddenly didn’t want to drink anymore, pushing the rest of your mango beverage away. you turned to shotaro and lightly shrugged your shoulders.

“i’m actually done for the night.” you said casually.

“good,” shotaro smiled and looked towards the exit of the restaurant before looking at you “wanna get out of here?” he asked.

when you nodded and shotaro flagged down a waitress so he could close out the tab both of you were drinking on. you bid your goodbyes to the table together, giving pleasantries and saying you’ll see them in the office on monday. no one questioned why you and shotaro were leaving together, why he had a hand on the small of your back while he held your bag, or why he got into the cab with you when he lived on the other side of town.

the cab rides back to your place was always one of your favorite parts of the night. people out on the street passed by you in a blur and lights on buildings caught your eye. when you were tipsy you always felt like you were in a spaceship in a car, moving through space and time while shotaro’s hand rested on your thigh. it felt like the imprint of his hand was burning through your pants, making you squirm in your seat. you moved closer to him and shotaro welcomed it, putting a hand behind you so you could nestle into his chest.

when you got to your apartment shotaro helped you out on his side of the car, wishing the driver a goodnight before closing the door. you waited patiently for shotaro in front of your building, for him to lead you to your room. you just liked his gentle hand resting on the small of your back, helping you up the stairs like you couldn’t walk. the brunt of your drunkness had worn off during the car ride, leaving you with the giggly tipsy feeling. you couldn’t hide your excitement of what was coming your way as shotaro led you up the stairs.

you didn’t waste any time once you closed the door to your apartment. you pulled shotaro close to you by his button up, pressing your lips to his. his lips were incredibly soft and his hand pressed into the door beside your head. you put your tongue in his mouth to taste the mango and the sake, pulling him even closer. shotaro laughed into your lips, letting you explore his mouth as you pleased. he started using his free hand to help you out of your jacket and undo the buttons on your blouse, letting your clothes fall to the floor. when you hastily got out of your shoes shotaro did the same.

when your top was gone shotaro moved his hand to your neck, helping you deepen the kiss. you were getting drunk again off of shotaro alone. you thought about how pent up you were during the whole project, stealing glances during the late night team meetings. you caught shotaro looking too, always asking your team for coffee to hide the fact that he already had your order waiting for you at his desk.

shotaro pulling away from you brought you back to the present. his lips were glossy and already plump from the biting. you had lost yourself in kissing him like you always do, not coming back to reality until shotaro ran his fingers over your bottom lip.

“lets go sit down.” shotaro said.

he walked through your apartment with ease, tracing the same steps he has taken thousands of times. each time he comes over you’re reminded you should try switching your furniture around or buying a painting. it’s ironic, paying rent for a place you’re never at. it would make more sense to split the electricity bill of your office building with all your coworkers. but you like seeing shotaro familiar with your apartment, you enjoy seeing him go into the fridge and know exactly where your bottles of water are. you enjoy seeing him point to the seat he knows you like on the couch, letting you sit there while he unbuttons his shirt. shotaro takes his time, making sure it’s not wrinkled when he lays it over the back of your chair. he sits the two bottles of water on your coffee table and stands in front of you. you look up at him, your hands going to his thighs to touch him.

“still a little stressed?” shotaro asked.

you actually felt the calmest you’ve been in a long time. you weren’t necessarily relaxed, the anticipation making you antsy all over. but you felt calm underneath the squirming feeling to the point that you were enjoying your nerves. regardless, you nodded your head slowly and looked up at shotaro through your eyelashes. he cooed at you, bringing a hand to rub and hold your chin.

“you work so hard for our team.” shotaro said.

it was simple work you did, much easier than what shotaro had to do. he was the one actually gathering the data and doing the math that you barely understood. your job was simply just compiling the answers shotaro gave you into neat graphs and reports to give to your bosses. he knew you felt this way, you never hesitated to tell him that a robot could easily do your job. you let him have it this time when shotaro started moving to get behind you on the couch.

his body fit between yours and the armrest of the easily. it was the perfect amount of space, your body fit between his legs like a puzzle piece. you sat slotted between shotaro’s legs waiting for his next move. his hands went to your shoulders and guided you backwards until your back was pressed against his chest. it was broad and comfortable, you instantly settled into him.

shotaro kissed the exposed skin of your shoulder when your body was flush with his. you sighed contently and tipped your head to the side, purposely exposing your neck to him. it was soothing the way shotaro slowly pressed his lips to your skin. each kiss was gentler than the one before. you started having to fight the lack of sleep away. it was catching up to you before you felt shotaro’s cold rings brush against your warm skin. his hands started massaging your shoulders, starting from opposite ends and working their way to the base of your neck.

shotaro worked through the knots brought on by bad posture and stress, coaxing a satisfied groan from you. it was almost painful when shotaro found a particularly stubborn knot, kneading your skin until you started slumping your shoulders in relief. you had almost forgotten what you both were here to do, too caught up in the comfort of it all.

you brought a hand to rest on top of shotaro’s and he kissed your knuckles, still driving his thumbs into your tensed muscles. he pressed exceptionally hard on a knot, eliciting a pained whine. shotaro kissed the back of your head before going even further. your whine got louder, the mixture of pain and relief causing you to tense your shoulders. shotaro kissed your hand one last time before pulling away from your shoulders. he wrapped his arms around you and pulled him closer to you, placing an open mouthed kiss to the back of your neck. you felt his tongue touch your bare skin before he pulled away. shotaro’s face was close to yours, so close that his hair brushed your skin and his lips were against your ear.

“can i help you relax?” shotaro whispered into your ear.

you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you, his curled lips grazing the shell of your ear. shotaro asked the question so innocently while his hands found their way to your dress pants, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper. he didn’t even have to look down to know what he was doing, a mix of experience and intuition guiding his hands. you nodded against his chest, lifting your hips and pulling off your pants a little too quickly.

while you took off your pants shotaro pulled his hands away from your body to take off his rings. he took them off in front of your face, just to tease you a little more, to let anticipation build all over your body. he put the rings between the bottles of water that sweat from condensation. you discard your pants and shotaro helps guide your back to his chest to the position you were in before. you settle against him and bend your knees to help keep yourself stable, loving the way your skin rubs against his undershirt. one of shotaro’s legs hang over the edge of the couch and he keeps the other extended and close to your body. you can see the way he places the leg, the way he’d be able to keep your legs spread with ease. he kisses the crook of your neck and a gentle hand on your chin tilts your head to expose more of your neck.

you keep your head in the same place as you feel shotaro’s hand travel down your body. he starts by trailing down the center of your throat and he lets his middle finger and thumb trace the outline of your collarbones before continuing his way down. shotaro has you on holding your breath when his fingers travel down the valley of your chest. it’s a breath that comes out rushed when he cups your breast, alternating between pressing it into your body and kneading the supple skin. you’ve tried touching your chest the same way shotaro does but it’s different. the grip doesn’t feel the same and you can’t mimic the desperation, or the way he twitches against your back. shotaro’s lips touch your neck as he switches to the other breast, just as desperate as he was on the other one.

“you’re so perfect.” shotaro whispers.

you whine and press yourself further into his shotaro’s body. your hands grip his thighs and he flexes his muscle to give you somethign to dig your nails into. your legs squirm in the air, your knees close in until they touch. everything is too much already, the tipsy brain fog making all the sensations feel more intense. by the time shotaro makes it your panties you’re already whimpering and digging your fingernails into his skin.

“so pretty in pink.” shotaro says.

you look down to see him play with the elastic of your pink panties. it’s an intoxicating sight, seeing shotaro’s fingers grab the band of fabric and pull up slightly. it’s almost a feeling of discomfort, feeling the panties press against your folds. but you let it happen because shotaro is doing it, and you might trust him just a little too much.

the fabric sticks to your folds and shotaro runs a light finger over the fabric. he takes his time, tracing all the way up and all the way down until he settles on your clit, pressing lightly. you gasp and let your head fall back against his shoulder, craning your head to kiss his jaw. it’s an impulsive act, but it’s one that has shotaro moving his head to kiss you on the lips. you let him kiss you, loving how he has to sacrifice the perfect posture he always brags about just to get closer to you. he doesn’t care about the discomfort either when he gets to see your face contort in pleasure or feel your lips on his. you feel good and you taste even better, and shotaro wants to keep indulging himself in it all.

shotaro pulls away from your lips, waiting for you to open your eyes and look at him from his shoulder. when you make eye contact with shotaro, he pushes your panties to the side and slips a finger inside of you.

even though it’s only one, you still sigh and have to bite your tongue to hold back curses. you know it’s by design, the way shotaro teases you. he likes for you to see what he’s doing to you, he wants you to see his finger plunge in and out of your heat. he has always taken a liking to teasing you, you’ve had nights with him where he edged you to tears before finally giving in, maintaining that sweet smile the whole time. you wanted to say you were used to it by now, but when he pulled his finger out you whined from loss of contact.

he leaned his finger towards your heat again and you slid down slightly to try and follow his fingers. you looked up to shotaro, eyes wide to show him how badly you needed it. he had his signature smile, so innocent and non assuming like he wasn’t propelling you towards your wits end.

“i’ll take care of you, just like i always do.” shotaro says.

he helps you out of your panties and you let him. when they’re off shotaro’s soft hand guides one of your legs until your thigh rests on top of his. your legs are completely spread, and shotaro kisses your cheek for being so pliable. his hand that doesn’t tease your center undoes the clasp on your bra with ease. your tits are hard from the cold air of your apartment. the fact that you’re completely naked while shotaro is fully clothed makes you even more sensitive. he has you completely in the palm of his hand, and you’ll eventually have to come to terms with how much you love it.

you nod your head and whine, and you feel shotaro’s slow hands go back to your thighs. he uses his fingers on his other hand to spread your folds and bring two fingers to his mouth. you have to tilt your head awkwardly to see them glisten from his spit. he puts his wet digits inside of you, and you straighten your back. it’s hard to maintain your composure, your iron resolve from work related stress crumbles in shotaro’s hands. he uses your whimpers as guidance and your face expressions as motivation. when your eyes close it means he’s doing good, and when you bite your lip for a moment it means he needs to pull back. shotaro loves having you figured out, and he loves knowing what makes you tick. when he bends his fingers inside of you, you bring your hand to his bicep.

“right there.” you sigh contently.

shotaro looks down to see his fingers pump in and out of you. he has to bring his chin forward to rest on your shoulder to see the view. he wouldn’t change it for anything else.

your foot that hangs down from shotaro’s leg flexes. each time you habitually try to close your thighs together to lock shotaro’s hand in place his leg keeps them apart. you let yourself completely fall into shotaro, his pretty fingers that kept your folds apart went to focus on your clit instead. it’s slow and steady strokes, ones that prolong your whines and moans. shotaro extracts your sounds like surgery, each pump of his fingers and revolutions on your clit is deliberate. he wants to feel your tense body progressively become more and more relaxed against him, until your become so pliant your legs start to shake. it’s suspiciously easy to get you to that point and shotaro has to tell himself to not get a big ego because of it.

“just like that.” you tell shotaro breathlessly.

he nods and adds another finger. you tense for only a second to get used to the stretch before your body becomes limp against his again. shotaro smiles against the skin of your neck before kissing it. your head tilts upwards to the ceiling and when you take the occasional moment to open your eyes you focus on your ceiling fan. its blades move slow and steady, in such a contrast to your racing heart. you try to focus on the slow fan to steady yourself but it only reminds you of the same gentle way shotaro pushes his fingers inside of you.

“feels good?” shotaro asks.

he sucks on the skin of your neck. he wants you to look at what he’s doing to you, but shotaro lets you focus on other things if it means he can do this to you longer.

”so good.” you say quietly.

“good.” shotaro kisses your neck. “i just want you to feel good.” shotaro says.

you let him continue to slowly pump his fingers in and out, your grip on his bicep varies based on what he does. shotaro can feel you getting tighter around his digits and your thigh starts trying to pull in a little harder.

“do you want me to add another finger?” he asks.

you shake your head, still looking at the ceiling.

“no. three is perfect.” you say.

shotaro starts driving his fingers a little deeper, and his hand that rubs your clit speeds up. shotaro can see your breath catch in your throat.

“i’m close.” you whine.

shotaro picks up the pace on your clit and acknowledges you with a hum. your other hand grips his other bicep now. shotaro hopes you don’t plan on pulling his hands away when you release around his fingers.

“can you look down for me?” shotaro asks innocently.

you hesitate for a moment but you obliged. your head tilts down and shotaro starts picking up the speed on your clit. your jaw starts to hang ad your eyebrows cinch together. shotaro looks down for himself too, conflicted on which sight he rather see.

“can you cum for me baby?” shotaro asks.

you nod and shotaro pushes his hard dick into your back. you move backwards quickly, loving the feeling of the imprint on your hot skin.

your hands tighten on shotaro’s biceps and try to pull them away with minimal force. he keeps them in place, not halting his movements. the rest of your body reacts first before your mind does. your thighs twitch and try to close in on eachother and your feet start flexing again. your breathing becomes rushed and the nails leave indents on shotaro’s skin. your walls clamp around his fingers and your sopping heat squelches from your cum. you let your head go back on shotaro’s shoulder as your mind tells you you’re experiencing your first orgasm since the project started. it runs through your brain and fires off all your receptors, the feeling of shotaro kissing your face gently. pushes you through it all.

you’re still reeling and shotaro can tell it. his precum seeps through his underwear as you start moaning. it starts off raspy and loud, but by the time shotaro’s fingers come to a stop it evolved into quiet high-pitched squeaks. shotaro has to let you gain composure while you’re slumped against his chest. he takes the time to compose himself too. if you were to move your body any deeper into his he would be cumming in his pants.

when your breathing settles shotaro looks at your face. when you shyly turn to him he pecks you lips and taps your thigh.

“wanna move to the bed?” he asks.

you were still out of it, coming down from edging that seemed to last forever. all you could do is nod your head and take shotaro’s hands as he lifts you up from the couch. your legs are like jello underneath you when you stand on them fully, wobbling a little bit like you’re still drunk. shotaro laughs and puts his hand on your hips to steady you. shotaro follows behind you closely, mimicking your steps as you make your way into your bedroom. your clothes in the livingroom are long forgotten, your mind instead focused on the next part of your night with the man behind you.

his hands only leave your hips when you enter the bedroom to close your door. you situate your naked body on top of the covers, trying to hide how badly you need shotaro to touch you again. he walks slowly over to the opposite side of your bed and your eyes follow his every move. you see the way shotaro undoes his belt, the way it falls out of your line of sight. you get excited, resting on your haunches to watch shotaro slowly take of his dress slacks until he’s left in his underwear and a-line shirt. he gets on the bed in the spot you subconsciously save for him, walking on his knees until he gets to you in the center of the bed. shotaro puts a hand on your chin and traces your jawline before tilting your head upwards. his eyes are so inviting, and he hold your stare when your body leans forward to kiss you.

shotaro keeps a hand on your face to caress your skin while his other hand presses on your lower back. it makes you move forward while you use your own hands to play with the end of shotaro’s shirt. he gets the hint, pulling away from you to lift his garment over his head. he stops only for a second, looking at your lips then looking at your eyes.

“how do you want it?” he asks.

while you think, shotaro lets his thumb press on your bottom lip. he has never been the dominant type in bed despite his inclination to be a tease. when you first asked him what his thing was in bed, shotaro was raking his brain the same way you were racking your brain now. nothing was off limits for shotaro in regards to sex. he didn’t know how to say it then, but now he knows he would try anything if it meant he could see your eyes screw shut in ecstasy and hear you whimper. but when shotaro told you simply that his thing was seeing girls cum, he knew you didn’t believe him. so since then he has made it his mission to prove it to you. if that meant giving you the reins that was fine. if it meant edging you until you were a mess underneath him that was a bonus.

“i want to be on top.” you say confidently.

when you finally decide what you want you let shotaro push his thumb into your mouth. you can taste yourself on your tongue, and you can smell it on the rest of his hand. shotaro opens his mouth slightly as he watches you take more of his thumb. you can see his tongue move in his mouth the same way yours moves around his digit. he had a strange habit of mirroring your movements, in and outside of the bedroom. that’s something you’re going to have to tease him about later when he copies you in the office.

you shift on the bed and shotaro follows you, finger still in your mouth and his hand still ghosting over the small of your back. you two lay down on the bed together, chest to chest while you maneuver into the right position. shotaro takes his finger from your mouth regretfully to reach for the waistband of his underwear. you help him out of it the same way he helped you out of your clothes on the couch.

you’re both content when he’s free from his boxers, his heavy dick hits the taut skin of his lower stomach. you try to tease shotaro the same way he teased you, ghosting a slow finger up his shaft to spread the precum on his tip. you love the way his head presses into the pillow, and hearing his sigh of relief. shotaro has been high strung from the deadlines the same way you were, he just hid it behind a bright smile.

“you’re stressed too, right?” you asked.

shotaro nodded his head, a hand pressing into your tricep lightly. you grab his length into your hands, jerking him off gently. he hissed and twitched in your hand. you can’t bring yourself to tease him, to innocently ask when was the last time he took care of himself. you don’t know what you’d do if he told you the last time he masturbated was to the thought of you, or if he had let himself get all pent up until he could be with you again.

“i can help you too.” you coo at shotaro.

he opens his eyes and his other hand goes to your arm. he pulls you slightly, trying to tell you subtly he can’t wait any longer. he’s much more impatient than you are.

“show me. please.” shotaro says.

that’s all you need to hear before moving your knees to straddle his hips. shotaro’s hands go to your waist, pressing the pads of his fingers deep into your skin you think it’ll leave a bruise. he doesn’t hold back his strength, too desperate to feel you around him again. shotaro has to use every ounce of self control to stop himself from bucking upwards when his tip prods at your entrance. you let go of his dick and rest your hands on top of his. the angle is awkward when shotaro flips his hand to intertwine your fingers, but he doesn’t care. he’s able to feel your hand squeeze his as you sink down onto him, slowly taking in everything shotaro gives you. you’re both gasping pent up messes, drunk off the feeling of eachother.

shotaro moans when you sink all the way down, and a fast hand pushes his hair from his face. he watches you swivel your hips and you can feel shotaro’s dick in your stomach. you had almost forgotten what it felt like, riding shotaro while he looked at you with so much lust and gratitude. it made you cocky and a little too confident. when shotaro grabs a handful of your ass and praises you for how tight and perfect your pussy is it makes you think you can ride him until the sun comes up. you do have the vigor and you want to keep bouncing on his dick, but when your knees and burning thighs catch up to you the brutal pace you set starts to lag. shotaro understands, because he’s nothing if not patient. he always enjoys watching you tire yourself out just to please him. he enjoys the way your eyes look down at him, the way you grip his hands for stability. he loves the way you wrap around his dick and how he can feel your walls clamp around him when he praises you.

when you slow down shotaro is more than happy to take over. he sees your tired but determined face, and he can feel the way your thighs start to shake. when you stop to take a breather shotaro brings your body down until your chest to chest.

“i told you i’d help you relax.” shotaro coos at you.

you let yourself fully rest against shotaro’s chest, your sweaty skin keeping you glued to him. it only takes a moment for him to plant his feet into your mattress before pistoning up into you. the sound of his hips slapping against your ass fills the room as he exceeds the pace you failed to set. you plant your hand against the wall for stability and put your other hand on shotaro’s shoulder. the moans tumble out, and your words are stuttered each time his hips meet yours.

“oh my god.” you cry.

“good right?” shotaro asks.

you opened your eyes to look at shotaro in front of you. he has a smile still, one that falters as he focuses on fucking up into you. he took the brunt of the work just so you could take all of him. you wondered if he would still fuck you like this if you were to date him, or if he’d become the soft and affectionate shotaro you got on rare occasions. either one didn’t matter to you, but you hoped that he would still fuck you with the reckless abandon he was giving you now.

you lift yourself up and kiss shotaro on the lips. it’s the only thing that slows down his pace temporarily, before going back into his speed with more stamina. you don’t know where all this energy suddenly came from, but you can feel it draining you as you get closer. your hand on his shoulder flails back and grabs his bent knee, digging into the skin. you don’t know what to do with your hand to stabilize yourself. you need someone to ground you before you explode.

“gimmie your hand.” shotaro says.

you comply immediately, going to his hands that moved to your ass. shotaro grabs your wrist, pressing it into your lower back. the hold he has on you turns you into his rag doll, you have no control over the way your body moves. your breasts surge upwards in tandem with shotaro’s hips. your upper body pressed to shotaro’s is the only thing that keeps your chest somewhat in place, and you move a hand to his shoulder in an effort to stabilize yourself. now your headboard creaks pitifully and occasionally bumps into your wall. it’s no use trying to stop the pace—not that you want to anyway. you take as much of shotaro as you can, because you’ll need something to think about when he’s not here.

when shotaro kisses your forehead you look up from his chest, barely able to focus on anything else anymore.

“you close?” shotaro asks.

he already knows the answer before you nod your head and whine a yes. your hand that’s grabbed by the wrist balls up, and your walls close in on shotaro. his pace starts to slow down too, going for spots deep inside of you instead of going fast.

“still on birth control?” shotaro asks.

“yes.” you whine.

shotaro keeps going and you go back to kissing him. your body moves upwards from earch deep thrust, but you stay focused on kissing shotaro as he stays focused on fucking you. when you have to break away to curse shotaro watches you with wide eyes, needing to see how you look when you cum before he can do so himself. he hears your high pitched moans and the way his name falls from your lips. you can barely keep going, resting against his body as your walls continue to clamp around his length. it’s then when shotaro lets himself cum, cursing into your hair as he continues to fuck slowly into you.

you’re reduced to quiet moans by the time shotaro is done. his hand let go of your wrist so you grabbed his instead. your nails dug into his skin while he gripped your ass. shotaro’s legs slid on your sheets, fully extending down your bed while you both caught your breath.

you came back first, trailing drowsy kisses from his sweaty chest to his lips. you lifted your hips and brought them down on his dick experimentally, just to see shotaro hiss and to feel his hand grip your waist. you smiled and settled back into his chest again, listening to his heartbeat.

it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep on shotaro’s chest. his heartbeat lulled you to sleep and his hand rubbing your back soothed you.

shotaro lets himself lay there with you even after you’re fast asleep, loving how your chest rises and falls in time with his. one of these days he’s gonna keep you awake and tell you how he feels, how much he liked spending time with you outside of having sex. shotaro always considered himself to be an extrovert when it came to handling people. he was confrontational and didn’t hide from conflict or expressing what he wanted.

but when he kissed you for the first time he made the decision to do whatever he had to for you to stay around. shotaro also considered himself to be a conceited individual, but even he didn’t know what you saw in him. he didn’t know why you kept coming back to him after every project wrapped up, or why you were so keen on fucking him out of everyone in the office.

you’re a snoring mess and sleeping like a log from the drinking and exertion you have gone through for the past month. he’s happy you’re sleeping so soundly after the stress of the last couple months, your stress lines actively disappearing as you snore into your pillow. shotaro grants himself some of the credit, the fact that he was able to tire you out enough to get a good nights rest.

shotaro almost feels weird for watching sleep, but he can’t bring himself to look away. you snuggled your pillow in his absence, your hand awkwardly underneath your chin causing your lips and cheeks to poke out a little further. if you were to wake up in this moment you would be freaked out and self conscious over someone seeing you in such a vulnerable and unflattering state. but shotaro thinks you look beautiful—ethereal even as you catch up on your sleep. he can’t stop himself from squatting down to kiss the side of your face that isn’t smushed into the pillow. you barely react to the kiss, your face twitching in the spot where shotaro pressed his lips to your skin. he stays there beside the bed, looking at how serene you look. he gentle caresses your cheek, rubbing the place he kissed. shotaro stands up and gives you one last look before heading towards the door.

“see you on monday.” shotaro says quietly to you.

you don’t reply, only turning sleepily to throw your arm on the spot you leave open for him in bed.

#01zfan: shotaro #shotaro smut #riize smut

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

Text

The antitrust case against Apple

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT (Mar 22) in TORONTO, then SUNDAY (Mar 24) with LAURA POITRAS in NYC, then Anaheim, and beyond!

The foundational tenet of "the Cult of Mac" is that buying products from a $3t company makes you a member of an oppressed ethnic minority and therefore every criticism of that corporation is an ethnic slur:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/12/youre-holding-it-wrong/#if-dishwashers-were-iphones

Call it "Apple exceptionalism" – the idea that Apple, alone among the Big Tech firms, is virtuous, and therefore its conduct should be interpreted through that lens of virtue. The wellspring of this virtue is conveniently nebulous, which allows for endless goal-post shifting by members of the Cult of Mac when Apple's sins are made manifest.

Take the claim that Apple is "privacy respecting," which is attributed to Apple's business model of financing its services though cash transactions, rather than by selling it customers to advertisers. This is the (widely misunderstood) crux of the "surveillance capitalism" hypothesis: that capitalism is just fine, but once surveillance is in the mix, capitalism fails.

Apple, then, is said to be a virtuous company because its behavior is disciplined by market forces, unlike its spying rivals, whose ability to "hack our dopamine loops" immobilizes the market's invisible hand with "behavior-shaping" shackles:

http://pluralistic.net/HowToDestroySurveillanceCapitalism

Apple makes a big deal out of its privacy-respecting ethos, and not without some justification. After all, Apple went to the mattresses to fight the FBI when they tried to force Apple to introduced defects into its encryption systems:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2018/04/fbi-could-have-gotten-san-bernardino-shooters-iphone-leadership-didnt-say

And Apple gave Ios users the power to opt out of Facebook spying with a single click; 96% of its customers took them up on this offer, costing Facebook $10b (one fifth of the pricetag of the metaverse boondoggle!) in a single year (you love to see it):

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2021/02/facebook-makes-the-case-for-activity-tracking-to-ios-14-users-in-new-pop-ups/

Bruce Schneier has a name for this practice: "feudal security." That's when you cede control over your device to a Big Tech warlord whose "walled garden" becomes a fortress that defends you against external threats:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/08/leona-helmsley-was-a-pioneer/#manorialism

The keyword here is external threats. When Apple itself threatens your privacy, the fortress becomes a prison. The fact that you can't install unapproved apps on your Ios device means that when Apple decides to harm you, you have nowhere to turn. The first Apple customers to discover this were in China. When the Chinese government ordered Apple to remove all working privacy tools from its App Store, the company obliged, rather than risk losing access to its ultra-cheap manufacturing base (Tim Cook's signal accomplishment, the one that vaulted him into the CEO's seat, was figuring out how to offshore Apple manufacturing to China) and hundreds of millions of middle-class consumers:

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-china-apple-vpn/apple-says-it-is-removing-vpn-services-from-china-app-store-idUSKBN1AE0BQ

Killing VPNs and other privacy tools was just for openers. After Apple caved to Beijing, the demands kept coming. Next, Apple willingly backdoored all its Chinese cloud services, so that the Chinese state could plunder its customers' data at will:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/17/technology/apple-china-censorship-data.html

This was the completely foreseeable consequence of Apple's "curated computing" model: once the company arrogated to itself the power to decide which software you could run on your own computer, it was inevitable that powerful actors – like the Chinese Communist Party – would lean on Apple to exercise that power in service to its goals.

Unsurprisingly, the Chinese state's appetite for deputizing Apple to help with its spying and oppression was not sated by backdooring iCloud and kicking VPNs out of the App Store. As recently as 2022, Apple continued to neuter its tools at the behest of the Chinese state, breaking Airdrop to make it useless for organizing protests in China:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/11/foreseeable-consequences/#airdropped

But the threat of Apple turning on its customers isn't limited to China. While the company has been unwilling to spy on its users on behalf of the US government, it's proven more than willing to compromise its worldwide users' privacy to pad its own profits. Remember when Apple let its users opt out of Facebook surveillance with one click? At the very same time, Apple was spinning up its own commercial surveillance program, spying on Ios customers, gathering the very same data as Facebook, and for the very same purpose: to target ads. When it came to its own surveillance, Apple completely ignored its customers' explicit refusal to consent to spying, spied on them anyway, and lied about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Here's the thing: even if you believe that Apple has a "corporate personality" that makes it want to do the right thing, that desire to be virtuous is dependent on the constraints Apple faces. The fact that Apple has complete legal and technical control over the hardware it sells – the power to decide who can make software that runs on that hardware, the power to decide who can fix that hardware, the power to decide who can sell parts for that hardware – represents an irresistible temptation to enshittify Apple products.

"Constraints" are the crux of the enshittification hypothesis. The contagion that spread enshittification to every corner of our technological world isn't a newfound sadism or indifference among tech bosses. Those bosses are the same people they've always been – the difference is that today, they are unconstrained.

Having bought, merged or formed a cartel with all their rivals, they don't fear competition (Apple buys 90+ companies per year, and Google pays it an annual $26.3b bribe for default search on its operating systems and programs).

Having captured their regulators, they don't fear fines or other penalties for cheating their customers, workers or suppliers (Apple led the coalition that defeated dozens of Right to Repair bills, year after year, in the late 2010s).

Having wrapped themselves in IP law, they don't fear rivals who make alternative clients, mods, privacy tools or other "adversarial interoperability" tools that disenshittify their products (Apple uses the DMCA, trademark, and other exotic rules to block third-party software, repair, and clients).

True virtue rests not merely in resisting temptation to be wicked, but in recognizing your own weakness and avoiding temptation. As I wrote when Apple embarked on its "curated computing" path, the company would eventually – inevitably – use its power to veto its customers' choices to harm those customers:

https://memex.craphound.com/2010/04/01/why-i-wont-buy-an-ipad-and-think-you-shouldnt-either/

Which is where we're at today. Apple – uniquely among electronics companies – shreds every device that is traded in by its customers, to block third parties from harvesting working components and using them for independent repair:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/yp73jw/apple-recycling-iphones-macbooks

Apple engraves microscopic Apple logos on those parts and uses these as the basis for trademark complaints to US customs, to block the re-importation of parts that escape its shredders:

https://repair.eu/news/apple-uses-trademark-law-to-strengthen-its-monopoly-on-repair/

Apple entered into an illegal price-fixing conspiracy with Amazon to prevent used and refurbished devices from being sold in the "world's biggest marketplace":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/10/you-had-one-job/#thats-just-the-as

Why is Apple so opposed to independent repair? Well, they say it's to keep users safe from unscrupulous or incompetent repair technicians (feudal security). But when Tim Cook speaks to his investors, he tells a different story, warning them that the company's profits are threatened by customers who choose to repair (rather than replace) their slippery, fragile glass $1,000 pocket computers (the fortress becomes a prison):

https://www.apple.com/newsroom/2019/01/letter-from-tim-cook-to-apple-investors/

All this adds up to a growing mountain of immortal e-waste, festooned with miniature Apple logos, that our descendants will be dealing with for the next 1,000 years. In the face of this unspeakable crime, Apple engaged in a string of dishonest maneuvers, claiming that it would support independent repair. In 2022, Apple announced a home repair program that turned out to be a laughably absurd con:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/22/apples-cement-overshoes/

Then in 2023, Apple announced a fresh "pro-repair" initiative that, once again, actually blocked repair:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

Let's pause here a moment and remember that Apple once stood for independent repair, and celebrated the independent repair technicians that kept its customers' beloved Macs running:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/29/norwegian-potato-flour-enchiladas/#r2r

Whatever virtue lurks in Apple's corporate personhood, it is no match for the temptation that comes from running a locked-down platform designed to capture IP rights so that it can prevent normal competitive activities, like fixing phones, processing payments, or offering apps.

When Apple rolled out the App Store, Steve Jobs promised that it would save journalism and other forms of "content creation" by finally giving users a way to pay rightsholders. A decade later, that promise has been shattered by the app tax – a 30% rake on every in-app transaction that can't be avoided because Apple will kick your app out of the App Store if you even mention that your customers can pay you via the web in order to avoid giving a third of their content dollars to a hardware manufacturer that contributed nothing to the production of that material:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/06/save-news-we-must-open-app-stores

Among the apps that Apple also refuses to allow on Ios is third-party browsers. Every Iphone browser is just a reskinned version of Apple's Safari, running on the same antiquated, insecure Webkit browser engine. The fact that Webkit is incomplete and outdated is a feature, not a bug, because it lets Apple block web apps – apps delivered via browsers, rather than app stores:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/13/kitbashed/#app-store-tax

Last month, the EU took aim at Apple's veto over its users' and software vendors' ability to transact with one another. The newly in-effect Digital Markets Act requires Apple to open up both third-party payment processing and third-party app stores. Apple's response to this is the very definition of malicious compliance, a snake's nest of junk-fees, onerous terms of service, and petty punitive measures that all add up to a great, big "Go fuck yourself":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/06/spoil-the-bunch/#dma

But Apple's bullying, privacy invasion, price-gouging and environmental crimes are global, and the EU isn't the only government seeking to end them. They're in the firing line in Japan:

https://asia.nikkei.com/Business/Technology/Japan-to-crack-down-on-Apple-and-Google-app-store-monopolies

And in the UK:

https://www.gov.uk/government/news/cma-wins-appeal-in-apple-case

And now, famously, the US Department of Justice is coming for Apple, with a bold antitrust complaint that strikes at the heart of Apple exceptionalism, the idea that monopoly is safer for users than technological self-determination:

https://www.justice.gov/opa/media/1344546/dl?inline

There's passages in the complaint that read like I wrote them:

Apple wraps itself in a cloak of privacy, security, and consumer preferences to justify its anticompetitive conduct. Indeed, it spends billions on marketing and branding to promote the self-serving premise that only Apple can safeguard consumers’ privacy and security interests. Apple selectively compromises privacy and security interests when doing so is in Apple’s own financial interest—such as degrading the security of text messages, offering governments and certain companies the chance to access more private and secure versions of app stores, or accepting billions of dollars each year for choosing Google as its default search engine when more private options are available. In the end, Apple deploys privacy and security justifications as an elastic shield that can stretch or contract to serve Apple’s financial and business interests.

After all, Apple punishes its customers for communicating with Android users by forcing them to do so without any encryption. When Beeper Mini rolled out an Imessage-compatible Android app that fixed this, giving Iphone owners the privacy Apple says they deserve but denies to them, Apple destroyed Beeper Mini:

https://blog.beeper.com/p/beeper-moving-forward

Tim Cook is on record about this: if you want to securely communicate with an Android user, you must "buy them an Iphone":

https://www.theverge.com/2022/9/7/23342243/tim-cook-apple-rcs-imessage-android-iphone-compatibility

If your friend, family member or customer declines to change mobile operating systems, Tim Cook insists that you must communicate without any privacy or security.

Even where Apple tries for security, it sometimes fails ("security is a process, not a product" -B. Schneier). To be secure in a benevolent dictatorship, it must also be an infallible dictatorship. Apple's far from infallible: Eight generations of Iphones have unpatchable hardware defects:

https://checkm8.info/

And Apple's latest custom chips have secret-leaking, unpatchable vulnerabilities:

https://arstechnica.com/security/2024/03/hackers-can-extract-secret-encryption-keys-from-apples-mac-chips/

Apple's far from infallible – but they're also far from benevolent. Despite Apple's claims, its hardware, operating system and apps are riddled with deliberate privacy defects, introduce to protect Apple's shareholders at the expense of its customers:

https://proton.me/blog/iphone-privacy

Now, antitrust suits are notoriously hard to make, especially after 40 years of bad-precedent-setting, monopoly-friendly antitrust malpractice. Much of the time, these suits fail because they can't prove that tech bosses intentionally built their monopolies. However, tech is a written culture, one that leaves abundant, indelible records of corporate deliberations. What's more, tech bosses are notoriously prone to bragging about their nefarious intentions, committing them to writing:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/

Apple is no exception – there's an abundance of written records that establish that Apple deliberately, illegally set out to create and maintain a monopoly:

https://www.wired.com/story/4-internal-apple-emails-helped-doj-build-antitrust-case/

Apple claims that its monopoly is beneficent, used to protect its users, making its products more "elegant" and safe. But when Apple's interests conflict with its customers' safety and privacy – and pocketbooks – Apple always puts itself first, just like every other corporation. In other words: Apple is unexceptional.

The Cult of Mac denies this. They say that no one wants to use a third-party app store, no one wants third-party payments, no one wants third-party repair. This is obviously wrong and trivially disproved: if no Apple customer wanted these things, Apple wouldn't have to go to enormous lengths to prevent them. The only phones that an independent Iphone repair shop fixes are Iphones: which means Iphone owners want independent repair.

The rejoinder from the Cult of Mac is that those Iphone owners shouldn't own Iphones: if they wanted to exercise property rights over their phones, they shouldn't have bought a phone from Apple. This is the "No True Scotsman" fallacy for distraction-rectangles, and moreover, it's impossible to square with Tim Cook's insistence that if you want private communications, you must buy an Iphone.

Apple is unexceptional. It's just another Big Tech monopolist. Rounded corners don't preserve virtue any better than square ones. Any company that is freed from constraints – of competition, regulation and interoperability – will always enshittify. Apple – being unexceptional – is no exception.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/22/reality-distortion-field/#three-trillion-here-three-trillion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

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boydepartment · 8 months

Text

“i’m in love with you” - with enhypen

a/n: last post for tonight i am sorry i’m trying to get back in a groove i promise

warnings- angst, fluff, it’s a good mix 😋 reader is intoxicated in jakes

wc- i’d say 100 words per member

MASTERLIST

jungwon- stupid for you by waterparks

you knew jungwon was a smart man. he always had a plan and he was always observant. until it came to you. oh my god he was so so so stupid. for years you were pining after him and always hyping him up. he always thought that’s just what friends do. so one day when you were hanging out at the dorms he turned to you.

“i don’t think you’ve ever had a crush on someone? that i’ve known about?” jungwon was curious. because he did like you, hell he LOVED you. he was just too stupid to realize you actually liked him back.

“because i haven’t.” you shrugged simply, you saw his face fall so you continued speaking, “…but i have been in love with you for years now.”

heeseung- my love mine all mine by mitski

heeseung and you have been dating for a couple months now, your relationship healthy. something you never thought you’d get in your life. for the most part you thought you’d die alone or unexpectedly. your luck was always against you, except when it came to heeseung… you both were in the kitchen slowly swaying back and forth. he told you about his busy day and you just watched him talk. his little mannerisms making your heart feel so warm.

“what’s going on in your pretty head right now, princess?” his smile got you

“i’m in love with you.”

jay- sea of love by cat power

jay had been in love with you since he became sentient. he spilled something on you in daycare and that was it. you smacked him upside the head and BOOM sentient. you were his first real memory. he’d never want that taken away from him.

but people grow, and move apart from eachother. and that’s what happened, while you continued studying, he became an idol. of course you still saw him for family things, but he’d always had a camera or body guard with him. it wasn’t the same anymore. so you distanced more. this wasn’t the lifestyle you liked or wanted.

during a holiday meal, jay finally got a minute alone and he pulled you into another room.

“what’s going on with you? i haven’t seen you in forever and now it’s like you don’t want to be around me…” jay mumbled

you looked at him now feeling extremely guilty, “i-i don’t know… it’s just a lot, your lifestyle isn’t for me and-“

it was now or never for jay.

“i’m in love with you. me being an idol isn’t forever. i want forever with you…”

jake- your graduation by modern baseball

you and jake had history. too much of it. it was constant of you calling him to pick you up from a party or something that you weren’t proud of. he was sick of it. jake was tired of watching you practically waste away. it pissed him off. and it honestly pissed you off, why did he care so much when he was the one who would never take your confessions of love seriously?

which led to the argument in the driveway, you drunk off alcohol and him drunk off anger.

“why do you even do this?! you didn’t used to be like this in highschool!” he yelled waving his hands around.

you poked him in the chest, “i don’t owe you any explanation for my feelings!”

“what do you have to be feeling about y/n?! to the point of making fucked up decisions!?”

his voice was loud.

you had enough, “IM IN LOVE WITH YOU AND NO MATTER WHAT I DO YOU NEVER NOTICE IT!”

sunghoon- kiss me by sixpence none the richer

sunghoon was infatuated with you. every spring you worked the saturday market. and every spring he would be your number one customer. always tipping you and always buying your produce. whether it be the apples, flowers, grapes, strawberries, anything. his favorite was when you made bracelets one year though. this went on for a really long time. sunghoon wanted to play the long game with you, you didn’t know he was an idol clearly. and he didn’t want to scare you.

“there’s my favorite customer! sunghoon how are you?” you’d smile at him. all sunghoon wanted was to kiss you, you and your bright smiling face.

“i’m really good today!”

he’d visit more than usual and the flirty banter would come back almost immediately.

“with how much of my stuff you buy i’d assume you’re like in love with me.” you laughed slightly

“i am. i am in love with you.”

sunoo- puppy princess by hot freaks

you had a boyfriend and sunoo was STUCK. he didn’t know why it bothered him so much that you were dating someone. you were his best friend, what was the issue?

oh yeah the fact he’s in love with you? yeah…. that’s a pretty big issue.

no matter what though, he kept you smiling and he kept dreaming. at some point sunoo couldn’t hold it in anymore. especially after your boyfriend dumped you out of the blue.

“he doesn’t know what he’s doing y/n. you’re too good for him.”

you looked at him with tears in your eyes, for a few minutes now he’s been joking with you trying to keep you laughing.

“i don’t know…. sunoo you’re gonna be biased because we’re friends.”

sunoo gave you a look, “i’m going to be biased because i’m in love with you.”

riki- apple cider by beabadoobee

you were never supposed to like him at all, you didn’t WANT to. neither did he if he was being honest. it was a weird dynamic between you and him. riki was conflicted and so were you, which led to both of you growing distant thinking the other was tired with the other.

one night when he had free time, he finally made his way to your home. riki obviously stuck out, it was dangerous and stupid but he was running on adrenaline. he knocked on the door hands shaking, when your parent called you from your room you were shocked to see riki standing there. he was obviously not supposed to be here.

“what’re you doing here?” you walked out and wrapped yourself up more when you shut the door behind you, now standing with him outside. it was cold and late, well later at night. you thought something was wrong especially when he refused to speak. you went closer to him and put a hand on his head to check his temperature.

“are you sick? did something happen? do you need to come in-“

“i’m in love with you.” he blurted out

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hecates-corner · 6 months

Text

Even though there’s not a single myth on it, I’d like to think Aphrodite couldn’t give a shit about her sexuality.

She gets bored one day, and particularly curious, and heads down to earth. As she wanders around the markets in her mortal disguise, her attention is caught by a kind woman buying apples. Aphrodite wanders over, curious. She’s so beautiful, not so much that she challenges the goddess’ beauty, obviously, but she’s got these delicate features mixed with a sharp nose that stand out to Aphrodite. She likes how she looks.

The woman notices her, smiles politely, but seems captivated by Aphrodite’s beauty, even in her mortal state. She greets her, and Aphrodite likes that. Her voice.

She reaches for an apple, so Aphrodite picks it up and studies it, as if it’s at all interesting to her. She twirls it in the light, then looks up, and extends it to the woman, offering it.

As the woman takes it carefully, she twines her fingers in Aphrodite’s, for just a moment. It couldn’t have been an accident.

So Aphrodite, smiling softly, asks for her name.

The woman gives it.

Days later, Aphrodite is lounging on Olympus, twirling a strand of her hair and thinking about that woman she’d met. She was like no other, beautiful and prim and yet so powerfully attractive. Aphrodite bids her lover farewell on Olympus, Ares is gone to fight another war. A small one, but a war nonetheless.

She is bored. And roused. She wishes to go and have some sort of good time, but does not know what precisely to do. With Ares gone, and the others truly uninteresting, she huffs in annoyance. Then a thought occurs, perhaps she should simply go and find that woman again. Or attend some festival, who knows?

So Aphrodite takes the form of a dove, and soars through the air, searching. Her eyes land on a stream, sensing there is someone there she wishes to meet.

When she lands, she transforms into the same maiden she had been days ago. She tousles her skirts, and slinks out from behind the tree she used as coverage, and spies a woman with her back turned.

The woman is tying back her hair, perhaps readying herself to wash her face, or take a swim. It is awfully balmy that day, so either is plausible. She turns, and is surprised by the sight of Aphrodite, in disguise.

She blinks, but smiles a moment later. “I knew I had not seen the last of you.”

Aphrodite raises a brow. “You were so sure?”

“I would believe so, goddess. For you must know I was not finished seeking your company.”

Aphrodite is surprised. No one speaks to her in such a way, or calls her on her bluff so quickly.

“You are hasty to supplicate me, dear.” She says, just so.

“No, I am not hasty.” The woman replies. “I am bold.”

Aphrodite smiles.

“If I were a goddess, perhaps,” she begins. “Would you have me?”

The woman chuckles. “I think I am much too consumed by my thoughts of you to care whether or not you are a goddess.” She glances Aphrodite up, and down. “I would have you only if you sought me.”

And the line of the stream between them is much too large, suddenly. Aphrodite reaches for the pins of her dress.

“Come.” She says, a light smile playing at her lips. “Let us swim. It is much too hot to be standing here exchanging polite words.”

When all is said and done, and Aphrodite lays back against the bank of the river, her sweat and exertion mixing with the cleansing drops of water slipping from her locks of hair, she holds the woman close to her. Skin upon skin, tender and simple, for a moment. Pleasant. Just to be here, just to be. Just.

She cards her fingers through the woman’s hair. “I am sure you wonder which goddess I am.”

The woman hums, her throat making a sweet buzz against Aphrodite’s breast. “Perhaps. Only so I may call your name again.” She runs a finger down the goddess’ arm, from shoulder to wrist, then lingering there. “But I have my wits about me.”

Aphrodite smiles. “Oh? And who might you seek me as?”

The woman takes Aphrodite’s hand, now. “I shall love you no matter who you may be, Aphrodite.”

It is not the last time they meet, nor the last time they lay together. They dabble in fields, laugh over wine, and speak to one another late in the night. As it would occur, the woman is a poet, a good one at that, and writes hymns for Aphrodite in her lustrous love for the goddess.

The woman holds such court in Aphrodite’s heart for so many years, that Aphrodite soon fears, actually fears, her death. She laments the fact that the woman is mortal, and will die. The woman does not.

“I have lived a lifetime dappled with you. I do not weep for it, such a blessing.”

But Aphrodite still feels the knowledge gnaw at her. She knows she cannot make a god of the woman, but she may be able to place her judgement in the realm of the dead.

Decades pass, still enjoying one another. The woman ages, and she does not. But they still find each other in the darkness, in the light.

One day, decades and decades later, the woman dies. A peaceful death, a life prolonged by the proximity and life of a goddess. It would have surprised her to know she did not die of a tragedy, like all other lovers of gods. Perhaps that is why she is left out in history.

Aphrodite weeps for her, as she did Adonis, and select other lovers that were as golden to her as her own divinity. She carves a tomb, in memorial, that over time crumbles and breaks. She carves her name into it, but in centuries, it will be lost.

Her battle is not over. She composed herself, and urges her way to a field, near a crack to Erebos.

It is springtime. She may call for her.

“Persephone.”

At the invocation of her name, Persephone comes to the call.

“Aphrodite.” She greets, a mix of warmth and ice.

Aphrodite pauses, the request tingling on her lips. “You may not care, but we have had our moments, dear Persephone.”

They could not be called friends, no. But they could not be denied of the ways of the flesh they had once- twice, perhaps, shared.

She continues at the silence. “I come to request a placement for a soul.”

Persephone raises a brow. “I see.”

“She is virtuous, and a good woman, besides. I believe you should place her in Elysium.”

Persephone narrows her eyes. “Give me her name. I may see what I can do.”

Aphrodite gives it. Persephone returns a blank look. Then it shifts to an amusement.

“She has found her eternal rest, I confess.”

Aphrodite frowns. “I know. That is the reason for my request.”

“You misunderstand.” Persephone laughs. “She had drank from the river Lethe twice over. She has lived three virtuous lives, with this one her third.”

Aphrodite’s eyes widen.

“She resides on the Isle of the Blessed?”

Persephone nods, smiling still. Aphrodite does not know why.

But her heart leaps. There is that, she thinks. She has lived three virtuous lives.

Then a thought crosses her mind. “What made her virtuous, in this one?”

Persephone smiles. “She will write a history, in years to come. Perhaps all because of one lover she had in particular.”

#as I wrote this I realized this could be inferred #as a story of Sappho #but Sappho was real so that’s up to you #greek mythology #greek myth #mythology #author #aphrodite #sapphic #modern mythology #non-canonical myth #lesbian lovers #I am gay and I needed a lesbian myth #aphrodisiac #aphrodite x female lover #aphrodite x mortal woman #aphrodite and her lover

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starlightrosa · 27 days

Note

I loved your Spa day with Lucifer,what if you did a follow-up,giving Alastor a hooficure where they learn Al's hooves are hyper ticklish?~

A King's Revenge

A follow up to this fic!

Summary: Lucifer decides to get a bit of payback on Alastor, since the bellhop so rudely tickled his wings previously. And Lucifer learns what really makes the Radio Demon smile.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Ahh, thank you! I love Spa Days in Hell too! But YESSS, Radio Demon boutta get destroyed by cheeky old Lucifer. Ohh, I love it, nonnie! Anything to wreck evil Bambi >:D

Warnings: Alastor doesn't have feet, he have hooves. So uh... hoof tickles, for sure. Lucifer being teasy, the odd swear word or two. (The hoof tickles themselves are obviously all SFW)

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

The pentagram sun rose quite happily in the crimson sky once more, signalling the start of a new day in Hell. The patrons all had their things to do today. Angel Dust was out on another shoot for Valentino. Husk was polishing glasses on his bar, while not-so-subtly nursing a bottle of whiskey alongside that task. A bit riskier of a play, but hey, Husk was a gambler for a reason. Niffty was busy swatting at flies. Charlie and Vaggie were poring over management plans, in a marketing bid. And Alastor was Satan-knows-where.

Lucifer came down the steps, yawning as he stretched out his wings. Lucifer was still getting used to showing his wings around these patrons. The last time he had done so, well.. it ended with his mischievous daughter and her bellhop tickling each wing until Lucifer was a babbling mess, in an effort to groom his wings.

Lucifer shivered a bit at the mere memory of that. He chuckled, having been refreshed after a night’s sleep with his newly preened wings. He supposed Charlie would have found out just how ticklish his wings were anyway, but the fact that Alastor had found out alongside her was a bit more jarring.

But Lucifer wasn’t one to be put down so easily. He had noticed Alastor’s unique self-care routine, or lack thereof. Alastor didn’t smell per se, but there was a hint of unwelcomed musk about him. Like a mix of dirt and cooked human flesh. Made sense, given Alastor did make a fair few visits to Cannibal Colony, where his dear friend Rosie lived. His breath, however… phew, that was a whole other can of worms.

Lucifer sat reading his latest novel, the golden title of ‘The Ugly Duckling’ embossed on the book as he pondered this in his head. Alastor didn’t really bother to take care of himself hygiene-wise, but he made sure his suit was immaculately pressed and washed. What kind of sense did that make?

And then there was a knock on the door, jolting the king out of his thoughts. “Come in!” he called, setting his book aside as he awaited his visitor.

To his delight, his daughter Charlie walked on in. “Hey Dad!” she greeted. Lucifer smiled.

“Ahh, there’s my little apple! How has the marketing been going, Char-Char?” Lucifer chirped, oddly chipper as his wings rose up, fluttering softly.

“Yeah, it’s been going well. I see your wings look a lot better.” she chuckled, a hint of a teasing tone in her voice. Lucifer chuckled and crossed his legs for a moment.

“Indeed they are. Right after you and the bellhop had your ways with me, like the cheeky things you are.” Lucifer growled playfully, pulling Charlie into his arms and using his wings to softly brush up against her sides. “But you should know not to mess with the Tickle Monster, Char-Char.” he added, smirking evilly.

“Pfffthahaha! Dahahahad, nohohohoho!” Charlie giggled, squirming in his arms. Lucifer chuckled and ruffled his feathers a little more against his daughter’s sides.

“Tickle tickle, little apple~” Lucifer cooed softly, enjoying the giggle fit he was happily pulling out of Charlie. No matter what age she was, she was his little girl. His pride and joy.

“DAHAHAHAD PLEHEHEHEASE!” Charlie shrieked, her eyes bright with mirth. The sight warmed Lucifer’s heart as he chuckled and let her stand back up, allowing Charlie to adjust her suit again to keep it nice and unruffled. Seems the bellhop’s mannerisms were starting to rub off on her for a little.

“Charlie, can I ask you something?” Lucifer asked, seeing his daughter adjust her suit. Charlie nodded once she had gotten her suit all back in order.

“Sure, Dad. What’s on your mind?” asked the princess.

“It concerns your business partner, Alastor. I am a little concerned about his hygiene. I mean, you’ll forgive me for saying so, but he does not smell very pleasant some days. Is there any way we could rectify that, little apple?” Lucifer asked, putting on a rather convincing show, as if he was truly concerned.

Charlie hummed, one hand resting delicately upon her cheek as she pondered. “Well, I’ve tried talking to him about it. But he just doesn’t seem to go for it. Vaggie and I are kind of at our wits end with him in regards to that.”

“Perhaps a spa day may benefit him.” Lucifer offered, trying to keep his tone neutral, offering his wings up as proof. The six wings of the fallen seraphim glimmered softly. Charlie gasped and nodded, a familiar shine in her eyes that warmed Lucifer’s heart.

“Oh yes! Dad, you’re a genius! I’ll go ask him!” Charlie said, making to run off, but Lucifer caught her arm.

“Ah, ah. Little apple, I know your enthusiasm knows no bounds. Leave this to me, hmm? Why don’t you and your girlfriend have the day off, and I will present the idea to him. I mean, he can’t exactly refuse his king, now can he?” Lucifer chuckled.

Charlie giggled. “I’m sure Alastor won’t have a problem with this. Call me if things get bad, okay?”

“Of course, little apple. You go spend time with your beloved.” Lucifer urged, making playful shoo motions to Charlie. Once the princess had disappeared, Lucifer’s soft smile changed into a cheeky grin as he set off to go find Alastor. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Alastor was relaxing on the balcony, sipping his black coffee from his mug, adequately titled as “Oh Deer.” Befitting for a deer demon. Lucifer walked out onto the balcony. “Afternoon, bellhop.”

Alastor’s ears flattened slightly, as his eyes narrowed. “Hello.” he hissed back, his tone bordering on the edge of fake politeness. The mere mention of Lucifer’s name brought a sense of ire around Alastor. Seeing him just made that ire worse.

Lucifer tutted, leaning playfully on the railing of the balcony. “Now, now. No need to look so defensive. Charlie tells me you’ve been working rather hard, and she wants to make sure you relax.” Lucifer quickly made up. The lie came easily. Lucifer knew Alastor would be more inclined to believe him if the king composed a lie that involved Charlie in some way.

Alastor raised a brow. He didn’t recall any time that Charlie said that, but Lucifer was still leagues above him in terms of power. Lucifer was the KING, for Christ’s sake. He held his microphone close to his chest. “She said that? Truly?”

“Indeed so. Not only that, but you seem quite overworked. I mean, you are on your feet constantly from what I have seen here during my visit. Surely you should want to put your feet up once in a while.” Lucifer continued on. He was selling a convincing act. He just hoped Alastor fell for it.

“My feet are up right now.” Alastor said, taking a long sip of coffee to prove his point, the ‘Oh Deer’ logo prominent.

Lucifer sighed and kept his smile. “Don’t make me make it an order from your king, bellhop. Do we have an agreement that you’ll come take the day to relax?”

Now it was Alastor’s turn to sigh, looking away as his ears flattened yet again before they pinned back up, his eternal smile etched stubbornly onto his face.

“If Charlie wishes me to, then I suppose I’ve no choice.” the deer demon sighed, getting to his feet. Lucifer had a hard time keeping his smile from turning wicked. He had Alastor right where he wanted him. Thankfully Charlie had told Lucifer about the new hotel’s building plan, so he knew there was a spa on the east wing at the first floor. And it was there that he led Alastor.

“Have you ever had a spa day, bellhop?” Lucifer asked. Alastor scoffed.

“I’d rather you said my name. I am not some measly bellhop.”

“Al, right?” Lucifer asked. He didn’t want to give Alastor the satisfaction of following his request entirely. That could make Alastor think that the literal king of Hell was easy to be manipulated. He wasn’t going to fall for that shit.

“Close enough.” Alastor murmured, as the two stepped into the spa. Lucifer led Alastor to one of the massage chairs.

“So, Al. You’re on your feet all fucking day, and I’ve seen that. I don’t know how your feet haven’t fallen off yet. But I have expertise in massages, I did it all the time for my wife. May I?” Lucifer asked, keeping polite as he gestured to Alastor’s shoes. The fact that Alastor seemingly hadn’t caught on was pretty shocking. Maybe the so-called Radio Demon finally had his guard down enough.

Alastor sighed, his ears flattening. But he knew he could not refuse the king of Hell. Not if he wanted to survive. So he reluctantly tugged off his dress shoes. When they fell away, Lucifer looked down, but to Lucifer’s slight surprise, Alastor didn’t have human feet. From his shins downward, he had dark deer legs, ending with a pair of red hooves.

No matter. Lucifer had some revenge to get. He gently settled Alastor’s feet in his lap and smiled at Alastor, doing his best to make it a friendly smile, though he knew Alastor was going to be on guard anyway. So Lucifer softly pressed his fingers to Alastor’s hooves. But he was not expecting a choked back noise to issue from Alastor’s throat.

“Al? You, uh… you okay?” Lucifer asked. Alastor nodded frantically, his eternal smile wobbling the slightest amount. It was physically impossible for Alastor to not be smiling, but his smile somehow seemed a lot more amused.

“S-Stohop!” Alastor said, though the chuckle in his voice was exactly what Lucifer wanted to hear. He repressed a wicked laugh and simply steeled himself, acting like he hadn’t noticed. Two of his wings softly snuck under Alastor’s knees and tickled there briefly, enjoying the deer demon fighting the tickly feelings silently.

“You’re dohohoing thahahat on purpose!” Alastor hissed, his legs twitching as he fought not to kick out to dispel some of the ticklish tingles running around his legs. His ears flattened to his head, and Lucifer chuckled despite himself.

“Doing what? I’m doing nothing, Al. I just want to ensure my daughter’s business partner has some well deserved rest once in a while.” Lucifer lied, even as he took advantage again of Alastor’s little weakness, and softly flexed his nails against the pads of Alastor’s hooves. Alastor couldn’t hold it back and a sharp squeal of microphone feedback left his throat. Lucifer covered his ears, before he looked down at Alastor incredulously. Then his lips turned up, and Lucifer burst into hysterics.

“Oh my GOHOHOHOD! Al, what the hells was thahahat?!” Lucifer cackled. Alastor grumbled, his voice crackling slightly.

“Yohohohou are insuhuhufferable.” Alastor grumbled, sitting up to glare daggers at Lucifer. But the king of Hell only grinned.

“Excuse you, I’m following your example!” Lucifer shot back. “Aren’t you the one who always says that you’re never fully dressed without a smile? Can’t have my daughter’s business partner underdressed! No, sir!”

“I swehehear to- NAHAHAHAHA!” Alastor screeched, his back arching. He fell back, squirming like a worm on a fishing hook as Lucifer was scribbling up and down one of the pads with one hand, but using his right hand to make gentle circles on the other. The differing sensations on both of his hooves was driving Alastor nuts.

And then Lucifer simply added his wings to the mix, making sure to pay attention to the back of Alastor’s knees once again, enjoying the soft cackling and microphone screeching that made up Alastor’s laughter.

“NOHOHOHO!” Alastor yelled, trying to tug his legs out of Lucifer’s hold. But the king wouldn’t let go.

“Ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, Al?” Lucifer chastised, tugging the hooves back into his lap. He wouldn’t stop until he was done with revenge.

“Awahahahay frohohom yohohou!” Alastor shot back. “Stohohop doing it!”

“Doing what, Al? Oh, don’t tell me that you can’t say the word.” Lucifer chuckled.

“I-I CAHAHAHAN!” Alastor argued.

“Then do it.” Lucifer said, egging the deer demon on, smirking at Alastor.

To his credit, Alastor truly did try. “T-T-Tick… tick-”

“No, that’s not the word. Tick is the sound a clock makes, Al.” Lucifer interrupted. “I believe it is pronounced like this. Tickle. And I shall use it in a sentence for you. Tickle tickle tickle tickle!” Lucifer demonstrated, all six wings being put to use. Three wings on each of Alastor’s ticklish little hooves as Lucifer softly brought his nails behind Alastor’s ears and tickled there too.

“AIEEEEHEHEHEE! NOHOHO, NOHO!” Alastor cried out, more sharp squeals of microphone feedback being pulled out of him. His hoof pads and his ears? Oh, that was just cruel. Alastor couldn’t even move, he was that ticklish. And Lucifer loved every moment of this.

“It’s a wonder how Charlie hasn’t found out yet. Normally she’s quick to know about tickle spots. And your ticklish hoovsies are an absolute giggle goldmine!” Lucifer declared, enjoying the pink hue at Alastor’s cheeks. “Oh-ho, is that a blush I see?”

Alastor’s blush brightened at Lucifer’s words as he hid his face.

“Ohh, don’t be getting all shy on me, Al. Let me see that smile~” Lucifer grinned, softly taking Alastor’s hands away from his face. Alastor’s snarkiness was drying up fast, and tears sparkled in his eyes. Lucifer decided that maybe he should stop soon. So for the last little bit of his revenge, Lucifer went all out. His claws flexed upon Alastor’s hooves and tickled every last bit of his ticklish little hoof pads. Some of Lucifer’s wing feathers had fallen out, so he picked up the fallen feathers and brushed them over Alastor’s knees in a pattern.

Alastor’s laughter went silent for a moment. And then the loudest squeal of microphone feedback left him yet again as a long wheeze left Alastor before the deer demon simply went limp, and Lucifer took that as his cue to stop.

Lucifer softly took Alastor’s ticklish legs out of his lap and gently settled Alastor’s shoes back on, even going as far as to tie the laces for him.

“That was… cruel.” Alastor gasped out, the deer demon rubbing his eyes to dispel the tears of mirth that sparkled within them.

“You didn’t even try and stop me, bellhop.” Lucifer laughed. Alastor grumbled and sat up, his hooves tingling with ticklish energy. Though he wouldn’t lie, being tickled kind of reminded him of simpler times with his beloved mother, back when Alastor was just a young boy.

As Alastor headed to the door of the spa, he turned back to Lucifer, smiling ominously. “I hope you don’t think you’re going to get away with that. You will regret this deeply, Your Majesty~” Alastor said, his eyes sparkling with revenge as he left the spa.

Lucifer chuckled nervously as he stayed there in the spa, waiting thirty seconds before he hurried to his suite and locked the door.

Was he probably going to get tickled at some point by Alastor? Yes.

Would Lucifer do this again if given the opportunity? In a goddamned heartbeat.

The End!

#hazbin tickles #rosa writes #lee!alastor #ler!lucifer #get wrecked evil bambi hahaha #lee!charlie too if you squint

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nietp · 2 months

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Juiced Monster Bad Apple: absolutely love the packaging. Had to pause in the supermarket to ask myself: why is the twilight book cover on a Monster can? Which is the kind of question I'm grateful to ask myself everyday under capitalism. The 2008 vibe is just lovely. The little blurb on the side of the can is edgy, over the top, looking for a target audience I'm struggling to picture. Lapsed catholic? Twilight renaissance tumblrina? Feral "love is a pomegranate you pry open with your bare hands" girlie? The reference to sin and damnation for an energy drink is just so audacious. When it comes to the drink itself, as it often is with Monster, the packaging+marketing is doing a lot of the heavy lifting. It's literally just energy drink mixed with a lot of apple juice. Is it bad? No. Is it interesting? Not really, but I think Monster missed another potential audience that could have been targeted with this one: Germans who would love for their energy drink to taste like Apfelshorle. And that's an oppressed group that is too often forgotten. For the Shorleheads out there, and for the Twilight Renaissance community, I give this 4/5 stars. A narrative I've loved being a part of.

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daydreamingyuta · 10 months

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Peaches | Jaehyun

You loved the summertime. The way the sun shines so bright, making everything look so breathtaking. The butterflies fluttering around. And all the best produce was available this time of year.

You and your husband, Jaehyun, had bought some peaches from the store a couple of days ago so that you could make some peach cobbler. You had to wait for the peaches to become ripe enough, and today they were perfect.

Jaehyun is by your side, cutting up the peaches while you start mixing all the other ingredients. Your two young children are playing tag together, running all throughout the kitchen and living room.

It's moments like this that you remember to take a step back and really appreciated the wonderful life and you Jaehyun have built together. You think back to when you two first met, being around peaches always made you reminisce.

⸻

It was your first farmer's market visit of the season. Unfortunately, none of your friends could go with you, but you had time today, so you were determined to go. You packed a tote bag, and then another tote bag inside, just in case you needed it.

Luckily, you chose a good time to come. There was hardly a crowd around which you were very thankful for. The apples caught your attention first. Honey crisp apple were always your favorite since you were a little kid, so you had to buy some.

You start to look around at all the homemade jams they make right there at the farmer's market. Last year you had got the apricot jelly, which was amazing, so you had to buy some more. You also decided to try the strawberry jam.

The next thing that caught your attention was the peaches. Or at least you were pretty sure they were peaches. They were much pinker than what you were used to, and they looked delicious.

As your staring at said peaches, a worker comes next to you, unloading a batch of strawberries in a display.

"I've never seen peaches like this! They are so pretty." You say to the man. You weren't really the type to talk to strangers, but when you're dealing with fate, sometimes it causes you to act a little out of character.

"They taste even better! We get them all the way from Korea." The worker says.

"ohh, I have to get some!" You say as you put your tote bag back on your shoulder so you can pick out the peaches you want. As you're doing this though, he comes over to you and starts picking out the best ones for you to buy.

"Here! Half of these a ripe right now and half aren't, so you can eat some right away and have some for later." He says as he hands you them to put in your tote bag. You thank him, and carry on with your shopping, excited to try them.

⸻

You had tried the peaches right when you got home. Of course, they were amazing, and you had to get more. Which is precisely why you found yourself at the farmer's market again, a week later.

You went at the same time, hoping you would get lucky and miss the crowd. It was a bit more crowded than last time, but still less so than normal. You head straight towards the fruits again, wasting no time, but as you get to the stand, you notice that there isn't any left.

"I'm guessing you liked them." A voice said from behind you. You turn around and see the worker from last time. You pause for a second before answering. How did you not notice how handsome he was last time?

"I did! I came back for some more, but there's no more left?"

"No, we get shipments of them every other week and they're pretty popular, so we run out fast."

"Awe no! I was really looking forward to them. But there will be more next week, right?"

"yeah!"

⸻

You come back to the farmer's market for the third time. You were running a bit late, suddenly wanting to look nice in case you ran into him again.

Since you were later than normal, the crowd was much larger. You hoped that there would be some peaches left for you.

You were halfway to the fruits when he stopped you. "Hey!"

"Hey!" You said, happy that he remembered you again.

"I have a surprise for you." He says, as he walks away, expecting you to follow. He brings you to a back room where there is a basket of peaches. He picks them up and hands them to you.

You took them gladly. "Thank you so much for setting these aside, I was starting to get worried because of the crowd. These look so good!"

"I hand-picked the best for you." He said with a smile that showed off the prettiest dimples you had ever seen in your life.

"That's so sweet, thank you so much. I'm y/n by the way."

"I'm Jaehyun." He says as he takes the peaches out from your hands and motions for you to carry on your shopping.

You had all the groceries you needed from last week, so you head straight to the line to pay. "Wait, you're not going to get anything else?"

"Oh, no. I don't really need anything else."

"Ok." He says as he gets closer to you, "Don't tell anyone I'm doing this for you, but these peaches are on me."

"No! You've already been so nice to pick them out for me, you don't have to buy them for me!"

"Already paid for." He says with that irresistible smile of his. "Where's your car?"

You thank him about five more times as you show him to your car. He loads them in for you and you two say your goodbyes. On the way home you mentally kicked yourself for not getting his number. You weren't sure when the next time you would be able to go back to the farmer's market, but you didn't think it would be anytime soon, especially considering the amount of peaches he gave you.

When you do get home though, you unpack all the fruit and notice a small piece of paper sitting at the bottom of the basket. You open it up and all that's written on it is him name, phone number and a cute smiley face.

⸻

The oven timer beeps, telling you that your peach cobbler is done. Jaehyun beats you to the oven and carefully pulls it out. The entire house smells of the sweet dessert. Out of nowhere your two children come running to the kitchen, impatiently asking if they can have a piece.

"It's too hot right now sweetheart, but as soon as it's ready to eat, I'll cut you a slice." Jaehyun tells your youngest.

You walk over to your husband and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Surprised by your sudden display of affection, he pulls you closer to him and gives you a big kiss.

"Imagine what are lives would have been like if I wasn't obsessed with those peaches." You said jokingly.

"We would've just found each other in a different way, you were destined to be stuck with me." Jaehyun says, giving you another sweet kiss.

#jaehyun #fluff #nct #nct 127 #k-pop #imagine #nct scenarios #jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun x reader #nct 127 fanfic #nct fanfic #drabble

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lunalockley · 2 years

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1. The Neighbor

Masterlist

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader x Jake Lockley

Warnings: 18+ soft smut, just some making out (for now hehe, the whole I wanna be yours series will be NSFW 18+ so beware)

Summary: Your new cute and sweet neighbor Steven has you… intrigued.

Words: 1.3k

Notes: At the end of the chapter ↴

Next chapter

There are three people you know in the building. Two of them are friends with you, kind of. The first you met was your landlord whose flat is precisely underneath yours and he has complained already twice about how much noise your footsteps make in the afternoon, twice in the whole month you have rented it to him. So definitely not a friend. Your actual friend is the old lady who lives on the same floor, at the beginning of the hall, Miss Claire. The same day you were moving in she knocked on your door with a fruit basket as a welcome gift. You returned the gesture with an apple crumble. Since then she has shared her wisdom about the cheapest markets nearby, guidance on the fastest ways to get to your new job, book recommendations, and crochet tips over a warm and homey tea date at her place.

And there is Steven. Steven with a v, he had said. Your cute neighbor with messy hair, baggy clothes, and a gentle smile, whose door is in front of yours.

He was nice the first time he saw you, making time to introduce himself and having small talk even when he was running late for work. There you learned he worked in the gift shop at the London museum, that he was late because he had a sleep-walking problem and that he fought it by trying to stay awake but had slept at the last minute, that he was very into Ancient Egypt and spent a great part of his time studying the culture, that he had a goldfish named Gus and even offered to give you a tour around the best libraries and book shops around the neighborhood when you told him you worked as a translator and book editor. All of that in a cute rapid babble that got you smiling while he walked backwards through the hall to the elevator. Laters gators, he had screamed waving his hand before the doors closed in front of him.

That was the very best first impression of all the people you had met in London. The nicest and sweetest one. You were definitely interested on get to know him better.

But, of course, you weren’t in a place to call him a friend yet. More of an occasionally friendly-like person. Because a few days later, when you bumped into him in the elevator, it took you a moment to recognize him. But when you finally greeted him he just stared at you for a few seconds, nodded, and stormed out as soon as the doors opened.

That’s why you were even more intrigued by him a few days later when he showed up at your door.

“I came to honor my word, you know. The book shops I told you about last time we saw each other? Remember? I thought we could set a date. Since I’m a regular they often give me discounts so maybe if they see us together they’ll give you discounts too. Or I could just buy them for you. And I thought maybe I can show you my favorite coffee shop, bloody amazing tea… and coffee. I don’t know which one you prefer but uh—All this if you are still interested, of course. There’s no problem if you’re not. And if you are not busy because I guess you might—”.

His rambling makes you giggle, but some of it confuses you. “Yeah, I remember, Steven. And I would love to. But that’s not the last time we saw each other tho”.

“…What do you mean?” He asked, puzzled.

“That time in the elevator at night?”. That got you no reaction. “You were wearing a dark jacket, with a raised collar and a hat. I greeted you but you didn’t seem to remember me”.

This makes him giggle in return. “How could I forget about you? You must have confused me with someone else”.

And even when you are almost certain that it was him in the elevator you let it pass because you get distracted by the way he’s smiling at you, how good he smells —a mix between a woody floral fragrance and freshly washed clothes—, how his whole body seems to vibrate with contained energy, and how cheerful his brown eyes look when you both finally set a date.

He’s not the only one who gets thrilled though. As the day of the date approaches, you get more and more excited. A nervous know forms in your belly and a soft giggle escapes your mouth every time you remember your cute neighbor.

You even bake an apple crumble for him the previous day to share before you two go on your bookshop tour. Since Miss Claire called it an absolute delicacy. Her words.

But then you wait and wait, and wait.

He doesn’t show up. Neither the next day nor the day after that. Nor the week after that.

Days and weeks passed and you didn't get any news from him till the point you actually started to get worried about him.

So you were concerned, disappointed… and intrigued. Your slippery neighbor frequently coming to your mind. Thinking about the first time you met him in the hall, that time in the elevator when he just stared at you without saying a word, the intensity of his eyes in contrast with the way he looked at you a few days later when he came to you to set a date. All of it running around in your mind.

Until one night you wake up to strong knocks on your door.

And there he is. Steven.

But not the cheerful and energetic Steven you had talked to. No, in front of you was that one you had met in the elevator. The controlled and silent one. He’s just looking at you, but this time there’s a fervor in his eyes that leave goosebumps all over your skin.

And when you open your mouth to ask him what is he doing here, what has happened to him all this time he’s kissing you. His hands suddenly on your hips and your lower back, leading you inside your flat, holding you by your naked thighs and pressing you against the closed door.

You try to push away to breathe, to try to think. But now his lips are on your neck, on your collarbone. And you need to hold into something, so your hand finds his way to the curls of his head, his hat falling to the floor in the process. But he doesn’t seem to care. Because he’s taking you to your bed. His mouth finding its way back to yours.

He takes a moment to admire you, once he has placed you onto the mattress. You open your mouth for the second time, trying to make any sense of what’s happening. But he just shakes his head before you say anything, his eyes fixed on the way his hands are lifting up your shirt. Revealing little by little more of your body.

And you don’t even feel like asking any more questions as long as he keeps touching you like this. Because now his mouth is making its way over your thigh while his hand caresses your ribcage under your shirt.

And every second he gets closer and closer to where you want him the most—

But then, again, almost like a deja-vu, you wake up to gentle knocks on your door.

And there he is, just like you would’ve summoned him with your steamy dream, your —sort of—friendly neighbor Steven with what seems to be a souvenir of the pyramid of Giza in his hands.

———————————————

Next chapter

———————————————

Notes:

Hi! This fanfic will be NSFW and contain smut so please 18+ readers only. Until the moment, I have planned ten chapters for this fic. This one, the first, starts with the Steven from the first episode. The one who doesn’t know about Marc yet, that’s when he and the reader meet for the first time. Those three or so weeks he spends away comprehends the whole Moon Knight Series timeline, so when he comes back to the reader he’s already gone through all. He’s been in Egypt, has a good relationship with Marc, and doesn’t know yet about Jake. Lastly, even when I love her I’m going to take a creative license and erase Layla from my fiction world. Not completely, I think she and Marc were married and divorced, and that’s it. There’s not any hate intended, just it would be easier for me to do it this way. This is the way hehe.

And yes, Miss Claire is the friend of the old lady scared of Steven in that elevator scene in episode one.

That’s all I wanted to say, thanks for reading <3

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight x reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant x you #steven grant fluff #moon knight imagines #steven grant smut #mcu moon knight #jake lockely smut #jake lockely x you #jake lockely x reader

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 5 months

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Memories of Sunshine and Smiles

After Stiles lost his mum, the smell of her perfume that lingered in her empty perfume bottle was the only thing that brought him comfort. But eventually that ran out. One day, on a whim, Stiles tried making candles and somehow stumbled across the perfect combination of scents that smelt just like his mum's perfume. Love Hard scene stealer

For @imagine-sterek's 24 sterek 2024 event.

[AO3]

Vanilla, rose petals, peonies and apple. It was a unique smell, one that made him think of warm hugs, soft smiles lit by the glow of the morning light, gently hands pushing him on the park swings, and the sound of her laughter.

It smelt like her—the real her, not the pale figure lying in the hospital bed in a room that smelt of fake-lemon-scented disinfectant and steriliser.

He kept the bottle of perfume after she’d died, clutching the ornate blue-green glass bottle to his chest as he cried himself to sleep, trying to convince himself that his mum was still there.

But eventually the smell faded from the empty perfume bottle and Stiles was left with the harsh reality that she really was gone. As time passed, it was harder for him to remember. The smell of her perfume, the sound of her voice, her smile, her laugh—it was all so distant, a memory that had faded with time until eventually he forgot all together.

A few years back, he found the empty bottle nestled in a box of memorabilia. He looked it up online but manufacturers no longer made the perfume and he couldn’t find it on any online market places.

He tried a mix of scented candles and oils, but it was never right; there was no burst of memories or warm rush of comfort.

Then, one day - on an ADD whim - he decided to give candle making a try. He did his research on adding perfumes and scents, and almost by accident, he stumbled across the blend of soft vanilla, roses, peonies and sweet apple. He held the small tin of candle wax up to his nose and inhaled the smell. His eyes welled with tears. A warmth filled his chest and he felt his breath catch in his throat as all the memories came rushing back.

He closed his eyes and remembered her smiling and laughing as he—four years old—begged her to push him higher on the swings, the sun bathing her in a golden glow. He could see the flickering shadows of the tree leaves dance around her, could even smell the fresh air that carried the smell of her perfume with it.

He opened his eyes again, numb as a tear fell past his lashes and rolled down his mole-speckled cheek.

[Full story on AO3]

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maniculum · 7 months

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Meadmaking

Hey all, Zoe here - the other half of this blog, and I decided to try my hand at posting - particularly my little mead-making project. Even though Mac is the medieval drinks expert, I just like mead as a drink and I feel like a potion-brewing witch when I make it. Beer was the more popular drink during the middle ages, as it was cheaper and more widely available, but I think it's nasty and who doesn't want to feel like Early English royalty?

As I dug into mead-making, I fell into a SUPER deep medieval-mead-making rabbit hole. I'm not a mead expert, and I'd highly recommend Susan Varberg's blog, Medieval Mead & Beer, for a very, very in-depth look at how to make medieval mead. HOWEVER, all that said, I did collect some research and played with it myself. Plus, I made some of my own recipes.

So. Mead. What is it? Fermented honey water, in its most basic form. Honey-wine, it can be called to those who aren't familiar. There's a lot of other names mead has when it's mixed with other things:

Mead – water, honey and yeast

Sack Mead – mead made with extra honey

Short Mead – low honey and low alcohol yeast to be drunk quickly

Hydromel – watered down mead (in period, another word for mead)

Braggot – (period) ale refermented with honey; (modern) malted mead

Melomel – mead made with fruit

Mulsum – mead made with fruit

Cyser – mead made with apples

Metheglin – mead with spices

Pyment, Clar – mead made with grape juice

Hippocras – spiced wine, sweetened (but not fermented) with honey

Botchet — caramelized honey mead

Really, though, when you see it on the shelf, a pumpkin melomel will be marketed as "Pumpkin Mead," so really only the brewmasters get into the weeds on the names. I was really curious as to how the ingredients were sourced in the middle ages - nowadays, brewers get really into where they source their ingredients (there's a bazillion different yeasts you can use!), but after doing some research, turns out the medievals were too!

Honey.

The medievals categorized honey in different ways. The best quality honey was called "life honey" and was the honey that dripped freely from the wax when pierced. Grades of honey diminished as the honey became harder to get out of the hive. The dregs of honey (collected by heating the frame in water to blend the honey but not melt the wax) was given to servants and was not preferred. Honey was also categorized by location - Egyptian honeys were very popular and expensive. Honey from different regions in Spain were considered of different quality - one merchant got particularly fussy when one of his batches was "spoiled" by mixing honey from a better region with that from a worse region. Finally, honey was categorized by flower type. One monetary requested honey made only from lavender. Since hives were highly mobile frames or skeps, it would have been possible for apiarists to move their hives to lavender fields.

Water.

Water is, well, water. Right? Not quite. Medieval recipes do specify using fine, spring water. The water and honey were often boiled together - likely to kill bacteria. However, the wording on "boille" is not super clear. Mead-masters knew that honey shouldn't be boiled (it kills natural yeast), so whether or not the must (the water/honey mix) was boiled in the modern sense or just warmed is unclear. Perhaps the need for "fine, spring, fresh water."

Yeast.

While modern brewers and vintners have a wide variety of yeasts to choose from, medieval brewmasters didn't have as many options. There were a few different options, however. Baking yeast (like a sourdough starter) was one option, while other recipes call for the leftover lees of wine/mead batches. Hops were also used. Of course, yeast is also naturally occurring, so brewers could fairly reliably rely on the natural yeast to kick-start itself.

I'll dump my own mead pics here and then get into the details of a Middle English mead recipe in part two, I guess. I'll talk a bit about the mead-making process, too. Mead is made by mixing honey and water into a must. Then, yeast is added. Modern mead-makers also add yeast nutrients and other additions to ensure their batch doesn't get infected.

A newly made bottle of mead. Notice the cloudy colour characteristic of new mead. As the yeast eats the sugars, they'll create a bottom layer of debris and the mead will clear, as seen below.

After the primary fermentation has occurred (you can tell when the bubbles of gas, telling you the yeast is eating, have stopped), mead-makers will re-reack their mead. This involves moving it from one jug to the next.

At this point, the mead can be put into a closet and age for a while. The best meads have high clarity - that is, they're clear! The example below is only about 2 months old. It has a way to go, but has good clarity already. Notably, the sagas state that the best, oldest, clearest meads were served to Odin and the gods.

Anyway - that's the basics of mead-making. I'll make a part two about older recipes! Sources:

Beekeeping in late medieval Europe: A survey of its ecological settings and social impacts. Llu.s SALES I FAVÀ, Alexandra SAPOZNIK y Mark WHELAN

Trade, taste and ecology: honey in late medieval Europe. Alexandra Sapoznik, Lluís Sales i Favà & Mark Whelan

Of Boyling and Seething: A re-evaluation of these common cooking terms in connection with brewing. Susan Verberg.

#bees #beekeeping #mead #mead-making #mediveal #medieval literature #witches #cottagecore #potions #i feel like a witch #maniculum

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afewproblems · 1 year

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Part Four: Final Part Four Mean!Eddie Misunderstandings Au

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Read in full on Ao3

Thank you to everyone that cheered me on @samcoxramblings for your kind words on every post! @flowercrowngods and @barbariansteves for your helpful advice and @zerokrox-blog for your original prompt waaaaay back in February, I'm sorry this took so long but I hope you finally get the comfort you wished for!

***

The kids demand two weeks to prepare for their Hellfire session, insisting that they need this time to debrief Eddie and come up with their game plan, which is fine by Steve.

It also gives him two weeks to decompress from his last interaction with the kid's Dungeon Master, and time to try and untangle exactly how he feels about the whole situation.

It was nice for things to start moving back towards something resembling normal. The kids seemed happier, even going so far as to begin splitting their time between Eddie and Steve once again. Asking for rides to the hobby shop in Indi from their resident metal-head rather than Steve. It was nice to finally have a little bit more time to himself again.

Even Robin, who had previously been steadfast in her Anti-Eddie stance, had suddenly grown rather tight-lipped about the whole thing.

She had even offered to accompany Steve on his errands for the day they scheduled their Hellfire meeting, citing that she was always up for a grocery run and he may need help bringing everything in.

Which, in hindsight, should have been Steve’s first clue that something strange was going on.

“So, you ready?” Robin hums as they walk up and down the canned food aisle of Marsh Market, “you can still back out you know?”

Steve smiles and grabs a box of onion soup mix, he’s fairly certain he has some sour cream at home to make a dip of some sort, much easier than the last snack he tried to prepare for the group.

“Yeah, Robs, I know, I think it should be fine,” he crosses off the soup mix on his list and turns the cart around the empty aisle to head towards the produce section, “the kids are already setting up now so the only thing I need to do is be there,” he shrugs and stops in front of the humming displays.

Steve waits until the misting stops before reaching for a bag of mini carrots and tossing them into the cart.

“Can’t believe you trust Henderson to have a key, I can’t believe you hold us at the same level of trust!” Robin grumbles under her breath as she picks up a granny smith from one of the bins and rubs it on the rolled up sleeves of her navy blazer; it’s just slightly too big for her, most likely stolen from her dad’s closet.

Steve rolls his eyes and continues pushing the cart around the produce area, "careful Birdy, you roll those up anymore you're actually going to turn into Don Johnson".

"I should be so lucky," she snarks back as she catches up to him by the celery.

She tosses the apple back and forth between her hands, nearly dropping it twice before placing the produce into the cart under Steve’s unimpressed gaze.

She starts snapping her fingers and shuffling her feet as they continue walking up and down the aisles, going through their list bit by bit. Steve finds himself watching his friend’s nervous fidgeting with curious eyes, it was just a grocery trip, there shouldn’t be anything to really make her act like this, right?

He takes a quick glance around at some of the employees stocking the aisles, in case Vickie or some other pretty classmate of Robin’s is wandering around.

But, they’re alone.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Robin asks, as Steve folds up the list and turns the cart towards the check out tills.

She tips the small watch she’s wearing up to her face, her eyes flit back and forth between Steve and the watch as she chews on her bottom lip, which is more than a little odd.

The kids are already at the house and Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire gang won’t be arriving for at least another hour, they have plenty of time?

Robin steps away from the cart and throws her thumb over her shoulder at the chip aisle, “you do realize that you’re going to have like ten teenagers at your house right? You think veggies and dip is enough?”

“I’m ordering pizza later, I think this is fine?” Steve says slowly, gesturing at the cart, confusion and suspicion saturate his words as his eyes narrow at his friend.

“Robin,” Steve murmurs, walking the cart closer towards her, “what's going on?”

“Nothing, why would you --nothing!” She stutters as her freckled face pales slightly.

Steve smirks, Robin is probably the worst liar he’s ever met, and it's always endearing whenever she tries.

The last time she had lied to Steve, it had been about the mascara wand she had dropped onto the passenger seat, staining the leather just slightly, and smearing the black makeup all over the floor covers.

Robin had panicked and insisted that had been there before she had sat down.

Steve had been sitting in the car with her at the time.

He knew a Robin lie when he saw it, but he also knew it wouldn’t take long for her to crack.

“Okay!”

There it is.

“Listen,” Robin hisses sharply, she steps closer until she’s nearly whispering in his ear in the empty chip aisle, “I’m stalling you okay?”

“Probably not something you should be telling the person you’re stalling but okay?” Steve snorts as he leans onto the cart handle, “also, this was the worst place to go to stall us, it's two in the afternoon on a Wednesday, no one else is here”.

“I know!” Robin groans, letting her face fall into her open hands, she slowly lifts her face once more and lets her fingers drag across her forehead and cheeks, pulling at the skin, “I should have said no, I wanted to say no, but they used Will--”

Steve nods, “and you can’t say no to Will, yeah I gotcha”.

The words register after a beat.

“Wait, backup, the kids put you up to this? The unsupervised shitheads in my house right now?”

Robin nods, her blue eyes wide and the barest of smirks still covered by her hands.

“Oh christ,” Steve mutters under his breath, “do I even want to know?”

Robin drops her hands away from her face and scowls for a second before sighing, “I would absolutely love to tell you,” she shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling, “better yet, I’d love to just take you to Indi for the day, forget about this completely, but those God Damn kids know exactly what to say,” she looks at him once more in barely concealed exasperation, “how do they always know what to say?”

“How angry do I need to be, on a scale of like one to ten?”

Robin stares at him consideringly, her eyes scanning his face, “I mean, if I were you, it would be at like, a hundred,” she says eventually, “but since it’s you?”

“Maybe a four”.

Steve nods and drums his hands on the cart handles, blowing out a long slow breath as he makes his decision, “how much more time do they need?”

Robin looks at her watch again and smiles this time, “Well this bought them another five-ish minutes, so maybe another half hour?”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled five dollar bill, “come on, I’ll getcha a coffee or something?”

“Wait, do I even need these snacks? Robin?”

Robin was wrong, this at least warranted a five for the groceries alone.

***

The drive back is uneventful, Steve did end up going though check out, rationalizing that, no matter what, he needed some veggies for the rest of the week so there were worse things he could have spent the money on.

Robin had bought him a coffee from the gas station down the road. There wasn't enough creamer in the world to make that palatable so he leaves it in the cup holder while driving back. Even with a hot chocolate Robin hasn't fared much better.

"Okay, well that's the worst five dollars ever spent," she groans after taking a sip. Robin wrinkles her nose and sets the cup in the other empty holder beside Steve’s before sneaking a quick look at her watch once more, “worth it though,” she says with a small smile.

It slides off her face after a moment when she realizes that they’ve turned down her street, “Steve?”

He looks between her and the road, tilting his head as she touches his elbow gently.

“You can just come over you know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to and that includes letting people force you to--” Robin snaps her mouth shut with an audible click of her teeth.

She shakes her head and takes her hand back, “sorry, I promised not to say anything”.

Steve pulls over onto the Buckley’s driveway and finally turns to face Robin as much as the driver's seat will allow.

“Still sure about this whole thing only warranting a four?” he asks softly as a bubble of anxiety begins to expand from his stomach and into his chest, as though he’s absorbed her nervous energy over the course of the afternoon.

Robin shrugs, “I don’t know, but,” her blue eyes bounce back and forth between his own, “just don’t let them make you make a decision you’re not ready for,” she chews her lip again, “no one gets to push you around but me”.

Steve laughs as Robin leans out of her seat to give him a quick, but firm, hug before she opens the door and steps outside. As soon as she’s out of the car, Steve wishes he had asked her to stay, to come with him and hold his hand through the unknown. The bereft, hollow feeling from before returns in full force as she walks up to her front door.

She turns around and holds up her thumb and pinky as she lifts her hands to her face, mouthing, ‘Call me later,’ as she waves with her other hand.

She stays outside as Steve slowly reverses, hesitating on the street for just a moment as Robin walks backwards the rest of the way to her door, she moves her hands, motioning for him to get going.

Steve nods once and takes a deep breath as he shifts into drive and heads down the street.

It’s just the kids, he tells himself, how bad can it be?

***

By the time Steve pulls into his driveway, he’s nearly turned around to retrieve Robin and insist that she come with him at least five times. Even now as he pulls the emergency brake for the slight incline of the Harrington driveway, he considers starting the car again and leaving.

The last time he felt this anxious to be home was after graduation, after he’d been rejected from every school he’d applied to and knew there was no getting around that conversation with his dad.

That conversation had ended with the crack in the table, a hastily completed Scoops application, and his parents leaving for three months.

If it hadn’t happened he wouldn’t have met Robin, so at least there had been a silver lining on that occasion.

He’s not sure if there will be one this time.

Steve gets out of the car before opening the back door to grab the paper grocery bag from the store, he leaves the full coffee and hot chocolate cups with a grimace and makes a mental note to throw them out later before locking the car door.

Steve slowly makes his way to the steps, balancing the bag on his hip as he rifles through his pants pocket for his house key.

He looks around the street and spots Eddie’s van parked a few houses down. Great.

Steve knew that Eddie and the others would be showing up around now, even before Robin went ahead and spilled the beans about whatever it was the kids were secretly doing, but he had still hoped for a moment to just breathe before he had to face the inevitable.

Steve takes a deep breath and grabs the door handle, scoffing as it opens immediately. He makes a second mental note to scold Dustin for leaving the door unlocked for just anyone to come in --especially since the rest of Hellfire was already here apparently.

“Hey assholes, the snacks are here,” Steve calls out as he steps over the threshold, tossing his own keys into the dish on the side table.

He kicks the door closed and locks the deadbolt with a roll of his eyes, “and I do include myself with that statement,” he adds under his breath with a smirk.

Steve slides off his shoes and pauses, looking around the foyer.

It’s quiet.

Where there is normally an abundance of yelling and laughter, of the kids arguing amongst themselves, or Eddie’s usual dramatic storytelling, there’s nothing.

Steve walks into the kitchen and puts the bag onto the counter, “guys?” he calls out again, only to be met with silence.

Steve makes his way into the dining room through the swing door and stops in his tracks.

The table is gone.

“What the fuck?” he hears himself whisper as he walks into the middle of the space, nearly into the hanging light in the center of the room --he’d never noticed just how low it was, what with the table that was normally there to stop him from walking directly into it.

“What the fuck?” Steve hisses again, his heart starts to race as he steps around the light and spots the open sliding door to the backyard.

“If you little fuckers decided to move my grandmother’s table when there is a perfectly good patio table out there, I swear to Christ--”

But the kids aren’t outside either.

Eddie freezes as Steve walks around the corner of the house, he’s standing next to the dining table with a piece of sandpaper in his hands.

“Steve,” Eddie squawks in surprise, quickly hiding the sandpaper behind his back, “hey!”

Steve’s not entirely sure just what he’s looking at as he takes another step further into the yard. Eddie’s normally black ripped jeans are covered in a fine layer of dust, his wild curls have been pulled back into a messy ponytail away from his face, and an open container of wood filler sits beside him on the concrete patio.

Steve takes another four steps until he’s close enough to touch the wooden surface, his mouth hanging open as he takes it all in.

The surface of the table has been sanded down in its entirety, removing the beautiful deep cherry varnish, but the crack in the center has been mended, some kind of slightly darker putty has sealed the gaping wound that had marred the surface.

“Can you,” Eddie’s voice shakes, drawing Steve’s attention once more, “can you please say something, I can’t tell if you’re mad or what?”

“You fixed it,” Steve whispers, his eyes fixed on the table, he reaches to run a shaking hand over the surface.

“Careful,” Eddie says softly, grabbing Steve’s hand before it can touch the center with long sure fingers, “that still needs about an hour or so to cure”.

Steve looks from the table to his hand, still cradled in Eddie’s own, before looking up to see two big brown eyes staring into his own.

“I don’t understand,” the words come out in a whisper as Steve swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, “why?”

“Well,” Eddie murmurs as he squeezes Steve’s hand once before threading their fingers together and dragging Steve towards one of the pool loungers in the grass.

Eddie sits down and pulls Steve with him to sit, he feels a deep flush begin to wash over his neck and the tips of his ears, it's impossible to hide in the bright sunlight this time --not that he’d even be able to with Eddie’s firm grip on Steve’s hand.

“Those kids of yours are pretty genius,” Eddie says slowly, deliberately, his gaze never wavering from Steve’s face, “and they love you so fucking much man”.

Eddie clears his throat and rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles, “and there seems to be some confusion about how I actually feel about you, so allow me to uh, lay it all on the,” he gestures with his free hand towards the dining table and smirks, “well you know”.

Steve feels his heart leaping out of his chest, he can’t sit here, listen to this, he’s heard it before, it isn’t real.

Steve moves to stand up from the lounger but Eddie is faster as he manages to grab Steve’s other hand, holding him in place.

“Eddie--”

“You said no one had ever bothered before,” Eddie barrels on, speaking so quickly that Steve hardly understands at first. He squeezes Steve’s hands lightly again, the skin warmed metal from Eddie’s rings press into the palms of Steve’s hands.

“No one’s ever tried to fix it, have they?” Eddie breathes out as his eyes flit back and forth, searching Steve’s own, “would you let me try?”

For a moment, Steve lets himself just sit with the words.

Lets himself indulge in the soft, almost reverent way that Eddie asks. He lets the warmth of Eddie’s hands tether him to something resembling hope.

Before he shakes his head.

“You don’t know what you’re saying Eddie,” Steve growls, but the words lack any true bite.

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Eddie insists, he gets up from beside Steve and kneels in the grass in front of him, “but I don’t think you do, I think we’ve been talking past each recently Steve, and it took speaking to a bunch of people --way smarter than me, to realize it. So here it is--”

“Don’t,” Steve shouts at the same time that Eddie whispers, “I like you,” and for a moment neither moves.

Steve slowly takes his hands out of Eddie's now slack grip.

He lowers one hand down to the edge of the pool lounger, gripping it so harshly that his knuckles slowly fade to white, while the other he brings up to cover Eddie’s mouth.

“Don’t say something you can’t take back,” Steve says softly.

Eddie just stares for a beat, his forehead pinched in a terrible frown, before he reaches up to cup Steve’s cheek and gently removes the hand covering his mouth. He smiles softly and lets his thumb gently run over the crest of Steve’s cheekbone.

“Good thing I don’t want to take it back,” Eddie insists, he slides the hand on Steve’s cheek down to hold his chin firmly between two fingers.

“Steve,” Eddie lifts himself up so he’s balancing on the balls of his feet, just high enough that they are at eye level now, “I spent a very long time holding onto things that weren’t even remotely true, and they made me act like an asshole, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that sweetheart”.

“What if you change your mind, what if I--”

“Steve, what the fuck could you do at this point that would shock me?" Eddie says with a derisive laugh, he lets go of Steve's face to press his hand briefly to his own chest.

"I’m a drug dealing, satan worshiping, murderer who almost ate it in another dimension from killer demon bats".

Eddie grins as he peppers his speech with air quotes but the edges of it are jagged, and the good humour doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Steve breathes out sharply through his nose and shakes his head, “I get angry sometimes, I say things I don't mean, I…"

He sees himself surrounded by ceramic shards again, crying as he sweeps up his own mess, and shudders.

It's enough for Eddie to nod, and shuffle closer still.

"Pot," Eddie says softly as he pokes Steve in the sternum with this pointer finger and then brings it around to point at his own face, "kettle".

Steve chews his bottom lip as his thoughts swirl together and fly apart, disjointed and frenetic, "I just," he swallows around a harsh lump that begins to form in his throat, "I don't want you to think that I'm something that I'm not”.

Steve closes his eyes, missing the way that Eddie freezes at the words, but he can’t stop now --he has to get this all out or he’ll never be able to.

"That I've changed, that I'm this thing you've built up, for your sake, because let me tell you, it's pretty heartbreaking when everything you hoped was real turns out to be all in your head".

Steve opens his eyes as Eddie makes a sound like he’s been punched in the gut.

He’s still kneeling in front of Steve, even closer now, almost close enough that Steve can count the light dusting of freckles on his nose, and it feels like his heart will burst at any moment.

Fuck it.

"I've been halfway in love with you since you woke up from the hospital," Steve blurts out, “only to find out that you didn't feel even remotely the same about me, this whole time,” he breathes in shallowly as Eddie pales.

"I don't think I could take it if that happened again Eds,” Steve continues as he drops his gaze to his knees, “I think it would crush me".

"That's why I don't want you to say something you can't take--"

The words die on his lips as Eddie grabs his face and kisses him.

It’s harsh and clumsy, their teeth clack as Eddie loses his balance, pushing himself into Steve. They fall over the lounger, Steve’s shoulders and lower back hit the metal frame hard, forcing a muffled groan out as Eddie falls on top of him with his own faint, ‘oof’.

Eddie tries to raise himself up by his hands before falling even further as one of his hands slips through the rubber slats of the chair and he crashes into Steve's stomach.

Eddie babbles a string of incomprehensible apologies as he frees his trapped hand and manages to gently straddle Steve. Eddie hovers over him and lifts his hands to cup Steve's face.

“Shit baby, are you okay? Fuck, that’s not how I wanted that to go at all, I’m so shit at this”.

“Can we, can you get off and then we can get off the stupid chair?” Steve wheezes as he tries to catch his breath and shift his weight away from the metal still pressed into his back, “lets go inside, we can..talk about this”.

Eddie curses under his breath, his expression nervous, and moves his legs off of Steve and the chair before holding a hand out to help Steve to his feet.

Steve rubs his back as he leads the pair back inside through the sliding glass door, not daring to turn around and face Eddie.

He feels his own mortified flush spread across his chest and neck and winces; this is probably the most he’s blushed in years all in the span of a single afternoon.

He kissed me, he kissed me, he kissed me, plays on a seemingly endless loop in Steve’s head as he walks into the house, he can’t help the wide smile that blooms over his face --despite the other, darker thought that whispers in his ear, be careful, be careful, be careful.

Steve takes them through the empty dining room and into the living room before dropping onto the couch with another low groan. He looks up as he realizes that Eddie is no longer beside him.

Eddie stands in the entryway to the living room, he’s holding a thick handful of hair over his mouth and watching Steve carefully.

“Can’t talk with you all the way over there,” Steve huffs.

He tries for a smile but the effect is lost as Eddie continues to stand and stare at him, looking as though he could bolt from the house at any moment.

“Please come here Eds,” Steve tries again, his voice small. He takes a deep breath, if Eddie can be brave so can you, he thinks as he holds out his hand.

Eddie hesitates for just a moment more, his eyes flick beyond Steve to the hallway linked to the foyer and back, it’s so quick Steve nearly misses it.

Still, he keeps his hand steady, holding it aloft.

Eventually Eddie takes a tentative step, then another, slowly moving forward until his fingers brush Steve’s own. He takes a seat next to Steve on the plush gray couch but doesn’t relax as Steve turns his body to face him. Eddie tenses even further as Steve gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

He opens his mouth to start but Eddie beats him to it.

“I’m so sorry Steve,” Eddie whispers, his voice strained and thin as he takes his hand back, “I just fucking attacked you? Jesus, I," he cuts himself off, whatever he had been about to say trapped behind the teeth that dig into his bottom lip.

"I mean," Steve mumbles, hating the hunched line of Eddie's shoulders, "I tell you I've been in love with you for months and you kiss me, that makes sense to me?"

"Stop doing that," Eddie bites out as he stands up, slapping his hands on his knees to launch himself away from the couch.

He paces the living room, not looking at Steve and getting progressively more agitated as he walks.

"I apologize and then you turn it around on yourself, why do you do that? Just let me apologize!"

Eddie halts suddenly as he straightens and faces Steve, it's as though a lightbulb has blinked on in the ether as Eddie speaks his next words slowly and carefully, "stop letting me off the hook Steve, be honest with me".

"I have been honest with you," Steve tries but Eddie shakes his head.

"Nope, you've told me some of your stuff today, but not why you keep downplaying everything, why you're not just telling me you're upset, it's like you're censoring the stuff you think I don't want to hear, come on”.

"My stuff," Steve mutters under his breath as a hot flicker of irritation licks at his ribcage.

"Yes," Eddie says, throwing his hands into his hair in frustration.

"Everybody censors themselves Eddie, you think I tell the kids everything? That I've told Robin everything?"

At this Eddie blanches, surprise etched over his forehead as his eyebrows climb into his wispy bangs.

"But Robin--"

"Knows enough, but not everything,"Steve scoffs as he crosses his arms over his stomach, "and she doesn't need to".

Robin may know his parents are hardly around, she may have formed her own opinions, assumptions about what she thinks is going on; but Steve has gotten very good at hiding these things -especially over the years.

Pulling out the King Steve persona, make them laugh, make them mad, watch this hand while the other pulls the wool over their eyes.

"Then tell me," Eddie says softly, but there is a challenge to his words.

He shifts his stance slightly, putting more weight on his left leg as he cocks his hip out to the side, "shock me Harrington".

Steve shifts on the couch, feeling pinned under Eddie's gaze, before swiping a tired hand over his face and dropping it into his lap.

"That crack in the table happened just before I graduated," Steve says softly, his head tipped down so the words tumble into his knees.

He ignores the sharp intake of breath from Eddie, not daring to look up as he continues, "my uh, my dad opened the rejection letter from Vincennes, that one had just been delivered that morning I think".

Steve breathes out slowly and picks at a hangnail on his left thumb, he hasn't ever spoken about this to anyone, he's never really managed to talk about his home life growing up without side stepping things.

There had been moments where Steve thinks Tommy and Carol might have had their suspicions, but they never asked and Steve wasn't in a position to talk about it.

"I think that was at the beginning of June, so, so his logical conclusion was to uh, go looking for the other letters, the ones I must have received already".

Steve barks out a laugh, but the sound rings out hollow in the large living room, he startles slightly as the couch dips down next to him as Eddie sits, close enough that his knees are brushing Steve's own.

He doesn't say anything, but it's enough for Steve to breathe out and keep going.

"And he found them, my dad, in the shoebox I kept in the back of my closet".

"I don't know why I had even kept them," Steve shakes his head, "I should have thrown them away".

Steve absently traces a faint white line across his temple, staring past his knees into the patterns of the ornate area rug, "I got home from school and he had the letters waiting for me".

"He laid them all out on the dining table," Steve sweeps his hands out, setting the scene in his head, "like you see in those detective movies right? He just needed some string to connect them all to me".

Steve shivers and closes his eyes, the words still echoing fresh in his mind, the hot spittle that hit his face as his father cornered him against the wall still makes him flinch if he thinks about it too hard.

"He asked when I was planning to tell him about the rejections, and I couldn't give him an answer," he reaches up and pinches his nose, just once, blinking a few times as he wills away the gathering moisture.

"I didn't raise you to be this way Steven, like some fucking ungrateful coward --look at me when I'm God Damn talking to you!" Richard seethes as he slams the flat of his palm into the center of the table, his Harvard class ring splitting the wood as it connects with a loud crack.

Richard doesn't look down, his hand slides to one of the letters, snatching it from the surface as he steps around the table, towards Steve, in three sure strides. He backs his son towards the wall, looming over Steve as he shoves the paper into his face in one hand while the other grips the collar of Steve's T-Shirt.

"What will people think, huh, our only son didn't get into college, Hagan got in for chrissakes," his dad shakes him once, forcing Steve's head to connect with the wall, "what am I supposed to tell people Steven, what are we going to tell your poor mother?"

"I thought that Wheeler girl was supposed to be smart, tutor you or something," Richard scoffs as he finally lets go of Steve's shirt collar, "or did she finally come to her senses?"

Steve sneers before he can stop himself, "I didn't think you were even around enough to see that dad--"

The blow comes swiftly, catching him across the temple, his father's class ring comes out to play once again as a hot burst of pain blooms across the entire left side of his face from the backhand.

"Don't you ever speak to me that way again, you want to be a big man Steven? Just see what happens".

Steve blinks once, coming back to himself, "my dad, um, he has a problem with anger, with uh, expressing it I guess".

"But that isn't what this is about," Steve whispers, and this time he can't keep the wobble from his voice as he speaks.

"I'm afraid, I'm just like him, that I could do what he did if I got upset enough, and you," he breathes out sharply but the sounds more like a sob than anything else, "you want me to be honest?"

Steve finally lifts his eyes up to meet Eddie's own. Eddie, who looks as though he wants to melt into the floor, his shoulders tense and his own eyes seem suspiciously shiny as they stare back at Steve.

"Why couldn't you be honest with me, huh?" Steve whispers, "from the beginning?"

A tear breaks the surface, tracing down Steve's cheek. He manages to catch it roughly with the back of his hand before reaching up to press the heels of both his hands into his eyes --as though the pressure could stop the building deluge he knows is inevitable.

"I was so angry with you when you told me that you hadn't meant what you said in the Upside Down," Steve manages to speak through the tightening of his throat as he drops his hands back down into his lap, "that I smashed a plate in my kitchen after you left, I don't, I don't know what happened".

His breath quickens suddenly and every other word comes out as a gasp, "but it's like my worst fucking fears h-have come true and I don't, I don't know what to do, I don't, I--"

"Oh sweetheart," Eddie says softly as he reaches for Steve, pulling him into his arms with gentle fingers, "oh, I gotcha".

Steve lets himself be moved, for his head to be tipped into the crook of Eddie's neck and his body tucked into Eddie's chest.

Steve tries to slow down his breathing, to stop the shuddering of his chest as he fights the tears.

"It's okay," Eddie tries but Steve shakes his head.

"It's not," he bites out, the words taper off into a whine, "it's not--"

"Okay, you're right, it's not," Eddie says so softly Steve nearly misses it.

"I'm so, so, sorry Steve," Eddie murmurs into Steve's hair, holding him tighter as Steve finally gives in and lets himself cry.

He's not sure how long they sit for, eventually Steve feels a steady hand card through his hair while the other strokes down his arms, he feels the tension in his shoulders begin to melt away and the tears slow to a gentle trickle.

"I'm an idiot," Eddie huffs out, the breath flutters Steve's hair, making him twitch at the sensation.

Steve reaches up and wipes at his face with tired hands. The skin feels warm to the touch and puffy around his eyes and his nose which refuses to stop running, he must look like an absolute sight right now, he thinks to himself with a grimace.

"You're not an idiot," he manages to croak, but Eddie's already shaking his head sharply, turning himself to look at Steve.

"Oh believe me, I've fucked up before, pretty spectacularly, but this takes the goddamn cake sweetheart".

"And you're right," Eddie says slowly, carefully, "I shouldn't be harping on about you hiding how you feel when I'm the reason why we're in this mess".

Eddie chews his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth before pulling away from Steve entirely as he reaches up to cup Steve's face between his hands.

"I'm sorry for not being honest with you Stevie, and I will spend every day trying to make it up to you if you let me?"

Steve looks at Eddie, really looks at him.

He takes in the drooped curve of his shoulders, the subtle pink of the tip of his nose and the glassy sheen in his brown eyes. The way his chest has stopped rising and he drops his hands away from Steve the longer he openly stares at the metal-head, the way Eddie anxiously spins and spins and spins the rings on his hands the longer he waits.

It’s an easy decision to reach out and place his own hand on Eddies own, to halt the frantic movements with a gentle squeeze.

“So,” Steve says, grinning as Eddie finally looks up at him once more, "on a scale of helping to chauffeur the kids to finishing fixing the table, what kind of making it up to me are we talking about?"

The smile Eddie gives him is nearly blinding as he launches himself at Steve, gathering him up in his arms. His hair smells like sawdust and there's the barest hint of some kind of cologne that Steve can't place.

Eddie leans back into the couch cushions, laughingly wetly and taking Steve with him. The sound makes his chest ache as Steve realizes just how much he’s missed Eddie’s laughter. He buries his face in Eddie's neck as they cuddle into one another, letting themselves sit with nothing but the sound of the occasional car driving down the street outside or the humming of grasshoppers through the screen door to the backyard.

"For what it's worth," Eddie huffs, breaking the quiet, a hint of dimples revealing themselves as he smiles, "I've never met the guy, but from the sounds of it, you are the farthest thing from being like 'Ol Dick Harrington".

Steve says nothing but feels something in his chest finally unclench for the first time in weeks.

"Besides, there's nothing like a good plate smash every now and again Stevie," Eddie hums as he runs his thumb over the crest of Steve's cheekbone again.

"That's what Robin said," Steve mumbles, as he leans further into Eddie with a smile, "she came over that night, after".

"A wise and terrifying woman," Eddie says sagely, "who I hope to never piss off again".

He stops suddenly and looks up at Steve, a nervous pinch to his brow as he plays with a loose curl hanging in front of his face, "I'm glad you guys have each other," Eddie says slowly, letting his thumb stroke Steve's hand absently, "that you have people in your corner and--”

Eddie swallows, his eyes darting back and forth between Steve's eyes as he finally seems to steel himself.

"I hope you'll let me be one of those people".

This nervous, quiet Eddie, is so strange to take in, but then again Steve's also never been on the receiving end of so many apologies all at once, it's just shy of being overwhelming at this point.

"Oh come off it Eddie," Steve huffs with a roll of his eyes, "you had me the moment I saw that fucking table outside and you tried to hide the sandpaper behind your back --real smooth by the way".

The way Eddie stares at him in surprise and that same look of awe from before, tells Steve that was the right thing to say.

Eddie barks out a wet laugh and squeezes him tighter, tipping his face to nuzzle Steve's ear, "I missed you teasing me".

"That was the worst part about all of this," he shudders once and drops his head to Steve's shoulder, "I thought I lost my friend, but I have you back".

"Yeah, you have me Eds," Steve says softly.

Steve rests against Eddie, uncaring that the position is growing more uncomfortable as the arm tucked closest to the metal-head falls asleep. Eddie holds him with such gentle reverence that Steve feels as though he may just burst from happiness at any moment.

Everything he's wanted for months, has finally fallen into place.

It's quiet for another moment. Steve plays with one of Eddie's hands, running his fingers over the calluses from playing guitar and the eclectic rings decorating his knuckles.

Eddie clears his throat after a beat, swallowing once, “so uh, earlier….that wasn’t exactly how I pictured our first kiss you know?"

Steve feels a small grin slowly bloom, he's not quite facing Eddie the way they're sitting, so he can play coy a little longer.

“You’ve pictured it huh?”

Eddie snorts “Oh yeah, you have no idea, there’s usually more tongue involved and less chipped teeth”.

Steve nods, letting them sit for a moment longer, letting himself be chased for once.

Eddie pulls back slightly, leaving his arms loosely wrapped around Steve, “think we could uh, try again?”

“Will you mean it as much as you did the first time?” Steve says with a smile as he rubs his lip with his thumb and flushed cheeks.

“You liked that huh, always knew you were a freak like me Harrington,” Eddie barks out, his eyes shining with mirth as he leans closer to run the tip of his nose down Steve's before nuzzling them together, "wanna make some good memories in this house Stevie?"

“Only if you’re with me Eds,” Steve whispers against Eddie’s lips as he slowly leans in.

Steve’s heart races, anticipation flooding his veins and filling his chest with a giddy realization that he finally, finally, gets to have this.

That he knows Eddie finally, finally, feels the same way.

He’ll call Robin later, let her know about Hellfire’s plan, the apology, and maybe even the truth about everything he’d kept hidden away for so long. The old hurts soothed and the lid of the box in his mind permanently open now, the lid wrenched off its hinges so as to never close again. Maybe he could let people in, to let them know him.

For now, Steve lets himself be lowered onto the couch, lets Eddie's hands roam freely, over Steve's shoulders, his neck --letting his fingers gently brush the long scar from the Demobat tail, before lifting one hand to cup his cheek while the other climbs into Steve hair, threading his fingers through it and giving the locks an experimental tug.

Steve's hands make their way up Eddie's back, under his shirt, tracing over the raised scars on his sides. Eddie shoots Steve a wicked grin, his eyes crinkle at the sides as he lets his weight gently fall over Steve, catching himself with his hands on the couch cushions on either side of Steve's face, effectively caging him in.

Eddie moves slowly, deliberately, it's not nearly as brutal as the first time but Eddie kisses like a wildman starved, licking into Steve's mouth and grazing his bottom lip with harsh teeth.

It feels like Steve is being consumed, slowly, carefully.

It's overwhelming in the best way. The feeling of his soft lips against Steve’s own, the harsh stubble that rubs against Steve’s chin. The smell of weed, and sawdust, and cologne invades his nose.

Eddie pulls back briefly before leaning down again to place a soft kiss against Steve’s lips.

“How's that for a second kiss?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and a wide smirk pulling at his slightly puffy lips.

Steve scoffs and tugs at Eddie’s shirt collar, “I dunno, maybe we need to check again?”

Eddie’s laughter rings out loud and long in the Harrington living room, as he leans down again and hugs Steve tightly.

For the first time in a long time, Steve feels himself relax.

He lets the weight of Eddie press him into the cushions and releases a long contented breath, the Harrington house, finally feeling warmer than it has in a long time.

I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed working on it! This was the first fic of this length that I was still actively writing as I was updating that I've actually completed and I'm pretty damn happy about that! I was so worried about abandoning this guy and I'm glad I was able to finish it, hopefully it has come to a satisfying conclusion <3

Taglist: @zerokrox-blog @samcoxramblings @thosemessyvibes @liketheocean @vampireinthesun @themostunoriginalpersonever @merricatty @hyperfixationgoddess @hippieg1rl420 @mysticcrownshipper @estrellami-1 @clumsiluni @messrs-weasley @the-obsessed-nerdist

#platonic stobin #mean!eddie wip #finally finished this big boy #eddie munson has a bad dad #protective wayne munson #the party #will byers can and will weaponize those eyes of his #I broke my promise about how long this would take #angst with a happy ending #steddie #getting together #afewproblems writes #afewproblemswrites #steve harrington has a bad dad #implied referenced child abuse both verbal and physical #its only a small section but its not great #hurt steve harrington #slaps steves chest 'this boy can hold so much trauma'

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