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everdreamofme · 2 months

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shower shenanigans

platonic ! slytherins x reader

just a silly little story that came to mind, based off of an episode of Friends lol

Theodore Nott was currently on his way up to the girls' dorm. The girls in question were some of his best friends: Pansy Parkinson, Astoria Greengrass, and Y/N Y/L/N, along with Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Mattheo Riddle, and Lorenzo Berkshire, of course.

During his latest charms lesson, he had been absolutely whiffed, far too high to be able to take notes, of course, and was counting on stealing Astoria's to be able to complete his assignment.

Huffing when he discovered none of the girls were to be found in the dorm, he made his way to Astoria's side to begin his search, only to be interrupted by the bathroom door swinging open. Pansy had just finished showering and was currently drying off the last of her hair with a towel wrapped around her waist when she caught sight of Theo standing in her room. Both letting out a surprised scream, Pansy tried to cover her exposed upper half with a blanket that sat on the edge of Y/N's bed.

'I'm sorry! I'm sor-'

'That is it!' She hissed at the boy. 'You just barge in here all of the time; you don't knock-'

'I'm sorry, Pans!'

'You don't have any respect for anybody's privacy-'

'Pansy, wait-' 'No, you wait! This is ridiculous-'

'Can I just say one thing?!'

'Oh- what?! What?!'

'That's a relatively open weave, and I can still see your... nippluar area.' Pansy groaned in frustration as she spun to grab her wand, pointing it at the boy standing before her as she still held the blanket over her chest.

'Get out before I avada your ass, Nott!' Theo fled from the dorm, charms notes long forgotten, as he silently thanked Salazar for blessing him this fine Friday afternoon.

Pansy sat fuming on the couch in the Slytherin common room that evening, silently glaring daggers at Theo, who sat across from her, while Enzo, Draco, and Astoria looked at each other in confusion. As the rest of the gang filtered in and joined them around the fire, the conversation died out, and Theo spoke.

'Anyone up for a firewhiskey then?' Before anyone had the time to comprehend what he had asked, Pansy had crossed her arms and hissed out a sharp 'No.'

'Alright, have I missed something here?' Y/N asked, her eyes darting between the other occupants of the group, looking for answers. Enzo snickered in response, while Theo just sighed.

'No, she's still upset because I saw her boobies..' At this, Mattheo barked a laugh as Y/N gasped, Astoria's eyes widening too. Theo's response had Blaise furrowing his eyebrows.

'W-what? What were you doing seeing her boobies?' He asked.

'It was an accident! It's not as though I was peeping through the keyhole of the girls dorm!' Astoria pulled a face at the thought of this.

'Alright-'

'Can we just change the subject, please?' Pansy huffed, throwing her head back onto the couch.

'You know, I don't know why you're so embarrassed! They were very nice!' Theo interjected, causing Pansy to scoff at him.

'Nice? They were nice? I mean, that's it? Mittens are nice!'

'Alright, they were-'

'Okay, how about we direct the conversation away from Pansy's boobs?' Draco clapped.

'I'll get the firewhiskey!' Mattheo grinned, shooting up from his seat and returning shortly with a few bottles of firewhiskey.

The evening continued as a regular Friday would, laughing and joking with each other, telling stories of what had happened throughout the week when they hadn't seen each other—you know, the usual stuff.

The conversation soon turned to quidditch; Y/N and Astoria shared a look, knowing what was about to come. The rest of the group were so into quidditch, and of course they supported the boys whenever they had a match, but honestly, they could not care less about the sport. Even Pansy was an avid supporter, hence her current rant about the Hufflepuff seeker as she paced around the room.

'And I mean, why does he have to be so arrogant about it? Like, why-' Pansy looked over to Theo, only to notice his eyes glued to her chest as she spoke. Her eyes narrowed at the boy. 'Why can't you stop staring at my breasts?'

Theo blinked as his eyes darted up to hers, only to see she was already glaring at him. 'What?'

'Ugh, did you not get a good enough look before?!' She moaned. Blaise interjected, waving a hand between them.

'Alright, alright. We're all adults here; there's only one way to resolve this.' Theo looked almost bored with Blaise as he tried to find a solution, Pansy merely quirked a brow as she crossed her arms. 'Since you saw her boobies, I think you're going to have to show her your pee-pee.'

At this, the rest of the gang sat forward, intrigued. Enzo nodded along as though it were the most sane thing he had ever heard, while Astoria almost spat out her drink from laughter.

Theo grimaced. 'You know, I don't see that happening.'

'Come on, Theo, he's right! Tit for tat,' Y/N's input had Draco snorting as Mattheo's eyes darted between Theo and Pansy. Pansy grinned, looking down at the boy who still occupied the couch.

'Well, I am not showing you my tat.' Theo rolled his eyes as he took a swig of his firewhiskey and started up another conversation with Enzo.

Pansy would get him back; she was sure of it.

The next afternoon, the girls patiently waited for the boys to meet them in the common room. They had planned to head into Hogsmeade for some shopping and lunch, but they had to wait for the boys to shower first after their morning quidditch practice. Only Draco had emerged from the dorms so far, and he was happily chatting with Astoria as Y/N read a book on the armchair.

Pansy caught Blaise's eye as he made his way down the stairs, finally ready. 'Honestly, what is taking you all so long?' She had asked, causing him to laugh.

'It's Enzo! He takes showers so long, I'm surprised there is any water left in Scotland! Theo's only just getting a turn,' Pansy's brow lifted in intrigue.

'How long has Theo been in the shower, would you say, Blaise?'

'About five minutes?'

It was exactly the answer Pansy wanted. Smirking, she stood from her place on the couch and winked at Y/N.

'Fasten your seatbelts, kids; it's pee-pee time.'

Opening the door to the boy's dorm, she greeted Enzo as he stood in front of the mirror, fixing his hair.

'Hey Pans,' He responded distractedly. It wasn't uncommon to see any of the girls in the boys dorm or vice versa, so he didn't think much of it as she crossed his room to the bathroom door.

'Payback time,' She muttered to herself as she quietly opened the door. Seeing the shower curtain pulled across and a tall shadow behind it, she grinned again. Rapidly pulling back the curtain, her 'Ha!' quickly turned into a scream as the figure in the shower jumped.

'What the fuck?'

'Oh my God!' She screeched as she ran out of the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

'What? What's wrong?' Enzo turned to her, panicking. The bathroom door swung open as Mattheo, still soaking wet but now with a towel around his waist, stormed out with a seething look on his face.

'What the fuck is the matter with you?!'

'I thought it was Theo!'

'What - what, what's happened?' Theo ran into the room with his wand out as Pansy whirled on him, pointing an accusatory finger.

'You! You were supposed to be in there, so I could see your thing!' She fumed. Enzo's brows shot up as he stiffled a laugh, Mattheo shot him a death glare before turning back to the scene in front of him.

'Sorry. My-my thing was out there with me,' He lowered his wand and gestured to the hallway behind him, a grin crossing his face as Pansy growled and shouldered past him out the door. As she made her way down the stairs with clenched fists, Y/N looked up from her book.

'Pans?'

'That fucking idiot..'

'What's wrong?' Y/N asked again.

'Oh my God,' Astoria gasped. 'You didn't catch Theo, did you?'

Shaking her head, Pansy sat with a huff. It's safe to say the trip to Hogsmeade was filled with clenched jaws and glares from Mattheo to Pansy, and Pansy to Theo, while the rest of the gang laughed at their misfortune.

Later that evening, Astoria lay on her bed reading a new novel bought for her earlier in the day by Draco when the door to her room suddenly opened and in stalked Mattheo.

'Hey Riddle,' He nodded in response as he made his way over to the girls' bathroom door. Astoria quirked a brow and grinned slightly. 'Whatcha doing?' She already knew the answer.

'Clear the tracks for the payback express. Next stop; Pansy Parkinson.' He grinned, whipping the door open and walking into the steamy room.

'Surpri- holy shit!' His surprise attack was cut short as he pulled the curtain back, only to reveal Y/N in the shower instead of Pansy.

'Mattheo, what the fuck?!' His eyes widened as he turned away from the very naked girl in the shower.

'Shit, sorry - I was trying to catch Pansy out!' Y/N pulled the shower curtain across again and hid behind it.

'Wrong fucking girl!'

'I know, I know—I'm sorry!'

'Matt?' She asked after a minute of silence.

'Yeah?'

'Get out!'

'Right, right-' As Mattheo sped out of the room, he grimaced at Astoria, who lay still smirking as she read her book.

That evening, at dinner, Y/N stabbed her food with force as she glared at the boy opposite her.

'Right, what's happened here then?' Draco asked, his eyes flying between the two.

'Mattheo barged in on me in the shower!' She hissed, causing her friends to burst into laughter as she was now caught in the shower chronicles.

'I told you, it was an accident!'

'You got a lot more than you bargained for!' She gripped her fork tightly in her hand as Mattheo smirked.

'Yeah I did, I got a great view,' He said with a smirk, which quickly disappeared after seeing Y/N's face.

'Look, I'm sorry!' He apologised once more as she sighed and began a conversation with Enzo.

The next morning, Y/N stomped into the boys dorm, still clad in her pyjamas. Theo groaned from his place in bed.

'Y/N, it is 8 a.m... on a Sunday.'

'Oh hush, you caused this whole thing, Nott.'

Storming over to the bathroom, she flung the door open just as Enzo was stepping out of the shower. She smacked a hand over her mouth as she squeaked.

'Y/N?!'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry!' She turned on her heel and slammed the door, Theo's laughter echoed in the room.

'Where is Mattheo?!' She demanded.

'Fuck knows,' He responded, propping himself on his elbows.

'He is on a run, you little menace!' Enzo appeared behind her, a towel around his waist as he crossed his arms. She gave him a sheepish smile.

'Sorry, Enz, I just wanted to get him back!'

'This has gone way too far now,' He said as Mattheo entered the room and took in the scene before him. A cackle left his mouth as he put the pieces together.

'I'll get you back, Riddle.' Y/N jabbed a finger into his chest as she passed him by.

That morning at breakfast, the table ate in silence. Enzo huffed. 'That's it; no more shower shenanigans! We're all terrified to shower now, in case someone comes barging in.'

Pansy rolled her eyes, moving her pancakes with her fork. 'This is all Nott's fault.'

'Hey!'

'Well, it is, Theo-'

'No one asked you to get involved, Y/L/N-'

'I had to because Matt-'

'Hey, mine was an accid-'

'Enough!' Blaise's voice boomed across the table, silencing the bickering amongst the group.

'Theodore, apologise to Pansy.' Astoria instructed.

Theo muttered a quiet. 'Sorry Pans.'

'Pansy, apologise to Mattheo.' Blaise told her.

'Sorry, Matt.' She said with a sheepish smile.

'Riddle, apologise to Y/N.'

Mattheo did as Draco told him. 'I'm sorry, Y/N.'

'Y/N, apologise to Lorenzo.'

'Sorry, Enz.' She gave his shoulder a small nudge with hers.

'Right, now that's all sorted...' Y/N looked up at the girl beside her with her brow raised. 'Well?'

Draco furrowed his brows as the girl before him stared at his girlfriend. 'Well, what?'

'Aren't you three going to apologise for taking the piss out of us?' Draco, Blaise, and Astoria all shared a glance before murmuring their own apology.

The group all shared a knowing look before bursting into laughter. They could never be mad at each other for long.

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thepixelelf · 5 months

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ah! love - 3

genres: married life au, family au, fluff, a little... angst? but we know it ends up okay (best friends to lovers) relationship: husbands 95 line x reader (feat. baby doremi line) words: 2.0k warnings: none notes: joshua centric!! also they live somewhere where it gets cold sometimes. I know that Joshua's had a little less time in the a!l spotlight, so I hope this satisfies the shushus[?] out there! this is the first >1k bday fic I've written in a while idk what came over me lol

ah! love masterlist

Joshua saves the day...wait, the night?

Joshua loves his kids. More than anything, though that thought sometimes scares him if he thinks too hard about it. The point is, he loves his sticky little mischievous imps, no matter how many times they throw up in the middle of the night, or run around with food half-chewed in their mouths because they've yet to develop a fear of choking like he and the rest of his partners have, or the half a million other things they don't warn you about parenthood. He loves his sons, end of sentence. Period.

But that's not to say they were his idea. Like a lot of the current life he feels overwhelmingly lucky to live, none of this was his idea. He hadn't even dreamed of it -- even his sleeping consciousness couldn't have been so creative as to spin the love story that led to his present. He hadn't fathomed marrying you and his other two best friends.

The marriage was Seungcheol's idea. But apparently you and Jeonghan were already thinking about it, too.

Joshua had been entirely caught off guard.

He was thinking too rigidly, he realized. Their marriage isn't legally recognized in any sense, and it was for that reason that he'd never even considered it in the first place... but it's still his marriage, whether penned and signed or not. There are three rings on his finger to prove it.

The kids were Jeonghan's idea. Well. The kid was sort of his, Seungcheol's and your idea. Jeonghan had said he'd always dreamed of having two kids -- a boy and a girl, like him and his little sister. You'd had your own fears about children, as did Seungcheol. You were scared you wouldn't know how to parent, wouldn't be able to raise a child in the way they deserved. Seungcheol worried how a child raised in their unconventional family would be treated by their peers. They'd all chosen the life they would live together, society's judging eyes be damned, but the child wouldn't have a choice, least of all an informed one.

Over the breakfast that was long forgotten after Jeonghan made his casual suggestion and vulnerable confession, you and Seungcheol eventually needled him down to one kid. Maybe.

As for Joshua, he didn't say a word. He was too lost in his own head, imagining a swaddled baby in your arms, and you in his. A shimmering mirage of his lips pressed upon your forehead, before he bent slightly to kiss the baby's tiny hands.

One kid may have been Jeonghan's, Seungcheol's, and your idea, but with Joshua, and circumstances as they were, you came home with three.

So perhaps some of this was his idea.

Not this, though.

"Papa...?"

Joshua blinks himself awake. His room is mostly dark, but warm light filters in from the hallway. The culprit? A little boy with one hand on the doorknob and the other wiping the corner of his bleary eye. Joshua can't tell who it is by looks alone, since the boy is all but a silhouette in the doorway, but he knows from the sound of his voice that it's Vernon.

Slowly, he removes his arm from around your waist. It's unlucky, maybe, that tonight you chose to sleep in Joshua's room, and then Vernon decided this was the place to be, too. He scoots away from you, then tries to lightly step across the room to kneel in front of Vernon. "Hey, bud," he whispers, trying desperately not to wake you up after a long day. "Can't sleep?"

"Bad dream," Vernon mutters.

⭒-⭒-⭒

"Bad dream?" Joshua sat up from the couch he was sleeping on just a minute ago, and he watched you whip around like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

But you only had a glass of water in your hand, and you winced as you turned off the tap. "Sorry. I was trying not to wake you."

"You didn't." Not really, anyway. The couch wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing to sleep on in the first place, which was why he offered you his room to sleep in while you needed a place to stay for the night. Actually, both Jeonghan and Seungcheol had offered their beds too, and it became a bit of a squabble, but you'd settled things by just picking the room offered to you first.

"Liar," you said, and even though the only light in the room came from the moon through the balcony windows, he could hear the smile the word came through. Still, there was a certain tiredness in your voice.

"Seriously. What's wrong?"

A sigh left you.

"Come, sit," he insisted. "Talk to me. You know I'll annoy it out of you eventually."

Another sigh came from you, but this one of reluctant, amused acceptance. You walked across the combined kitchen slash living space in in their three-room apartment, set your water on the coffee table, and sat on the other end of the couch from him. Too far for his liking.

"What's your mood like tonight?" you asked him as you relaxed into the cushions, your head resting so that you stared at the ceiling.

"On what scale?"

"Hm... holiday rom coms?"

He thought hard for a second. "The Princess Switch 2: Switched Again."

You snorted, rubbing your hands over your face. "Not good then?"

"Well, you did have to abandon your apartment because the heat turned off and your dumb landlord is completely MIA." He shifted his body to face you, one arm propped up on the back of the couch to lean his head on. "But you showed up here wearing a comedic amount of layers, so the day had its funny moments."

A laugh bubbled from your throat, and Joshua found himself smiling in the dark. "I guess you're right. How's your mood in terms of..." You let your head flop to the side to look at him. "...a hug?"

He had to wonder sometimes if you had absolutely no idea what he would do for you if you asked. A hug wouldn't be on that list-- it was so easy that it didn't even constitute consideration.

But his heart warmed, because even though he knew he'd never refuse to give you something so simple as a hug, you knew he wasn't constantly the physical affection kind of guy. You wanted to ask him. You wanted his comfort, but only if he was willing.

God, was he willing.

"All yours." He opened up his arms, and you all but sank into him.

You both stayed like that for a while, silent, but warm. He was satisfied with you in his arms, but he could tell your mind was still stewing.

"You gonna tell me what's got you up so late?" he muttered, rubbing his thumbs back and forth on your sides.

"Do you ever think about the future, Joshua?"

Sometimes. But it was always with you in it. "Not really."

Leaning back, he brought you to lie almost on top of him, so now he was the one staring at the ceiling.

You sighed. "I try not to... at least not too much. But sometimes, on nights like these, I'm scared that I..."

He waited for you to continue, but when you didn't, he gently patted your back. "That you what?"

"That I want too much."

Joshua breathed in. Held that air for a few more seconds than necessary. Breathed out. He wondered if it would always be like this-- you being brave enough to speak aloud the fears he kept locked up.

"Don't be scared," he whispered, because what else could he say?

Me too?

No. He couldn't know if you meant it in the same way he felt, and it would be selfish to let his words and feelings out now, while his two other best friends were asleep mere meters away.

You chuckled, as if to dispel any vulnerability you'd revealed. "Easy for you to say."

You had no idea.

"I'll protect you."

"Ah, right. Did you read my mind? We'll have to sleep out here tonight."

Not yet catching up to your joke, Joshua loosened his arms around you and furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

You lifted your head, a cheeky, bitable smile on your lips. Your voice lowered to a conspiratorial hush. "There's a monster under your bed."

⭒-⭒-⭒

Joshua ends up in the kitchen downstairs, all three boys sitting on the counter since Papa Seungcheol isn't there to discourage it. He tried to help Vernon right back into bed, he swears, but as soon as Seungkwan roused from his sleep and asked Vernon what was wrong, a conspiracy of monsters under each of their beds spiralled out of control. Even Chan got dragged in, heavy sleeper that he is.

Now, Joshua's showing them his ultra-secret monster repellent recipe. He melts an ice cube on a warm pan like a slab of butter, then pours warm water over it. Hiding more ice in his hands, he pretends to pull it from the pantry and adds that to the "mixture" too.

The boys watch, entranced and more than a little tired, as Joshua carefully pours the pan's contents into a measuring cup filled with yet more ice. He then pours that into a spray bottle they use to water the plants and screws the lid on. "There," he says proudly, presenting the bottle in front of the boys like it's a fine wine.

"What's going on down here?" your soft voice comes from the bottom of the stairway.

Joshua winces. "I was hoping I wouldn't wake you."

"It's alright," you say, though he can tell you're still fatigued. You walk over to the kitchen and pet the first boy's head that you reach, Chan's. "What are you all doing up?"

While Vernon makes grabby hands for you to run your fingers through his hair as well, Seungkwan answers. "Papa Shua's making monster-go-away juice."

"Monster-go-away juice?" you echo, then turn to Joshua with feigned shock and a quiet gasp. "Not your secret recipe?"

Joshua smiles. You're always so quick to match his humour. "I know." He throws the boys a look before meeting your eyes with full, teasing seriousness. "But I think they're ready."

Your eyes glimmer with laughter, but you hold yourself back for the sake of the bit. Turning to your sons, you wag your finger. "This is powerful stuff, boys. You have to use it carefully."

Chan's eyes are wide, sparkling with awe as he takes in your every word. Seungkwan and Vernon are equally rapt. Joshua's going to have to explain all this to the more straightforward husbands tomorrow, but tonight? Seeing the adorable looks on his sons faces and the playful tilt of yours is totally worth it.

"But don't worry," he chimes in. "It only works on monsters. It's harmless to humans. See?"

In a flash, he points the bottle at you and pulls the trigger, spraying a thin mist of water-water right in your face. You flinch in surprise, affronted, but only Joshua can tell. You laugh, then look at the boys again. "See? Nothing." You snatch the spray bottle from him. "It doesn't do anything to papa Joshua, either."

Okay, he thinks as you spray him not once, but three times, he deserves that.

"Now, papa Joshua and I are going to take care of any monsters, and then we're all gonna go to sleep, okay?"

The boys nod, and Vernon yawns, then motions for you to pick him up. You send a look Joshua's way, and he sends one right back. He gathers both Seungkwan and Chan in his arms, but before you start the trek up the stairs, he stops you. Each of the sons in his arms get a kiss to the top of their head, and then he leans over and presses one to your temple. Lastly, he bends down and, while Vernon has raised his arm to once again rub his eyes, Joshua kisses his tiny little hand. Just like he imagined over breakfast not so long ago.

No, waking up in the middle of the night to save his sons from imaginary monsters was never his idea. Neither was this life, or this family.

But Joshua wouldn't have to any other way.

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the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 8 months

Text

The Only Tally Mark

Ship: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: The 'You Suck' tallies are getting pretty high, but there's a girl in Scoops Ahoy who knows Robin in wrong. If she can just get the courage to open her mouth, Steve's luck is about to change.

Word Count: 7,250 words

Warnings: Robin's a bit mean, she also has no filter, pining, Steve's failed flirting attempts, blatant staring/pining, implied confession, first kiss

Note: Set pre-s4 and the day Dustin comes back, before the Russian code is cracked.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

July had only just begun in Hawkins, and you could already tell it was going to be a hot one. Less than twenty-four hours in, temperatures had already hit record-breaking highs—at least, that was according to the weatherman on the television you were sat in front of, sweating and feeling relief from the heat only when the fan beside you swiveled back toward you.

“Every July is this hot,” your father said from the kitchen, where he was drinking his second glass of water in five minutes.

“Oh, sure, but never this early,” your mother retorted. “It’s only the first, and already we’re melting out of the house.”

Sensing an irritable argument birthed from the nearly unbearable heat, you left the living room and headed up the stairs to your bedroom. You picked up the phone you’d begged your parents to let you have years ago, dialing the number of your best friend of four years: Robin Buckley, the band dweeb to your theatre kid.

It was her mom who answered the phone, several dial tones later. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Buckley—is Robin home?”

“Oh, hi, sweetie! She’s at work right now, her shift ends at seven.”

You stopped yourself from swearing. “Oh, right, I forgot. Thank you!”

“No problem, dear,” Mrs. Buckley said before hanging up.

You leaned against the wall. How could you have forgotten? Robin had been telling you about her new job in the mall—and the sailor’s uniform she had to wear. You’d seen her get ready for work once and had burst into giggles the moment she put the hat on her head.

You glanced at the digital clock next to your bed, checking the time. There was still several hours before the mall closed. You might as well visit Robin and abuse your friendship to get some free ice cream at the same time, right?

So you grabbed your wallet and shoved it in your pocket and bounded down the stairs.

"Hey, I'm going out!" you shouted to your parents.

"Where do you think you're going, young lady?" your father asked, appearing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen.

"To the mall? Robin works there and I'm going to visit."

"Don't spend too much, dear!" your mother called.

"Sure, Mom!"

You hopped in your car and headed for the mall, following the thick cluster of traffic that always lined the streets leading to the mall, passing through the streets lined with empty, hollow shops.

~❊~

The mall was crowded, as busy as it had always been since the day it opened. You pushed your way through the crowds gathered around storefronts and display windows, trying to remember which floor Scoops Ahoy was on.

You took the escalator down to the first floor and scanned the shops surrounding you. When you spotted the sign for the ice cream store, you headed toward it, maneuvering past a group of pre-teens cackling about manipulating the store's workers into giving them free samples.

There was no one at the counter when you walked in. A majority of the tables were occupied by groups of teens. As you approached the register, you could hear faint bickering from behind the pebbled glass windows, Robin's distinct voice floating out to you.

"...do the job you're supposed to do, I've been scooping so much ice cream my hand's cramped," she was saying.

You stifled a giggle and tapped your hand lightly against the bell in front of you, wincing when it was a little louder than you had been expecting.

The swing door on the left opened with a bang, revealing the back of a boy who was gesturing at Robin, who was quite literally pushing him out the door. She disappeared before you could catch her attention, and the other attendant took up his place in front of the register.

"Ahoy, sailor! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captain, I'm Steve Harrington."

You blinked at him. "Is that company policy like the hat and the outfit?"

He stared at you. "I'm sorry, what?"

You shrugged. "I'm a friend of Robin's, she complains about the, and I quote, stupid company rules that make everyone look stupid."

He stared at you. You stared at him. Awkward silence settled between the two of you.

The introduction hadn't been necessary. You had spent most of your high school experience listening to Robin complain about Steve Harrington and his stupid perfect hair and his stupid easy charm and his stupid actual stupidity. The Steve she'd painted matched up perfectly with the kid you'd seen around in the halls, dressed in his ironed polo shirts and pleated khakis or that stupid basketball uniform and letterman jacket—and Nancy Wheeler on his arm.

You and Robin had watched his life crash and burn with malicious glee—and all the while you had tried to ignore that this was the very same boy you'd crushed on in middle school, and had been so shocked to find out had changed so much when you got to the high school, a year after he did.

Steve cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the register, firmly away from you. "Um. What can I get you?"

"Uh..." Every ice cream flavor you had ever liked instantly disappeared from your head. It wasn't like the usual mind-blankness that came from being asked a question about your favorite anything. It was like your entire body had stopped, freezing in the pretty face of Steve Harrington, ridiculous as the uniform was. Especially with the hat, which Robin hadn't told you about.

The door swung open again. "Jesus, Steve, what's taking you so damn long?" Robin froze where she stood. A smile lit up her face. "What are you doing here?!"

You grinned. "Visiting!"

Robin hip-checked Steve out of the way. Steve glared at her while she grabbed the ice cream scoop from the pocket at his side.

"Jesus, do you have to be so brutal?" he snapped.

Clearly fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Robin turned back to Steve. "I'm sorry, would you please get out of the way so I can serve my best friend? Thanks," she said, her customer service smile plastered to her face.

Muttering under his breath, Steve pushed away from the counter, leaning on the sill of the window behind him. He crossed his arms, still staring resolutely at the floor.

Robin grinned at you. "I wasn't expecting you to—"

"Be here?" you finished. "I called your house before I realized you were working, so I thought I might as well come visit."

"Glad you did," she said. "You would not believe how much of a headache it is working with dingus over there."

You glanced over her shoulder at Steve, his pink lips forming a pissy pout. Oh, yeah. Still pretty, still a bitch.

"You didn't tell me you worked with him," you said under your breath.

Robin shrugged, shooting you a knowing smile. "Yeah, well, I knew you'd show up and find out for yourself eventually." Her eyes slid to the corners, as if she could see Steve sulking behind her. "We'll talk about him later. What ice cream do you want? On us."

You giggled. "How did I know you'd say that?"

She snorted. "Oh, so you're abusing our friendship for free ice cream?"

"Maybe," you said. "Just this once."

Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed an ice cream cone. "Here—I'll grab your favorite."

And, without you needing to remind her, she lowered the scoop into the tub of ice cream that you got every time the two of you had gotten ice cream after going to see a movie, back before the mall. You wondered how you could have forgotten, until you looked over Robin's shoulder again and found Steve looking up, lips parted and eyes fixed on you. The minute you caught his gaze, he blushed and looked away.

You took advantage of his embarrassment, admiring the pink in his cheeks and how he awkwardly licked his lips. He toyed with the watch on his wrist, crossed and uncrossed his legs. Was he nervous? An even better question—had you ever seen Steve Harrington nervous before?

While you studied Steve, Robin made a second cone of ice cream, a different flavor than yours.

Robin looked behind her. "Hey—man the counter, will you? I'm going on break."

Steve spluttered. "You just came back from break!"

"No, we just finished our lunch break. I still have my federally-required thirty minutes to take. So I'm gonna take 'em." She shoved the scoop at Steve's chest and stepped out from behind the counter.

The pair of you took an unoccupied table near the counter, in case she was needed.

"Should you be leaving him to do it by himself?" you asked, glancing back at Steve one last time.

"What, are you worried about him? He'll be fine," Robin said. She shrugged with a sigh. "He's...he's not as bad as we thought he was in high school. He's less of a douche now, at least."

"Just a dingus?" you asked with a smile.

She nodded. "He's still as stupid as we always thought."

You turned your attention away from Steve at toward your ice cream. "Why didn't you tell me he worked with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Let's not have that conversation while he's here, okay? For your dignity's sake. I know he's far away, but he's got impressive hearing." She shrugged. "Blame it on four years of listening for gossip, I guess."

Your gaze shifted back to Steve as he raked a hand through his hair, stretching enough for his shirt to lift. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you crossed your legs. Now that he wasn't surrounded by assholes who mocked you and Robin and your friends for their own personal entertainment, it was easier to appreciate how he'd grown into himself since middle school. Taking care of himself had made him a whole new level of handsome.

Robin giggled. "Yeah—that's why we're not gonna talk about this while he's around. You still have a thing for him, don't you?"

Steve relaxed against the countertop, fixing his hair and putting the hat back on with a scowl. You cleared your throat.

"I was hoping you'd forgotten about that."

"Me? Forget about you having the most embarrassing crush on him for years? Only to get to high school and find out he'd become a dick? Never."

You groaned. "Oh, stop rubbing it in!"

A gaggle of girls walked into the store, four of them giggling and talking and rolling their eyes. Immediately, Steve stood up a little straighter and fiddled with his uniform.

Robin snorted. "Oh, watch this. He's been failing catastrophically with every girl that walks in. I keep count."

"You keep count?"

She nodded gleeful, pointing with her chin in the direction of the counter.

"Ahoy, ladies!" Steve said, leaning on the counter. His attempt to be attractive failed dismally, however, when his hand slipped off the side and he lost both his balance and his composure for a moment.

One of the girls giggled with her friend. Steve's cheeks darkened.

"I'm Steve Harrington, I'll be your captain on this ocean of flavor. What can I get you lovely ladies today?"

You glanced at Robin. "I don't see what he's doing wrong."

"That's because this is scripted," Robin whispered back.

The first girl stepped forward. "One scoop of chocolate and one of vanilla, please."

Steve tried a debonaire smile. "Oooh, classic, I like it. I'm all for vanilla myself, you know, all the time."

You winced. "Was...was that supposed to be a double entendre?"

"Yep," Robin said, popping the p with a smirk.

"I see what you mean now," you said. The girl was making a face that said she caught Steve's drift and found it rude. Steve cleared his throat and moved on, scooping ice cream into a cone and handing it to her with a mortified whisper of "here you go." His gaze flicked over to you and Robin, at which point his mortification seemed to grow.

You watched the exchange grow steadily worse. Steve stumbled over his words and tripped over his feet and dropped an empty cone twice. Customers who had already gotten ice cream became onlookers who left, one by one, as the secondhand embarrassment grew.

"God, he's hopeless," you whispered. "Whatever happened to the Steve in high school?"

"You mean the one with a new girl on his arm every week? I'd say that stopping can be blamed on one Nancy Wheeler," Robin said.

You rolled your eyes. "While they were dating, obviously. But now? One relationship shouldn't make him incapable of flirting with a girl."

Robin watched the girls leave, snickering behind their hands. A moment later, Steve groaned, wiping a hand over his face. "You know what I think his problem is?"

"What?"

"He's trying to flirt all of them into submission, not just one girl he likes out of the group."

You nodded slowly. "Sounds about right. I mean...if he flirted with me one minute and then you the next, I don't think I'd want to jump his bones, exactly."

Robin rolled her eyes. "What are you talking about? You've always wanted to jump his bones."

"That was middle school, and that was before any of us gave a shit about sex."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Robin teased. "I saw how you looked at him during gym class."

You shrugged, trying to hide your face behind your hair. Robin knew your expressions better than anyone; your embarrassment was going to be obvious the minute she caught sight of you. "It's gym class! Guys don't wear shirts ninety percent of the time, they practically invite girls to stare." Your gaze slid back to Steve, who was once again staring at the floor. His cheeks were still red, and that pretty mouth of his had once again formed a pout. "Jesus, I don't think I've ever seen him so...despondent."

"He's like that at least five times a shift," Robin said. She played with a small red plastic spoon she had pulled from her pocket. "You know... You could come work here with us. Then you'd get to see Steve every day."

"Robin, you're constantly complaining about how much you hate working your, and I quote, pitiful minimum wage job."

"Yeah, but you like Steve, and eye candy makes the day go by faster."

You swatted her arm discreetly. "Don't objectify him!"

She rolled her eyes. "Hey, Steve!"

Steve looked up so quickly you swore you heard his neck crack, even with some distance between your table and the counter. "What?"

"Come convince her to work with us!"

You glared at her. "Robin, I already have a summer job!" you protested, trying to stop your heart from racing as Steve approached the two of you. You looked anywhere but him, knowing a soft smile and a well-timed flutter of his eyelashes was all it would take for Steve to convince you to do anything he asked.

Steve pulled a chair from the other table for two next to you, spinning it unnecessarily in his hand and dragging it to the edge of your table. He straddled it, leaning his arms against the backrest. Your heart climbed into your throat.

Steve's eyes met yours and every thought melted from your brain. Brown had never been such a pretty color. Although his eyes weren't just brown, they were hazel, mottled with soft greens and blues and greys. You'd never seen such beautiful eyes before, so expressive and kind and interested and attentive and—

"Tell her why she should come work with us," Robin said, breaking your focus on Steve's eyes.

You rolled your eyes. "Robin, I already have a job," you repeated. "A job I like that pays well that I can work at year-round."

Steve snorted, shaking his head absentmindedly. "Then don't come here, that's for sure. The pay is shit, the job is just as bad, and nobody likes ice cream in the winter."

Robin glared at him. "What part of convincing her do you not understand?"

Steve shrugged, ignoring her. "But, then again, you'd get to work with Robin and you might alleviate my boredom from dealing with her all the time." He jerked his head toward Robin. "You wouldn't believe how mean to me she is."

You stifled a giggle as Robin huffed. An easy grin reminiscent of the king he once as slid across Steve's face. You felt slightly giddy, knowing you had been the one to put it there.

More people walked into the store and Robin shot to her feet. "Come on, dingus. We have a job to do." She dragged him to his feet, ignoring his hiss of complaint. He shot you an apologetic shrug as she pulled him behind the register again.

While the two of them got back to work, you sat back in your booth table and finished your ice cream. Once you were done, you discreetly snuck out of the store, leaving a note for Robin at the counter promising to call her after her shift.

As you wrote the note and taped it to the register, you failed to notice Steve pause where he was scooping ice cream to watch you, or that his gaze stayed on you until you left the store and Robin had to snap him out of his reverie.

~❊~

Though it seemed utterly impossible, the next day was even hotter than the last. You lasted all of two hours at the community pool before you got tired of the screaming children and moms flirting with Billy Hargrove and you went home.

You changed out of your bathing suit, dressing more consciously than you had since the eighth grade semi-formal. You selected your jewelry carefully before hopping in your car and heading to the mall for a second time that week.

Scoops Ahoy was significantly less busy when you walked in. Robin looked half-asleep where she stood at the counter, but she brightened when you walked in.

"You just couldn't stay away, could you?" she asked, leaning on the counter with a grin.

You shrugged. "It's hot, ice cream is a solution."

She studied you for a moment. "The pool didn't solve that?"

You scoffed. "Hell no. It's full of tiny children and middle-aged moms and girls who only go so they can take up space and stare at Billy."

"And there's no Steve there, is there?" Robin teased.

You rolled your eyes. "No," you admitted. "Or you."

Robin scooped your ice cream and passed it to you over the countertop. "He'll be back soon, his break ends in a minute. He went to go grab us food."

"He what?"

Robin shrugged. "Yeah, he does that a lot. I hate to say it, but he's actually a nice guy. I think we might have been wrong about him."

You grinned. "So I was right back in middle school! I told you."

Robin rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you did." She cleared her throat. "Behind you."

You heard Steve's footsteps approaching a split second before he said, "Hey, you're back! Applying?"

Turning to face him, you snorted. "Absolutely not. I'm here for ice cream and ice cream alone."

Steve frowned. "What are we, chopped liver?" he asked, gesturing between himself and Robin.

"I'm surprised you know that phrase," Robin said.

Steve made a face. "I do know some things, Robin." He turned back to you. "I told you she's mean to me."

You laughed. "She's mean to everyone sometimes, it's nothing personal."

"Yes it is, dingus," Robin said, and you remembered she had plenty of reasons aside from Steve's years mocking her and her friends to be angry with him.

You just shrugged at him when Steve looked at you for guidance. He copied your shrug and passed Robin a plastic bag that smelled heavenly.

"If I'd known you were coming to visit, I would have gotten you something," Steve said apologetically.

"Oh, it's fine," you promised. "I've got ice cream." He smiled at you, his laughter shining through. "Honestly, I'm surprised you two don't exist off of ice cream."

"We used to," Robin said.

Steve nodded. "It got pretty tiring after a week. It's like when they told us in health class that energy from sugar doesn't last very long. Or something like that."

Robin squinted at him. "You can't remember enough of high school to get to college, but you can remember health class?"

"I remembered enough to graduate," Steve mumbled, cheeks turning pink once again. You were starting to get used to Steve's embarrassment. It was as cute as he always was.

"Stay and eat with us," Robin said, turning back to you. "I'll split my fries with you. You did remember the fries, didn't you, dingus?"

"Of course I remembered the fries," Steve snorted. He dropped the Closed for lunch! sign on the counter and held the swinging door open for you. You thanked him as you walked by, aware of his eyes following you.

You sat in the seat Robin pulled out for you and finished your ice cream before stealing some of the previously offered fries.

"I think we're closing early, Robin," Steve said, glancing out the cracked window. "We've had, what, three people all day?"

"Four if you count the Radio Shack employee across the way," Robin said. "But I don't, because they get it for free."

You frowned. "Do I not count as a customer because you give me ice cream for free?"

Steve shook his head a bit too quickly. "No, you count, Robin just doesn't like the Radio Shack employees."

"Because they're rude," she complained. "They complain about everything and change their minds three times—but always after you've already started scooping, and even when you're done, they don't like it!"

"Sounds like a regular day in customer service," you said, feigning cheerfulness.

"Yeah, a shitty day," Robin said.

"Where do you work?" Steve asked. "I don't think I've ever asked."

"The record store down on Main," you said.

"You know, the one I said I had been planning on working at," Robin said. "But Scoops hired faster."

"Maybe we should switch jobs," Steve muttered.

Robin snorted. "Yeah, like that'll go over well."

"The store won't hire more people, anyway," you cut in. "It got rid of most of the staff, especially the new people, to cut costs because of the mall."

"Is there a record store in here?" Steve asked.

"No, but there is a Sam Goody and a Camelot Music in the mall. We used to have a partnership with the Sam Goody on Main, but then it closed due to the mall, and we started losing business to the one in the mall." You sighed. "I hear about it all the time. It's all the owner ever talks about these days."

Steve munched on a fry, staring at you as you spoke. His eyes were stuck firmly on you. You tried not to squirm under his intense gaze.

Robin leaned back in her chair. "One of these days, I'm gonna visit you at work instead."

You rolled your eyes. "If you ever have a day off," you said.

"Kinda hard to have a day off when we're the only two working here," Steve said.

You nodded. "The constant problem of being short staffed."

"That would be solved if you just came and worked here," Robin muttered into her wrap. You rolled your eyes again, stealing another one of her fries.

"No, Robin."

Robin harrumphed and took a bite of her sandwich more viciously than twas strictly required.

Steve faked a pout. "You just really don't like us, do you?"

"She doesn't," Robin agreed, smirking. You knew that smirk; she was going to do her best to guilt trip you—using Steve, which was perhaps the only way to guilt you into doing what she wanted.

You rolled your eyes. "It's got nothing to do with you, I promise."

"Ouch," they said in unison.

You frowned. "What are you, the same person?"

They both shrugged.

"Alright, that's just weird," you sighed. You glanced down at your watch. "How long does your lunch break last?"

"Thirty minutes. Why?" Steve asked.

You shrugged. "Wouldn't want you to get fired because I'm here distracting you."

Steve propped his head up on his hand. Stray curls of hair fell into his face. Your heart twisted in your chest. He was beautiful. How could he be so beautiful?

Robin watched as you and Steve stared at each other. You were aware of her gaze bouncing back and forth between the two of you, observing the way you were melting under his gaze, your lips parting the longer he looked at you, the barriers you'd put up slowly crumbling. Steve was no better, staring at you with open, asking eyes. He moistened his lower lip with his tongue and it took everything in you not to whimper.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the look on Robin's face—the look of disgust that crossed her face every time she was disgusted by public affection from straight couples. Your heart did flips at the sight of her expression.

"Would you guys stop that?" she groaned, getting up from her seat.

"Doing what?" Steve asked, still looking at you. You tore your eyes away from him and back to the half-empty container of fries.

"Making eyes at each other," she said. Steve spluttered, instantly losing the lovey look in his eyes.

"Making eyes— Robin, what are you talking about?"

You cleared your throat. "Hey, um, what's the board for?" You hoped your question would steer the conversation away from the feeling bubbling in your chest at the sight of Steve.

Steve groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

"I told you I was keeping score of Steve's failing dating life. This is my scoreboard."

You nearly choked. "You keep track of it on a whiteboard at work?!" You looked at the neatly drawn board, the 'You Rule' and 'You Suck' columns divided by a line.

"Actually, I have to put the one from yesterday on here."

Steve groaned again, cheeks burning very red. He looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and stay there.

You watched her add a line. "Robin..."

"She's right, I suck," Steve sighed. "My luck's been pretty shit recently."

"You don't suck, she's just being mean," you said. You sent her a look, shaking your head slightly. She just shrugged.

"You don't have to be nice about it," he said. "I know how bad I am at this. I haven't gotten laid in months."

"Okay, too much information, Steve," you said with a little laugh.

"Oh, so this suddenly isn't a safe place to talk about all our life troubles?" he teased.

You laughed fully. He smiled, and the room seemed to light up with the glow emanating from him.

"Get a room," Robin groaned.

Steve turned around. "I'm not flirting, Robin!"

"Yeah, right," Robin smirked. "It's just working this time."

You coughed. "I, um, I have to go."

They both turned back to you, as if they'd forgotten that you were even there.

"Shit, hang on," Steve started, but Robin cut him off.

"No, wait, I didn't mean it like that—" Robin said, realizing she'd practically told Steve you liked him.

"Yeah, right, I know, I just have, uh..." You fumbled for an excuse for a minute. "I have to go drive a friend home! I'll call you later, Robs!" You rushed out the swinging door just as the bell at the counter rang.

Steve pushed his hands through his hair. "Shit."

"Oh, no," Robin whispered. "Steve, ignore that, ignore all of that, I screwed up, I shouldn't have said anything, she's going to be so pissed. It's just that she's liked you since middle school and it's gotten worse now that you're not a douchebag—" Robin clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I won't tell her you said that," Steve said quietly. "Oh, Jesus, Robin..."

"I'm sorry—"

"Stop apologizing to me," Steve said. "If you hadn't said anything, I never would have realized."

Robin made a face. "See, that's why you suck, not because you're bad at flirting with girls. You've just been flirting with the wrong ones, because you're oblivious of the ones that actually like you."

Steve was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. Thanks for pointing that out." He peered out the window, watching you leave the mall, wiping at your eyes and pushing your hair out of your eyes.

Simultaneously, Steve and Robin whispered, "Shit."

At the counter, Erica Sinclair tapped the bell again. "Hello? I want some samples!"

They shouted, "Shut up!"

Steve slammed the glass doors shut.

~❊~

Steve unlocked his front door, stepped inside his house, and put his back to the closed door. He slid down the door with a heavy sigh.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath. All he had been able to see since you left Scoops was your stricken face, horrified and embarrassed that Robin had spilled your biggest secret. (Which Robin had told him after, in bits and pieces, while they closed up the store.)

Steve couldn't believe it. How had he never noticed? Granted, he hadn't been the most observant for, well, the majority of his life. And his middle school years had been fairly dull, unmemorable. But wouldn't have noticed if you—you, out of everyone in Hawkins Middle—had been crushing on him?

To his utter shame, the most Steve remembered of you in middle school was how you had been a good friend to him, long before any of his high school friends knew who he was, and that he'd ditched you once he got to high school. You'd helped him study a few times, too. He wasn't sure what year it was, but he knew you'd helped him pass both English and History in the same year.

He'd shared a handful of classes with you, too, when classes had been so small they'd mixed grades. Sixth grade science, when the two of you had worked on a minor chemical project together. In seventh grade, you'd had two classes together. Gym, which had been downright brutal so early in the morning, especially when the teachers split up the teams as boys against girls. He remembered you had gotten nailed in the head with a basketball once, and that he'd been asked by your teacher to take you to the nurse. Then there had been math class, where he'd sat behind you, asking you questions and begging you to explain the concepts he didn't understand—even though you didn't understand it much more than he did. Eighth grade history, where Steve had done a presentation on his grandfather's experience in the World War, and you had been the only to actually raise your hand to ask a question.

Steve got up from the door and went up to his bathroom, stripping out of his uniform to take a shower. While the water soaked his hair and skin, warming him up, Steve's mind turned back to you—not that it had ever really left you.

You had been his first crush. Well, his first real crush. You'd been pretty, even when you were young and curious and a year younger than he was. Most of his friends had said that the younger girls were cute, but embarrassing to like. So Steve hid that he liked you. It wasn't until Nancy in high school, when it became cool, that he dated anyone younger than himself.

He wished he'd said something to you then. Would it have saved him a world of hurt? Or would it just have been an even worse broken heart waiting for him?

Steve recalled the way you had looked at him earlier, your eyes practically sparkling and your lips stretching into a gorgeous, content smile. It had stopped his heart to know that he was the reason you looked so happy, that he had brought that smile to your lips and that he had made those smile lines around your eyes appear and that he had been the reason your pupils were blown wide.

Steve shut off the shower and pulled on a new pair of boxers, flopping onto his bed with a content sigh, which matched the happy smile on his face.

You liked him.

Feeling like a teenage girl, Steve rolled until he could hide an excited squeal in his pillow.

You liked him again.

Steve was certain that's what made him so giddy. You'd liked him before he'd become King Steve, before the popularity made him interesting—and you liked him again, now that he'd changed and learned and grown up. Now that he'd learned to be himself without a care in the world for anyone else's opinion.

It was like redemption, but it felt so much better than that.

A sudden feeling overwhelmed Steve.

The next time he saw you, he needed to tell you how he felt about you. He needed to make it clear that Robin's slip-up had not ruined the slow banter, the friendship the two of you had been dancing around.

Resolved, his thoughts stopped spinning. He turned off the lamp on his nightstand and shut his eyes.

Please come back tomorrow, he thought, before falling into a gentle sleep, full of dreams of romanticized meetings, confessions, and kisses.

~❊~

You avoided Scoops for several days, choosing to tough out the warm weather in the overcrowded community pool until your mortification subsided. Robin had called repeatedly to assure you Steve wasn't weirded out or annoyed or embarrassed by your crush on him. In fact, she almost made it sound as if he was pleased by it.

But you still couldn't make yourself go to Scoops Ahoy. Even the mental image of walking in and seeing Steve's face twist with some kind of disgust made your stomach twist.

But a girl could only take so much of Billy Hargrove. So, after nearly a week, you drove to the mall instead of the pool. It still took you nearly ten minutes to force yourself out of your car.

You had thought seeing Steve and Robin in their sailor uniforms had been strange, but there was a far stranger sight directly ahead of you: Robin at the counter, staring in absolute confusion, and Steve jumping with joy at the sight of the small child in the front of the store.

"Henderson!" Steve's smile was huge. The sight made you smile, albeit a bit more confused. "Henderson! He's back, he's back!"

"I'm back! You got the job!"

"I got the job!"

And then, just when you thought this strange scene could not get any weirder, Steve mimed playing a trumpet and both he and the child did a strange miming handshake, giggling all the while.

Robin leaned forward. "How many children are you friends with?"

Steve's overjoyed smile slipped from his face. He gestured to Robin with a strained look on his face, as if he were signaling See what I have to deal with?

"You mean there's more children?" you asked, walking up to them with a shy smile, almost embarrassed to make your return. Your stomach dipped as Steve turned to you, but his smile was back.

"Hey, you're back!" Steve said. "I thought we'd never see you again!"

You shrugged. "Yeah, well, I got tired of Billy flirting with me."

"Max's brother?" the child asked.

You stared at him. "I don't know who that is. Or who you are, actually."

"Oh, I'm—"

"This is Dustin," Steve interrupted. "Dustin Henderson. He's, uh, he's one of my friends." He went behind the counter and started making an ice cream sundae.

You gave Dustin your name and offered him your hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"How do you know Steve?" Dustin asked.

At the same time, both you and Steve pointed to Robin. She waggled her fingers at him.

"I'm going on break," Steve said, handing the sundae to Dustin. "Your turn to man the counter. Come on, Dustin, my treat!"

The two of them slipped into a booth. You leaned against the countertop with a heavy sigh.

"There's like...five or six of them," Robin said. "Kids, I mean. That he's friends with."

"Jesus," you muttered. "How old are these kids?"

"Like...thirteen, maybe?"

"Oh, boy."

Robin giggled. "Looks like you gotta share your man with children now."

You choked. "He's— He's not my man, Robin!" you hissed, your entire body burning. You glanced at Steve, but he was too engrossed in whatever story Dustin was telling him.

"But that's why you're here, isn't it?" Robin asked. "You came back because you're ready to talk to him again, knowing that you like him and he likes you."

You glanced over at Steve. While you observed him, Robin slipped out from behind the counter, quietly humming to herself as she worked.

"Yeah, I mean, sure," he was saying to Dustin. "It's not really a good idea for me though, gotta keep in shape for the ladies." Was it just your imagination, or did his eye stray over toward you?

"Yeah, and how's that working out for you?" Robin teased.

"Ignore her," Steve said quickly.

"She seems cool," Dustin said.

"She's not," Steve said, even quicker. "But, uh, the girl you just met? She's cool. She's really cool." A smile tugged at your lips. You pushed it away as you looked down at the floor, completely missing Steve's lovestruck glance toward you.

Dustin, however, missed nothing, and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really, Steve?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Anyway. So, uh, where are the other knuckleheads?"

"They ditched me yesterday," Dustin said.

"No," Steve said, his face falling. Your heart squeezed at the sight of his empathy. The Steve from high school never would have cared about a kid whose friends had abandoned him, but this Steve did.

"My first day back! Can you believe that shit?"

"Whoa, seriously?!" Steve demanded, incredulous. Your heart warmed once again.

You turned back to Robin. "In answer to your earlier question," you said under your breath, "yes, that is exactly what I'm here to do."

She giggled. "I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" She paused. "Was Billy Hargrove really flirting with you?"

You nodded. "I guess he doesn't really care about high school social status, as long as he gets laid." You shuddered. "I've never felt more objectified in my life, and I pranced around on stage in fishnets and a bodysuit in front of the entire school last year during Chicago!"

"I'm still convinced that was our best show," Robin said.

"I'd like to know how we got the rights to it," you snorted.

"I'd like to know how we convinced Principal Higgins to let us perform it."

You snorted. "Yeah. Has anybody heard anything about next year's shows?"

"Nothing yet," Robin said.

You harrumphed, your gaze sliding back to Steve and Dustin and found them talking in hushed tones. Steve's face was fixed into an expression of embarrassed confusion.

"Oh, got customers, hang on," Robin said, and served them while you moved off to the side, watching Dustin speak behind his hand. Steve just blinked at him and told him to speak up.

"I intercepted a secret Russian communication!" Dustin said, far too loudly.

The entire store went quiet. You and Robin exchanged a glance.

"Jesus, shhhh!" Steve hissed. "Yeah, okay, that's what I thought you said."

Business as normal resumed and Robin's customers headed for their own table.

You cleared your throat. "Well, I guess I should head out—"

"No, no, no, wait! What about Steve?"

"He's busy, Robs," you said, gesturing to him. Your stomach did flips at the cute, teasing little expression on his pretty face as you caught him saying American heroes. You weren't sure you wanted to know what mischief they were getting into. "I'll just...come back tomorrow."

Robin sighed. "Fine. As long as you let me play matchmaker!"

You rolled your eyes. "You've been doing that for the past, what, four years?"

"Yeah, but this time I might actually be successful!"

You shook your head with a smile. "Catch you later, Robin. Bye, Steve!" you added as you walked past.

Steve's head snapped up. He scrambled up from his seat at the booth. "Hey, wait, wait, where are you going?" He caught your arm and your eyes darted to his fingers on you. Every possible excuse was wiped from your head. "I thought you were gonna stay and...hang out for a little while."

You smiled apologetically. "Yeah, I was going to, but your friend just came back, so I figured I'd just come back another time. So you don't have to...divide your already divided attention, y'know?" You gestured back to the counter.

Though there was understanding in Steve's eyes, he still looked disappointed. "Oh...um... Would you—" He cleared his throat, his cheeks gaining a deep pink shade. "Would you maybe wanna hang out together—" He stopped again. "Would you wanna go on a date? With me? Sometime?"

You couldn't stop the smile that stretched across your face. "When?"

"Oh, you know, whenever you want? If you want to, I mean."

You stopped his rambling with a finger against his lips. His eyes widened. "I want to, Steve. I really, really want to. I always have."

He beamed. "Really?"

"Really," you promised. You patted his chest. "Even in this stupid little uniform."

He laughed. "What do you say to...two days from now? Meet me here at the end of my shift so Robin can make fun of us like always—" You laughed with him. "—and then we can go see a movie?" His thumb caressed the skin of your arm. That single touch alone sent butterflies through your stomach, not to mention the beautiful, sappy look in his eyes.

"I'd like that," you said. "I'd like that a lot."

"And, um, if you'd like, there's a little dinner about ten minutes from here with awesome milkshakes we could go to after."

You beamed. "Oh, Steve."

"Yeah?"

"You're absolutely perfect," you said to him, cupping his cheek and smoothing your fingers over his skin. He hummed happily. "Steve?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I... Do you... Can we kiss? I know it's soon, it's just... I've wanted this for a long time."

Steve beamed. He leaned in, cupping the back of your head and pulling you into him. His lips touched yours, and you swore your body crackled with electricity. A feeling similar to pins and needles, but far more pleasant, spread throughout you.

He made to pull away. You brought both your hands to his cheeks and held him to you, kissing him for all you were worth.

In the booth, Dustin's mouth dropped open. A grin spread across his face.

At the counter, Robin, who couldn't see the kiss but saw your hands slide into Steve's hair, pulled out her whiteboard and added a singular tally into the 'You Rule' column.

She glanced back at you and Steve. Steve had broken the kiss to tug you close to him, hugging you to his chest. You twisted your hand into his hair, smiling over his shoulder, your eyes closed against the rest of the world.

Robin grinned; she guessed the 'You Suck' tallies didn't matter anymore. Steve had found the one his charm worked on.

☞ ❊ ☜

Stranger Things // Steve Harrington

part 2 coming soon!

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the S.H. taglist!} @ohatropa@nix-rose@live-the-fangirl-life

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wolfytoothy · 3 months

Text

another dimension

this story was requested by one of the followers/readers on wattpad. Love you bookie😘😘

Also yalls hero name us Arachnid. I don’t know, just roll wit it😬.

You don’t know how the hell you got here, but one second you were patrolling stressing on where miles might be, till your spider senses wouldn't stop going off.

You parched yourself on a building while you were looking for the problem. Then all of a sudden a big ass hexagon thingy with all colors. A strong force sucked you in forcing you to go in the portal. “Oh shit- AHHHH”

Less than 5 seconds you were transported into the middle of the road. You got up with a groan and your eyes widened when you saw a semi-truck coming full force at you.

You quickly duck and you go out of the way on the sidewalk. Then all of a sudden it was like everyone was personally after you. “Watch were you going bitch” someone yelled as you bumped into them. Damn you knew some people hated spider-woman but damn. “I uh-sorry” left and right people were being mean looks and cat calling you.

You quickly swung into an alleyway and went on top of a roof top. When you looked at you what was supposed to be your beautiful city. You saw… it was wrong… it looked off. “Were the hell am I” you mumbled as you swung to make sure you weren’t trippin balls. As you swung across the city you were confused as hell. “I’m were the hell am I” you said slowly as you stopped at a building that had the news on it.

“Reports still say, Y/n L/n is still missing. She was last seen as kingpins head cortorers at 5 am. Her motorcycle was found in-”

you looked at the screen in horror as you took off our mask, drowning out the sound as it was the only thing you could hear. The then switched to a picture of you smiling with your best friend Miles.

You breathing hitched when you felt a sharp pain run through your body. You started glitching.

“HH⅁⅁ɥɓɥɓɓɓ⅁ɥɥɥ∀”

you fell to the floor as you clutch your chest. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Your eyes widened as soon as you realized. “I’m in the wrong dimension” When the reality set in you immediately put on back your mask and started talking to the voice installed in your mask.

“J-jarvis” you said, breathing hard as you shot a web and started swinging.

“Yes Arachnid?”

The female voice said in your ears. “Call Miles” you said in a out of breath voice.

“ of coarse Arachnid, calling Miles”

The phone rang for a quick second but it when to voice mail was heard. You let out an annoyed groan and left a voice male. “Miles I don't know were the hell i am, but all i know this is not my universe. I don’t know what kind of fucked up shit you got your ass into but come save me cuz i have no idea what to do” After you left the voice message you landed on another building.

You look to the left and saw a graffiti. You stepped closer and saw. Miles dad. “Mr.Morales…” You said in a tiny voice. You fell to your knees and let out a breath. As you knelt you felt a familiar buzzing in your head.

You prepared yourself as you activated the pack on your back, which had metal like spider legs. They unfolded elegantly from your back. You turned around swiftly, with your armed protecting your face. The long metal legs doing the same, as the other legs pointed sharpy at the attacker ready to attack and disarm.

You didn’t get a good look at the attacker before you bucked dodging a punch and you backed up into a wall. You saw a man. That looked mighty familiar. And another guy. That was a little bit taller than you. You saw them two twin braids and the prowler outfit. And that digital like mask. “who… are you” You said not letting your guard down. “Who are you?” the guy with the prowler outfit said, it seemed like his voice was in a filter.

The eyes on your mask sharpened as it scanned the guys face and made it clear for you to identify. A gasp escaped your lips. And you looked at the guy in shock. “Uncle Aaron? BUT YOUR DEAD?” You blurted letting down your guard for a second. Which was all the time The prowler needed to pin you down.

Next thing you know you were pinned against the wall, nearly breaking the wall “who-... who are you” you asked again . “I’m Miles morales… but you… you can call me the prowler,” he said in a smooth voice with a slight accent.

You looked at him then kicked him off of you giving you time to take off your mask. “Miles? Do you know how worried I was looking all over for you.” you yelled mad.

‘Miles’ breath hitched in his throat as his uncle took a step back. Miles mask retracted and you looked at him in shock. “n/n?” he said in a slightly hurt voice.

“When did you get braids?, why do you have braids-, is it just me are did you get a bit shorter?, why are you dressed like that?” the tension in the air was released as you circled around him inspecting him. Bombarding him with questions. “ and you. Your supposed to be dead” you said alarmed.

Miles grabbed you by the shoulder holding you in front of him and tearing up. He pulled you into a tight hug and started bombarding you with questions.

“Y/n, where the hell have you been, We’ve all been worried sick, where were you, why did you leave? who took you? Did someone snatch you up. Why are you here now? Why do you look so… different… and what's with the suit?” he said all in one breath then breathing out. “Thank god you're okay” he said releve.

“I missed you two but- A҉h҉h҉h҉G҉g҉g҉g҉h҉g҉h҉G҉G҉H҉H҉ “ you screamed out in pain as if felt like your bone’s, soul, flesh was being ripped apart and rearranged again. You kneel to the ground and clutch your chest heaving, you brought back to reality and the realization hit you like a train once again.

You stood up and looked at miles with sad eyes. “Miles… I need you to listen.I’m not your Y/n” you said slowly. You watched dreadfully as his face fail. “...what?” he responded. “I’m not yours, you're not MY Miles” you said, tearing up, holding your hands up in defence. “What. But-...bu-” he repeated.

“ I love you Miles… but you're not mine” you chuckled looking at him, cupping his face.

He looked you up and down with his glossy hazel eyes. “Then who… are you” he asked staring at you. “I’m Y/n L/n. I’m from universe 1610, I’m not supposed to be here. But something brought me here. I don’t know what but I’m here. But listen, I need to find a way out of here before- HH⅁⅁--ahɥɓɥɓɓɓ⅁-a-ghɥɥɥ∀” before you could finish your sentence you started glitching again as you fell in his arms.

“Or That happens” you said prospering yourself up again. “So your y/n but not mine?...”

“Correct” you smiled

“So like… why do you look like that?” he asked looking you up and down. You looked at your suit and back at him.

“This is gonna take a while”

#miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles #earth 42 miles x you #e.42 miles #miles morales x reader #atsv prowler #miles morales prowler #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 prowler #across the spiderverse #spidersona #into the spider verse #arachnid

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cosmerelists · 10 days

Text

If Stormlight Characters Read The Stormlight Archive

As requested by @imtheseventh :)

Let's say Stormlight Characters got their hands on The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson--you know, the book written about all of their lives. What would they think of Sanderson's depiction of them?

[SPOILERS FOR STORMLIGHT ARCHIVE THROUGH RHYTHM OF WAR!]

1. Navani

Navani: Say, Dalinar... Navani: Why is Evi's name replaced by Shshsh in all of your POV chapters? Dalinar: ... Dalinar: Ah, so here's the thing...

2. Adolin

Adolin: Shallan, wait! Adolin: This is feeling like a flashback chapter about your life. Adolin: Don't read it to me. It feels weird to find out this way. Adolin: I'd rather wait until you're ready to tell me. Shallan: Ah, so you want to stop listening whenever my past comes up? Shallan: That's exactly what I used to do! High five! Adolin: I don't Adolin: I don't know that this is a high-five moment.

3. Shallan

Shallan: L-Listen, Jasnah... Shallan: I SWEAR I was neither thinking about nor looking at your boobs quite as much as the book makes it sound.. Shallan: I think this Sanderson guy was just projecting! Jasnah: I believe you, Shallan. Shallan: Y-You do? Jasnah: I have to assume he wanted to establish my beauty but felt that it would be less salacious to have it filtered through another woman's perspective. Shallan: Y-Yeah, that makes sense... Jasnah: After all, if you loved my boobs that much, I don't know why you sat there and doodled Captain Kaladin instead of them... Shallan: WHELP TIME TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT

4. Syl

Syl: ... Kaladin: Hey, are you okay? You seem...down. Kaladin: And are you wearing trousers?? Syl: Was...was there something wrong in how I dressed? Kaladin: No? What do you mean? Syl: Like, was it immature? Kaladin: No? Syl: Then why does this Brandon guy call my dress "girlish" like 19 billion times?!? Hoid: Oh, don't worry about that! Writers get weirdly fixated on words! At least you weren't always doing things maladroitly, ha! Syl: ...What? Hoid: Whoops wrong series!

5. Gaz

Gaz: Look...I know I wasn't the Almighty's most perfect guy, but.. Gaz: Could he maybe have written me as slightly LESS of the embodiment of a sniveling cremling?? Gaz: Like, give a guy a break! Vathah: What, too much realism for a fantasy? Gaz: You shut up!

6. Sadeas

Sadeas: I was so upset...so flabbergasted...when Dalinar outmaneuvered me in that disadvantaged duel... Sadeas: But it was all just LUCK?! Sadeas: He didn't maneuver for SHIT! Sadeas: He just happened to have EVERY SINGLE PERSON WITH SUPERPOWERS on his side and they were ALL stupid enough to get INVOLVED Sadeas: It's so much worse now!!! Ialai: At least their dark-eyed captain ruined it at the end. Sadeas: Ugh, yeah, thank the stars for THAT.

7. Kaladin

Kaladin: I actually hate this. Lyn: Why? Kaladin: Hearing about all my friends dying...again...having my actions framed as some type of "heroism"... Kaladin: T-That guy writes me like I'm the hero! Lyn: ...I am fairly certain that you are. Kaladin: Ughhhh...

8. Lirin & Hesina

The Way of Kings sits before them Hesina: ... Lirin: ... Hesina: ... Lirin: ... Hesina: Do you want to go & cry forever over our boys? Lirin: Yes please.

9. Moash

Moash: Wow. Moash: After hearing all about King Elhokar from the perspective of the people who actually like him... Moash: I gotta say... Moash: I was totally right! Moash: That guy is SUCH an asshole!

10. Dalinar

Dalinar: ... Dalinar: ... Dalinar: ... Dalinar: I just can't believe that he STOLE Nohadon’s TITLE.

11. (!) Bonus Vin

Vin: KELSIER WHAT THE HELL

#cosmere #cosmerelists #stormlight archive #stormlight archive spoilers #I thought way of kings was dalinar’s book whoops #edited

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kechiwrites · 2 years

Text

| kinktober week one | ♱ diligence ♱ | kento nanami x reader |

synopsis: “kento takes careful note of what you like, just in case you want repeat performances”

wc: 2.5k

cw: femme reader, established relationship, oral sex (f receiving), bondage, light d/s dynamics, cunnilingus, squirting, petnames (honey, darling, princess), nanami is VERY observant. NO MINORS.

author’s note: late because i watched mugen train again and had to take a mental health day. this one goes out to @kee-does-things and @katsukikitten PREMIUM NANAMI ENJOYERS who hype me up so much. enjoy. atsumu comes tomorrow (get it? cause it’s smut? cause he’ll nut? alright).

♱ find the rest of my kinktober masterlist here ♱

It’s unthinkable that Kento is hiding something from you. In fact, before this you had found yourself wishing he would hide things from you. Honesty has always been his number one policy, even when you really didn’t want to hear it. Even when the low, gravel of his voice was the only thing keeping you interested.

Lately, however, you've been seeing him scribbling things down in a notebook, an action which, by itself, isn’t much to provoke your curiosity - he’s always taking notes of some kind. What really piques your interest is that once he notices you're looking at him, he’ll squirrel one particular notebook away somewhere out of sight. You try to ignore it at first, everyone’s got their little isms and Kento is a case study in odd behaviours. But every passing day, every scritch-scratch of pencil against paper drives you further and further into madness.

So you look for it, and yes, every self-help book and social media post about relationships says to respect your partner's boundaries, their secrets, but you’re only human and Kento is a steel trap when he doesn’t want you to know something. Still, your curiosity can only beat back your conscience so far. Even as you overturn his carefully colour coded drawers in your shared bedroom to search for the accursed thing, the potential titles of your would-be biography are scrolling through your head;

"So You're A Psycho Spouse..."

"Why Not Everything is Your Business."

"Leave Kento’s Shit Alone!"

Okay yes, your subconscious made the last one particularly pointed, but it definitely wasn’t wrong.

Then you find it, a perfectly maintained, unscuffed, forest green moleskine notebook, silken fabric bookmark wedged a little less than halfway inside. The book feels like it's burning your fingertips and you drop it onto your bed. Maybe you should've waited until Kento was out of the house to look but you knew how long his showers were, you had plenty of time. Carefully, as though the pages would come apart in your nosey little hands, you pry open the book to where it's been bisected, eyes immediately honing in on your name. Below it, in Kento’s perfectly square script, is a very detailed account of the time Kento made you squirt on your third anniversary. Tiny diagrams of what were obviously Kento’s large, veined hands in different positions fill up the margins, accompanied with questions and comments on potential causation, how you'd responded and notes for "future engagements''.

It is mortifying but your curiosity pushes you to read more. This time you flip to the beginning, pages upon pages of suggestive drawings and text filtering past your eyes.

‘Press tongue flat against clit, follow with ring and middle fingers, push inward until she cries, add index finger, repeat until climax.’

A flash of heat courses through your body at the memory and you sit on the floor, settling into the journal entries. It’s clinical and detached and it shouldn’t be even a fraction as hot as it is, but the idea of being the subject of Kento's frequent and thorough study gathers slick between your thighs.

The next entry is rife with images and the contents rob you of your breath. A rough sketch of manicured hands bound by shaded rope in intricate knots takes up an entire page, below it in tiny text are the words; “She’d look good bound, anchor her hands to the bindings around her thighs. First silk, then rope.”

A printed picture of you with your handcuffed arms raised is paper clipped to the next page, a photograph taken during an, at the time, really funny magic show you’d insisted on attending, next to you is a figure holding a wobbly fake saw that you know is Gojo, his normally grinning face obscured by a perfectly round black circle. It makes you laugh, knowing Kento probably couldn’t find a picture from that night without Gojo in it, so your husband made do.

You pour over his notes, heart thudding in your chest so loud you worry you’re developing some sort of condition. One page dissects exactly what colour of rope would look best against your skin, Kento’s stream-of-consciousness notes turning over which items of clothing he likes seeing you in the most, what colours are easiest to find and how much he could get versus how soon they’d arrive. According to the paragraph near the end of the entry, he’d settled on the classic red, a fact that makes you roll your eyes goodnaturedly. Even when Kento surprises you, he doesn’t surprise you.

Another page is filled to bursting with bullet points on the pros and cons of “public scenes”, and you choke on your own spit after you read that Nanami has firmly decided your first foray into the more risky side of your sex life is coming very soon.

Christ.

A third of the way into the little green notebook, you’re reading Kento’s pristine script again; “She takes so well to authority, at least when we’re being intimate.” Your brows furrow together, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you mutter.

“What are you doing?”

When you whip your head up from the journal, Kento is standing over you, dripping wet with his towel wrapped low around his waist. If it weren’t for the thunderous expression on his face, you’d probably attempt to tug the fabric free, probably with your teeth.

“Ah…” You drop the book like it’s bound in hot coals, the spine thudding on your bedroom floor. “J-just…cleaning. How was your shower? You know I was actually thinking I’d take one too!” you scramble up from where you were sitting, steadfastly keeping your eyes aimed at the floor. “So I’ll just-”

“No.” Kento catches you around your forearm, his grip as solid as iron. “You read the book, didn’t you?”

“I can’t read!” You yelp immediately.

“Right,” The exasperation in his voice is clear, and his hold on you tightens by just a fraction. “Well, I’m sure you can understand pictures, can’t you darling?”

The rope is tight, expertly tied so it’s snug around your arms and torso but not so restrictive that you’ll get anything beyond a couple of suggestive bruises tomorrow. Your husband had made quick work of you, pulling you onto your bed and stripping off your clothes without much fanfare, sourcing the rope from the same drawer you’d found the book.

Now it’s no wonder he never wanted you to put the laundry away, you always figured he was just particular about how his shirts were folded.

Above you, Kento almost looks pained, the corners of his mouth are pulled down and his neck is very rapidly flushing pink. You open your mouth to ask if he’s alright, but he cuts you off, his voice dark and dripping like honey when he says; “I knew you’d look amazing like this.” Reverently, he runs his hand over the rope separating your breasts while he whispers to himself, “Perfect.”

“Let me know if anything I do or say upsets you, yes?” He murmurs, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort or anxiety.

“Kento.” You whisper, brushing your lips against his.

“Yes?” His gaze goes soft and sweet.

“The tie you wear to work everyday upsets me.” If you were going to get him to ditch it, your best chance was now, apparently.

“Noted and dismissed.”

‘No such luck.’ You click your tongue in faux-irritation and wiggle against your constraints, only stopping your impatient squirming when Kento levels you with a raised eyebrow. Your response is impish, a smile that’s all teeth, your bare skin framed with crimson cord.

He draws back quickly, turning away from you to mask what you assume is Kento’s version of raucous laughter, his broad, bare shoulders rising and falling from small chuckles. He kneels on the ground, bent over something that his body obscures from your vision. You struggle, trying to get to your knees so you can peer over his shoulder, but you must’ve been making too much noise because your husband circles back to face you, only returning to his quandary when you let yourself fall back on your ass.

“I wanted to prepare more. Was going to give you time to acclimate. I was going to take it slow. But you just…can’t keep yourself out of trouble, can you? Can’t just do as you’re told.” You whimper in protest, hands flexing where they’re bound behind your back.

“Couldn’t just be a good girl.” Kento intones.

Your chest burns with embarrassment as he approaches, dumping a handful of toys at the foot of the bed, most are familiar to you; bullet vibes and magic wands and dildos in varying sizes. You shift away from the collection, a whine building in the base of your throat at what the tools mean for you.

“No, no. No whining, not this time.” Kento snags your ankle, dragging you down over the covers and towards him, mounting the bed to situate himself between your legs. His hands are so warm when they make contact with the plush flesh of your thighs, unrestricted by rope like your torso but similarly unmoving. The blond hooks a finger into one of the knots and tugs you forward, nipping at your jaw before he sucks at the hollow of your throat, sinking the blunt edge of his teeth into the juncture until he leaves a stinging imprint behind.

“Legs up, over my shoulders.” You’re quick to obey, letting yourself fall back against the gathered pillows once again, spreading your legs and framing his head with your ankles.

Kento snakes towards you, revelling for a moment in your shared proximity, his palms anchoring your thighs around his ears, stifling his hearing and sight, allowing him nothing else but the stimulation of your heat against his face. His tongue skates over the soft lips of your cunt, the curve of his nose nudging at the sensitive bundle of nerves nested at the top. You chew on your bottom lip, letting your head droop down. All the while your husband noisily laps at you, groaning in contentment while you periodically squeeze and relax your thighs. His tongue traces long, wet stripes through your puffy folds, smearing his spit and your slick all over the soft flesh between your legs. The sensation forces you to tilt your hips upwards to chase the warmth of his tongue. You twitch against your bindings, keening from left to right, your skin burning relentlessly.

"K-Ken-!" you hiss through your teeth, toes curling against your sheets all while your wetness covers his face. “P-please." Kento smiles against your pussy, burying his face even further between your thighs so he can suck roughly at your clit. His teeth skim against it once, twice, three times until your eyes roll back, lids fluttering shut, hips making aborted movements that only increase in frequency when the man sinks two fingers inside your fluttering cunt. You leak down his wrist as he fucks you with his digits, your aching clit pulsing helplessly between his teeth. Another finger stretches your entrance before he curves them, seeking out the spot within you he’d written so fondly about.

“Come. Now. Make a mess of me.” He urges, eyes flashing with lust, his expression intense and fevered, locks of blonde hair falling over his forehead.

It feels as though your nerves are being set alight, the mix of Kento’s spit and your own slick sliding lewdly down the curve of your ass, making a small puddle beneath you. Tears begin pouring from your eyes, moans and cries escaping from your parted lips and filling the air around you. You wrench yourself up hard, squeezing your thighs around his head, rocking your hips until you’re basically riding his face. Your stomach tenses as an orgasm rips through you, wracking your body until you’re almost cramping. Your husband pulls away, wiping you off his chin with the inside of his wrist. His hand settles over your stomach, fingers spread so his pinkie just barely brushes the lowest knot keeping you in place, effectively smearing your own cream against your skin.

“I need another.” He murmurs, tracing his bottom lip with the very tip of his pink tongue, chasing your taste. Your answering moan is miserable, you shake your head back and forth, chest heaving against your restraints. You sob out a protest, your mind spinning from an unusually intense peak; “N-no.”

“You’ll give me another, honey.” His tone is so sure, so solid that you wonder if you’d refused him at all. He shifts away from you and you take the opportunity to gasp in relief at the cool air hitting the sweat slick flesh of your thighs. Relief that soon flees your still sensitive body when you hear the gentle buzz of one of the toys from the pile. The vibration is deceptively strong when he nudges it just under your clit, your whole body wrenching away from it. Your hips lift up from the bed and Kento moves fast, trapping your middle under his forearm and bringing you back down, back under his control.

“Kento~” You’re drooling now, your bottom lip quivering. Each time you jerk away he follows you with the horrid little thing, pressing it against your leaking slit, dragging it up and down the seam of your pussy while you beg for mercy.

“No more. I’m sorry!”

“Shh, you’ll be okay. Relax.” He commands, brushing the knuckles of the hand keeping you flush to the mattress against your sides.

And you're trying. You try so hard to draw deep breaths, to calm yourself down while Kento works you over, the blush pink vibrator pushing hard into your clit. He makes a mess of your hole, finger fucking you again deep with a precision you now know is practiced. It’s loud and filthy and wet, the sound of him fucking you with three, long, dextrous fingers clouding your mind and bringing you closer to another climax.

“I can’t! T-too soon.” You hiccup, your arms and shoulders trembling with the moderate pain of trying to fight against the rope. Still, despite your breathless objections, you crest over another wave of pleasure, twitching and mewling as you squirt your release over Kento’s hand. You clench down on him, grinding down on his palm as you ride out the sensations. You crumble against the sheets once more, watching Kento dazedly, his fingers already between his lips. His cock is hard against your thigh, the leaking tip an angry mottled red. When he draws you into his chest you push your face into the muscle, murmuring incoherently.

“Okay. Okay princess, you’re doing so good for me.” He presses a kiss to your sweaty forehead, cupping your face with his dryer palm. You screw your eyes tight, panting heavy exhales as you try to catch your breath again.

“Okay.” Kento repeats himself from above, he sounds so pleased, content. He teases your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting full body shivers. Your husband lowers his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice deceptively gentle, almost cloying.

“Now the wand, okay?”

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento smut #nanami kento #kinktober 2022 #kechiwriteskinktober #nanami x black!reader #nanami kento x black reader #nanami smut #if u like this reblog it #i am miserable because of mugen train #jjk nanami

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the-traveling-poet · 8 months

Text

Soft Touch

══════════════════════

Just another average day in the Scouts, or so you thought. When messes are created, you try your best to clean them before your Captain sees and loses his shit. Again.

Little did you know, a broken plate in the mess hall would bring you and Levi closer together.

══════════════════════

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader (using Y/N-L/N)

Warnings: None, just slow burn fluff for our lonely Cap’n. Mild language use.

(SFW)

══════════════════════

A/N: First writing post, not sure how this will go over but we’re giving it a shot nonetheless (:

══════════════════════

Great, something else to piss him off further.

Despite the soft glow of midday sunlight filtering in through the windows of HQ lighting up the halls with soothing golden light, and the clear blue skies outside base that promised yet another warm and relaxing beautiful summer day for those in the Survey Corps to enjoy, you were worried.

Everyone had woken up that morning to an average day in the Corps. Everything was as it had always been, and always should be.

Early morning training, a quick breakfast, running errands for the higher ups, sparring practice before lunch time rolled around....Everything was peaceful since no expeditions outside the walls had been planned anytime soon, and everyone adorned a smile on their face and let lose a laugh or two.

But only when he wasn't around.

And that's what had gotten you into this current situation.

You stood before a mess on the dining hall's floor. Plates, bowls, and a couple mugs had been hazardously tossed off a table after lunch and onto the stone floor below, shattering them and scattering food everywhere. You sighed, then nealt down to begin clearing the shards of ceramics before wiping and mopping away the food stains.

Please don't come in here....Please don't come in here....

Ever since their early morning training, everyone had taken note of Captain Levi's foul mood. It seems he had woken up on the wrong side of his bed and was taking it out on the world. Curses would fly, extra work loads would be handed out as punishments for those who had slacked off to enjoy the weather or joke with their peers, and many scoffs and defeated sighs were heard leaving his mouth as he took over the sparring courses for the day.

Everyone knew on days like this, it was best to just do as he said quickly and without question or complaint, less you risk making the situation worse.

You wondered what it was this time, that had gotten him so worked up. The last you’d seen of him was at the beginning of lunch in the dinning hall. Instead of taking a seat and eating a meal with his co-captains, he stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a fresh mug of tea, and stomped back out. Most likely, you assumed, to return to his office.

Perhaps I should go check on him? Is that appropriate of a cadet?

You had cleared the ceramic shards and placed them in a small bin you retrieved from the kitchens, and set to work on the leftover scraps that now littered the table's bench and the floor below.

Just then, the large wooden doors leading into the dining hall opened, and you stiffened. The footsteps at the door paused for a second, then a tired sigh echoed the otherwise empty room from the person who entered. Immediately, you were on your feet and spun to face them, trying your best to hide the disaster behind your frame.

Captain Levi stood at the door, one hand on the brass handle he still held while the other came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His sharp eyes snapped up to your face and narrowed. You were quick to salute him.

"Captain! Can I help you?"

He took a moment to answer, his eyes wandering over the mess you were so poorly hiding with your body.

"Was this you?"

You winced and turned your eyes back to the food on the floor, feeling guilty despite this mess not being your fault.

"No, sir. But I'm taking care of it as quickly and efficiently as I can, sir."

Levi seemed to ponder a moment before signing once more. He rolled up his sleeves as he made his way over to you, eyes trained on the mess.

"Go fetch some gloves from the storage room. You'll either cut yourself on those shards, or dirty your hands in that shit." He said absentmindedly.

Now that he was closer to you, you could clearly make out the dark circles forming under his eyes, and red veins webbing across the sclera of his eyes. His hair wasn't neatly combed as it always seemed to be, and his clothes were slightly wrinkled.

He didn't wake up on the wrong side of the bed; he never went to bed...

"Yes, sir," You saluted and hurried out of the room. Once you returned as quickly as you could, Levi was already near the table with another scrap bucket and white cloths covering his head to protect his hair, and over the lower section of his face to shield his nose and mouth. Shaking your head at the undeniably adorable sight, you briskly walked over to him and handed him his gloves.

"Thanks, L/N," he mumbled as he slipped them on.

"Of course, Captain," you nodded.

Suddenly, he sighed deeply once more.

"Captain this, Captain that. It's all I've heard for three straight days. Just Levi, please," he groaned.

You paused as you reached for some bread crusts to throw into the bin. You was at a loss for words and just stared blankly at him.

"Don't make me repeat myself brat, I hate repeating myself."

"Uh, yes sir! Levi, sir." You managed to stutter out a responce.

"Now, let's get this shit cleaned up before another brat decides to come in here and trip over this or make it worse." Levi grumbled as he tossed scraps into the scrap bin.

You hummed in agreement, too lost in your own thoughts to respond.

He seems a bit more approachable right now...Perhaps now would be a good time to offer him some help?

"Cap- Levi, sir?" You began slowly.

"What." He barely spared you his attention, but you could see he was listening.

"Well...I wondered if you were alright?"

His eyes snapped up to yours in an instant, a slight indent in his brow.

"What do you mean, L/N?"

"I just mean that, you seem on edge today? And I wondered if there was something wrong." You rephrased yourself quickly, fearing his reaction.

Levi thought for a moment, studying your face intently. "I'm fine, Y/N. Get back to cleaning."

Just as Levi's hand reached for a half eaten bagel on the floor, you blurted out; "You haven't slept for awhile, have you?"

The look on his face made you immediately regret you boldness.

But instead of saying anything, he just sighed and turned his gaze away.

"Can't seem to. Too much work, too many troubling thoughts."

He went to lower his facial cloth, but forgot his gloved hand had recently been picking through discarded food scraps on the floor. A dark stain was left on his cheek from where the glove had made contact with his face.

"Son of a bitch!" He ripped the cloth off his face and the glove off his hand as he let curses fly. It seems he had finally reached his limits, and his frustrations were now being taken out verbally to the food on the floor, as if it was the cause of all his pains and misfortunes. If he wasn't so down, and you didn't care for him so much, you might have laughed. But instead, you thought of something else.

Impulsively, you took your own gloves off and grabbed a handkerchief from your uniform coat pocket and reached out to wipe the stain away.

When your hand came into contact with his face, Levi flinched, and then stiffened. His mouth hung half open in surprise and his eyes widened almost comically. Taking this opportunity of silence from him, you gently wiped away the gunk before discarding the handkerchief into the scrap bin.

For a moment though, you let your now bare hand trail across his cheek and was amused to see the rising color in his face.

"Levi?" you asked softly.

"Uh-I...What?" Levi stammered, trying to compose himself. He was obviously caught off guard.

"Let me help, okay? You're not completely alone here in HQ." You smiled bashfully.

Levi was silent a moment longer, then nodded with yet another tired sigh. But this time, you could have sworn it sounded more like a quiet sigh of relief.

"I....I'd like that, Y/N. Thank you."

And for the first time, you saw Levi crack a small, brief smile of gratitude. The corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly, but his eyes showed the emotion behind his minute smile.

Perhaps you’d get to see his smiles more often now that he was allowing himself to warm up to his cadet a little more.

══════════════════════

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #aot x you #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #levi ackerman #snk levi #levi x you #levi aot #levi ackerman x reader #aot fanfiction #aot x y/n #aot x female reader #aot x gn!reader #gn!reader #gn!y/n #levi ackerman fluff

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wildemaven · 11 months

Text

Sweet Creature: Chapter Nine

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 8k

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Fluff, a kiss of angst, talk of past relationship and break up, pregnancy scare, mopey Poppy, nervousness and anxiety, brief mentions of sobriety, smut, self doubt, public speaking, reader has the nickname Poppy- zero physical description, to dumb dumbs in love

A/N: This is a doozy of a chapter, there was so much to pack in for these two. I can’t believe we’re nearing the end, I had definite moments of sadness as I was wrapping up this chapter but also found so inspiration to help tie up the story for these two! You can listen to Dieter & Poppy’s Playlist Here. Also a big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for constantly listening and helping me through this one, I definitely needed it on this chapter.

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous/ Epilogue

It had taken a few months for Dieter to tangle himself into your life.

Inching his way into your mind, settling deep within your bones and eventually finding shelter in the most sacred of places— your heart.

It took only a matter of a few short days for him to imprint himself into your home, pieces of him lingering in your space, even long after he had left.

But you can’t seem to pull yourself from the confines of your bed, each morning since his departure, you study the hollowed out spot where his worn body claimed as his, still having yet to find the energy to make it or wash the sheets clean of the hours of intensity and conversations ingrained into the plush pillow-top.

Your fingers run over the creases of the pillow, remembering how you would trace the same lines etched across his face in the early mornings, the usual scrunch between his brows smooth and relaxed, the faintest of snores escaping his parted lips— memorizing his angelic dreamy state.

A soft thread catches the path your finger continues to take. A silky strand of hair, no longer a part of him, now woven in through the fibers of your cotton pillowcase— proof he was here and existed in this space with you, with those unruly thick curls tousled with ardency, sweat and sleep— your fingers still managing to work through the wildness.

-Saturday Morning-

“What was your last serious relationship like?” Dieter asks, laying on his side with an arm bent, head propped on his hand, your bed sheet draped over his naked lower half.

His free hand mapping out the plains of your exposed skin, the morning sun filters through your bedroom window, providing a soft muted light as his fingers continue to unearth new details of your body he has yet to see in daylight.

“Oof! Hitting me with the serious stuff first thing in the morning.” The rasp of sleep still coating your throat, your body turned in close towards him with one arm tucked between your pillow and resting head, your free hand mesmerized by the texture of his skin— connecting invisible lines between each freckle painted across his neck and chest.

“Question for a question then. But you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s— just a lot for some people to hear. Kind of just keep it to myself, less questions and ‘how come’ once they find out.”

“Hey, I won’t judge you, for anything you tell me— ever.”

Dieter watches the way your eyes flit about for a few seconds, his hand stopping to rest on your naked hip with a gentle squeeze, a reassuring gesture of sincerity in his words.

“Frankie was my high school sweetheart, we started dating our senior year. We were together— gosh…. 5, almost 6 years.” You let out a sigh, all the memories of your previous relationship flooding back to you, having been locked away for so long.

“After high school, when we realized things were getting serious, we decided to figure out what we wanted moving forward. We were on the same page with everything for the most part, no real deal breakers. We would get married after college, buy a house— a seemingly cookie cutter life together.”

“I’m not following— sounds like the perfect life to me.” Confusion settles across his forehead, brows drawn together as he studies your face.

“Except, I couldn’t give him the one thing he wanted— kids.” You notice the way his face drops when you say it, knowing his first thought is exactly what everyone else usually assumes when you tell them.

“I guess I should rephrase that— I didn’t want, don’t want kids. It was something we established too, both on board with living a childless life. We agreed we would be the best Aunt and Uncle for our friend’s kids.”

Dieter nods at your admission, the hand on your hip starting to leave feather-like strokes the length of your side, goosebumps scattering across your warm skin.

“It wasn’t until we were well into our relationship that things changed. We had a bit of a pregnancy scare, we were both very careful too, so it was a bit of a shock when it happened. I was angry with myself— how could I let it happen? What did I do wrong? All the things running through my head the minute I saw those pink lines, wondering how we were going to afford a baby on our combined income, all while trying to get through finishing college— I spiraled pretty hard for a good week. But, through some routine testing, we discovered it was a false-positive— I was so fucking relieved!”

Your fingers still over the hollow of his neck, taking a deep breath, not really sure how Dieter is taking everything you’re saying.

“In the midst of my inner turmoil over the thought of being pregnant, I hadn’t really checked in with Frankie to see where his head was at, I had just assumed he was riding the same boat as me.”

“He changed his mind?” He asks.

“Yeah— or it was what he had always wanted, he just didn’t realize it until that week, when it was almost a possibility.”

“So you broke up?”

“We stayed together for another year afterwards, thinking we could work through it. But I couldn’t keep that from him, it would have eaten me alive being the reason he wasn’t 100% happy. We decided it was best if we split.” You can’t help the smile that starts to develop, Dieter’s receptive demeanor made this whole moment feel a little less heavier than you thought it would be.

“I ended up running into Frankie a few years ago. We caught up and I learned he ended up joining the army, Special Forces I think, met his wife while saving her from some bar creep, always the chivalrous one— and they have two little girls. I like to think we both ended up where we were supposed to be.”

There’s a prick of something that ricochets across his chest— the pairing of unaltered reverence and adoration. You just want the best for others, and it shows even in how not that long ago how you went to battle for Diem out of pure love, wanting the best for her and Wren— he respects you so much now looking back on it.

Dieter leans over and places a few soft kisses to your lips, the last one lingering a little longer before pulling away to rest his forehead on yours.

“Thank you, for sharing that with me.” He murmurs against your lips.

“Of course. My question now— What about you? Do you want kids?” You ask.

Dieter gently pushes you to your back, settling himself between your legs, peering down at you with a soft smile.

“I’ll only ever be Uncle Dude— never had the desire to be a dad.”

His head dips down to your still bare chest, the few kitten-like licks before he takes your nipple into his mouth, scorching and persistent, causing your back to arch up into him, eyes fluttering closed and mouth wide as you emit a breathless whine.

A few intense sucking motions before he gives your breast an experimental bite, his eyes observing the way your body writhes at the juxtaposition of sensations before releasing it with a pop, blowing a stream of cold air across your wet skin and watching the way your nipple instantly tightens.

He crawls up your body, one arm resting next to your head as the other snakes down between your bodies taking hold of his now hardened cock, a few quick strokes before he’s notching the head at your now dripping entrance.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like partaking in the act.” His words punctuated by him fully sheathing himself into your cunt.

“Oh fuck! Dieter—“ Your laugh quickly exchanged for a heady moan.

Your bodies meld together in a heated indulgence. The slippery grip of dewy skin as your bodies work in a synergistic fashion, calculated snapping of hips take you both to a climactic level of bliss.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

The vibration of your phone against your nightstand draws you back from the reliving of your weekend with Dieter, interrupting the playlist streaming through the phone speaker.

You grab your phone to check who the message is from…

Mom ❤️: Hey Sweetheart! Let me know when you’re heading over. Going to sit by the pool for a bit until then. This place is beautiful, I might not ever leave! Talk to you soon!

The music promptly picks back up again with its uptempo beat, you connect your phone to your speakers in the living room, the words floating brightly in the background as you will yourself out of bed.

In route to a much needed cup of coffee, you pull on the fuzzy warm jacket that seems to have established itself as an essential element in your daily life, dropping your phone in its cavernous pocket before bringing the fleecy fabric to your face for a brief moment. It’s a cognitive experience, the inhalation of the still drenched in his signature Dieter-musk, making your insides gooey and flustered.

‘Ooh, I lose control, can't seem to get enough, uh-huh

When I wake from dreaming, tell me is it really love?’

You chuckle into your cup as you take that first sip, the words a flawless depiction, and complete coincidence of every morning this week.

A quick text back to your mom to fill her in on the day’s plans.

Poppy: Hi Mom! Had a bit of a slow morning, but I’m up and moving now! Going to shower and get ready. I thought we could go to this new sandwich shop that just opened. I've been wanting to try it. I’ll text you when I’m on my way to the hotel. Love you

Your mom had gotten in late last night, still having not seen her yet. Diem was so kind to put her up in the Capri for the weekend, your mom insisting she didn’t want to intrude and give you space.

It was her first time visiting since you had moved, but not her first time to Ojai. She had visited on numerous occasions in her travels before having you, it was usually a brief stop for a few hours to grab a quick bite and then off to her next stop.

As a child, you would spend hours browsing through her endless collection of photo albums, dreaming up your own stories about visiting her favorite places— grainy Kodak Portra 160 was her film of choice, the color grading and light leaks adding to the cinematized scenes. There was something alluring about Ojai, always spending a little extra time with those images, it had become your ‘one day I am going to move there’ place. So, when you had started actually considering moving, your mind instantly went to Ojai— it was a no-brainer this was the place you were meant to set your roots in.

A slow sip of the ambered liquid trickles down your throat, its atomic structure hitting every nerve as it slowly expands in your veins, giving you the ample amount of energy to keep you from crawling right back in bed.

A thrumming piano tune dances across the room, instantaneously reliving the moment you coerced Dieter to add it to your growing playlist, selfishly you hope the familiar high falsetto voice evokes the same memory for Dieter as it does for you when he shuffles through the songs.

Just a small town girl

Livin' in a lonely world

She took the midnight train going anywhere

Just a city boy

Born and raised in South Detroit

He took the midnight train going anywhere

-Sunday Afternoon-

“Add. The. Song. Dieter!” A purely joking dramatic version of yourself pleads with him, you sense the song isn’t a front-runner for Dieter, but you’re enjoying the banter it’s causing.

The popular chorus continues roaring through the living room where you’ve both been camped out for the last hour, switching off listening to music on bith your record player and Dieter’s Spotify account.

It felt silly when you suggested you both should create a compilation of songs that you could listen to and think of the other person— complete cheeseball move. It was reminiscent of junior high when you would download songs off shady sites and then burn the perfect cd mix for your crush, labeling it— I really like you but I’m not good with words, so here’s some songs instead— the cover art hand drawn sharpie doodles and emo quotes that could bring a 15 year old girl in love to tears. Being it was modern times, Dieter opted for a playlist of top favorite songs between the two of you, dubbing it ‘Dieter’s & Poppy’s Mix Tape.’

He wants to engrain this scene in his mind forever, your naked form cloaked in his beloved brown jacket, dancing around your living room, belting the lyrics in the most out of tune way.

“Streetlights, people!— Dieter, please! You said our favorite songs— this would be a favorite of mine! Add the damn song!!”

“This— This is your favorite song? It’s like the most overplayed karaoke song in the history of music” His cocked eyebrow as he holds his phone with the Spotify app open in his lap, finding it hard to hold off his growing smirk and not surprised in the least that it’s a top pick for you.

“I’ll have you know, I am the reigning Karaoke Queen, west of the Mississippi River— you're in the presence of royalty, Babe. Don't stop believin' Hold on to that feelin'!” Grabbing another slice of cold pizza from the half eaten box on the coffee table, you continue twirling about on your tippy toes, maintaining your off-key singing between bites.

“Something tells me your full of shit. Fine— It’s added. But I’m adding ‘You Need to Calm Down’ for tax.”

“I need to do what?” Your twirling ceases, the bottom of his jacket swaying about as you watch the way he stares down at his phone, fingers pecking at the screen.

“No— it’s a song. According to Wren, “it’s a Taylor Swift masterpiece!’” His air quotes and deadpan expression almost take you out.

“Never would have pegged you as a Swiftie, but I love it.”

“Well, it’s all she wants to listen to on the drive to school. I can’t help it if i know every word to almost every song.”

The next song plays through, Dieter continues to watch you from his spot on the couch, loving the carefree manner in which you move, your infectious smile on display as you sing along to a song you definitely do not know a single word to, eyes closed and arms stretched out letting the chorus fully envelop your mind— this whole moment solidifying his love for you.

He brings his phone up and snaps a few pictures, each image progressively blurrier as he tries to capture you dancing, his last attempt is more or less successful, the timing just right and the result an accurate depiction of how he wants look back on this time together— a flash of your beaming smile that causes your eyes to crinkle at the edges and your audacious desire to be completely yourself in front of him is a picture worth taking.

“Are you taking a picture of me?” Breathless and smiling.

“Guilty. I need something to remember this day while I’m away.”

“Okay, but take a better one then.”

Grabbing his sunglasses off the table to situate them on your face, your bare leg crossed over and kicked out to the side in an ameture Radio City Rockette fashion, middle fingers erect while your hands cover your now exposed breasts, a one-sided nose scrunch and curled lip with some semblance of a smile, all while the remaining slice of your pizza dangles from your mouth.

“Beautiful, just like the other ones.” His chest vibrates at the sight of you, he pats his thighs motioning for you to come over to where he’s seated. “Alright Karaoke Queen, get your sexy little Believin’ ass over here!”

Tossing your crust back into the pizza box, you skip-hop over to him, your knees sinking into the cushions of the couch as you straddle his boxer clad lap. His hands sliding under where his Jacket is splayed open, his warm touch glides over your thighs.

“Let me see— the others, please.” You ask timidly, not sure what ‘others’ entails, pulling his sunglasses off and tossing them to the side.

His thumb swipes and presses across his phone screen, then hands you an open folder of images, tiny intimate squares fill the screen. You click on the most recent ones of you here in your home, laughing at how ridiculous you think you look, glancing up to see Dieter’s head tilted to the side and his gaze fixed on you. Refocusing on his phone, you start swiping, so many images of times you had spent together, except you're the main focus of each photo, very much unaware of your photo being taken.

There was the afternoon spent baking cupcakes for no reason other than they sounded delicious. Flour covering the surface of the counter, while you and Wren laugh at something completely unrelated to the making of said cupcakes— equal amounts of flour coating both your hands and faces.

There’s the backyard dinner Diem had invited you over for. You were seated across from where Dieter and Diem were sitting, listening intently to something she was saying. The sun warm against your back as it had started its descent, your elbow propped on the table and chin resting on your hand, your attention focused on every aspect of the conversation.

The first evening Dieter and Wren had attended your art class together, a few of you talking about something art related and then a couple of you actually painting and drawing— your face naturally lighting up at you sharing art with others.

Each swipe revealed another image, so many of you smiling while looking off at whatever had your attention, full body laughs shared with someone out of frame, deep in thought or absorbed into something you were reading or looking at on your phone.

Seeing your life candidly curated in a digital collection of photos has so many emotions whirling through your mind, love being the most prominent one.

Your breath hitches when you scroll to the last image in the folder.

You're at the front of your classroom, a stack of papers tucked against your chest as your smile beams out to your class. You note your outfit isn’t your usual uniform, you're wearing your favorite band tee, jeans and sneakers— it’s the morning you were late and Dieter stepped in to help you out, bringing a sense of ease to your disarray of a morning.

“I think that was one of the moments I knew.” Dieter’s smoky voice cuts into the air, pointing at the image you’ve been studying a little longer than the others.

“Knew what?” Looking up from the phone to see his chestnut eyes twinkling with adoration, his hands gently rubbing against your hips.

“Knew that I needed you in my life, however that was.”

“There were others?”

“Your art class was another.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, the start of the next song picking up its pace.

“Do you ever imagine what it would be like if we would have met each other sooner than we did?” Something you’ve thought about at times, wishing you had more time with him, maybe if you had met sooner. Your fingers trace along the ridge of his collarbone as you wait for his answer.

“No— you would have definitely deserved better than who I was back then. You would have hated the thought of being in the same room as me.”

He wouldn’t have been anything close to who he is now, grateful you were never fully subjected to the asshole he used to be.

Your hand settles on his bare chest, right where his heart is beating fiercely.

“I deserve you now though. And I definitely want to be in every room you walk into.”

‘Tears stream down your face

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face, and I

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you’

Your lips meet his in an unhurried embrace, Dieter pulling your lower body closer to his, his fingers digging into the meat of your backside when your hips start to gradually begin to grind against him, his cock hardening with each brush of your wet cunt.

His hands create their own intimate paths over your body, one traveling up the length of your spine, the other moving to the underside of your breast, cupping the supple weight of it in his palm. A swipe of his thumb over your sensitive nipple has you gasping into his mouth, the catalyst for your silent plea for more— and he hears it loud and clear.

His hands. His mouth. His cock— all working in perfect, articulate motions. Until you’re succumbing to the culmination of purposeful exertion and precise execution.

The last 48 hours were spent with Dieter's departure looming in the background of your minds, not allowing yourselves to stew on the impending heartache that was to come the moment you said your goodbyes.

Between the hours of relaxed conversations and alleviating desirous needs, you both managed to get through the weekend with a strong sense of optimism about the future. A shared commitment to each other, with endless promises of check-ins whenever possible and working out a plan to see each other once Dieter had his schedule set, it was enough to keep the sadness at bay— it gave you something to look forward to.

The afternoon slowly began to bleed into your final evening together, tangled limbs and intimate memories treated with exactness, fueling hushed whispers of ‘I love yous’ embedding themselves into every single part of your soul.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You hadn’t been expecting anyone, the rapid knock on your front door was a complete surprise.

After confirming your name with the sweet delivery lady, she hands off the beautiful dried floral arrangement, mentioning a card was tucked into the center, wishing you a great rest of your day before driving away.

You had never seen anything like it before, an incredible assortment of dried flowers, stems and oversized leaves arranged meticulously in a ceramic vase.

Placing the flowers on the kitchen counter, you pull the small card from it, reading the small written note:

Poppy, I’m so proud of you! You’re so talented and I can’t wait to hear how tonight goes. Love you, Dieter

You smile at his thoughtfulness, missing him so much and needing to hear his voice desperately.

Pulling your phone from the coat pocket, you dial his number and hope there’s a chance you catch him at a good time.

“Hello.” There’s warmth in the way his voice cracks through the phone.

“Hi. I just got the flowers— they’re absolutely beautiful, Dieter. Thank you!”

“I can’t take full credit. Nessa, my assistant, said you might like them, something about them lasting forever. Anyways, she set up the order while I was in a meeting.”

“Well, I’ll have to thank her at some point then.” There’s some static carrying through the line as you continue your conversation.

“How are you feeling about today?”

“Good. Just finally pulled myself out of bed. Going to get dressed, then have lunch with my mom before I get ready for tonight. I miss you, Dieter.”

There’s a brief moment where it sounds like the call cuts out, looking at the screen you see it’s still counting up the call minutes, still connected.

“I— you too. ‘Ant wait— it goes….”

“Dieter?…Hello? Babe, your phone keeps cutting out.”

*Call Dropped*

The connection was lost, conversation cut short, staring at a now black phone screen.

Poppy💐: Your service must be shitty or something, couldn’t hear most of what you were saying. Call me when you can. Love you 💜

You attach a photo of the flowers along with your message. Knowing if he was in a bad service area, you wouldn’t be getting an immediate response, so you take that as your cue to get yourself ready.

Poppy: Getting dressed! Should be leaving here in 20 minutes. See you in a bit mom! 😘

Your mom’s presence was exactly what you needed today. Seeing her sitting across from you now makes you feel less overwhelmed by the fact that your boyfriend isn’t here and you’re hours away from sharing this passion project of yours, something so intimate and personal, with a room full of art loving strangers.

But even in her presence, you still find your mind wandering— Dieter being the central character of your deviating thoughts— even things outside your home, the smallest of details, reminding you of him in some way.

Bart’s across the street, a favorite spot for both of you, especially after the talk you both shared coming to an understanding and moving forward together with a new perspective on each other.

Someone walking by, where your mom and you are sitting together on the restaurant patio, was carrying a merchant bag from a store you had bought Dieter’s birthday present. There was a gold colored velvet button up shirt cover in a large geometric print that you had seen while out shopping with Diem one weekend, she had made the offhand comment that it was totally something Dieter would wear and when you had found out a few days later that Dieter’s birthday was the following weekend, you immediately went back to buy it for him.

You had also thrown in a pair of tiny Frozen charms, Elsa for Wren and Olaf for Dieter, for the Crocs you had seen him wear around Diem’s house on movie nights, in the chance he hated the shirt you knew he was a sucker for kitschy gifts— by the way he wears the shirt regularly, it’s fair to assume he likes it.

You even think of him in the most laughable ways too, like when a car similar to his drives by the restaurant, you of course immediately think of him— you find yourself to be a lost cause at this point.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart, I’m sure Dieter would love to be here if he could. Aside from him leaving, how was the rest of the week after he left?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked how’s your week been? We haven’t talked much since last week.”

“Oh my gosh, Mom! I’m so sorry— I’m literally the worst person to be around right now, I’m sure. I’ve been so in my head lately, I can’t even think straight.” You cover your face as you apologize for being lackluster company to her, realizing you’ve spent most of lunch off in La-La-Land.

“My week was good though. With summer break starting last week, I spent most of this wrapping up last minute grading and finishing up paperwork. Monday and Tuesday I went to clean up my classroom, just mainly clearing out old projects and lesson plans from the past year. Which then left me the rest of the week to get my canvases prepared and hung up over at Reverie, where the art opening is tonight.”

“Sounds like it’s kept your mind off of Dieter not being able to be there tonight.” She gives you a sympathetic look, and it makes you feel so appreciative that she flew out to be here for you.

“If I’m being honest, it really hasn’t. I just selfishly keep wishing he didn’t have leave so I could have more time with him. And then I hate myself for even thinking that, because I’m so happy and proud of him— he deserves this, I just miss him so much. We’ve tried to talk and FaceTime when we can, but his schedule right now has been busy, so I just sit and wait for him to call most evenings. God, I sound ridiculous!” A slight crack to your voice as you’re overcome with emotion, it’s sadness and happiness all wrapped up in a perfect little box sitting in your chest, lifting your chin up as you fight back the tears that threaten to break.

“Oh, honey.” She passes you a few clean napkins, noticing the few tears that managed to escape. “Maybe give him a call in a bit, I’m sure hearing his voice will help you feel better.”

“Yeah, I’ll give him a call when I get home. Thanks mom. I’m so glad you’re here! Let’s talk about something else, bring the mood back up. How’s retirement going?” Changing the subject to hopefully suppress your mopey demeanor, dabbing your wet cheeks lightly.

“Oh, it’s great! I’ve actually been thinking about doing some traveling now that I have all this time.”

“I love that for you mom. You should go, see the world— you deserve it.”

She shared about the places she had already started planning to visit— in and around Canada, parts of Europe, then several areas of South America. You greedily wished she didn’t want to go, feeling a steady wave of emotions rock through you at the thought of her being gone for so long. But, you know how much traveling means to her, it’s pure joy watching the way she can’t stop smiling as she shows you landmark places she’ll be visiting— a true testament to chase after the things you love.

Doubt.

Fear.

Trepidation.

A war of anxieties. Ruthless, belligerent intruders, battling for control and power. Your mind slowly forfeits, white flag in waiting, ready to surrender yourself to the helm of your own enemies.

Even with the excitement surrounding tonight, you hadn’t really mastered the art of calming intrusive thoughts and apprehension once they began to build their way into your consciousness.

There’s the brief moment where you consider getting back into your car and driving home— rid yourself of the stress and anxiety that is overcoming you at the thought of being the center of attention tonight— albeit your art the main focus, but with that will come talking about yourself and it has you ready to bail.

But, you had put so much time and effort into this collection, executing and curating an intimate journey of discovery in the form of detailed lines and brush strokes that make up a whole series of paintings you are incredibly proud of.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Dieter comes to mind, the words he shared with you before he left:

“You were made for this, it’s who you are and it’s what you know— don’t let you be the reason you stop chasing what you deserve. I believe in everything you do, you should too.”

His words wash over you, each one forging a path for you to conquer your reluctance to seek out something that you have always dreamed of doing.

You pull out your phone to shoot Dieter a quick text before heading into the gallery.

Poppy💐: Hi! I miss you and wish you were here ❤. Hope you had a great day. I’ll have Diem take pictures to send you later. Call me when you can. Love you xo

Remembering back to when Dieter had shared something he does when his anxiety starts to surface, deciding to take a minute to borrow his technique to help ground your thoughts.

You see the vibrant lights from the front windows of Reverie Studio, the way the moon is peeking out from behind the building making its way through the sky, the streak of lights from headlights of passing cars, blurred bodies of people milling around the streets unbothered by you rooted in the center of the sidewalk, the time stamped over an image of you and Dieter as the lock screen on your phone.

You feel the weight of your phone leaving your hand as you drop it in your purse, the flowy dress that you picked out with Diem a few weeks ago specifically for this evening, a folded piece of paper with notes for the small speech you were going to give, a good luck charm in the form of Dieter’s 1 year chip clutched tightly into your hand.

You hear the muted chatter of the early birds spilling from the open door of the gallery, the mingling musical instruments in the local park showering concert goers with an original melodic song, an indistinguishable mix of hello’s and goodbye’s wrapped around gossip filled phone conversations.

You smell the sweet-vanilla-waffle confections of the little ice cream shop that stays open late during the summer, a hint of a smokey musk dusting the air reminding you of the woody spicy that’s so distinctly Dieter.

You taste the delicate flavors of a savory future, one that has a palatable balance of sweetness and verve— something so delectable that you don’t think you’ll be able to stop reveling in its richness.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

Your immediate thought is it’s Dieter, pulling out your phone to see it’s instead Diem.

Diem: Are you going to stand out there all night?? Get your ass in here!

She’s standing in the window with Wren on her hip, both of them waving at you.

Feeling a somewhat renewed sense of confidence, you wait for a break in the passing cars and jog across the street to join the crowd already forming inside.

You’re completely taken aback once you’re through the front door, not by the overwhelming number of people who showed up to view your work, but by how the room is filled with a plethora of vases overflowing with poppies.

The edges of the room, table tops, display pedestals all covered in a sea of pinks, oranges and pale yellow flowers.

“So glad you could show up!” Diem and Wren wrap you in a joint hug, a warm greeting with a touch of her special sarcasm.

“Where did all these flowers come from? They weren’t here yesterday when I stopped in to do some final touches.”

“A certain someone might have wanted to surprise you with something special.”

There’s an immediate pang in your chest, his thoughtfulness and his way of showing support by filling the studio space with your favorite flowers, you have to actively fight off the urge to cry tears of happiness.

You snap a few photos, focusing on the ones that sit below where your canvases are hung on the fabricated display walls.

You can’t contain the smile plastered across your face, seeing your work being admired by those in attendance, getting a chance to catch up with friends and fellow artists and having your mom close by listening to her talk up your talent with complete strangers— all still while wishing Dieter were here bask in the excitement with you.

“If I could have everyone’s attention please.” The owners ask, the room’s noise quickly reduced to a curbed level. “We thank everyone for coming to show their support for this wonderful event. We’ll have her share more about it with you and then we’d like to say a few words afterwards.”

Applause breaches the silence as you’re beckoned to the center of the room, your paper of scribbled notes in one hand and Dieter’s chip in the other, making your way to the front of the mass of people.

You introduce yourself as you take in all the faces, some familiar and some new, Diem and your mom in a side embrace with Wren to the front of them, each person enthralled and eager to hear you share more about you and the art behind you.

“Art has always been a part of me, in so many different ways. Growing up I would tear apart my mom’s magazines to make collages of pretty pictures, sorry mom.” Glancing down at your paper as a wave of soft laughter filters around, it elicits a surge of excitement and sureness blooms somewhere deep in your soul, deciding to for-go reading anything you had written and just share from the heart.

“And then I got my first sketchbook, that thing never left my side. Always with me at school, trips to the grocery store and even on days when my mom worked late, I’d sit in the corner of her classroom and just draw— creating little scenes from memory. I filled the pages rather quickly too, pages were barely hanging on with the amount of wear and tear I had put it through. Before I knew it, I had amassed a collection of sketchbooks and canvases over the years. Art has always been a part of who I am and I think it always will be.”

Everyone seemed so fascinated by everything you’re sharing. Explaining the story behind your collection— starting as a literal dream and slowly becoming a now etched on canvas reality.

Even the collaborative piece with Dieter is hung among the others, you went the extra step to add his name onto the little artist placard:

Artists: Dieter & Poppy

Title: ‘Sweet Creature’

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas

$: (Not For Sale)

“Thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedules to be here tonight, I appreciate it so very much, I’ll be around the rest of the evening to chat more or answer any questions. And thank you to Reviere Studio, you’ve become like a second home to me. I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to share my love for the arts with the many who attended my classes in this very space, but also to be the last art showing truly means so much to me. I will miss you all.”

Another round of applause and cheers fill the open space. You feel like it went pretty well for how nervous you were earlier in the evening, not really sure why you were doubting yourself to begin with.

The crowd slowly starts to disperse as you start to weave to where Diem, your mom and Wren are standing, getting stopped for hugs and hellos from former class attendees, congratulatory remarks for complete strangers too— you’re even shocked when Betty and Marilyn stop to share their well wishes with you.

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart, it’s all so amazing!” Your mom wraps you in praises and a tight hug.

“Thank you mom, I’m so happy you could be here!”

“I’m happy to be here too!” Wren’s excitement is barely containable as she bounces off the floor.

“I’m so happy you’re here too Wren!” You tell her as you bend down to give her a hug as well.

Standing back to your full height, you turn to Diem and just wrap your arms around her shoulders and hold her close, she returns the same energy.

“Thank you so much for everything, you are literally the best friend I could have ever asked for. I love you so much Diem!”

“God dammit, Poppy! I didn’t wear any waterproof mascara because I wasn’t planning on crying tonight! I love you too!” She pulls away and starts fanning her face, drying up the tears that had started to fill her eyes.

“Excuse me! We have a quick, exciting announcement to make before the evening continues with drinks and appetizers.” The sweet owner Susi’s voice boomed out to the guests.

Dieter doesn’t like lying, not in general at least and especially not to you— open and honest is how he continues to move forward with his life.

But this doesn’t feel like a lie, in a sense. A secret. A surprise.

Taking this role meant sacrificing his time away and that terrified him, especially being his first project to jump back into.

After a call with his agent on the drive back to LA Monday morning and a check in with his sponsor, Dieter requested a meeting with the movie’s higher ups.

That meeting didn’t happen until a few days later, but when he found out filming would be held in and around LA, Dieter learned his request for weekends to travel back to Ojai was successful.

That gave him less than 24 hours to get flowers ordered to be delivered to the gallery, let Diem in on his plan to ensure everything was in motion, all while you had no idea what was happening.

Dieter settles in the back of the crowd, tucked out of sight, finding it difficult to keep his eyes off you as you stand up there.

Watching you share about your life and how art has always been a big part of it, the two of you so similar in many ways makes him feel a deeper connection to you.

He recognizes the paper you’ve started crumpled into your hand, worn and creased from the repetitive folding and unfolding, scarred by the cross-hatching over abandoned words or shelved sentences, bullet points of importance to add substance to your speech. He likes the version you who was pacing around her living room Sunday morning, paper in one hand and pen in the other, reciting each line with a fluctuating ambivalent tone, stopping intermittently at the coffee table to rework a line or add something he had suggested. But he loves this version of you standing before him right now, no hesitation in your words, speaking with certainty and feeling— you were more than prepared.

The way you wear your confidence stirs something inside of him— trying his best to keep a low profile, because all he wants to do is scoop you up and kiss you breathless, to tell you over and over, how perfect and amazing he thinks you are.

He notices the light catching something you’re intently smoothing your fingers over, tracing repeatedly over every word— It’s not going to be easy, but it’s going to be worth it— engraved on his 1 year chip, a habit he’s welcomed into his daily routine. You had refused to take it from him when he offered it, not wanting him to be without it longer than necessary, but he had vowed to take it back the moment you were reunited. Placing it in your palm, hinting at the streak of luck it had brought him over the past year, ensuring that it would do the same for you— but he knew you wouldn’t need any.

He wants more of this— more time with you. To feel immersed back into this normal paced life and experience the joys that you feel regularly.

He has to shuffle himself around a bit when the crowd starts to move about, still trying to not be seen, watching you celebrate post speech with your mom, Diem and Wren— eagerly wanting to do the same.

The gallery owner’s announcement signals the beginning of something exciting.

He just hopes you’re as ecstatic about what’s about to be revealed as he is.

Susi takes a moment for everyone to quiet down and focus their attention on her before continuing her speech.

“Earlier this year, we had made the difficult decision to close our doors— deciding it was time to seek out a new chapter with new adventures and close this chapter on Reverie Studio.”

You’re sandwiched between Diem and your mom, hands intertwined as your head rests on Diem’s shoulder, somber as Susi’s heartfelt words about the studio’s closing.

“But we have some exciting news to share with you all. The gallery and studio are now under new ownership and will continue to stay open. It will be under a new name, but will still retain what Reverie had previously been known for— classes, art openings, studio space. And while we’re sad to hand it over, we’re excited to see it continue to serve the community.”

The delighted commotion pours out into the streets, catching the attention of passersby’s curiosity.

“So, we welcome you to the new home of Les Coquelicots Studio. The new owner is somewhere here in the audience too.” Heads begin to turn, seeking out where this mysterious owner is, when Susi points towards the back of the room and waves. “Ah, there he is. Please be sure to make him feel welcome and thank him before you leave. Thank you all again for coming and have a wonderful rest of the night.”

Music begins to brim over the conversations that start to pick up, guests dispersing to fill their small plates with finger foods and refilling of drinks, ambling about observing your artwork and surrounding art pieces.

But you're too focused on the fact that you had no idea that the space wasn’t closing, as you continue turning about scanning the room for the new owner.

Everything stills.

No sound.

No horde of people.

Just him.

Dieter Bravo.

All Dieter-like too, leaning against the back wall, hands secure in his pockets, the slightest tick of his jaw punctuating his dimple.

Your brain is actively working to re-hardwire your body to function properly, but you’re motionless. Speechless.

He’s here, propelling himself forward and making his way to you, even as he stands before you, it doesn’t feel real.

“Surprise.” His voice nearly takes you out, it hasn’t been that long since you had last spoken, but you’ve missed its gravely tone so much.

“What are you doing here? I thought— I don’t know what I thought because I can’t think straight at the moment. How are you here?” Dizzy with total surprise and confusion.

He leans in, laughing at your flustered smile, hands slinking their way to your face, his touch charged with fervor as his thumbs sweep over the apples of your cheeks.

“Came to see my girl.” He smiles softly, his words a breath away from where you want him most.

You close the distance between you, his lips fitting perfectly against yours, unbothered by the room full of people around you. You knew you would never get that same feeling or experience like with your first kiss, but this is second best and you welcome it fully.

Before the kiss has a chance to turn into something more than what is appropriate for the setting, you pull away, resting your forehead on his, breathless and happy.

“It’s you isn’t it— You bought this place?” The answer is clear as you look into his warm eyes.

“I did.”

“Les Coquelicots? Monet’s painting?”

“Poppies.”

This is it. Your forever. With him. Always.

“I know how much this place means to you, think of it as a thank you— for giving me a chance, for believing in me.”

“You didn’t have to buy me an art gallery as a thank you, dinner would have been fine.” Your fingers catching the rampant tears streaming down your cheeks, emitting a breathy laugh.

“We can go to dinner after this then.” His words mumbled in a kiss against your forehead.

“You still didn’t answer my question— How are you here? What about your movie?”

“When I found out we would be shooting locally in LA, I told them I had one request— that I was able to go home every weekend if I wasn’t needed on set.”

“But your home is already there?”

“I’m selling my home in West Hollywood— my realtor is getting it ready to be listed next week, hopefully moved out by the end of the month. So I can move home.”

It goes without saying that you know what he means, but you want to hear him say it out loud.

“Do you mean here? You’ll be moving here?”

He nods his head in response.

“What if this place gets too boring for a big movie star like yourself?” Biting your lip with a hint of a smile.

“Poppy— wherever I go, you bring me home.”

The kiss is short, but full of a warmth you crave when he’s in your presence, your arms linking around his neck as he pulls flush against, white knuckle grip on your hips— the two you lost in each other as the work around you carries on.

“Hmm— so, you’re gonna move in with Diem permanently?”

“Nah, I’ll find some place eventually.” He winks, no real rush to move in together, but he sees it as an option at some point in the future.

“Well, if you’re over living with your sister, I have a comfortable couch with your name all over it.” You snort at your offer.

“Poppy, I’m not sleeping on your fucking couch.”

“Suit yourself then.” You mirror his wink before pulling him in for another string of small pecks.

“I love you, Dieter.”

“I love you too, Poppy”

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo #dieter x poppy #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes

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barilleon · 2 years

Text

The LICHES method of descriptive text

A while back a friend asked me to write up some pointers for how I write descriptive text. You know, for dungeons and such. I gave her the LICHES method, which I'm posting here now. The primary purpose of descriptive text is to clue players in to what they need to pay attention to. When you ask your players, "What do you do?" think of that as less of an open-ended question and more multiple choice. Your descriptive text gives your players the potential answers. (This is, of course, a broad statement. Players will always pull something out of left field.)

Good descriptive text includes any applicable lights, interactables, characters, hazards, egress, and senses—LICHES.

Light

Characters should know how much light they’re dealing with, and what the source is. Sconces, torches, moonlight coming in from a window? Sunlight filtering in from the forest canopy?

Interactables

If there’s something in this room the characters are meant to look at or touch, put it in. If you want them searching in the desks, tell them there are desks. The opposite is ALSO true. If you put something notable in your description, players are going to expect to get something out of interacting with or studying it.

Characters

If there are people in this room, what are they doing? It's very helpful to give DMs a look at the "moment before" for any NPCs in your description. What were they up to before the characters interrupt their lives? This goes for monsters, too, if they’re readily visible.

Hazards

This one should probably come earlier on the list. Like if something's on fire, you either mention it FIRST or LAST. But lesser-noticeable hazards, like "patched-up holes" or "slits in the wall" can be mentioned casually, without drawing a gigantic verbal arrow to it.

Egress

Some people might disagree with me on this, but it’s very helpful to be told that there are doors, even if they’re already on the map. Some tables don't run maps, and sometimes your VTT's fog of war tool obscures what is and isn't a point of egress on your map.

Senses

A lot of LICHE is based on what the characters can see, but you can play with the other senses as well. Characters can smell “a foul odor wafting from the pile of corpses,” hear “the lazy whistling of a popular folk song,” or maybe even taste “the salt on the wind at the docks.”

Putting it all together you might get:

Fire crackles in the hearth, casting long shadows on the papered wall and the sturdy oak desk pushed against it. An orange tabby yawns and stretches out on the plush armchair, revealing for an instant her sharp claws. Two doors lead out of the room: the western door that leads further into the house, and the eastern door that opens into the porch.

L: Fire I: Oak Desk C: Cat H: The cat's claws (watch out) E: Door into the house, Door out to the porch S: The crackle of the fire, the plushness of the chair

Don't worry about making this stuff sound poetic. You just need to give the players a list of things they can interact with or react to. Role playing gets compared to improv a lot, and there are a lot of similarities! Think of an effective description as the thing your players say "yes, and" to. And you don't have to include every letter in LICHES if you don't want to, or if they don't apply. Sometimes a room is empty. There may be no hazards. But this rule of thumb has really helped me write up some descriptions for both published adventures and home games.

#writing #ttrpgs #my blogs

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zhongrin · 4 months

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I assume you got hate for that L&D ask? I'm sorry that was done. Feel better soon. Maybe say less next time.

i appreciate your kind words, thank you. however, while i'm sure you had the best intention with this, i don't think i will 'say less'. this is my blog, my space, and as long as i'm not actually causing harm to anyone or anything along that line, i think i'm allowed to have some degree of freedom regarding saying what i like/dislike and setting my boundaries. i'm sorry, but i'm not an influencer, nor a public figure who has the responsibility to spread positivity and be a role model to you all. i try as much as i can, of course, but that's not the purpose of this blog. i'm just a human being who needed an outlet for writing and wanted to connect with like-minded people.

what part was not 'right'? that i expressed, in my own blog, how i didn't want to try out a game because one of the reasons is i find the graphics of the fictional characters off-putting, when asked? that i likened a fictional game art style to a different franchise and objects you see all the time in adult site ads? that i never said anything about the people who do like the game and told them "i'm happy you found a game you like"? that i never, not even once, went to other people's posts or blog who posted that game's content to ruin their fun like a bastard? that i actively chose to use tumblr's filter instead? that even if the filter didn't work, i chose to scroll and ignore instead of bitching about it?

pray tell, what did i do wrong? why should i say less? since when am i not allowed to dislike things?

and a public psa ー i'm sorry, but bluntly speaking, if you take an affront when I expressed MY own opinion, WHEN PROMPTED, WITHIN MY OWN SPACE (and god forbid you retaliate like that anon(s?) by spamming me to shut the fuck up and kill myself), then that's really not my problem. it's an art direction, for god's sake. i adore zhongli, who gets memed and made fun of as a cockroach all the time; you don't see me screaming at people to stop.

learn that people may not like the things you like. learn to agree to disagree. learn to treat others as fellow human beings with likes and dislikes. learn to separate fiction from reality.

and seriously, if you're annoyed with my rambles or 'babblings' or the interactions with my friends, tumblr has a filter and block function. it's just a simple google away. give some peace to your own mind.

#minors dni #rin answers #rin is having tea with: daydreams-and-wonder #and to clarify. i'm not mad at you daydreams-and-wonder!!#i truly appreciate the well wishes #but i had to get this out of my system because it's just so ridiculous that this is happening imo #cw vent in following tags #then again #excluding my actual friends. out of 8.5k of people following me i wonder if even one percent of you actually think of me as a human being #and not just a blob in your phone who churns out somewhat decent content every now and then #or some sentient hybrid between a journal or twitter you could just go anytime to feed your need for validation and attention one sidedly #or an entertaining monkey you put on a stage to watch just for the fun of it only to 'cancel' the moment i 'slip up'#maybe it's my pms. maybe i'm just stressed rn. or maybe it's long time coming #but i'm not just tired anymore. i'm getting disgusted of this treatment

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anonymousewrites · 4 months

Text

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter Three

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Chapter Three: Fiery Celebrations

Summary: Sherlock, John, and Mary race to help (Y/N).

(Y/N)’s eyes opened blearily, and they groaned as they tried to move. The world was dark around them with just slivers of light filtered into the strange wooden box they were in (hopefully not a coffin). There were shouts going on around them, but (Y/N)’s attention was quickly taken by the terrible heat around them. The stifling smoke pushed into their lungs, and they coughed.

Fire.

“What?” snapped Sherlock, instantly on edge at John’s words.

“John got a message,” said Mary, pushing John forward.

John held up his phone, but Sherlock just snatched it from his hands to read the message from the, of course, unknown number.

Save souls now! (Y/N) or James Moriarty? Saint or Sinner? James or (Y/N)? The more is less?

“First word, then every third,” said Mary instantly. “Skip code.”

Sherlock understood at the same moment. This note was meant to be decrypted, so it was not a mystery but a message—a warning. “Save…(Y/N)…Moriarty…Saint…James…The…Less.” Sherlock dropped John’s phone, and the doctor caught it. “Now!” Sherlock ran out the door, and John and Mary ran after him.

“Sherlock?!” said Mrs. Hudson in shock as he ran by.

“No time, Mrs. Hudson!” said Sherlock, throwing the door open.

“Where are we going?” said John as he ran out with Sherlock.

“St. James the Less. A church,” said Sherlock. “Did you drive here?”

“Yes,” said Mary.

“Twenty minutes by car.” Sherlock nearly cursed. “Too slow, too slow.” His eyes landed on the approaching motorcyclist. He stepped out and held up a hand.

John, Mary, and Sherlock zipped down the streets of London on the bike. Sherlock knew it would take ten minutes, but he was doing his best (and risking their safety on the motorcycle) to get to the church even faster.

John’s phone went off, and he held up the screen so the new message could be seen.

Getting warmer Mr. Holmes You have about ten minutes

“What does it mean?” said Mary worriedly. “What are they going to do to them?”

“I don’t know,” said Sherlock, narrowing his eyes and taking the next two turns at high speeds.

“We’ve got another!” shouted John over the wind as they traveled.

8 minutes and counting…

“Damn!” shouted Sherlock as they arrived at a roadblock and he had to press down the brakes.

Instantly calculating another route, he turned the motorcycle around and sped up again. It would take five more minutes—five more minutes he didn’t know if (Y/N) had—and go over a pedestrian walkway. The illegality was worth it for (Y/N), and Sherlock weaved through the shouting people.

“Sherlock!” said John worriedly, and Sherlock almost snapped at him for interrupting until he saw John holding up his phone again.

Better hurry Things are heating up here

Sherlock sped up but slammed to a stop as a lorry passed by slowly. Come on, come on. Sherlock gritted his teeth. He needed to get to his kid. (Y/N) needed him. He wouldn’t let them down again.

“Another,” said John, and he sucked in a breath in worry as he read the new message.

Stay of execution You’ve got two more minutes

The lorry finally passed, and Sherlock jerked the motorcycle into life again. He swerved off the street and onto the pedestrian walkway to get straight to the church in one minute. They bumped up stairs onto another street and raced along the fence of a park.

“Bloody—It’s vague again!” said John, and Sherlock glanced at the latest message.

What a shame, Mr. Holmes (Y/N) was quite a Guy

“What does it mean?” said Mary worriedly.

“Fire,” said Sherlock, turning the motorcycle and crashing into the park where a group of people were cheering around a lit bonfire. “Jump!”

John and Mary obeyed and jumped off the motorcycle while Sherlock just let it drop to the ground. He pushed through the crowd towards the bonfire. “Move, move, move, move, move!” he shouted.

“Help!” Beneath the cheers of celebrating people, (Y/N)’s voice rang out from within the fire.

“(Y/N)!” cried Sherlock, and Mary gasped in horror and John’s eyes widened.

Sherlock crouched and pulled wood pieces aside as (Y/N)’s coughs and hoarse cries rang out. John and Mary knelt and grabbed blocks of wood. They threw them to the side and ignored the soot and heat at their fingers. Sherlock reached in and grabbed (Y/N)’s hand. He pulled them out from within the bonfire as they coughed. He held them tightly as they tried to breathe.

“Dad,” coughed (Y/N), holding onto him as an anchor.

“I’m here,” said Sherlock. “I’ve got you.” He was their dad. He would be there for them.

“I called 999,” said John. “An ambulance is coming to check on them.”

Sherlock nodded and just sat there with (Y/N) in his arms. His kid was alive. He’d saved them.

However, someone had also targeted them specifically to get to him. Moriarty was gone, but (Y/N) wasn’t safe. Sherlock held them close. Whoever was out there, he’d win any game they started against him.

He’d protect (Y/N).

(Y/N) had been checked out by the ambulance and confirmed to be alright, so they had been released to head back with Sherlock to 221B. Sherlock had hovered worriedly, but he had tried to give (Y/N) space as they washed and put on clean clothes to get away from the choking smell of smoke and flames. The instant they were back in the living room, though, Sherlock was offering tea with honey for their throat and making sure they were relaxed and not overexerting themself after nearly dying and being kidnapped.

“Are you alright?” asked Sherlock.

“I was kidnapped and nearly killed again,” said (Y/N) matter-of-factly.

Sherlock could only nod. He had been back for less than a day, and already, he had failed him. “I should have gone out. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“Don’t do that,” said (Y/N) quietly.

“What?” said Sherlock, furrowing his brow.

“Blaming yourself,” said (Y/N). They held their teacup tightly. “You—You left me because you thought leaving would keep me safe. Don’t starting thinking that again.”

“The messages were a warning to me. My return prompted this.” Sherlock knew (Y/N)’s intelligence recognized that.

“A threat showed their face,” said (Y/N). “Isn’t it better that they did?”

“You got hurt. You could have died,” said Sherlock protectively.

“Whoever did this can easily hurt people.” They looked at Sherlock fiercely. “I’d rather it be me because we can take on people like them. They made a move because you’re back and they’re scared or they need something. They’re dangerous because of that.”

“And you want me to stay and handle them,” said Sherlock.

“I want us to take on this new mastermind,” said (Y/N). “Us.” They stared at Sherlock intently and swallowed hard. “I-I don’t want you to leave again.”

“I won’t,” said Sherlock, reaching out and taking the teacup from their shaking hands. “I’m here.”

“Do you promise?” said (Y/N).

“Yes,” said Sherlock. He smiled. “We’ll handle this case together.”

“Because we’re a team,” said (Y/N), relaxing slightly.

Sherlock felt his chest warm as he felt (Y/N) opening up again as their determination to help people—the part of them he was so proud of—burned brightly. “Because we’re family.”

(Y/N) looked back down at the tea on the coffee table. They didn’t respond positively or negatively, but Sherlock knew his kid. They were still working through their feelings, but they weren’t closing themself out from him completely. And that was alright. Sherlock would give them time.

“So, let’s recap what we know,” said Sherlock, taking (Y/N)’s mind away from the confusing nature of feelings and giving them the case to focus on.

“This was clearly to get to you,” said (Y/N). “Targeting me and sending the messages to John was obvious.”

Sherlock nodded. “And the words were addressed to me.”

“Whoever is behind this was smart,” said (Y/N). “The code was simple to show that they understand how to play games are just making a point to you.”

"They gave me time to save you to show that they have power and make the rules,” said Sherlock.

(Y/N) tensed, and their fingers twitched anxiously. “Like Moriarty and his games.”

“He’s gone,” said Sherlock firmly.

(Y/N) nodded jerkily and just moved on. They didn’t like thinking about Moriarty. They furrowed their brow as they ran through everything they knew about the situation. “John was rambling when I was found. Did he say that he was glad Mary realized the original message was a skip code and got him to go to you?”

Sherlock nodded. “If she had not, all the timing would’ve been off.”

“How did she know it was a skip code?” murmured (Y/N).

Sherlock laced his fingers. “More importantly—did the person behind this know she’d recognize it and use it intentionally?”

(Y/N) and Sherlock exchanged looks. They knew it meant that Mary was also involved in this. (Y/N) and John had been dragged in to make a point—a warning—to Sherlock. But Mary? She was a new addition to the group. The question of where her connection lay was important. Sherlock and (Y/N) didn’t believe in coincidences. Mary knowing the skip code and it being chosen was significant.

The only question was if its significance would prove dangerous.

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