#afab nb reader

[harveywritings92]

[Stolas visits IMP to find R/n passed out on the couch and the others were looking at them concerned.]

Stolas: What's wrong?

Moxxie: Blitzo was messing around with R/n's spell book to see if he could open portals to Earth like your Grimoire can, but apparently human magic is very different from hell magic, He cast a spell that put R/n to sleep, according to their book only a true love's kiss can wake them.

Stolas: Oh, is that all?

{Stolas cheerfully hums as he walks over to the couch he leans down and gives them quick kiss. R/n wakes up and immediately punches Biltzo in the face.]

Millie: What...But how?

Stolas: True love doesn't always mean romantic love, the love of a true friend can work just as well.

Moxxie: But how did you know that?

Stolas: Because R/n let me study their book and showed me all the loopholes they incorporated into their spells; just in case something went wrong. Such as a foolish little imp getting his hands on it.

Blitzo: Hey!

[harveybwabbit92]

{Yuma is at the hospital after helping R/n give birth, which was supposed to be Shu's job since he was the godfather and all, but he knocked himself out while panicking and was being tended to in another room.]

Nurse, rolling R/n's baby into the room: Would you like to hold your baby now, sir?

Yuma: I'm not the fath- *Stares at the baby's little face*... Yes, I would.

[Yuma hold's R/n's daughter while Rution and Biorno appear in the mirror and coo over the tiny human.]

[0o-junebug-o0]

Hihi! I adore your work! I was wondering if you could write a (sub) Spencer x (soft Dom) Reader smut,

where Spencer is feeling comfortable in hands tied bondage after Hankel situation!

"Tie Me Up"

Here you go!! I had fun writing this one! It was a nice break from school work haha

genre: smut

cw: 18+ mdni! sub!spencer, softdom!reader, bondage, references to spencer's kidnapping, dirty talking, praise, use of good boy, handjobs, oral sex (r!receiving), face sitting, nipple play, multiple orgasms, gn!reader (reader has a vagina but nothing else is specified), no use of y/n, autistic!spencer (because every spencer is autistic!spencer), aftercare, cuddling

wordcount: 3k

“I want you to tie me up.”

Your head shoots up and you look across the room at Spencer with wide eyes, confused. “What?”

He flushes and his eyes dart to the side before moving back to your face. “I, um, I want you to tie me up,” he says, sounding a bit less confident this time.

You nod slowly, trying to wrap your head around Spencer’s sudden proposal. You haven’t done anything like this in a while, not since before he was kidnapped by Tobias Hankel. You can’t help but feel a little concerned at his request, you don’t want him to push himself to do something he’s not comfortable with just because you enjoy it.

“Are you sure?” you ask warily. “You know I wouldn’t mind if we never do that again.”

“Do you not want to?” Spencer asks, sounding more nervous than before.

You shake your head. “No, no, that’s not it,” you reassure him. “I just—“ you pause, trying to find the right words. “I don’t want you to do something you’re not ready for. All I meant was that if you’re never ready, that’s fine. I’d completely understand if you’d never want to be tied up again after—“

“I want to,” Spencer interrupts. 

“Okay,” you say.

“I miss it.”

You nod. Your gaze falls to his beautiful hands where they rest in his lap as he plays with his fingers. You’ve missed it too. “And you’re sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“You have to promise me that if you stop feeling good you’ll tell me immediately,” you insist.

Spencer nods, a shy smile crossing his face. “I know. I remember.” You shoot him a pointed look and he adds, “I promise.”

You nod and pat your thigh. “Come here,” you command softly.

Spencer immediately scrambles to get out of his chair and crosses the room to stand in front of you. He pauses for a moment, looking between the couch and the floor, knowing each option is available and welcomed, before settling on his knees on the ground in front of you. You smile and reach out to run a hand through his hair. He hums softly, his eyes slipping closed, and presses his head into your palm. 

“My beautiful boy,” you sigh.

He opens his eyes and takes your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles, making eye contact with you as he does.

You lean forward to rest your elbows on your knees and stare intently into Spencer’s eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort or apprehension. Finding none, you nod. “When do you want me to tie you up, sweetheart?” you ask softly.

“Now,” he whispers. “Please.”

You raise your eyebrows at him and let your gaze fall to the growing bulge in his pants. He clearly wants this and that reassures you. “Okay,” you agree. Spencer smiles brightly up at you. “But, we’re going to go slow, do you understand?”

Spencer nods obediently.

“I won’t tie you up completely today, we’ll just start with your hands.”

Spencer opens his mouth, you think maybe to argue, but you shoot him a look and he closes it. “This is non-negotiable,” you say. “I don’t feel comfortable completely tying you up again yet. I know you feel ready but I don’t want to risk it.”

Spencer nods, looking deep into your eyes.

“And I’m going to use a knot you can undo yourself if you need to. Also non-negotiable, I want you to be able to free yourself the moment you need to without having to wait for me to untie you myself or cut you free. Do you understand?”

Spencer nods again.

“Words, Spencer.”

“Yes,” he says, his voice breathy with obvious arousal.

You smirk and whisper, “Good boy.”

A soft whimper escapes Spencer’s lips at the praise and the sound drives you crazy. You push yourself off the couch and stand still for a moment, just admiring the way Spencer stares up at you so desperately. “C’mon, beautiful, follow me.” Immediately, Spencer scrambles to his feet and follows you like a lovesick puppy to your shared bedroom.

You stop in the middle of the room and turn around to face Spencer. You look him up and down, he looks gorgeous, but he’s wearing way too many clothes. “Strip,” you command, and Spencer instantly obeys. You watch with a pleased smile as Spencer practically rips off his clothes, so eager for you to touch him. The sight of him naked and hard makes your stomach flip and sends heat shooting between your legs. You can feel yourself starting to soak through your underwear, seeing Spencer naked never fails to drive you crazy. 

You close the gap between you in a single step and kiss him gently, wrapping your arms around his waist. He sighs happily against your lips and his hands shoot up to cup your face. You let your hands slip down to grab handfuls of his ass and you pull him up against your hips, making him moan into your mouth. You slip your tongue between his lips and Spencer eagerly follows your lead. Spencer’s hands fall from your cheeks to paw at your shirt and you break the kiss for a moment to let him pull it over your head.

Heat rushes through your body as you continue to kiss him and you maneuver him around, guiding him back until his knees hit the bed. Spencer breaks the kiss with a gasp as he stumbles slightly, falling until he’s sitting on the bed, supporting his weight on his arms. He stares up at you with wide, lust-blown eyes and pouts slightly when you move away.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” you coo, quickly ridding yourself of your pants and soaked underwear. You walk over to the dresser and open the drawer in which you both keep your toys. You grab the red silk rope and glance over your shoulder at him as you hold it up. “You wanted me to tie you up, remember?”

Spencer’s eyes get impossibly wider and he nods rapidly. “Yes, please. Want it,” he gasps. 

“Aw, baby,” you purr. “You’re so desperate already that you can barely speak.”

Spencer nods again and his cock twitches in his lap, but he’s a good boy and doesn’t touch himself. You unravel the small ball of rope as you walk back over to him. As you get closer you can hear Spencer’s breathing pick up with excitement. You love seeing him like this, you can feel your arousal clinging to your thighs.

You stop in front of him and say, “Hands.”

Spencer lifts his hands and holds them out to you, wrists pressed together and palms facing each other but leaving a few inches between them. His breath hitches and he stares intently at his hands. You pause and glance down, noticing his erection has flagged slightly. You look back up and into his eyes and see some apprehension. You smile softly at him and flip his hands so his palms are facing the ceiling before resting the rope in them. Spencer looks up at you, his brow slightly furrowed with confusion. 

“Hold the rope,” you say soothingly. “Feel it.”

Spencer nods, despite clearly still being confused, and closes his hands around the rope. You watch in silence for a moment as he runs the rope through his fingers and stares at it.

“It’s soft, isn’t it?” you ask, though you know he's familiar with this rope already. Spencer nods in response, still playing with the rope. “You’ll be able to free yourself at any time,” you continue. “You’re home, you’re safe. I’m going to take care of you.”

Spencer purses his lips in one of his closed-mouth smiles. “Thank you,” he whispers, still looking at the rope even though his hands have stilled.

“Do you still want to do this?” you ask softly.

“Yeah,” Spencer whispers. He hands you the rope and looks back up at you. You smile at him and reach out to cup the back of his neck with your free hand, pulling him into a gentle kiss. Spencer’s hands lower to hold your waist and you set the rope on the bed and climb into his lap as the kiss begins to increase in intensity. You can feel him getting hard again underneath you and you moan at the feeling as arousal burns through your body. 

You grind your hips against his, letting his cock rub up against you, and Spencer gasps weakly into your mouth. His hands slide down to grab your ass and you groan. His hips buck beneath you and it takes a tremendous amount of self-control to pull away. Spencer pouts as you climb off of him but it quickly disappears when you pick the rope back up. 

He immediately holds his hands out again but you guide him back until he’s lying in the middle of the bed, propped up slightly on your pillows. He raises his arms above his head, and you whisper soft praises to him as you wrap the rope around his wrists and one of the slats of the headboard. You tie a simple quick-release single-column knot and slip the part of the rope that allows for the quick release into Spencer’s hand. He gives you a dopey smile and you press a quick kiss to his beautiful lips. 

“If you need to get out, you tell me and pull on that, okay?” you instruct.

Spencer nods happily, squirming and tugging gently on the rope around his wrists.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” he gasps.

“Good boy,” you coo and his hips buck into the air.

You place your hand on one of his hips and dig your thump into the dip just next to the bone. Spencer gasps and writhes at the feeling. You smirk at him and swing your leg over him to straddle his thighs, sitting just below his cock. You hold both of his hips to support yourself as you slowly start to grind against him, rubbing your clit on his thigh. 

Spencer whines your name, staring at you with wide pleading eyes as you avoid touching his cock in favor of your own pleasure. “Please!” he gasps. “Please! I need you!”

“Yeah?” you tease. “What do you need me to do baby?”

“Need you to touch me!” he begs.

You remove your hands from his hips, sliding them up over his stomach to his chest. You rub your thumbs over his nipples and Spencer moans. The sound travels like a shock of electricity through your body. You pinch his nipples between your fingers and his hips jerk beneath you, knocking his thigh against your clit, making you moan. You can feel how wet you’ve gotten him. “N–not like that,” he whines, his words interrupted by moans as you toy with him.

“No?” you ask, feigning ignorance. “Where do you want me to touch you baby?”

“My–“ You pinch his nipples again and he’s once again interrupted by the sound of his own pleasure. “My cock!” he begs. “Want you to touch my cock!”

“Aw, baby,” you tease breathlessly. “You—“ You moan as his hips buck again, pressing his thigh harder against you. “You should have said so.”

Spencer whines pathetically at your teasing but the sound is soon transformed into a moan as you wrap your hand around his cock. He gasps your name over and over as you stroke him. He squirms and writhes beneath you. You can see the muscles of his arms tensing as he tries to reach down to touch you but is stopped by the rope. You notice the quick release has fallen from his hand, so, still stroking him, you reach up and give it back to him. He doesn’t pull it so you keep touching him. 

“So good! So good!” Spencer gasps. “Love you! Love you so much!”

You rise up onto your knees and, bracing your free hand against the bed, lean forward and kiss him, continuing to stoke him despite the awkward angle. “I love you too, baby,” you whisper between kisses. You kiss across his jaw, down his neck, and back up to his ear. “Such a good boy for me. My good boy.”

Spencer whimpers desperately. “’M close! ‘M so close!”

You remove your hand and settle back onto his thighs, watching as Spencer whimpers and writhes in disappointment as he’s unable to cum. He whines your name and you press a kiss to his chest. “You wanna cum, pretty boy?”

He nods desperately, his hair sticking to his beautifully flushed face.

“Yeah? Well, I want to cum too,” you taunt.

Spencer’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open as if anticipating what you’re going to say. His chest rises and falls heavily with each panted breath.

“So eager,” you tease and Spencer nods frantically.

“Please!” he gasps.

“You want me to sit on your face, baby?”

“Yes!” Spencer cries. “Please!” 

You smile. You can feel him squirming with desperation beneath you. You press another kiss to his chest and slowly crawl up his body until you’re straddling his face, your knees braced on either side of his arms. Spencer whines and whimpers, tugging on the rope with his desperation to touch you. 

“Remember, sweetheart,” you say softly. Spencer stares hungrily at where your cunt hovers just over his mouth. “Snap if you need me off.”

“Yes!” he gasps, and, without giving a chance to prepare, lifts his head to run his tongue over you.

A strangled gasp leaves you as pleasure shoots through your body and you sink until you’re almost completely sitting on Spencer’s mouth, the way you know he likes it. Your hands shoot up to grab the headboard as you curl forward from the pleasure. Spencer eats you out with a fervor unique to him, practically devouring you. He pulls gasps and moans from your chest as he flicks his tongue over your clit. Then he’s wrapping his lips around it and sucking in a way that has you seeing stars. He mouths hungrily at you, alternating between licking and sucking your clit and pressing his tongue inside you. 

“Spencer!” you gasp. You grind yourself down onto his tongue, unable to help yourself, and Spencer moans into you. The vibrations send pleasure shooting through your body. He removes his tongue and returns to sucking on your clit, moaning consistently. With how turned on you are, it doesn’t take long for the familiar heat to start traveling up your spine. 

“Fuck! Such a good boy! Doing so good! Feels so good!” you moan. “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum!”

At your words, Spencer begins to eat you out with an even greater intensity and soon your climax is slamming into you. You gasp his name, as your whole body shakes with the intensity of it. Spencer works you through it until you’re panting and gasping and when you pull off of him to sit beside his head, his face is soaked and he smiles up at you happily. 

“Fuck, Spencer,” you groan. “You’re so good at that.”

He licks his lips and whimpers. You see his hips jerk out of the corner of your eye and you smirk at him. You quickly reach around and grab a condom from the top drawer of your nightstand. You hold it up to show him and Spencer’s eyes widen.

“Please!” he gasps. “Oh, fuck! Please! Want you to fuck me! Please!”

You chuckle slightly and tear open the packaging. Spencer whimpers and gasps your name as you roll the condom over his cock. You stroke him a few times and he thrusts weakly into your hand. 

You swing your leg over him, grab his cock to line him up, and quickly sink down onto him. You both moan simultaneously at the feeling and it feels so good you have to take a second to just breathe. You rest your hands on Spencer’s chest and slowly push yourself onto your knees before sinking back down. A delicious moan tears itself from Spencer’s and his eyes flutter shut with pleasure. You can tell he won’t last long, but you’re still so sensitive from your previous orgasm that you won’t either. 

Moans and incoherent babbles pour from Spencer’s lips as you ride him. His hips thrust up to meet you on each downstroke, slamming his cock right into that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You moan and gasp his name and praise him as you fuck him. Heat once again rises in your body as you get close and you can tell from the way Spencer’s whole body twitches, he’s close too. You drop yourself back down as his hips rise to meet yours and suddenly he’s cumming, and the sound of his moans and the feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you has you cumming too.

You clench around him, grinding down on his cock, as you work both of you through it. Once your orgasm fades, you fall forward, resting your head on Spencer’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the warmth of his skin and the way his chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. You press a soft kiss to his skin before sitting back up with a groan and lifting yourself off of him. Spencer whines weakly at the feeling and you press your forehead against his for a moment to soothe him. You pull away and remove the condom, quickly tying it off and dropping it into the tiny trashcan you keep beside your bed for this exact reason. 

With the condom disposed of, you reach up to tug on the quick release. The knot unravels easily and Spencer opens his eyes as the rope slips off his wrists. You toss the rope aside and take his hands in yours. “You did so good, Spencer,” you coo. “I’m so proud of you.” Spencer smiles up at you contentedly as you massage his hands and wrists. You slowly lower his arms to rest on his chest, whispering praises as you rub and squeeze them to encourage blood flow. 

After a few minutes, Spencer curls up against your side with a sigh and you lay down next to him, massaging his hands until he falls asleep.

_____

REQUESTS ARE (temporarily) CLOSED!

Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics

@daryls-crossbow16 @roboticsuccubus83 @nemobee777 @kittensandkrows @dorcas4meadowes @spenciesslut @Idfk17 @pleasantwitchgarden @angeliccss @novaana @moonysreid @cynbx @i-live-in-spite @dead-universe @starlighta @ilyremuslupin @mylove4lana @greyslover3004 @written-in-the-stars @readerbitch123 @khxna @emma-e-a @yahboohah @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @k31sley @screechingphantommaker @junodz

[for-a-longlongtime]

Hey Anon, I saw your message this morning! 💜

You pointed out "Yall need to be careful of bi erasure" and linked to a post someone made about me. I appreciate the heads up! To be honest, I’m not concerned about people suggesting that I’m doing bi erasure. Whether it’s regarding Pedro characters in canon, head canons, or bisexuality in any other way. But hey, everybody can have their opinion about things, including what they think about me.

I dont talk much about myself here, but my tumblr bio has said from day 1 that I’m a bi woman. My master list mentions most of my fic “is queer (m/m, bi4bi, m/m/f, non-binary and trans characters)”. Folks who have read my fic know I've written pairings where every character is explicitly bi ( Frankie x f!reader x Santi; Peña x Rockford x OFC; Ezra x f!reader x Benny Miller, and WIPs with Joel and Marcus M, Frankie x f!reader x OFC and Maximus x Acacius x Lucilla).

Can bisexual people still do bi erasure? Sure!

Do I worry whether straight folks or other random folks online think I'm involved in bi erasure? Nahhh.

Anyway, I did make some posts the other day based on anons submitted to me about issues re: queer representation in this fandom. Let me just direct you to the several posts I made on that day, which started in response to a question about Renaldo:

"Was Renaldo Gay in the SNL sketch?? I've seen a lot of blogs saying he wasn't?". TL;DR version of my response: the ending of the song states "word to the wise, if you've got wives, hide them from the three bros!" suggesting that Renaldo, Domingo, and Santiago all hook up with women/wives. Considering Renaldo hooked up with Matthew, that probably makes him bisexual (and not the fact that he had Sophie, aka Sabrina's character, dancing up on him) - or queer, or someone who doesn't like to label himself. However, while 'hide your wives' works linguistically as a great punch line to wrap up the song, it does not refer to Renaldo's affair with Matthew (now that is bi erasure, if you wanna be exact), so I did point out that 'hide your spouses' would've been more accurate - but understandably, that's not as catchy. I'm currently writing a Renaldo x Matthew one shot, and I said my headcanon has Renaldo as gay - but that's my interpretation/hc/fic.

Someone wrote to me: Some blogs in the fandom is hellbent on taking away any attention away from anything mlm based with his characters anyway so it wouldn't matter in Renaldo was gay - someone would find a loophole to make him like women. TL;DR I agreed, because there are people who definitely do that. It became part of a longer thread of reblogs with some other folks in which we talked about how Pedro's mlm (men loving men) characters, such as Oberyn, Dieter and Silva in particular, either tend to be canonized primarily as bisexual by people but in fic are almost always paired with women (f!reader or OFCs). Which is fine, but people are definitely interested in seeing more m/m representation for those characters. Someone also brought up that when Pedro characters are paired with non-binary reader inserts or OC, it tends to be mostly afab!nb (or afab!trans characters), and that they were surprised that there weren't more amab!nb characters - that's a great point too.

I made a post with an anon message that pointed out "MLM includes bi, pan and queer men. They might like women. (And/or other genders, but they still like men)". Very correct!

Finally, there was an excellent long message from an anon saying "We need more representation of bi people in same-gender relationships represented" and that even in threesomes or throuples (fic) that include two men, there should ideally be more mlm representation. Once again, I fully agree. Everybody should write whatever they want, but I do often see threesomes that are listed as Pedro Character 1 x reader x Pedro Character 2, but in the fic it's more like reader having sex with two straight men at the same time while they're trying to not cross swords, rather than mlm being represented. THIS IS DEFINITELY CHANGING THOUGH: it's wonderful to see a big increase of mlm characters in threesomes/throuple fics over the past year!

So here is my main issue with a lot of people who are raging about 'bi erasure', and why I've made several posts about queerness within this fandom (not just recently, but from the start). Of course bisexual people exist (hello, it me, for one). Pull up some statistics if you want: there are a lot more folks who identify as bisexual than there are folks who identify as gay or lesbian. I'm an older millenial, so if you wanna talk about bi erasure: the measure in which it happens today is nothing compared to the bi erasure and deeply engrained homophobia we experienced in our teens and twenties from society at large. However:

🏳‍🌈 In your rush to point out bisexuals exist, you're shutting down a much broader dialogue with people within the LGBTQIA+ community. 🏳‍🌈

Because have you noticed how gay men, nonbinary/genderqueer fans, amab!trans or amab!nonbinary FANS (not fic characters; I'm talking actual people) are extremely underrepresented in this fandom? In addition to in fic? And that these fans won't have their fiction or actual posts shared all that much? Or that when they carefully speak up, e.g. about being happy to see Pedro portray Silva as a gay character, they're immediately rebuffed and called biphobic or that they're trying to erasure bisexuality?

Yeah. That part.

It's messed up.

Nobody is even making demands. Nobody is even saying "what writers are doing is wrong". They're just saying, "This is a bummer". And some of us are pointing out that mlm Pedro characters in m/m pairings are hard to come by, which is too bad because it's not only us queers who read m/m Pedro character pairings - there are lots of straight fans out there who have indicated they like reading that, too.

Are you gonna call that bi erasure? Or marginalization of women? Or anything really except for what it actually is? Fans are just saying "yknow, I wish there were more fans/fic characters/bodies in fic represented in this fandom that look and feel more like me". People seem to have finally understood that in varying degrees when this applies to body type or racial/cultural background (which took many white people a lot longer to fully grasp; BIPOC folks have been saying this for such a long time already) - it's about diversity and wanting to feel included. But when gay or transfolks say this about mlm, a whole bunch of y'all are crying bi erasure?

In short (and I can't believe I need to even fuckin' say this):

The Pedro fandom or its fic does NOT belong exclusively to women.

It does not belong to cis folks, to straight people, or any other particular group of people.

Aren't we all just trying to be a community? Then stop acting like people reading Silva or Renaldo (or any other character) as gay are erasing bisexuality - that's not the case or the damn point.

And anon-- my critique truly isn't directed at you, I'm not dragging you in any way. You took the effort to bring something to my attention, plus you clearly care about people, and I appreciate that a lot. But there are tons of people who don't dare to speak up about this in public settings, so I can't help but take this opportunity to not only clarify what I said earlier -- but also to address the bigger problem at large. Read or write all the gossip blogs you want, by all means, but maybe also consider using that time to actually connect with people.

[neiveel3llson]

Apple-Tinted Cheeks

Lucifer Magne x Afab! Reader≈ ` °

CW: Smut, use of strap, therefore afab!reader, Sub!Luci, Dom!reader, markings, darcryphilia, blood, use of master, no pronouns used, aftercare, begging, degredation, please inform me if I missed any!♡

Whimpers erupt from underneath your fast-moving frame as his eyeshadow runs down his apple-tinted cheeks, the makeup mixing with his oh so pretty tears, dropping onto the previously while pillow beneath him.

His backside is high in the air, his flushed, wet face stuffed into the soaked pillow beneath him, your strap relentlessly pounding into him. You hold his black wrists, pulling his ass irresistibly close to you, your hips hitting his already red backside while the pink, plastic cock stretches him out in a loving, perhaps, display of dominance and care.

"Oh- Ah! Hurts so- mmng- good, Master!" He keens pathetically, lustfully, his hands clawing into your own wrists while you keep your iron grip on his, refusing to let go even as blood trickles from his claws. You continue your brutal pace of punding into him, his own cock agonisingly hard against his stomach, cum already dripping down it and onto his plush pillow from his previous release, only mere minutes ago despite the fluttering feeling re-entering his stomach.

"Oh, I know, doing so, so well for me~" You slur seductively, leaning down so your bare chest is flush with his sweaty back. You lean down further, licking the bruises and crimson marking left on his porcelain skin. This was perfect. The King of Hell himself whimpering under you in a puddle of pillows and tears, his red ass claimed by your lust and your strap. The only thing that would make this better would be to have a clear view of his face, not having to wonder whether his tears made it look as ruined as his petite body.

"Slo- oh- ow down! Please! Ah!" He calls in a unbridled state of subspace, inching closer to the edge, his finish, with every swift thrist of the plastic cock, but he deserved this. After all, it was him who couldn't help himself from kissing your neck, who couldn't help himself from arching into your touch all day, teasing you while knowing you couldn't do jack shit. He knew what he was doing, ergo, this was a fit punishment.

"Do you not think you deserve this? After all you've done today, filthy slut." You degrade him, pushing his back even further down, getting an impossibility increadable angle to thrust into him, while also getting an increase in whines and gargled pleas. You could see the eyeshadow stains on the pillow, you could see his red ass, the scratches on his back, the bites and bruises on his shoulder and inner thighs. You saw everything, how ruined he was, and the fact that you caused this? Wow.

"No! I've- mmng- I've been go- od, ma- ah- ster!" He croaks out from the pillow, his voice nearly as ruined and used as his small body from copious amounts of moaning and screaming. It was hard to believe he truly thought he was good, by how bad and desperate he was acting lately, but something about the way he oleaded with you, begged you to believe he had no malice behind those pretty words, made you believe him.

You have no reply, simply watching in a state of pay per view as you absentmindedly ram your plastic cock into his gaping ass, his backside desperately trying to arch back and hump the silicone genital. His breath picked up substantially as you release his wrists, watching him immidietly sink his black claws into the sheets of the bed, ripping them in lustful ignorance. A pool of not only tears, but cum soon builds under him from his last release, only preparing him for the next release.

"Do you- do you deserve to cum?" You breathe out finally, your vision becoming hazy with heat and fatigue, the musk and warmth of sex lingering in the master bedroom. The bed rocked with each increasingly lazy thrust, Lucifer beginning to arch into the strap even more to keep the pleasure at it's highest, pushing his face into his pillow before turning to to the side, looking at you from the corner of his eye while you observe one half of his ruined face.

"Mmng! Yes! Plea- ah- se! Let me cum, Master!" He practically screeches, keening at your hips coming into contact with his backside, eyes rolling into the back of his head, despite you hardly doing anything anymore. Oh, how much he loved your approval. He'd rut into your leg, finishing on your boot and licking off his own cum as long as you permitted him to, the high and mighty King of Hell falling once more, now, into your clutch.

You simply nod at him, immidietly hearing him scream out 'master' as he finishes for a final time, his body falling limp.ahainst the leg and yours following soon.

Panting slightly, you get up, pulling out of him and shushing him gently as he let's out a whine over oversrimulation. You take off the strap, throwing it somewhere in the pongy room before leaning down once again, trailing kisses from Luci's cheek all the way down to his stomach, hearing him chuckle weakly.

"So, so good for me, baby.." You murmur against his sweaty chest, rubbing his back while slowly flipping him over.

"Shower?" You ask, to which he meekly shakes his head. Sighing, you reach down to the side of the bed, picking up a random discarded piece of clothing and wiping off his stomach and thighs, kissing the rosy apples of his cheeks gently with each wipe. He quickly falls asleep, mumbling something about 'goodnight, darling' before he does, leaving your grip and falling into the just as gentle arms of sleep, smiling as he dreams of you.

• . . • ° ° • . . • ° ° • . . • ° ° • . . • ° ° • . . • ° ° •

RUFF RUFF, ARRSHDJDJWNF

brain rot♡

[starshinewritesalot]

Vincent Bishop X Reader - [Wedding Guest Blues]

Summary: NB!Reader goes dress shopping for an event with family and ends up feeling self-conscious about the dress they liked most. Vincent helps them feel better.

CWs: Implied dysphoria, sexism, weight shaming, the typical afab experience, toxic family, depression mention, Vincent's typical perving, SFW with suggestive ending

Addendum: Reader is nonbinary, implied AFAB

WC: 1.2k

Dividers

You came home to your shared apartment, exhausted both physically and emotionally from your trip to the mall. With your long white plastic bag in tow, you dragged your miserable self past Vincent--who was on the couch-- to your room and chucked it onto the bed.

"Uh oh," He lowered the volume on the TV, already knowing something was up just by your expression and posture. He got up and entered your room as soon as you flopped down face first onto the bed, hovering in the doorway for a brief moment as he decided what to do. Being the ass he was, he decided it was only fair for him to lay on top of you as well, curling his fingers into the the gaps between yours from behind. "What's wrong sweetheart?" He murmured into your ear, taking a deep whiff of you like he always did when you got back home from an unfamiliar place.

"Nothing... Just dress shopping..." You sighed, partly out of exasperation and partly due to the weight of him on your back.

He hummed in response, in that kind of "ah, I see" tone. He had an idea of what you were getting at, but he still wanted you to talk with him a little more.

"I'm guessing it wasn't all that grand, if your current state is anything to go by... Let me guess, your family didn't let you pick anything you liked and had a comment for everything you tried on?"

"Yep... Pretty much."

"Oh, you poor thing," He nuzzled his head against yours, shedding purple strands all over you to find later. "Well, do you at least like the dress you settled on?"

You shrugged half-heartedly.

"It's fine, I mean I-I like it but it's not... It doesn't really matter what I think," Your fingers sprawled, body desperate to gesture around like you normally would but unable to due to the purple rat man keeping you pinned down. "Honestly a suit is less than half the trouble, even though they'd never let me wear one... But there was this one dress," You began, smiling slightly.

"It was so beautiful... It was the perfect cut, color, everything... But when I stepped out of the dressing room..."

You trailed off, slowly closing your eyes as you recalled the expression of your family members. Disgusted, horrified, judging.

"It'd be good if we had something to suck that stomach in!"

"Just don't eat before the party, okay?"

"That dress doesn't flatter you at all, makes you look so old!"

"Well... Uh... What do you like about it?"

When your breaths began to grow shaky Vincent sat up, looking down at you sympathetically. "Hey, hey, hey," He rubbed your back gently, giving you room to readjust if you wanted to. "I'm sure you looked gorgeous in it... Hell, you look gorgeous five days into your depression outfit, I kinda like it when you're a lil' stinky--"

"Vincent!"

He chuckled, shaking his head, "Sorry, sorry... But seriously, I mean it. I don't know what they said or did to you, but I can assure you that none of it's true. In fact..." He got up, an idea suddenly entering his mind. You rolled over to look at him while he picked up a pair of your pants accidentally(?), shimmying into them while he spoke. "Where did you say that mall was again?"

"Aw hell Vinny, that dress was damn near 200 dollars! It wasn't worth it anyway, I'm fine with the one I got--"

"Ah, ah! But it's not your dress though. It's the dress you agreed to, but not yours. Let's go find your dress again, I at least want to see my darling in it." He walked out of the room in your ill-fitted pants to go fetch his keys. You groaned, not really wanting to return to the scene of the crime (the crime in question being the absolute MURDER of your self esteem) but you knew Vincent wasn't gonna let up otherwise so you conceded and got back up anyway.

You actually got to enjoy the mall this time around, he parked near the front and got you a little treat from one of the cafes inside, then took you back to the store you were in. Treat first, hard stuff second, he had you practically conditioned, and sometimes you'd even get a treat after too.

Part of you hoped that the dress you liked wasn't there anymore just so that you could give everything up and call it a day, but ironically enough it was on a nearly empty rack all by its lonesome, like it was awaiting your return. You approach it hesitantly, pinching the fabric between your thumb and knuckle to rub the soft material. It was comfortable too...

You thought Vincent had wandered off for a second but it turns out he was right behind you, just hovering. He had a tendency of sneaking up on people like that despite how tall and unique in appearance he was. "This the one?" He asked, reaching past your shoulder so that he could touch it as well. "Hmm... It's soft," He murmured, trying to visualize you in it. He gulped back a bit of drool, being the pervert that he was. Suit or dress, he liked seeing you in both but liked ripping them off of you even more...

You snatched it off the rack, rolling your eyes as you already knew what kind of lewd thoughts were racing through his mind. You speed walked to the dressing room, knowing that he was behind you as he'd never miss a chance to see you try on some clothes. As you shimmied into it once again and zipped it up, you tried to recall the burst of confidence you felt when you first put it on. You swished the skirt around and did a little twirl, but even so you still felt the sting of the words exchanged hours earlier. Maybe they were right, maybe you were just crazy and the dress really was that ugly on you. "I guess it's just okay," You felt yourself almost relinquishing your adamance on the subject, but when you slowly opened the door to the dressing room and stepped out Vincent was taken aback.

Seeing his shock made you want to slam the door shut again, but this was a different kind of surprised, the good kind. Vincent Bishop had been a natural performer all his life, but you could tell when he was faking things. This was not one of those times.

"Oh, darling..."

He clutched a dark hand over his heart, crumpling up the fabric of his shirt. "You... You look..."

"Ghastly?"

"No! You look... Perfect..."

He stood right where he was for a little while, just to marvel and croon over you like the obsessive boyfriend he was, but soon enough he was up to no good again. He glanced around for any of the shop attendants, and when he noticed they were absent he began to creep closer. "What's say I help you out of that pretty little dress of yours, hmm?~"

"Vincent," You warned, slowly backing into the dressing room anyway. "You break it, you buy it y'know."

"Who said I wasn't going to get it for you, cara mia?"

"Oi, don't you cara mia me!"

Alas, before you could back-sass him any further it was already too late. The door was closed behind him and he was determined to add white accents to that beautiful, perfect dress.

[letsdeerintheheadlightsuniverse]

<<Previous Chapter <<

**Masterlist**

>>Next Chapter>>

Pairing: Izzy Hands x gn!reader

Synopsis: 'Then [they] runs like it's a race. Behind [their] back, [their] best mates laughed. And they nicknamed [them] "The Bolter".'

A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack.

Content Warning: Mentions of injury, illness, death and difficulties with food. I think that's everything. This series is 18+, so minors dni. Go away (politely).

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, REPUBLISH, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION. I DO NOT OWN OFMD OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. NOR DO I CLAIM THE PROPERTY OF TAYLOR SWIFT'S MUSIC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

=============================

'And [they like] the way it tastes...'

Love was not a language that Izzy Hands spoke fluently, the words were foreign on his tongue. Often murmured in the twilight hours, when his bedfellows were fast asleep. Or buried in an unmarked grave. In Edward's case, they had been uttered whilst staring directly down the barrel of a gun. No, no, Izzy was no wordsworth. His love was shown, not told. Be as that may, however, he was making a concious effort to lavish you in the sweetest of nothings. "You're not going to the fucking beach."

Okay, he was still a work in progress. "But, Iz, I'm losing my mind being stuck in these four walls." you sighed, perhaps a tad overdramatically but desperate times called for desperate measures. "Please?"

Though a seasoned pirate and a scoundrel to many, the sight of your forlorn gaze was enough to cause the First Mate's shoulders to slump slightly in defeat. He loathed saying 'no' to you, especially when he was more than understanding of your plight but he had to be reasonable in his decision-making. If he had deemed it safe enough, the man would have scooped you into his arms and carried you to the damned waterfront himself. "No, beach-" he started, quickly pressing a finger to your parted lips, as you prepared to argue your case further. "but! I'll help you walk down to the courtyard. I suppose some fresh air would do you some good." he sighed, hoping it would be a satisfactory compromise. While he wished to give you the stars and the moon, the shade-covered bench outside would have to suffice, until you where better.

'Taming a bear, making him care...'

The pure look of delight that overtook your features instantly dispelled any and all worries of disappointing you. "Ah! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" you all but cheered. If you had been able to stand unaided, no doubt you would have been jumping for joy but then, had you been well enough for such displays of emotion, you would have been visiting the beach instead.

Izzy took note of the sparkle in your eyes at the thought of going outside. If he were the type to smile, he would have been beaming with amusement at your reaction. Instead, he allowed the corners of his mouth to upturn. Gaze softening with adoration. You had become quiet accustomed to the expression. "However," he interrupted your moment of joy, as he placed a hand on either of your shoulders, instantly capturing your attention. His tone changed to one of the utmost seriousness, though his regarding of you remained gentle. "you have to tell me as soon as you feel dizzy or nauseous, understood?"

Gods, the look of elation upon your drawn face, was enough to make his heart skip a beat. Making you happy really was like a drug to him. It had been the same when he had been entangled in whatever you could call his toxic cycle with Edward. Perhaps acts of service were his love language? At least he did not need to gut stab anyone to bring you joy.

'Watching him jump then pulling him under...'

At the sounding of his agreement, the grin you wore only widened, as you mock saluted the silver-haired pirate. "Yes, First Mate Hands, sir!"

Even with the shadowy figure of death threatening to darken your doorway, you still found the energy to exasperate your beloved. "Fucking hell." he muttered, though there was still a fondness present in his smirk.

====

'And at first blush, this is fate...'

"Okay, I hate to say it but..."

With eyes closed, you could not witness his sheepish expression firsthand. Instead, you just tried (and failed) to suppress a look of smug superiority. "Buuuuuut?"

"Maybe it was a good idea getting you outside."

"Told you!" you beamed, borderline bristling with glee. From your vantage point, you granted yourself a quick peak up at your beloved's face. "Awww, don't pout, Iz." you cooed, only serving to further the grumpy expression on Izzy's face.

"'M not pouting." the First Mate grumbled, his gaze shifting from you to focus on something in the near distance. Though his soured demeanor, his gentle ministrations of mindlessly playing with your linked fingers, never ceased for a second. "Yer making me soft, you know that?"

"Me? Nah. Can't corrupt the uncorruptable Israel Hands." a Cheshire Cat grin overtook your features, when your quip earned you a scoff of laughter from the pirate. With a slight stretch, not too dissimilar to that of a feline creature, you settled once back down more with a contented sigh. "The sun sure does feel good, though. Makes a nice change from the rain, huh?"

'[They've] been many places with men of many faces...'

Despite his life being predominently spent surrounded by water, the silver-haired pirate was incredibly fond of the scorching sunshine. It made completing chores a hell of a lot more difficult but being the early riser he was, there was a certain kind of appreciative calm that the morning rays brought, whenever he rose for his daybreak shifts. Just him, the sun and sea. Izzy could never tire of the golden rays against the azure backdrop. Now with you in the mix, the First Mate had to note how rather fetching you looked, bathed in the amber light. "Anything is better than that fucking storm."

The conversation quickly lapsed into a thoughtful silence, as you both counted your lucky stars and thanked the multiple heavens, that your feet had once more found dry land. The fishes would have to sleep sans your corpses for another moon cycle. Speaking of the sea, you thought... "Have either of the Captains mentioned when we'll be setting sail again?"

"They've not told me anything, no. Doubt it'll be anytime soon. Gotta wait and see if we've got a mutiny on our hands first."

"A mutiny?"

"Ah, Edward is just bring a paranoid twat. Thinks the crew's going turn on him because of, well, what happened with Frenchie and the crew shortages on deck."

"Have the crew said anything about ousting him as Co-Captain?"

"'Course not. Like I said, it's just him making something out of nothing."

'First, they're off to the races.

And [they're] laughing drawin' aces.

But, none of it is changin'.

That the chariot is waitin'.'

====

"Iz, I think the world is broken. It's spinning too fast."

"The dizziness'll pass once you've had a-" famous last words. "Shit." Before you could vomit all over yourself and the comforter, the silver-haired pirate was quick to retrieve the borrowed mixing bowl, that had become your personal sick bucket.

"Cheers." you replied, weakly. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you truly felt disgusting but hey, at least this convinced you of one thing. Izzy must have been really fond you of, if he was willing to stick around, while you were vomiting your guts up into a bucket. The man did not even flinch, just instinctively washed your face and hands with a damp cloth. "Thanks." you murmured again in appreciation, sighing at the cooling sensation against your feverish brow.

Hand placed against your forehead, the First Mate frowned at your elevated temperature. True, you had been out in the sun but still, you were too warm for his liking. "I think we might need to call for the doctor again."

'All [their] fuckin' lives..."

"It's probably nothing. I just overdid it." you grumbled, wanting nothing more than for the doctor to never darken the doorway again. Memories of his previous visit still haunted you. The pain of your wound being drained, caused your stomach to twist and tighten into a knot or maybe that was just-

Izzy was already waiting with the bucket, before you could even begin to register the next dry heave that wracked your body. You had already expelled what little food and water you had been managing to keep down up until now. The bucket at this point was just a formality. You were coughing up nothing but your final shread of dignity.

"You're okay." your beloved rubbed your back, as you remained hunched over. Tears streaked your face, as you wheezily drew breath, inbetween the onslaught of intense nausea. "I'm here." Izzy reassured you, in a softened tone that was reserved for you and you alone.

'Flashed before [their] eyes..."

The frantic knocking at the door, only served to disrupt the fleeting moment of peace and guaranteed to sour Izzy's mood. "Fuck off!" he yelled, hoping your unwelcome visitor would kindly piss off and leave you both alone.

"It's me." the muffled voice of your shared co-captain called out, waiting patiently to be invited in.

"Oh, in that case...fuck off!" your beloved repeated his earlier dismissal but much to his annoyance, the door creaked open, to reveal an extremely weary Edward, which instantly had the First Mate on edge. "What is it?" he barked but even without any verbal confirmation, Izzy knew just exactly what the other man was going to ask of him. "No." he said with an air of finality, knowing full well that his refusal would be ignored. Boundaries between the two men had always been blurred beyond the point of salvation.

"Iz-" Ed pleaded, desperate for his second in command's help. Iz had always gotten him out of trouble, cleared up his messes. This time was no different.

"(Y/N) needs me-"

"-A decision's been made."

"I don't have time for this-"

"-They want me out."

He did not fucking need this. Not now, not ever. In the past, Izzy would have immediately leapt into action and done anything within his power to right the wrongs of his captain but times had changed. Edward had Stede to share the burden of traumatising an entire crew. Izzy had you to focus on. Too many times had he abandoned his post of remaining by your side. Your time was running out and Izzy wanted to enjoy every second of the Y/N show, while it was still in town. He was no fool, he recognised a dire situation when he saw one. Nothing the doctor did made you any better. It...it was only a matter of when you would- "I can't help you right now, Edward. So, just kindly fuck off, will you?" he all but pleaded. Izzy would have gotten on his fucking knees and begged, if it meant he would be left alone in peace.

'(And [they] realized)'

"Go." your insistance cut through their bickering cleaner than any sword the First Mate had ever wielded.

The single utterance had Izzy lost in a state of despair. You had no idea the kind of heartache your agreement was causing the silver-haired pirate. If you needed him as badly as he needed you, then why on earth were you pushing him away? "Y/N-"

"I'll be okay, Izzy. Go and stop the mutiny." you pleaded, your gaze devoid of any desperation for him to stay rooted to your side. Under different circumstances, Izzy might have felt wounded at your insistence for him to leave your presence but this was a unique situation. The harmony of your chosen family hung in the balance and it was down to him- apparently- to keep the peace. "That's what they've voted for, right?" you questioned the once formidable pirate.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is. They want me removed as co-captain."

Attention now refocused on your beloved, you dared to reach for his hand. PDA was not something you assumed the First Mate would be all that comfortable with but desperate times called for desperate measures and miracuously, he did not pull away from your touch. "Talk some sense into them, Izzy. They'll listen to you."

The stars and moon- had he not vowed to literally tear the heavens apart for you only some celestial cycles ago? Now, here he was, denying you the one thing you truly wanted. Your loved ones not to turn against one another. "They can all go to hell. I'm not leaving you."

"I'll stay with them." Edward's offer was not the vote of confidence he thought it was but hey, you thought, at least Izzy would know you were in safe hands. Or...just hands...at least.

"Oh, would you look at that?" you mustered a grim looking grin, as your skin turned a familuar shade of green. "Problem solv-" you inopportune dry heave had your beloved and co-captain wincing in unison.

'It feels like the time..."

Fuck it all to hell, was the silver-haired pirate's final thought, when he finally said, "Call for a doctor." Izzy huffed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You better take good fucking care of them. I swear, on your golden-haired, twat of a boyfriend's life, Edward-"

"I promise you, Iz. They'll be okay with me. I learnt from the best remember?"

If there waa anything Izzy felt further from in that moment, it was being 'the best' at anything. So far, all the First Mate could think about, was his never-ending list of fuck ups and ways he had furthered your suffering. Glancing passed his potentially soon-to-be, former captain, Izzy took in you hunched and heaving form. He did not want to leave your side, he had made that mistake once before and yet, you had urged him to go. To stop your family from tearing itself apart because that's what the crew were to you, family. You loved them and Izzy loved you. So, on that principle alone, he would do as you had pleaded. "Fucking hell." he grumbled, was he strode across the room to hastily place a kiss to the top of your head, before exiting your shared space. A man of begrudged determination.

'[They] fell through the ice.'

[wrenthewriterishere]

Thank you again and no worries for the minor delay. ^^ Had started thinking about a continuation to the first part that was originally intended to be a one-shot. It just felt deserved to happen although that is only if you are comfortable with that. If so then here is the idea: Pairing: Wilbur Soot & AFAB/NB!Reader. Sub-Top!Wilbur and Soft Dom-Switch!Reader. Prompt: 54 (Reader), 31 (Reader), 42 (Reader), 56 (Wilbur) and 15 (Reader). Comfort/Fluff & Smut. Extra: Hickeys (received by both). Hand-job and Edging (performed on Wilbur). Praise kink. Wilbur uses gender-affirming honorifics/titles and pet names for reader (masculine. E.g. "Sir".). Aftercare (for both). It has been no more than 2 weeks since Wilbur opened up to the reader about this struggle/insecurity he had which eventually led to them having comforting sex. ^(From then on, day-by-day, the reader had offered to listen to his half-finished tunes, scrapped projects and all of the lyrics that struck as fine-tune poetry—They would get him to take a break from sessions whenever he would fall back into habits that the reader had figured out. They even offered to start practising playing guitar alongside him—with him. What more could he ask for? Well, that was love after all.)-- After the weeks have passed... It starts with the pair watching television while resting on the couch. The reader has been feeling off about themselves on-and-off—It leads to them learning about gender dysphoria and gender questioning (and of course with the help from Wilbur). As always, the rest is in your hands. ☺️

AHHHH YES!!

Wilbur Soot x AFAB/NB!Reader NSFW | Sub-top!Wilbur x Soft Dom/Switch!Reader | CW: dysphoria, gender questioning, praise kink, edging, affirming masculinity, hickeys, handjob, aftercare, pet names, honorifics (e.g. “Sir”), smut woven into comfort.

Prompts: 54: “Oh, baby, you’re drooling everywhere.” 31: “How do you want it?” 42: “Spread your legs for daddy, I want to see you.” 56: “I want you so bad.” 15: “Just a little more.”

SMUT BELOW THE CUT! If your under 18+ and read this don’t blame me for the emotional instability afterwards. Proceed with caution.

It’s quiet in Wilbur’s flat. The kind of quiet where the TV hums on low in the background—some docuseries neither of you are really watching. You’re nestled beside him on the couch, head against his shoulder, and he’s got his fingers laced with yours.

It’s been two weeks since Wilbur opened up.

And since then… everything’s felt a little softer. A little warmer.

You didn’t ask for the role of his anchor. But you took it because he deserved one. Someone to steady his tide, to remind him that his worth isn’t measured in lyrics or audience claps.

You didn’t realize how much he’d end up anchoring you, too.

“Hey.” His thumb strokes your hand. “You’ve been quiet for the past ten minutes. That’s like… five times longer than usual.”

You laugh weakly. “Funny.”

His brows crease. “What’s going on in there?”

You hesitate. Then you sigh. “I don’t know. I’ve just… been feeling kind of off. About myself.”

“Off like—emotionally, or…?”

You shrug, curling a little into yourself. “Off like… me. My body. The way I’m seen. I didn’t really have the words for it before, but I’ve been reading and… I think it might be gender stuff. Dysphoria. Or questioning.”

You wait for the weight of the confession to make things weird. Heavy.

But Wilbur just nods. Thoughtful.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me. What do you need from me?”

That alone is almost enough to shatter you.

“I’m not sure yet,” you admit. “It’s… hard to even ask for anything when I’m not fully sure who I am.”

Wilbur shifts, tugging you gently into his lap, holding you chest-to-chest. “Then I’ll remind you of what I see. Until you see it too.”

You blink. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His fingers curl around your jaw, lifting your face to his. “I want you so bad, Sir. Just like this. However you are. However you feel.”

You suck in a sharp breath.

“Say that again,” you murmur.

He smiles. “I want you so bad, Sir.”

Your thighs twitch.

“Do you want to feel good tonight?” he asks. “I can help. I want to make you feel exactly how you are.”

You nod.

“Then tell me what you want.”

•

You’re both on the bed, slowly undressed in the hazy warmth of low lamplight. Wilbur is stretched out, shirtless and flushed, propped on his elbows. You straddle his thighs, still wearing your binder and briefs, watching the way his eyes devour you with reverence.

“How do you want it?” you ask.

Wilbur’s breath catches. “Want your hand. Want to feel it stroke me slow. Like I’m something you’re savoring.”

You grin—slow, dangerous.

“Oh, baby,” you coo, reaching for him. “You’re drooling everywhere.”

And he is—his cock is flushed and leaking, practically aching for contact.

You curl your fingers around him, starting a slow, steady stroke, teasing the sensitive underside of his shaft.

He whines.

“Feel good?” you ask.

“Too good.”

You pause.

“Spread your legs for daddy. I want to see you.”

He shudders—and obeys instantly, thighs parting further, giving you space to settle more comfortably between them. Your other hand comes to cup his balls gently, rolling them in your palm while your fist works his cock with rhythmic, maddening care.

“F-fuck,” he gasps. “Sir—please—need—”

“Need what, sweetheart?”

“More—just a little more—!”

Your grip tightens, and he jerks his hips, whining.

“I said a little,” you correct. “You don’t get to come yet.”

You hold him there. Rocking him on the edge. Watching him beg.

“Please—please, Sir, I’m trying to be good—”

“You are good,” you murmur, leaning in to suck a mark into his neck. “You’re perfect. So fucking responsive. Look at you.”

Wilbur is red-faced, glossy-eyed, hips twitching under your control. He’s panting now, and his cock pulses in your hand every time you squeeze the head.

“Can I—can I call you something?” he breathes.

You pause. “Of course.”

He leans up, cupping your jaw with surprising tenderness.

“My handsome Sir. My boy. My man. I love you.”

That—that—goes straight to your chest. A surge of validation so deep your throat tightens.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

He smiles, slow and dazed, and drops back down. “Then use me.”

You stroke him again, gentler now, coaxing him through the next few waves of pleasure. You edge him once, twice, threetimes until he’s barely forming words anymore.

“Sir—please—I need to come so bad—”

“How bad?”

“So bad it hurts.”

You lean down, kiss his mouth, and breathe against his lips:

“Then come for me, baby. Be good for your Sir.”

He falls apart.

Head thrown back. Lips parted in a moan so sweetly broken it makes you ache. He spills over your fingers, trembling, twitching through every last pulse while you whisper praises into his neck.

“That’s it. My good boy. My sweet little thing.”

•

Wilbur is curled up in your arms, face buried in your chest, still half-dazed and blissed out.

“Hey,” you whisper, stroking his curls. “You alright?”

He nods. “You?”

You pause. Then you speak.

“When you called me your boy earlier… it made everything inside me go quiet. Like—peaceful.”

Wilbur lifts his head, eyes searching yours. “You are my boy. You’re everything I want. Every version of you.”

Your eyes sting.

You lean in and kiss him again. Soft. Grateful.

“Thanks for loving me when I’m still figuring it out.”

“I’ll love you through every chapter.”

And you believe him.

You both fall asleep like that—limbs tangled, hickeys scattered like constellations, and a warmth blooming between you that’s deeper than flesh.

[kaerumi]

YANDERE EVENT FOR OCTOBER-

18+ Minors do NOT interact

Rules for the event

Request at least 1 prompt (of your choice) with a character or multiple.

This will be all nsfw as it will also be a Kinktober event as well.

It can multiple of the same character in the list.

The list will go up all the way to the 31st.

I will NOT do female reader, I’ll do Afab Reader that’s NB/Enby or FtM. And Male or Amab NB readers.

This is a general rule, No Crocodile, Lucci, Doflamingo etc. as I’m not comfortable doing those characters.

[harveywritings92]

Lucifer: Come back.

Lucifer: I miss you.

Lucifer: Where did you go?

Lucifer: Are you mad at me?

Lucifer: Please come back.

R/n: Lucifer, I was gone for two minutes. How much attention do you need?

Lucifer: All of it.

[harveybwabbit92]

Regulos, to his host: You're stronger than you think. *puts his hand on their chest* Plus, you'll always have these.

R/n: What, my tits?

Regulos:

Regulos: I was gonna say your heart and soul.

Regulos: … but, yeah, those are nice too.

[0o-junebug-o0]

Desperate

summary: Spencer pounces on you the moment you get home and begs you to fuck him, you're happy to comply.

genre: smut

cw: 18+ mdni! sub!spencer, softdom!reader, dirty talking, praise, use of good boy, begging, fingering (spencer and reader receiving), strap-ons, strap-on referred to as a cock, pegging, anal sex, hair pulling, reader has a vagina but nothing else is specified (the only word used to describe reader's genitalia is clit), no use of y/n, whiny/bratty spencer, reader shoves spencer chest first against a wall (it's fully consensual and he's very into it), autistic!spencer (because every spencer is autistic!spencer), aftercare, cuddling

wordcount: 3.8k

The moment you walk through the front door, Spencer practically pounces on you. You gasp, stumbling back slightly, trying to keep your grip on your bag as he holds your head in his hands and kisses you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. One of his hands reaches down to grab your ass and you squeak into the kiss. You gently pull back, staring at him with wide eyes as he pants heavily.

“Spencer, what—”

“I need you. Please,” he whines. 

You take in his appearance for a moment. His face is flushed and his pupils are blown wide with lust. His chest rises and falls rapidly with each heaving breath. His shirt is untucked from his pants and his hands toy with the edge of it. He looks at you pathetically and it’s so fucking hot.

You smirk at him as you close the door to your shared apartment and a tiny whimper escapes his lips. “You’re so desperate, baby,” you tease, lifting your free hand to press it against his chest. You push slightly and Spencer practically trips over his feet as you guide him backward into the living room. “What’s gotten into you?”

Spencer’s eyes stay locked on your lips as you speak and his hands release his shirt to start trying to unbutton yours. You drop your hand from his chest and grab his wrists in a harsh grip that makes him groan, tugging his hands away and holding them in the space between you. “Spencer,” you scold.

He pouts slightly and his gaze lifts from the hold you have on his hands to your eyes. You gently toss your bag onto the couch and reach up with your free hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear. His eyes slip shut and he tilts his head into your hand. You chuckle and cup his face, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his cheekbone. He hums and turns his head to press a kiss to the palm of your hand.

“Sweet boy,” you say fondly. You release your grip on his wrists and pull him in by his shirt to kiss him. Spencer’s hands once again shoot up to cup your face. He groans into the kiss and his mouth falls open as you nip on his lower lip. A pathetic whimper that goes straight between your legs escapes from his lips as you tug at his hair. As if pulling his hair had flipped a switch inside him, Spencer goes right back to kissing you with the desperation he had when you first opened the door. You can’t help but moan slightly and, spurred on by your reaction, one of Spencer’s hands drops to try to unbutton your shirt as he practically shoves you against the wall. 

You growl in disapproval and with a quick and fluid movement perfected after over a year of putting Spencer in his place, you grab his wrist and pull, flipping your positions so Spencer’s chest is pressed against the wall and his arm is pinned behind his back with just enough force to cause a pleasurable amount of pain. Spencer moans loudly and squeezes his eyes shut as he hits the wall and you press your free hand between his shoulder blades to keep him there. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Spencer,” you growl. “It’s like you’re trying to piss me off.”

“Please,” he gasps pathetically. The sound drives you crazy and you can feel yourself starting to soak through your underwear. 

You scoff at him. You lean forward and press a kiss behind his ear. “What’s got you so desperate, sweet boy?” you tease softly. He groans in response and you nip at his earlobe. “Words, baby.”

“I-I need you to fuck me,” he gasps. 

Fuck. His words send a spark of excitement through your body and you have to fight the urge to slip your hands between your legs. 

“Yeah?” you say in a mocking tone. “Need me to fuck you, baby?”

Spencer nods frantically. 

“How do you need me to fuck you, sweet boy?”

Spencer gasps and whimpers at your question. “Need–need you to fuck me with your cock.”

A groan forces its way up your throat and you press a kiss to his neck that makes him gasp. “Fuck, baby. You sure?” you ask.

“Yes. Yes. Please. I–I cleaned,” Spencer pants. You let your eyes slip shut and you grind your hips against his ass with a moan. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Mhm, and-and I didn’t prep myself be-because I know you like to do it,” he says desperately.

You can't help but groan at that. “Such a good boy, Spencer.”

He gasps and shimmies slightly, pressing his ass back against you. The increased stimulation makes you groan and you rest your head on his shoulder for a moment. You tug on his wrist again, quickly flipping him around to face you and, cupping the back of his neck with your free hand, pull him down to kiss you. Spencer kisses you messily and hungrily, his mouth hanging open as you kiss him like he can’t get enough air. You guide his hand between your legs and he groans as his fingers touch the wet patch on the crotch of your pants.

Even though the contact with initiated by you, the feeling of his hand between your legs, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit, makes you gasp. You pull away from the kiss to whisper, “I wanna fuck you too, baby. You feel how crazy you drive me? How much I want to fuck you on my cock?”

Spencer nods frantically and buries his head in the crook of your neck with a groan. “Please,” he whimpers.

“I know, baby, I’ve got you,” you whisper. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Spencer whimpers against you and you remove his hand from between your legs and lead him to the bedroom. He follows you diligently and when you reach the room, lets you push him down onto the bed and climb into his lap. He gasps your name as you roll your hips against his and you lean down to kiss him, crawling forward and forcing him to follow until he’s lying in the middle of the bed. You make quick work of unbuttoning his shirt and Spencer sits up as you pull back, keeping his lips attached to yours with only brief breaks for air as you tug the shirt off his shoulders and arms. 

His hands slide up under your shirt and you gasp as his nails rake down your back when you reach between your bodies to palm him through his pants. Spencer gasps and moans into your mouth as you touch him and whines when you remove your hand. His disappointment disappears the second you unbuckle his belt and undo his pants.

He pulls away to bury his face into the crook of your neck, pressing messy, open-mouth kisses to your skin.

You hook your fingers under the waistband of his pants and underwear and turn your head to whisper into his ear, “Be a good boy and lift your hips for me, okay?”

Spencer whimpers and nods against your neck, removing his hands from your back to plant them behind him on the bed and lift his hips. You raise yourself to your knees and move off his lap as you pull his pants and underwear down his legs. Spencer bends his knees to make it easier for you and whines when you move away from him to toss his clothes aside. 

You press a hand to his chest and push him onto his back with enough force that his body rebounds slightly off the mattress. Spencer stares up at you with wide eyes. His flush has traveled down to his chest and you can feel the way it rises and falls under your hand with each panting breath he takes. You run your hand over his chest and gently pinch one of his nipples, causing Spencer to buck his hips and gasp your name.

You chuckle and press his hips to the bed. “You be a good boy and stay right here for me. And no touching yourself, understand?” Spencer nods frantically, desperate to please you. 

Spencer whines pathetically as you climb off of the bed. You smirk at him before turning to grab your strap-on and harness from where you keep it in the dresser. When you turn around, Spencer is sitting up slightly, scooching backward on the bed propping himself up on a pile of pillows. “Spencer,” you scold, glaring at him.

He freezes and stares at you with wide eyes. “I-I just wanted to be able to see you,” he mutters weakly. “I couldn’t see you when I was lying down. And-and you’re just so pretty.”

You can’t help but smile at his response. He’s adorable and you love him so much. And you love how much he loves you. “It’s okay, baby,” you say, walking over to the bed and setting down the strap and harness to climb onto your knees next to him. His eyes flutter shut as you run your hand through his hair. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead before climbing back off the bed. He opens his eyes to watch you as you move away. “I understand.” 

Spencer smiles softly at you and the almost dopey look on his face makes you chuckle. 

You quickly rid yourself of your clothes and toss them to the side, Spencer’s eyes not once leaving your body. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. 

You feel your cheeks warm and you smile at him. “Thank you, sweet boy, so are you.”

Spencer’s face somehow manages to flush even redder. 

You grab your strap and harness and slip the dildo into place before stepping into it. You pull the harness up to your hips and adjust the straps and buckles so it stays in place with practiced ease.

Spencer moans at the sight and looks at you with such hunger you have to fight the urge to lunge at him the same way he had at you earlier.

“Please,” he whispers desperately.

You smirk and grab the bottle of lube you keep in the drawer of your nightstand before climbing onto the bed. Spencer plants his feet apart on the mattress and lets his legs fall open as you settle yourself between them. 

“Fuck, baby,” you groan. You reach forward and grab his cock from where it's leaking against his stomach. His hips jump and his head falls back against the pile of pillows behind him as you stroke him, using his precum as lubrication. “So pretty. So good for me.”

He groans your name and squeezes his eyes shut. With your free hand, you pop the cap of the lube, and immediately Spencer’s eyes shoot back open, his breath catching in his throat. “Please,” he begs. “Need you. Need you inside me.”

“Patience, sweetheart,” you tease, removing your hand from his cock and squeezing some lube onto your palm. You set the bottle aside and gently squeeze Spencer’s thigh before rubbing your hands together to warm up the lube and spread it over your fingers.

“Need you so bad,” Spencer continues to babble. “Need your fingers. Your cock.”

You smile at him and press your middle finger to his entrance, rubbing gentle circles over it. Spencer’s head falls back with a loud groan.

“So desperate,” you mutter. Spencer nods violently. "I've barely touched you." 

“Please. Need you.”

“Aww, I know baby.” You press your middle finger inside of him and Spencer gasps loudly, trying to rock his hips back onto your hand. “Ah, ah,” you scold, grabbing his hip and pressing him back down into the mattress. 

You move your finger in small circles to begin stretching him and Spencer whimpers. The sound goes straight between your legs and you rock your hips against the bed slightly, not caring that you’re getting the sheets wet. You press your finger in the rest of the way and curl it upwards, hitting his prostate with practiced precision.

Spencer moans loudly and your name falls from his lips over and over again as he begs nonsensically. 

You slowly thrust your finger in and out, gently hitting his prostate each time, providing just enough stimulation to drive him crazy but not enough to make him cum. “You're so tight, baby,” you mutter. “Doing so good for me, taking my fingers so well.” 

Spencer pants loudly. “Mo-more, please!” he cries.

“Yeah? You ready for another finger?”

Spencer nods desperately and you oblige, pulling your hand back and slowly easing your ring finger inside him as well. Spencer gasps at the stretch and you squeeze his hip hard to hold him still. Desperate little moans fall from Spencer’s lips as you finger him, slowly spreading your fingers and working him open. It’s been a while since you’ve fucked him like this and you don’t want to hurt him, so you make sure to take your time.

“So good, feels so good!” he babbles. “Love you so much!”

You press a kiss to his inner thigh as you curl your fingers, rubbing small circles against his prostate. “I love you too, sweet boy. So much.” Spencer gasps and writhes on the bed, gripping the sheets tightly.

You suck a hickey into his thigh as you fuck him on your fingers and when you can see him getting close, you change the angle so you’re no longer hitting his prostate and just focusing on prepping him.

He whines your name, his voice laced with disappointment at the loss of pleasure, but stops when you nip his thigh in disapproval. “Be patient, Spencer,” you scold. “Or I won’t let you cum.”

His eyes widen and he babbles, “I-I’ll be good. I promise. I–” You interrupt him by pressing a third finger inside of him, and he moans, his head falling back and his eyes fluttering shut.

You laugh teasingly at him. You love how desperate he gets for you, how easily he submits to you and trusts you to make him feel good.

“Oh, God!” Spencer gasps, his voice breaking. “I need you! Please! I need your cock!”

You spread your fingers again and, deeming him fully prepared, pull them out. Spencer whines at the loss and opens his eyes to eagerly watch as you pour more lube on your hand and rub it over your strap. 

“Yeah? You need my cock, baby?”

Spencer nods desperately. You guide the tip of the silicone against his ass and slowly press it inside of him. Spencer groans loudly and you grab tightly onto his hips to keep him from trying to fuck himself back on you. You know from experience that if you’re not vigilant about controlling the pace when you first enter him, he will try to pull you in as quickly as possible. 

Once your cock is nestled deep inside him and your hips pressed flush against his ass, you lean forward and press a kiss to Spencer’s heaving chest as he tries to catch his breath. “Such a good boy, Spencer. Taking my cock so well.”

Spencer nods and wraps his legs around your waist, hooking his ankles together behind your back. You press another kiss to his chest before sitting up and slowly starting to rock your hips in small circles that make him groan weakly and his brow knit together with pleasure. He releases his grip on the sheets and reaches a hand down to cover yours on his hip. You smile down at him. “You wanna hold my hand, baby?” He nods desperately, pouting slightly, and you gently take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together. 

You pull your hips back until your strap is halfway out of him before thrusting back in. Spencer gasps and his grip on your hand tightens. You adjust your angle with each thrust, searching for his prostate. It’s always been more difficult for you to find when you’re fucking him since you're unable to actually feel where your cock is inside of him. But you know the moment you hit it when a loud moan rips from Spencer’s chest. “There it is,” you say, mostly to yourself, but Spencer nods desperately in response.

You gasp as you thrust your hips again and the base of the strap presses against your clit, sending pleasure shooting up your spine. Spencer moans loudly and pathetically as you fuck him, each thrust sending your cock deep inside him, pressing against his prostate.

Jolts of pleasure shoot through you as you fuck him and the hand you have laced with Spencer’s isn’t enough to hold support you anymore. You have to move your other hand from his hip to the bed to hold yourself up as your body falls forward slightly with pleasure.

With the hand not holding yours, Spencer reaches up to cup the back of your head and pulls you in to kiss him. The angle is awkward, but you don’t mind, and neither does Spencer if the desperate way he moans into your mouth is any indication.

You press kisses along his jaw and nip at the spot just in front of his ear. He whimpers in response. “Such a good boy, Spencer,” you whisper, your voice breaking with both exertion and pleasure. “Doing so good for me. Taking my cock so well.”

Spencer lets out breathy little moans into your ear, babbling incomprehensibly. The only words you catch are your name and “so good.” You smile and bury your head in the crook of his neck, pressing kisses to his skin as you gasp and moan with each thrust. 

Spencer’s moans increase in volume and frequency and you can tell he’s getting close. You can feel him writhing beneath you and you slip a hand between your bodies to grab his cock, the remaining lube on your hand combined with the puddle of precum on his stomach his cock had been resting in providing more than enough lubrication. 

Spencer’s mouth falls open in a silent moan as you stroke him. His hips buck against yours and into your hand, and his legs tighten around your waist, causing each thrust to press the strap harder against your clit. You moan wantonly into his neck. 

“I-I’m so close,” he gasps weakly. “Can-can I cum? Please? Please, can I cum?”

You lift your head so your mouth hovers over his ear. “Go ahead, baby. Cum for me.” 

Spencer cums with a cry of your name. His whole body shakes violently beneath you as you stroke and fuck him through it, only pulling away when his legs fall from your waist and he starts to squirm in discomfort. 

You press soft kisses to his lips and he whimpers as you pull out of him. You cup his cheek and whisper against his lips, “So proud of you. Did so good, baby.” 

You feel him smile and you pull away for a moment to climb to his side before kissing him again as you undo the harness. It falls from your hips to pool around your knees, and you awkwardly climb out of it without breaking the kiss with Spencer. 

The moment you’ve freed yourself from the harness, Spencer’s hand presses between your legs. You gasp in pleasure and surprise, pulling away from the kiss. “Spence,” you pant, your voice breaking as his fingers rub circles over your clit. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he whispers, freeing his other hand from yours and resting it on the back of your head to pull you in for another kiss. You moan into his mouth as pleasure shoots through your body and you struggle to hold yourself up. But then Spencer is pressing two fingers inside of you and your arms give out. You fall half onto him and he laughs as he kisses you but doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers despite the awkward angle.

He curls his fingers and you gasp as he hits that spot inside you, your head falling to his shoulder. “So good, baby," you gasp. "Making me feel so good. Such a good boy.” Even though he’s the one fingering you, Spencer whimpers. Praise continues to fall from your lips as heat travels up your spine and you feel yourself getting close.

Spencer curls his fingers again and you come with a gasp of his name, rocking your hips onto his hand to grind your clit against the heel of his palm. Pleasure washes over you and your legs shake with the force of it. When your orgasm finally subsides, you remove your head from Spencer’s neck to whisper, “Did so good, sweet boy.” 

Spencer removes his hand from between your legs and looks up at you with a fucked out expression, shooting you a dopey smile. You cup his cheek and kiss him softly. 

“I’ll be right back, okay, baby? I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick then get you some water and something to clean you up. Is that alright?”

“Then cuddles?” he asks softly. 

You give him another quick kiss. “Of course, sweet boy. Then cuddles.”

Spencer nods, still smiling at you. You climb off the bed, grabbing the strap-on and harness, and make your way to the bathroom just down the hall, not bothering to get dressed. You set the strap and harness on the counter to clean later, and quickly use the bathroom, clean yourself up, and wash your hands before heading to the kitchen. You fill up two glasses of water and quickly down yours. Once finished, you set the glass in the sink and make your way to the bedroom with Spencer’s water, stopping by the bathroom again to grab and wet a washcloth.

You return to the bedroom less than five minutes after you left but Spencer's face lights up like you’d been gone for days the moment he sees you reenter the room. You press a kiss to his forehead and help him sit up before handing him the glass, making sure he drinks it slowly. You climb into the bed next to him and gently wipe down his stomach, thighs, and between his legs, pressing another kiss to his forehead when he whines in discomfort. Once he’s clean, you toss the washcloth off the bed and settle down next to him. He leans back against your chest and you run your fingers through his hair as he drinks his water.

Once finished, he hands you the cup and you lean over to set it on the nightstand before pulling him closer to you, sliding down the bed until you’re both lying down. Spencer hums contentedly and rests his head on your chest, curling into your side like a koala with one arm and one leg draped over you. You rub your hand up and down his back until he falls asleep in your arms.

_____

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics

@daryls-crossbow16 @roboticsuccubus83 @nemobee777 @kittensandkrows @dorcas4meadowes @spenciesslut @Idfk17 @pleasantwitchgarden @angeliccss @novaana

[chilelemonz]

The New Moon Ball

MASC AFAB NB! OC reader X Vampire OC

A/N: hey guys! thank you so much for reading this is the first sort of long peice i've written so that's why i included the word count. i kinda wanna turn this into a series so let me know!

Summary: Apollo Van Helsing , an active and blood member of the Helsing Historians attends the New Moon Ball in place of their father, to observe and report when they awkwardly bump into Atlas Gomez, a prominent political figure in Vampiric Society.

Warnings: use or “mr” for reader but I believe that is it please let me know if I missed anything

Word Count: 1,454

~Enjoy~

He said it would be a fun lil game, he said it would spice up the bedroom. Now I’m running through the woods barefoot, lungs threatening to give out every few feet. 

I met Atlas about a year ago at a New Moon Ball ,it’s traditional to have someone a part of the human faction at a cryptid event. It showed peace and respect between the two kinds.  So I went in place of my father, Charles Van Helsing. We don’t hunt monsters anymore and we haven’t for centuries, the mortal and immortals came to a truce very long ago. The Van Helsing name stoped being hunters and became historians protecting the same creatures they used to kill. That was my job, cataloging and observing the inner workings of vampiric society.  Walking around the ballroom taking notes, that's when I saw him, a midnight black three peice suit, broad shoulders, shoulder length brown hair. Atlas Gomez, his presence indisputable as a well known figure in addition to being next in line for his clan, standing with an empty red stained glass in hand schmoozing other leaders,making small talk. It’s always been so intriguing to watch vampires in their natural habitat and guards down. They seem so human and then they open their mouth laughing exposing themselves as the predators they truly are while being so damn charming. 

“It’s rude to stare” A deep voice breaks me from thought. It was him. Atlas flashing his fangs through a smirk, starring darkly. The surrounding vampires now also looking my way,creating a bit of a scene.

“I apologize sir, I’m just observing” bringing attention to the pin on my blazer showing my organiztion and occupation. Occasionally they will have humans dressed in beautiful gowns and suits walk around compelled to be the waiter and the horderve. The pin became part of the uniform after an incident

“Ah, Van Helsing Analyst '' he taunts now slowly walking up to me

“Tell me young one what have you analyzed this evening” he stands a few inches from my face,emerald eyes in full effect.

“Oh well I don’t really analyze I just observe and report all events back to headquarters, to make sure it’s in within the guidelines of the-” cutting me off abruptly

“Of the truce yes, yes, that crusty old piece of paper” casually brushing off the mention of international law “If you don’t mind me asking are you a Van Helsing by blood or association?”

  When the Van Helsing name became Van Helsing Historians LLC it became less of family business of course family members still held higher ranks but didn’t always have time to do a report and go to event so it often fell on lower level analysts. Though there are rumors and whispers, older Van Helsings don’t agree with our new beliefs and refuse to come to events,threatning to bring back old ways. Other rumors say we're now scared of the same things we used to hunt. I wasn’t scared of them,but maybe I should’ve been.

“By blood” I state proudly not letting his closeness intimitate or stutter my words.

“A purebred gracing us with their presence” reaching down to kiss my hand “ And your name?” his lips ice cold on the back of my hand.

“Apollo” a little taken back by such a formal greeting “Apollo Van Helsing”

“Mr. Van Helsing would you treat me to a dance?” the vampire asks his voice almost melodically, looking back it could have been the music or compulsion but if I was honest I would’ve still said…

“O-okay” a smirk and his fangs appearing again achieving his goal of flustering me.

I stuck my note pad in my back pocket and let a monster lead me to the dance floor. Faces and bodies inches apart, his cheek beside mine.

“I’ll lead” he whispers , the sound causing my heart rate to increase which I’m sure could hear as he wouldn’t stop smiling at me. He holds one of my hands with his own to our side and the other he leads to his shoulder. Then placing his hand on the small of my back under my jacket, making me shiver.

“Sorry, cold” he chuckles in my ear. I laugh a little bit too, I never thought I’d hear a vampire say sorry.

“It’s okay my bad dancing wil cancel that out” 

I looked up, our height difference became very clear now.  He seemed almost a foot taller than me, fangs towering over my head. He leads slowly 1..2..3..1..2..3, then slowly quickening pace to more of salsa as the music sped up. It suddenly became clear we were making an even bigger scene before, glowing red, gold, and black eyes in dark corners of the ballroom watching us.

“Everyone’s staring” I whispered as he dipped me drawing even more attention to us.

“You’re handsome, I’m handsome. I thought analyst were supposed to be smart” he snarked in my ear while having a hand under my thigh. The tension building up to that remark and this moment. Lifting me back up once again faces inches apart as the song comes to close.

"Again,not an analyst" I snarked back to the predator

The room erupts in applause , oh god everyone was watching us...

“And you said you were a bad dancer” he bows to the room and then shows me off before taking my hand and leading me off the floor, still dazed and a bit overwhelmed from the whole situation. I did lie, Van Helsing's held a high social status for long time so things like ballroom dancing, fencing , and calligraphy were still implored on the new generation.

“Would you do me the honor of another?” he asked a smile on his face like a kid in the candy store and I was the candy, with a vampire though that comparison isn’t so sweet.

“Oh no I should really get going I have to take this back to catalog before closing”  knowing I could get into the catalogs whenever I pleased.

“Well please let me write down my number so you could observe me if you like or perhaps a one on one interview if your committee will allow it?”

This was obviously his way of flirting but a one on one interview would be historic, a lot of vampires refuse to speak to Van Helsing's because… well to put it bluntly the killing of their kind to a point of almost extinction. Not to say we didn’t lose people we did but that was centuries ago. Though some of these shades have been alive that whole time so someone telling them to get over it all the time probably doesn’t help.

“Well I-” I didn’t realize til this moment his hand still on the small of my back now sliding down lightly grazing my ass to take the notepad out of my back pocket and flipping to an empty page. He than takes a pen out of his lapel pocket

“Oh smooth how many guys do you pull this on” Atlas having a pen on hand,of course there could’ve been many reasons but he wasn’t going to be the only person doing the teasing that night.

“ I am a large politcal figure for my species. I may have to sign a document or treaties or give my number to a cute guy at a government ball”  he looks up from writing his number to see my reaction.

“I thought this was business” wanting to draw a line not for him but myself. I have been more involved with a vampire this evening than Van Helsings have in years, I had to get out of there.

“It can be what ever you want to be my dear Apollo” handing back my tablet and kissing my hand, lips slightly warmer than before

“I wait for the day to be called upon by you” God he had to know how good that sounded or what he was doing.

“I-” I could see this pleading look in the emerald jewels he called eyes

“I’ll think about” finally taking my hand away and walking back to the entrance ,shutting the large the cathedral doors behind me. It locks it self as certain carvings in the door start to glow golden revealing sigils and then the door unlocks itself swiftly. I open to see the comfort of my small apartment with boxes and files scattered a around and a half eaten cup-a-noodles on the coffe table.

“Home Sweet Home” I say into the void of my apartment once again making sure to shut the door behind me as the door is overtaken in gold light and morphs into the average apartment door. I flop onto the couch,still trying processing the events of the night.

A/N: IF YOU TOOK THE TIME TO READ THIS THANK YOU SO MUCH!! i understand it's not a mainstream character and you're taking a chance during your midngint tumblr scroll so thank you!! love, lemonz <3

**DO NOT STEAL, REPLICATE, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. **

I strictly FORBID any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent. This includes reposting my stories on other websites, platforms, etc.

[disfiguredlov3]

Rules for both the blog and requests!!

1. Be polite! I won’t accept requests from people demanding me to write something for them.

2. Be patient, I have a life outside of the internet, I won’t always be online or feel like writing/drawing.

3. I am fine with explicitly but wild things like non-con or scat or whatever weird things I will not be writing about. Also do not get too sexual.

4. I will not be writing about a confirmed gay/lesbian character with the opposite gender to them, same being said for aro characters.

5. Don’t request anything relating to real people (K-pop idol/celebrities/YouTubers), it’s kinda of weird in my eye, so I will not be writing about that. It also includes live action, or movies or anything that isn’t like drawn or animated.

6. No hateful, discriminatory or offensive requests or comments on any of my works (should be common sense)

7. If you ask me to write anything that has to do with p3dophilla, r@pe, anything sexual with underage kids will be deleted, and you will be asked to not send that ask again.

8. Do not talk anything political in my blog, I am making this as an escape for people who are dealing with too much shit already.

9. If you do ask me to write a fic about someone I may not know, please just link the thing or give me the title, it’s better for me know that way rather then just search the whole internet trying to find it.

I write for all genders ( not xenogenders though because they are confusing for me so it’s hard for me to write about them, sorry).

Please do not start arguments in my asks, comment area or in my DMs. It’s just plain rude and shitty.

My DNI are in my carrd, so check there.

Don’t be afraid to request!

[hangesfavles]

Cowboy Hange headcanons

6.5K WORDS HOLY SCHMOLY!!!!! NB Hange x afab reader ^_^ <3 i tried keeping it genny nooch but i think hange refers to reader as cowgirl once sorry :(

Summary: i sorta stole the beginning of stardew valley as the intro to this fic helpp ... i also leaned into the idea of sheriff hange bc they’re the 14th commander and allat so i think its cute to imagine them as a sheriff in this au. i love this idea tho i think its so fun save a horse ride hange zoe 

Warnings: brief mention of guns bc Hange is a sheriff, shmuuuuttttt under the border, hair pulling, strap riding B) aka MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!! #hangebackshots

a/n: HIIIIIII THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST OH EM GEE SO EXCITED TO WRITE FOR IT FDSADFGHJHGFD I HOPE U LIKE IT ANON!! Also i'm sorry i feel like this is more like a baby between a full length fic and hcs but it sorta came out like a story, I hope that's ok tho ;( If you guys want more cowboy hange content... i'm gonna shamelessly promote my friend, you can read both southern skies and runaway horses on ao3! I had been actually helping that friend revise southern skies bc i loved the story sm when i first read it. <3 <3 <3 @meetmeinmontauuk

❥Cowboy! Hange was definitely on the fence about you when you first moved into town. The only reason for their suspicion is their previous experience with who they call “city folk.” Their previous encounters with them had been a bit rocky, since life in town was very traditional. Not in a discriminatory way, they just preferred having a hospitable, close-knit community. 

They’re used to city folk coming with an unfriendly attitude towards strangers. They dislike how they tend to prioritize individualism and a faster pace of life. For a while, their wariness seemed deeply ingrained, as if every newcomer carried the same weight of expectation. They sort of felt obligated to be concerned about you as the town’s sheriff. 

❥When the opportunity arose for you to move out of the overwhelming city, out of the shitty studio you pay way too much money for, you practically ran for the hills. 

Despite the things you hated about city life, it’s what you were used to and you know that moving directly into a town this small was going to be a culture shock for you. You found a quaint job as a librarian in a town named Shiganshina, where the headcount barely exceeds triple digits. 

You felt that suited you now that you’re getting older. You’re not as excitable and extroverted as you used to be, now you’re at an age where you’d like to settle down and find a place to spend the rest of your life- which you’ve long decided is not in the bustling city that never sleeps. 

You were happy to find a quiet job where you won’t have to talk to people very often, where the bulk of your day is spent with headphones on as you place books back on their rightful spot on the shelves.  

Now that you have all of your belongings tucked away, all that's left to do is actually commute to your brand new city. It took a draining few hours, but now you’re finally headed into Shiganshina. However, your GPS’ directions are starting to confuse you, leaving you circling the same area about 3 times. 

From what you’ve seen so far, the town seems very cozy. As you drive past the same village you’ve found yourself trapped in, you're only now noticing the comforting scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the local bakery. This town in general smells far better than the smells of the big city you had been previously living in. 

This small southern town holds a charm that's as warm and cozy as the sun-soaked streets that remind you of your childhood days spent playing in the park with whoever you met there that day. 

As you’re making your 4th loop around this same block, you spot a figure in the distance. As you grow closer, you squint your eyes, and- Holy fuck is that person riding a horse in the middle of the street????

This person seems equally confused by your car as you do by their horse. However, you notice their horse trotting towards your car from a distance, causing you to slow down next to them and roll down your window. 

“Hiya. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone use a car ‘round these parts.” They start with an airy chuckle, their ever so slight southern accent rolling off their tongue with grace. It's the kind of accent that leaves a warm feeling inside you, effortlessly expressing their friendliness and filling you with a sense of belonging, even if you were only passing through. 

This stranger’s face doesn’t really match their tone. Their physical appearance reminds you of the bitter taste of medicine, but their voice is similar to the spoonful of honey used as a chaser to sweeten the former. 

You give them a quick glance up and down, your eyes scanning their outfit consisting of blue jeans and an open flannel, a tank top underneath that defines their lean build. More interestingly, you catch a buckled belt with a holstered pistol attached. “So, you're a fresh face ain’tcha?” 

Despite their weathered features and the weariness etched into every line on their face, their upbeat tone flows with a kind tenderness that catches you off guard. You aren’t going to lie and say you weren’t slightly skeptical after noticing that this person is fully armed. 

“Are you tryna pass through, or are you lookin’ for somethin’ in particular?” They look down at you from their elevated position on their horse. You look up at them with obvious hesitation. 

“Aha... Yeah, I’m supposed to be moving in today, but I’ve been up and down this same block for the past 15 minutes...” You avert your eyes back to your GPS. “Um... Do you happen to know where 93 Willow Lane is?” 

They chuckle at your question, though you’re not sure why. “Yeah, I know my way ‘round town. You’re not gonna find Willow Lane in your car.” They tilt their cowboy hat, having their horse take a step back. They point in front of them, and you stick your head out of the window to see. They’re pointing toward a dirt path in the grass that’s littered with a few stepping stones. 

“You’ll find 93 down that way. Not many people drive in town, we usually prefer walkin’ or biking. Or horse ridin’, in my case. You can’t park right outside, but on the bright side, you should’ve passed the parkin’ garage when you were lost. It’s right around the corner, real close by.” They explain to you with a shining smile. “Go on and park your car. I can help you carry your things inside.”  

❥Cowboy! Hange does exactly that. They carry about 3-4 of your boxes at one time, which helps get the job done a lot faster than you can, since you can only hold the weight of 2 at a time. 

The last trip the two of you make to your car, all you have left to carry in is a small backpack filled with your laptop and some chargers. Hange hops back onto their horse with ease, looking down at you. “You ever ride a horse before? I’ll give you a ride over to your place on ol’ Sawney.” They say, stroking their horses mane affectionately. 

They notice how nervous you seem as you shift on the balls of your feet. “Not really, no... The only non-domestic animals I’ve ever seen are rats... and pigeons.” You say, shifting your eyes from glancing up at Hange to down at Sawney. Your previous life in the city had conditioned you to be wary of animals. One thing you learn quickly is that you should never get too close to an animal, no less touch one. 

They can read the emotions on your face like a book. Not that it was particularly hard to tell that you were nervous. “Aw, c’mon! Sawney won’t hurt’cha. He’s sweet as a peach.” They sing playfully leaning down closer to your height. “I’m not sure I can-” You attempt to create an excuse so that you don’t have to get on the back of this creature, but Hange cuts you off quickly, hopping back down from the animal. “Trust me, of course you can! I’ll even help ya get on. Plus, I’ll be the one steering him behind ya.” 

❥Cowboy! Hange demonstrates to you how to properly get on the horse, stepping into the stirrup and swinging their body over with relative ease. They can tell you’re still nervous, so they get off and hold your waist for support, hoisting you up. Sawney doesn’t seem to be affected at all by your inexperience. “Now look at that! You did just fine. I told you there was nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” They say, patting your shoulder roughly. Despite the way their praise makes your stomach fill with butterflies, you can’t fully appreciate their words due to the anxiety that takes priority over your emotions. You’re shaking like a leaf on top of Sawney, and you have to hold back an embarrassing yelp as they rest their hand on your shoulder.

❥Cowboy! Hange hops on Sawney behind you, as promised. You nervously lean back against their chest as their arms hold the reins in front of you, unintentionally surrounding you. Their chest is pressed up against your back, their thighs on either side of your body. 

For the first few minutes of riding, your hands nervously clutch at their jeans for stability. But the longer you sit atop Sawney- practically cuddled up in this attractive stranger's arms- the anxiety that clouded over your other emotions starts to clear, allowing you to feel embarrassed and meek.

❥Cowboy! Hange notices your discomfort and chuckles softly. "You’re doin’ just fine. Sawney’s a smooth rider. You’ll get used to ridin’ real quick." Their voice is calm and reassuring, and you find yourself gradually relaxing in their presence. The gentle sway of the horse’s movements, combined with the warmth of Hange's body against yours starts to feel oddly soothing for someone you’ve only just met. 

As you travel down the dirt path, the scenery changes from the small town center to more rustic surroundings. The field of vibrant green grass littered with mixed wildflowers stretches far beyond where the small settling of houses reside, making the space seem almost uncanny, but also dreamlike. 

Hange rides right up to the front of your new house with ease, getting themself off the horse first in order to help you get down. After successfully making sure you don’t fall off of Sawney, you thank them. They grab the rim of their hat and give you a slight nod. “Anytime.” They say with an award winning smile. 

You play with your fingers, picking at your fingernails as you work up the courage to ask them a question. “Um... The house is pretty empty, but would you like to come in for a while?” You ask them, looking up from your fingers to give them a smile in return. “Sure, why the hell not?” They shrug their shoulders, their lighthearted demeanor contradicting everything you originally assumed about them.

❥Cowboy! Hange inquires about your life before moving here. You tell them all about how you grew up in the city, what life there is like, and how you felt like you had to get out. In turn, Hange tells you about what life was like growing up on a farm in the same town you’ve just moved into. How they used to play in the dirt, throwing worms at other kids and going out at night to try and grab frogs. 

The two of you made yourselves comfortable on the small couch in your living room; regardless of the fact that the house came with little furniture, you already feel yourself falling in love with the place.

❥Cowboy! Hange truly enjoys the conversation you share, despite their reservations about people from out of town. They find you to be much kinder and soft spoken in comparison to the others they’ve met. They aren’t sure why, but they feel drawn to you in a unique way. However, they’ll chalk it up to the fact the two of you are getting along quickly and they make a note to stop by again to have another chat.

"Welcome to Shiganshina," Hange says, their smile as warm as the sunlight streaming through the windows. "If you need help movin’ in or anything, don’t hesitate to holler. We’re a tight-knit community here, so if you can’t find me, I’m sure someone else’ll come runnin’. I have a feelin’ you’ll fit right in." 

❥Cowboy! Hange tends to stroll around in town on their horse when the days are warm. They don’t technically need to, the station would simply call them if they were needed, but it’s something they enjoy regardless of their position as sheriff. 

On a particularly warm day with the sun hanging bright in the sky, you decided to use your day off to spend some time outside and hopefully get your vitamin d levels up. So, you decided to take a stroll through the local park. You’ve seen it in passing, and it’s full of life and shrubbery and flowers you hadn’t gotten the chance to see or appreciate in the city. 

A short while after you enter the park, you see a few groups of people already there. It starts to make you feel self conscious that everyone here showed up with a friend, family member or partner, but you had no one alongside you. Lucky for you, Hange also seized the opportunity to stroll around outdoors.

Hange sees you from afar as their other horse Bean trots along the sidewalk. They had an inner debate with themself over if they should approach you, but their insecurities were tossed aside when they noticed that your form is rigid and you’re picking at your fingers nervously. 

They smile to themself because they understand why you would feel uncomfortable in a situation like your own, moving into a small town out of the blue where everyone already knows each other. They’re familiar with the feeling of awkwardness, even if they’ve lived here their whole life. 

Despite having been raised in Shiganshina, they also sometimes feel out of place compared to other residents. For a while now, they’ve been feeling out of place with all of the budding romance in town. It feels to them that everyone they know is in a serious relationship or married, but they haven’t even been interested in anyone for what feels like forever.

It’s not that they never wanted or expected to fall in love, it was just something that hadn’t happened for them yet. After being alone for so long, they had kind of gotten used to it. Hange had resigned themself to the idea that maybe they were meant to be alone. But now, seeing you standing there with a nervous demeanor, butterflies stirred within their stomach, only confirming the feelings of affection already forming for you. 

Once they get closer to you, they tap your shoulder. “Howdy, sugar. You’re stickin’ out like a sore thumb.” They say, giving you a smile and reaching for your wrist. They lead you and Bean towards a free bench, closeby to a lake. You can’t help but chuckle at how quickly they saved you from your own embarrassment. In a moment of confidence, you slip your wrist out of their grip, instead opting to hold their hand. 

The sound of the keys jangling from their carabiner as their legs move catches your attention. You’d never thought the clanging of metal would sound so much like home. Maybe you’re just romanticizing the situation, but it sounds musical, like wind chimes in a storm. As they sit next to you, you’re hit with the smell of freshly cut grass with hints of amber that you can enjoy even over the earthy smell of the lake in front of you. 

They lean forward on the bench, their knees spread apart and their arms resting against their thighs. They tilt their head your way. “So, how’s the town been treatin’ you so far? Ya like it?” Their kindness and concern makes your heart warm. You smile, the corners of your mouth curving upward. “It's been a big adjustment, obviously. But everyone’s been kind so far. It's... peaceful, quiet. Different from what I'm used to, but in a good way.”

You can see the smile reflecting in their eyes without even looking at their lips. Their crows feet are prominent whenever their lips upturn. "I can only ‘magine. But you seem to be holdin’ up just fine."

You glance at the murky lake in front of you, the water about as clear as the cup of coffee you had this morning. Despite this, the surface glimmers faintly under the sun all the same, giving the scene the feel of a landscape painting. 

“I think everyone already has grown on me. The few I’ve met at least. My neighbor even brought by some fresh cookies and bread.” You say, recalling the surprise you felt. The lady that dropped by can hardly even be considered your neighbor, as there’s at least a 3 minute walk between your houses. “This place is charming. It's starting to feel homey, though I still get lost sometimes.” You chuckle lightly, raising your hand to cover your smile. 

“Yeah, Shiganshina's got that effect on folks. It ain't fast-paced like the city, but there's plenty’a heart here. I'm glad you're feelin' welcomed.”

You take a deep breath, trying to ignore the buzzing of your nerves as you attempt to hold this conversation. “And you? You seem to know everyone around here. Must be nice.”

Hange chuckles softly, a hint of thoughtfulness in their eyes. They lightly shake their head in disagreement. “Ain't always easy, bein' the sheriff. Knowin' everyone means knowin' their business, the good, bad, and ugly. But it's home, ya know? Can't imagine bein' anywhere else.”

You chuckle lightly at their response, “I can’t imagine you being anywhere else either.” You tease, giving them a coy smile, to which they give you a playfully disapproving look in response. “I understand that, though. I felt like that for a while too before I actually moved. Since I grew up in the city, I was used to the lifestyle and never wanted to deal with a big change.” 

Hange's expression softens from their previous one. "Yeah, I ain’t a big fan of it either," they admit, their tone contemplative and thoughtful. “I’m not an adventurous type. But sometimes a big change can end up being the best for us.”

You look at them with a certain tenderness while you process their wise words. You feel like you have to agree. Moving to Shiganshina had seemed daunting at first, but it brought you a fresh perspective on life. 

Their tight-knit community was beginning to offer you a sense of belonging and you never knew how much you would enjoy it. The slower pace of Shiganshina allowed for more meaningful connections between everyone you knew. At this point, you’ve known Hange for less than a month, and you feel like you’ve had significantly more meaningful conversations with them in comparison to most of your old friends.

Hange interrupts your train of thought as they continue with their sentence. “I hope this move was the best for you. I don't usually warm up quickly to people I've just met.” As you look up to meet their eyes, you swear that they have a certain sparkle. “So, what I’m sayin’ is that there’s somethin’ I like about you. It's not every day that I meet someone like you. It's... nice.” 

At the moment, you’re not exactly sure how to respond to their abrupt vulnerability. Not because you’re uncomfortable- it’s exactly the opposite. You understand what they mean because you feel the same. 

They clear their throat awkwardly, realizing that they might’ve left you feeling at a loss for words. “I just hope we get to know each other better ‘nd all.” They add in a rushed tone. “Oh, would you look at that,” You start to smile due to how fast they try to change the topic, but refrain from laughing. 

“Bean’s gettin’ antsy for some exercise!” They chuckle nervously, getting up from the bench and patting Bean’s backside. They expertly avoid eye contact with you as you follow their actions, getting up from your seat as well. You part your lips to say something to fill the air, but you hear the clearing of Hange’s throat before any sounds come out. “How about you try ridin’ again? By yourself this time.” Their eyes find your own when they ask, making it your turn to dodge eye contact. “Ahhh... Um, I dunno.” You scratch at the back of your neck awkwardly. “I don’t think I’m ready to do it by myself...” 

“Psssh. Nonsense.” That was the last thing you heard before you felt Hange’s strong hands take hold of your waist, lifting you up on Bean with ease. 

You start defensively stuttering “H-Hold on, wait, I-” you scramble. Before you know it, you’re on top of another horse against your wishes. Hange laughs at your skittishness, patting your back similarly to the first time you hopped on Sawney. “You’ll be fine, Bean is a good boy. His rides are a bit more shakey than Sawney, though. But don’t worry, if anything goes wrong I’ll be there to catch’ya. Promise.” They say, looking up at you with such a sweet smile… Fuck, you just can’t deny them when they’re so charming. 

❥You and Cowboy! Hange spent a few hours together at the park. You rode on their horse for what felt like forever but was actually only 45 minutes. Hange insists that you’re a natural but you’re positive that you’re performing lower than the average person, they’re just too nice to say anything about it. 

You two also spent time walking around the perimeter of the lake, watching the owners that let their dogs run free, and best of all, just talking to each other. Being so close to them and watching their facial expressions shift was comforting. You try your best to commit this day to memory by combing all of their features with your eyes over and over.

❥Cowboy! Hange walks you back to your house, Bean strolling at their side. When you both finally reach your front door, you suddenly don’t know what to say. Neither of you truly wants to leave, you can both feel the strings of fate pulling you together, but the night is slipping away, and the reality weighs on both of you. 

Hange shifts on their feet, glancing at you with that familiar sparkle in their eyes, as if they too are searching for the right words. You chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck. “Guess this is goodnight, huh?” Hange grins, but there’s an unspoken promise to be found within it. “For now,” they say, lingering just a moment longer before turning to hop on Bean. 

You watch them, nibbling on the inside of your cheek. Just when you’re about to retreat into your home, their voice causes you to turn your head back to them. “Um… Would it be alright if I stopped by tomorrow? ‘Round this time?” They ask hopefully, bashfully averting their eyes from their reigns to your face. You smile broadly, trying to hide it but inevitably failing. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be here.” You say, trying not to sound too giddy. 

You can’t tell how well you mask your emotions, because you feel like a dog that’s just been told it’s going for a walk. Thank god you don’t have a tail, or it would be wagging wildly. 

Parting ways with them didn’t feel nearly as bad when the promise of reconvening was stuck in your mind like a song that you can’t stop listening to.

❥Cowboy! Hange has a plan. They had an inkling from your first interaction- sitting on your couch and chattering away- that they had a fondness for you. Your run-in at the park only reinforced the feelings that were already present. They knew they wanted to do something special for the next time they’d come by your house.

❥Cowboy! Hange woke up bright and early before their shift at the station to buy a small bundle of flowers from a small shop downtown. The shop was run by a girl with brown hair, tied up into a ponytail with a heavy accent, even more so than them. They think her name was Sasha, if they’re remembering correctly. Hange had a good chuckle from the girl nearly jumping out of her seat as they walked in, a loaf of bread between her jaws whilst ringing them up.

You can’t help but anticipate and daydream of Hange’s arrival from the moment your eyes open until you’re released from your shift at the library. You feel embarrassed by how eagerly you listen to any noise that might be slightly akin to a knock upon the door. You feel like the embodiment of a schoolgirl doodling hearts and initials over their notes. 

When you finally hear the soft rapping of their knuckles against the door, you nearly open the door within the same 5 seconds. You stare at the doorknob for a bit, to avoid seeming like you were waiting for them… Even though you were.

You’re not disappointed when you finally turn the lock and twist the knob. 

❥Cowboy! Hange becomes hyper aware of the dampness settling in their palms as they hear the distinct click of the lock and subtle creak from the door. Their face is partially obscured by the flowers they’re holding up as an attempt to hide their blush. They clear their throat, still peeking from above the bundle of flowers. “So, um… I did some thinking. I figured, why beat around the bush?” They say, practically thrusting the flowers into your hands. “Whaddya say we head out for dinner tonight?” Their lopsided grin charming you more than you thought possible. 

❥Dating Cowboy! Hange is nothing short of a dream. For someone with such little experience with romance and lovey-dovey affections, they are oddly suave. 

Like the town you both live in, they tend to be traditional in the ways in which they treat you. They always have to be the one to pay. They always walk you to your door, all the way. They’re always trying to be chivalrous. They bring you flowers and gifts routinely. They kill bugs for you. 

But of course that’s nothing to look down upon, how could you not be absolutely swooning over them? 

❥Cowboy! Hange decided to fully commit to the idea of teaching you how to ride a horse on your own.

It took plenty of getting used to. At least by the time you two actually started dating you already had some experience.

Warm days were spent atop Sawney or Bean, the horses moving at a relaxed pace, smooth and unhurried around the large open field surrounding your house.

After riding on your own more than a few times, you finally decided you were ready to venture away from your yard and onto actual roads. They were proud of you, you had gone from being absolutely horrified even standing next to their horses, and now you’re riding them on the open road.

You two decided to head to Hange’s house, since you had realized that you hadn’t been there yet by pure coincidence. It had always been easy for Hange to ride over to your house quickly for surprise visits, dinner dates, movie nights, and any other times you two just wanted to see each other.

Once you two arrived, Hange got off their horse first, stepping down to help you dismount as well. Even though your skills were rapidly growing, the one thing you had trouble with was properly getting off. You think too hard about startling the horse that you always trip and inelegantly wobble on your feet to find balance.

Hange strides over to you, hands beginning to lift in order to dismount you, but before they can you decide to try your luck at impressing them by dismounting on your own. You remind yourself that confidence is what you need, hopping off quickly is easier than trying to slowly climb down.

You hop down with ease, landing flat on your feet without stumbling. Their eyes light up with surprise, their open mouth turning up into a smile. Still, before they say anything, you snatch the hat from on top of their head, gracefully placing it atop your hair. “Looks like I’m a real cowboy now. Or do I need to lasso a bull first for the full cowboy certification?” You say with a cheeky smirk gracing your face. 

They weren’t prepared for the sight in front of them, their cheeks warming up at your display of ego. “Well look at that,” Hange drawls, eyes twinkling. They can’t help the swarm of less than pure thoughts that fly through their mind. “You know what they say, cowgirl. If you wear a cowboy's hat, you have to ride the cowboy.” 

Of course, everything Hange does has to have an air of tenderness, and of adoration.

They take your hand as they lead you inside, kissing it before letting go. With the swiftness and ease of ink flowing from a pen, they lift you up as if you weigh nothing. And naturally, they navigate your body as if they had written it themself. 

However, once they have you in their arms they toss you onto their bed unceremoniously, as if you’re nothing more than something to conquer. The hat flies off of your head and in a random direction that you don’t currently care to take note of.

In an instant, their lips are trailing along your neck, a soft sigh of joy passing through your lips. Having them on top of you makes you feel all-consumed by them and their affections.

Their hands are placed on your hips, slowly sliding up beneath your shirt, bunching it up as their hands continue moving. They glance up at you, making sure it’s alright to continue.

You give them a soft smile, grabbing one of their hands and continuing to pull them upwards. This causes them to chuckle at your eagerness and proceed to remove your shirt, leaving you in just your bra.

They decide not to remove your bra, enjoying the idea of being half dressed. With your blanket permission, they also strip your bottom half of your pants. You can’t help but feel a bit shy since you’re the only one undressed.

Hange starts to back up on the bed, starting to kiss you again, this time on your stomach and hips. You softly lock your fingers in their hair, carefully pulling away their ponytail.

Their hair tickles your stomach as it drops to frame their face. They are undeterred by this, even as you bring your dominant hand back towards their head to hold on to a patch of hair.

Once they get their fill of kissing you, they move their attention to your clothed pussy. They lightly brush their tongue up your slit, not bothering to move your underwear. 

They’re nothing if not slow and teasing. Their tongue is going at a painfully slow pace and pressure. They keep teasing your slit up and down, purposely leaving your clit ignored. It’s fucking torture and they know it. 

Once you start to get teary eyed and squirmy, they finally drag their tongue over your clothed clit ever so slowly. After finally having the stimulation you need, your leg muscles twitch beside their head, barely restraining yourself from pushing your hips against them as much as possible. 

You thought you were now free from their torturous teasing. You thought. It couldn’t have been any longer than 2 minutes before they pulled back, getting up from the bed entirely. You almost allow the tears building in your eyes to fall, until you see them start to remove their own clothes. 

Your eyes are fully glued to their form as they undress. Their chest is relatively small and perky, so they didn’t feel a need to wear a bra or binder today. This means you’re quickly met with their bare skin. 

They look towards you, feeling your eyes practically burning a hole through them. They chuckle at your focus on them. “Impatient?” They say with a grin playing on their face. In response to their question, you roll your eyes before giving them an unamused look. “…A’right.” They say, getting the message that if they keep teasing you that you would probably burst into flames…

With a quicker pace, they pull on their harness over their boxers, securing their strap into it.

Their strap is pretty standard definition. It’s average sized for a dildo, about 7 inches. A solid black color. Veiny and phallic shaped. 

When they head back over to you, they press their lips into your own. Lovingly at first, but quickly it turns heated and fervent. 

Their hands travel to your lower back, lifting you up by it and flipping you backwards.

Once their strap begins to settle inside you, you realize why they had been so kind before. Because they won’t be so forgiving now.

They grab a handful of your hair as they start to thrust into you more, having been prepped by their tongue prior. 

They aren’t too cruel, they start slow as to not hurt you, but within the blink of an eye your neck is craning backwards from their hold on your hair, their hips roughly bumping against your ass.

Fuck. It hurts, but it’s better than any pain you can imagine. The feeling of them inside of you, reaching deeper than you’re used to… you’re surprised you’re not seeing stars. 

Hange cranes your neck just a bit more so that they can lean in to whisper into your ear. You’re sure that they said something, but you’re not coherent enough to truly process it. The slight feeling of pain from your hair tugging at your head paired with the pace of their hips is making you delirious.

Their free hand slides across your hip, slinking around your stomach to circle your clit. Because of this you’re panting hard and crying out their name weakly and it doesn’t take much longer for you to cum. 

They slow their pace as you ride out your orgasm, changing from rough and fast to slow and more deep. They release their hold on your hair and you realize your arms feel weak, causing you to nose dive into the pillow below you.

They giggle softly at you and carefully pull their strap out and turn you over. You look up at them with a smile, wrapping your arms around their shoulders and pulling them closer. 

They smile as well as they hover over you. “I didn’t hurt’cha, right?” They ask with slight nervousness. With a teasing look you say “Not too badly, at least.”

“Ahh, you’ve got jokes.” They tease, dipping their head to kiss your neck. That shuts you up quickly. 

It’s your turn to run your fingers in their hair, which you do, tilting your head up so they have more skin to take advantage of.

And they don’t let the opportunity pass them by. Their lips travel to your collarbone, sucking a mark in a modest area. They may have the libido of a teen boy, but they don’t want to bring that type of embarrassment to either of you.

They continue to wind you up as slowly and teasingly as possible. Your patience is running thinner than paper, so you wrap your leg around their side, pushing them under you. 

Their expression of slight shock and pure wonder is priceless. “This was technically the deal, wasn’t it? Riding the cowboy.” You chuckle. 

They stare up at you owlishly, their hands grazing your thighs and sliding to your hips. They guide you back on their strap slowly. 

You didn’t expect to feel so full in this position. Your fingers dig into their shoulders as you use your legs to move up and down. You also didn’t realize how strenuous this would be. Shit, maybe it’s time to hit the gym.

You don’t let the burn in your legs deter you, especially not when Hange is below you, looking at you as if you crafted the earth and heavens just for them. 

Thankfully it becomes easier to ignore when the burning in your stomach outweighs the sensation in your legs. 

You feel like a ghost of yourself, watching distantly as a ragdoll shaped like you tries to chase release. The only thing keeping you grounded at the moment is the visibility of Hange’s enjoyment. It’s surprisingly motivating.

Their hands are everywhere. On your hips, thighs, back, chest, shoulders… They can’t get enough of your soft skin paired with your undivided attention. “Fuck…” They mumble with a chuckle under their breath. 

You’re so close, and hearing their soft curse only brings you closer. The heat in your center is almost unbearable as you sigh and moan tiredly. 

They notice your lethargy and decide to help you out. They get a strong hold on your waist and start thrusting upwards to give your legs a bit of a break.

“You look so good like this, sugar. Keep going.” They say as they pull you closer in their hold, their chin resting on your chest as they gaze straight up at you.

With their encouragement and aid of their hips, you cum hard. Your head lolls back as you continue to ride out your orgasm on their lap. They keep their hands on your hips as they fuck their strap into you, their grip tight and slightly bruising. “That’s it… just like that.” They mumble to you. You lift yourself off of their lap, slumping down beside them tiredly. 

They pull off their harness, flopping beside you in bed. Their arms pull you into their warm, comforting embrace, their head resting against your own. They whisper praises in your ear until you drift off to sleep.

You’re a bit disoriented when you wake up. You sit up and realize you aren’t in your own bed, the memory of events invading your mind seconds after. Only problem is that you don’t see Hange. You’re sure they’re still here, it is their house after all, but you still feel a bit sad that their presence wasn’t beside you. 

You step out of bed and feel the weakness in your legs immediately. You grab your discarded clothes before carefully wobbling out of their room at a slow pace, as if you’re learning how to walk for the first time again. You definitely need to hit the StairMaster after this. 

When you step out of their bedroom, you see them attempting to cook you dinner. It’s nothing particularly special, just a panini and some french fries, but you can see how concentrated they are as they try their best to ensure the panini won’t burn. 

They hear the pattering of your bare feet against the floor, which causes them to look over their shoulder. “Hi darlin’. I’m making dinner, you should head back to bed to rest. I’m sorry if I went a little too rough.” 

(Almost) always the gentleman. You walk over and wrap your arms around their waist, leaning against their broad chest. “It’s alright. It was worth the soreness.” You assure them quietly. Their arms drape over your shoulders, one hand stroking your hair while the other rubs your back lightly.

“If you say so.” They say, kissing your forehead. You stay like this for a while, listening to the thumping of their heart as you rest against them. Everything about their presence is soothing, whether they’re touching you or not. And when they add touch to the equation? Forget about it. You could probably fall asleep standing up. 

You only lift your head from their chest as you feel a tingle in your nose. You sniff a few times before looking up at them. “Do you smell that?” You ask.

Hange stiffens in your hold, turning around to see smoke coming from the sandwich they were making you. The sight of the grey puffs trailing up to the ceiling causes them to spring into action, to remove the sandwich before a fire starts. “Shit!-”

<3 i’m sorry this took literally like 10 months to come out i’ve been busy with work and college since i’m nearing the end of my undergrad degree…. what da hail. i hope it was worth the wait cus im pretty happy with how this turned out!!!!

[teaspacebar]

spiced chai (pt. 2)

part one

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you grow closer to carmen berzatto as the seasons change. your walls are coming down, and carmy sees you at a low point.

word count: ~8.4k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (reader referred to as 'girl' once, but for all intents and purposes, they are nb), neurodivergent!reader, reader has a meltdown/shutdown, they still don't kiss, yearning/pining, hurt/comfort, weed usage (reader smokes a little), reader has a complicated relationship with their mother.

a/n: hello lovelies! part two is finally here after months of me picking away at it. i hope you enjoy and once again, this is learning toward self insert material, so if you don't like, don't read. i am queer, non-binary, and autistic and i am enjoying exploring that in this space. feel free to leave any asks if you have questions about carmy + reader (my beloveds). also thank you to my lovely beta @straight-n-arrow. enjoy *mwah*

You were right.

Not to say that you were right all the time — it took you months to figure out Carmy’s drink. But you did it, if the look on his face is any indication. His eyelashes flutter as he takes another drink, and you dance victoriously.

Carmen raises his eyebrows at you as he puts his cup down, “Yeah?”

You shrug, grinning, “You can say it. I’m a genius.”

”You’re a genius,” he murmurs, hiding a smile with the back of his hand.

”Thank you.” You curtsy dramatically.

”No, but seriously, I’ve had chai before, but this tastes different.” 

You weren’t about to tell him how many different chai concentrates you had to try before you found the right one. It was far too many.

”Barista secret, sorry.” You say, not sorry at all. You push a cookie across the counter to him, which he snags a piece of. He watches you for a moment, and you blurt out, “It’s masala chai. There’s actual spices in it, instead of just the tea. It’s Indian. I had it once — at a tea shop — and I loved it. Regular chai just doesn’t hit quite right anymore.” You lean against the counter, squishing your face as you hold your head up with your hands. “You like it?” Reassurance, asked for casually, as the insecurity bubbles up inside of you.

“It’s really good.” He knocks on the counter twice, mumbling, “Thank you.”

Heat rises up the back of your neck, and you shrug. “I told you I’d find your drink. Wouldn’t be a good barista otherwise.” You rock back on your heels, jitters buzzing through your body.

“I - uh, started listening to that playlist you sent me.” 

You almost launch yourself at him, being held back by the counter between you. Your hands grab his arm, and it takes everything inside you to not shake him. “Oh my god, this is the best thing you could have told me! Thoughts? Comments? A ten page essay?”

The playlist Carmy spoke of is one of many in your repertoire. You have a playlist for almost any occasion, and you started putting together a playlist specifically for Carmen when he commented on your music taste one late night at Nan’s. Any time a song comes on you think he’d like — for one reason or another — gets added to the playlist. You’re surprised he actually listened to it at all though.

Music is your lifeblood. Whenever you can’t grasp an understanding of your own feelings, you listen to music to help you figure it out. It’s always been a little difficult for you to understand what you were feeling in the moment. Alexythymia — you remember the word your old therapist (the one good one you had) told you. Probably has to do with how used to masking you are. Ergo, playlists. Music blasting as loud as it can go in your headphones and in your car. Grounding you to this planet…or maybe to aid in your dissociation.

But hey, you never said all of your coping mechanisms were good ones.

Carmy laughs, your excitement infectious. “I’ll have to get back to you on the essay.”

You stick your tongue out at him, nose scrunched. “Ugh, fine. Party pooper.”

“My middle name.”

Gasping, you blink at him with exaggerated wide eyes. “Carmen Berzatto, did you just make a joke?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” He sips at his drink, staring at the counter for a moment. “Are you, uh, coming to the baby shower thing?”

The thing that Neil had told you about a few weeks ago. That you had agreed to go to without really hearing the conversation. Natalie’s having a post-birth baby shower, of which you got an actual evite from Natalie herself after you said yes to Neil. Other people from The Bear were going, so it wasn’t like you were just invited to a family only function. But you also haven’t been to a party in…who knows how long. And Natalie was literally the sweetest human on the planet, and you wouldn’t say no to looking at a cute baby.

A cute little baby Berzatto. You vaguely wonder what Carmy looked like as a baby — all curly hair, blue eyes, and that same dimple. Maybe Natalie has photos somewhere.

A thought for another time.

“Oh,” you gnaw on the inside of your lip, “I think so. You’re going?”

He nods, “Closing the restaurant early. Just window and lunch service.”

“That’s nice!” You hesitate to say anything more about The Bear. Things seem to be getting better, if the words of Syd, Marcus, and Richie were anything to go by. Chatter you hear while they pick up drinks from you before heading down the street. “I’ll probably come by, at least to say hi.” 

“Cool.”

You squint at him, “You gotta promise you’ll save me from making a fool of myself.”

Carmy looks at you incredulously, like you’re missing something, but he relents, “Only if you do the same for me.”

“Deal.” You reach out your hand, raising an eyebrow. He rolls his eyes, but grabs your hand as you shake it dramatically. “Pleasure doing business, Mr. Berzatto.”

Carmen swallows back the acid in his throat as he looks around the crowded living room of his sister’s house. He really should have brought some Pepto tablets or something. He’s nursing a beer in his hand, a cheap one that Pete had in the fridge. It doesn’t help the heartburn, and in all honestly Carmen has barely touched it. He’s said hello to Natalie, and the baby, at least. 

He hasn’t seen you anywhere, though. Which puts a different feeling in his stomach, one he doesn’t care to evaluate in the current moment. Taking a drink from his beer, he grimaces, staring at it in contempt. He decides to see if he can find something actually drinkable, maybe in the garage fridge, and he leaves the corner he was hiding in.

As if by thinking you into existence, he spots you near the entryway across from the living room. He goes to walk over to you, but stops when he sees a little blur ram straight into your legs, arms wrapping around your waist.

Eva, Richie’s daughter, grins up at you. You return it, crouching down to give her a proper hug. Richie is soon to follow, calling out your name and clapping you on the shoulder. 

It’s like someone’s twisted his stomach into knots.

He watches you smile and chat animatedly with Richie and Eva, letting the little girl grab your arms and use you as a jungle gym. You’re pulled into the living room, a chorus of your name being called by his coworkers, and Carmy dips into the kitchen. 

He catches his sister deep in a bowl of some five-layer bean dip thing one of Pete’s relatives bought from Costco. 

She’s eating it with a spoon. A big one. Which she waves at him with a glare, “Bear, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hey I didn’t say anything.” He slides by her to open up the fridge, staring into it. “You have anything decent to drink?”

“No, just some juice, and Diet Coke, I think.” She takes another bite of the dip. “I got rid of anything above a 5% alcohol content months ago.”

“Why?” Silence falls between the siblings for a moment, then Carmy shakes his head. “No, sorry, yeah. Makes sense. I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay, Bear.” He can tell she means it. That he didn’t fuck up. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem, really. I just…wanted to make sure, you know?”

“Yeah.” He chews on his next sentence, shutting the fridge to look at Nat. “You-You’re gonna be a great mom.” He immediately sees tears start to well up in her eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry. Shit, I didn’t — it’s okay.”

Natalie sets the tray of dip on the table, laughing as she presses her hands to her eyes. Carmen is quiet; he fiddles with the packet of nicotine gum in his pocket. He barely realizes what’s happening until her arms are wrapped around him and her face in his neck. “Thank you, Carm.”

Something in him rights itself. Like a little lightbulb is finally screwed in all the way and it finally blinks on. 

Natalie pushes his shoulder a little and steps out of the embrace. “Okay, enough sap. I have to go check on my baby. I swear if Richie makes one more joke about dropping her I might actually kill him.” She takes one more spoonful of bean dip, humming happily. “Don’t hide in here for too long, okay?” He nods his assent, and his sister leaves. 

Carmen follows after her a few minutes later. His gaze finds you without him even trying, as if you have your own gravitational pull. You’re in a little circle with Syd and Marcus on the far side of the room. And maybe you feel it, too, because your eyes lock with his and a smile pulls at your lips. His feet push him forward, but he’s caught by Pete’s brother. Carmy’s pulled into the conversation, Natalie coming over with the baby. She helps him figure out how to hold her entirely too fragile body in his arms, and although he’s itching for a cigarette to ease his nerves, he’s content. Happy, even.

He catches your eyes again, and you make a face, sticking your tongue out at him. Carmy huffs a laugh, shaking his head, while you turn back to engage with his coworkers — his friends.

It’s later in the evening that Carmy finds you outside. The sun has set, sky fading from hues of pink and orange to a cool indigo. There’s a chill in the air, a sign that fall is truly on its way. He had snagged a cigarette off Richie earlier, deciding he deserved to sneak one. He’s been here for a couple hours. All hell hasn’t broken loose. Having a smoke definitely isn’t the worst thing he could do.

He goes out the side door, through the gate that leads back to the front of the house. He’s sure he has a lighter in his car, stashed in the center console somewhere. Nicotine gum be damned.

You’re sitting on the curb, head turned toward the sky, arms resting on your knees. A blanket of calm covers you, but something lingers underneath. Loneliness, maybe. Self-imposed, because it’s easier than holding a smile on your lips around people you barely know. That tug, the one that he constantly feels when he sees you, urges him forward. You must not have heard him walking up, because you jolt when he asks, “You okay?”

“Carmen, shit, you scared me.” You lean back to look at him, resting your hands palm-down on the sidewalk. “I’m good. Just needed a minute. You?”

“Uh,” he fiddles with the cig in his hand. “Left my lighter in the car.”

“I got one!” You dig into your bag — a mini backpack, covered with a cartoon character he recognizes but can’t name. “Usually keep one on me, where is it…” You let out a noise of victory as you find it, holding it out to him. 

“Thanks,” he takes it from you, and your fingers brush. Something catches in his throat, stomach turning. 

Fwip. Like clockwork, he’s blowing out the smoke, making sure it’s not going in your direction. He hands the lighter back to you, murmuring, “Thought you didn’t smoke.”

Craning your neck to look at him, you reply, “I don’t.” To save your neck from breaking, Carmy decides to sit on the curb. Settling next to you, he takes another drag, right as you say, “Well, not the nicotine kind, anyway.” 

Carmen laughs in surprise, then tries to cover it up with a cough, “No shit?” He waves the smoke away with his free hand.

“Fuck off, Carmy.” Your words lack bite, and you tumble off into your own laughter. “What, you think I’m too much of a nerd to smoke weed?” He attempts to hide the grin forming, and you swat at his arm. “Oh my god, you do!”

“No, no, I think you’re very edgy. With your combat boots and your Mothman tattoo.”

“I’m being bullied!” You cackle, outraged. “There’s no way you're not a nerd, too. We congregate.” Your laughter gives way to a comfortable silence, knees pulled up to your chest. Your cheek rests against your knees, and you twirl your lighter in your fingers.

The air is cold, but Carmy has never felt warmer. It’s like you carry the very essence of your late nights at Nan’s with you in your pocket. Only to be brought out at the correct moment. Seeing you carefree is a treat, one he covets. There’s a strange thing in his chest that pangs when you relax in his presence.

“It was nice for Natalie to invite me,” you say, soft and earnest. Like you weren’t expecting it.

“She’s glad you came.” Natalie hadn’t mentioned anything, but he’s sure it’s true. 

You look over at him, blinking lazily. You’re staring, blatantly, and he lets you, snubbing out his cigarette on the sidewalk. “Her baby is so cute it literally kills me.” You mumble, more of a groan than words. “It’s cuteness aggression. I swear if I see those chubby cheeks again I could kill someone.”

Carmy snorts, glancing at you, “Do I need to worry?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just – I think I’m done with,” you wave your hands vaguely. “Words. Brain. I’ve met way too many people today.” You peek over in his direction. “Sorry.”

“Nah, I feel you.” He does. It’s an experience he knows all too well. Social functions with expectations always turn his stomach sour. He inhales, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “You wanna get outta here?”

Your head lifts, “Huh?”

“There’s this, uh, pizza place. Small joint, like, ten minutes from here? Mom and pop shop, deep dish, good shit.” He’s rambling, but the words keep spilling from his lips. “We could take my car, if you want.”

Nice going, hotshot.

You’re looking at him like he’s grown two heads, but before he can retract anything, you smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” Relief; as if you could bring anything else.

“Will your sister get mad…if you leave?”

“I’ll text her.” He stands, and holds out his hands for you. He barely notices he’s done it, until you’ve grabbed them and he’s tugged you up onto your feet. You let out a little noise, doing a little hop, before letting go. 

You follow him to his car, and for a moment he panics about what it looks like inside. But then he remembers it’s just you.

The two of you share a pepperoni pizza, in the dim lighting of the little restaurant. The owner comes out to greet you, giving both you and Carmy a firm handshake. You hum as you take bites of food, and Carmy can’t hide his grin. You talk about everything and nothing, random shit that doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Long moments of silence that’s just the two of you eating.

Carmen feels frighteningly…normal. Like maybe this is what his life was supposed to be like all along. Going to a social function and ditching to get drinks and food with people you care about.

Full and relaxed, he watches as you melt into the dingy leather booth. You’re not really talking, staring off to the side where some sports game is playing on the TV mounted in the corner. Your gaze is vacant, thumbnail picking at a groove in the table. Worried, Carmy settles his hand over yours, and your gaze snaps to him. It’s wide, like he’s caught you somewhere you didn’t want him to. 

He fears if he asks if you’re okay that you’ll bolt. “Wanna head out?”

“Sure.” You grab your jacket from where you tossed it beside you, sliding out of the booth. You’re silent, all the way to the car, and Carmy feels his anxiety prick the back of his neck.

When you’re both in the car, you blurt, “Sorry.”

“Huh?” Is all he can say. He hasn’t even turned the keys in the ignition yet.

“I had a good time! Really, I just…today’s been a lot. And sometimes I, like, power down? Like someone flipped a switch and suddenly it’s hard for me to emote about anything. I zone out, occasionally. I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you, or that I wasn’t having a good time.” The words pour out of you, unbidden, and Carmen can see the dots connecting in his own head. You’re defending yourself. You feel like you have to defend yourself for not engaging in conversation. At the realization, his anxiety dissipates as quickly as it came. Of course it wasn’t about him.

Turning to face you in the car, he shakes his head, “No, hey, you’re good. We’re good, yeah?” He bites the inside of his cheek, before continuing, “You don’t have to…just because we’re not at your shop doesn’t mean you have to act any different. And if it’s too much, we don’t have to…” His voice trails off.

Mirroring him, you also turn. His eyes catch on your hands, thumb pressed into the middle of your other palm. “No!” You cringe at yourself, “Sorry, I mean – I want to hang out, outside of work.”

“Okay,” he says, lightly. He lets you sit, watches as you take a few deep breaths. He subconsciously echoes you, inhaling when you exhale.

After a couple of minutes, you nod, “Okay. Maybe we could make plans? Like check our schedules and have a place picked out. Or a list of places we want to try?”

“Restaurants?”

“Or cafes. They don’t have to all be food places. It’s a common denominator between us, though.”

“Having a plan makes it easier?” It’s like he’s pulled a bit of the covering back, revealing a different piece of you.

You hum, “Yeah, most of the time.”

“Cool.”

It’s cool with me, if that’s what you need.

You peer over at him, “Sorry, if I weirded you out.”

“You didn’t.” At your squint, he scoffs, “If anyone should be weirded out, it’s you. You met half of my family today.” He ignores the assumption that pops up in the back of his mind. 

Falling back into the passenger seat, you laugh. “A little.” You settle; Carmy can visibly see your shoulders untense. “It’s nice, the community you have.” It’s whispered, a little reverent.

A few months ago the comment might have made him bristle. He’s a little surprised it doesn’t, still. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

He puts on the playlist you made for him, and you brighten a little. The car ride back is filled with your singing, and Carmy is warm once again. He’s made you feel better. He hasn’t royally fucked anything up. He drops you off by your car, and you give a little wave before you peel away. 

Carmy walks back into Nat’s house, finding her sitting in a recliner, baby tucked carefully in her arms. The party has slowed, only Pete’s family left.

Natalie’s eyes find his, a gentle smile on her lips, “Have a good time?”

Carmy nods, “You?”

“Very.” The siblings don’t need to say much, to talk, sometimes. It’s getting easier to read between the lines, like relearning a language. “I’m glad they came.”

He holds back a laugh, pleased. “Me too.”

As the leaves change and the air turns cold, Nan’s gets busier. Nothing crazy, but it’s enough that you have to hire another barista. You’re thrown into training the new kid. It’s fun and challenging, but you’re exhausted. Who knew that having to explain why you do the things you do took more brain power? And now every day you feel a bit like mush by the end of it.

“I’m just saying, Nan has to have some connections to powerful people.”

“Elle, that’s insane!” You laugh at your coworker’s gossip. “Nan is the sweetest person I know.”

“The mob boss energy she gives is massive, don’t lie.” Elle is your newest hire, and the youngest of the crew. She’s still in high school, with so much energy you have no idea what to do with. She also reminds you of how "old" you are every second of the day. You like her, though. Plus, she does good work, which you’ll never complain about.

“Hey,” Morgan yells your name, running into the back, where you’re washing dishes. “Your boyfriend’s here.”

You set the dish you’re washing into the sanitizer sink, sighing, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“The guy from the restaurant?” Elle asks.

Morgan nods, hip checking you to the side to take your place by the sink. “We’re talking Carmen Berzatto. Who owns and runs The Bear.”

“Guys, don’t start.” You really hope the equipment sounds and the swinging doors are enough to muffle this conversation. If Carmy heard one bit of it he’d probably start running.

“We’re just teasing…mostly,” Morgan grins, sticking their tongue out at you.

Elle hums, “He watches you with puppy-dog eyes.”

“Elle.”

She holds her hands up defensively, “Right. I’ll shut up, boss.”

You groan, biting back a smile. “I’m clocking out.”

“I got the bar!” Elle dashes out of the back, and you snort. Saying bye to Morgan, you grab your bag and jacket from your cubby, before rushing out to meet up with your friend.

Carmy is puttering around some book displays, but he quickly swerves his attention to you. He’s wearing a denim jacket; it has some detailed embroidery on the sleeves and pockets. It’s not one you’ve seen him wear before, but you’re coming to learn that the man has a bit of an obsession with denim. His cheeks and nose are red, proof of the cold air that must be whipping around outside. 

“Hey,” he breathes out.

“Hi,” you say, walking up to the register so you can clock out.

“Old people,” Elle whispers next to you. You give her a glance, body warming with embarrassment. As you walk around the counter and follow Carmy outside of the shop, she yells after you, “We’ll make sure not to burn the place down!”

The bell jingles as the door closes. “She seems to be doing good.”

“She is, but she never fails to drive me just a little bit crazy? Not in a bad way, just different.” You wave your fingers up by your head, before pointing at him, ���No work talk. That’s the rules of our standing lunch outings.” You follow Carmy down the road, letting him guide you through the streets he knows so well.

“Right, right, my bad.”

The ‘standing lunch outings’, as you’ve taken to calling them, have been a frequent addition for the last few months. At least once a week, the two of you will try a new food place. Carmy’s also started bringing leftovers from lunch service to the shop — sometimes enough for everyone, mostly just for you. You’ll bring him his drink on particularly long days, giving him a moment to hide away behind The Bear.

You’ve picked the current location — a waffle spot. All kinds of waffles, some even in sandwich form. The choice had caused Carmy to scoff lightheartedly, but he didn’t veto it.

“How are you not a waffles guy?” You peer over at him.

He shrugs, “I don’t know. They just seem…”

“Wonderful? Nostalgic? The tastiest breakfast item in the universe?”

“That’s incorrect, but sure.”

“Don’t start with me, Berzatto, or you’re buying.” He rolls his eyes at your antics, and the two of you go back to looking at the menu on the side of the food truck. A shiver runs through your body as cold air sneaks into your jacket. You rub your hands up and down your arms, tugging your beanie a bit more over your ears.

When it gets to your turn to order, you stutter over your words when Carmy shuffles up behind you, effectively blocking the wind. Warmth seeps into your back from his chest, and you stop yourself from leaning into it. You finish your order, the world fading into background noise as your thoughts race.

That had to be accidental, right? Casual touches weren’t really his thing. He’s not even that close. God, how touch starved are you?

“That’ll be $30.95.” You check back in too late, as Carmy reaches around you to tap his phone to the card reader.

“Carmen!” You turn to him, shocked. There’s a tiny little smirk on his stupid face. His dimple is mocking you.

“What?” He asks innocently.

“Wha-you!”

“You said I’m buying.”

You glare at him, “It’s not funny when you’re clever.”

“I’m always funny.” It’s deadpan, and he ushers you to the side to wait for your food. “Besides, technically it was my turn. I just couldn’t pick a new place.” 

There’s space between you again, which makes your chest ache. “Both of us can’t be indecisive in this friendship, Carmy.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose, “Don’t think we have a choice in that.” Giving you a look, he says, “You can go wait inside, if you want. I’ll wait for the food.” You open your mouth to retort, but he cuts you off, “You’re gonna freeze to death out here.”

“I’m acclimating,” you pout.

“Sure.” He nudges you with his elbow, and it’s embarrassing how easily you soften. You puff out your cheeks, but mozey to the indoor seating area of the food cart pod. Taking a seat at a table that gives you a clear view of Carmy, you give him a wave. He shakes his head good-naturedly, waving back.

You’ve enjoyed spending time with Carmen Berzatto more than you thought you would. You’d thought you would have run out of things to talk about by now, that it would turn awkward, or he’d get tired of you and disappear from your life as quickly as he’d entered it. But none of that has happened yet. Instead he’s found a place in your routine, fitting seamlessly into your life like there’d always been a space for him. 

He’s come out of his shell more. He smiles easier, and the lines in his forehead from the constant furrow in his brow has eased somewhat.

You think maybe he feels just as safe with you, as you do with him.

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

(from mom, 2:34pm): Are you at work? Haven’t heard from you in a while. Your grandpa isn’t doing the best.

Three separate blocks of texts are suddenly overtaken by an old photo of your mom. The image causes your stomach to drop and you immediately flip your phone face down onto the table. You take a few deep breaths to try to calm down, but it feels like someone has shoved their hand into your chest and is squeezing as hard as they can. You press your thumb into the palm of your hand until your phone stops buzzing. Biting your tongue, you grab it, opening up your texts. You type out a response, only to delete it.

“I might be eating my words about waffles being shit,” Carmy’s sudden appearance makes you jump. “Woah, sorry. You good?” He slides your waffle order across the table.

“Uh, yeah. Just spooked me,” you put a smile onto your face, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Now go on, I love to hear I’m right.”

The first bite has his eyes widening, a hushed ‘shit’ leaving his lips before he can cover his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Word’s out, Carmy likes waffles!” He throws a napkin at you, causing you to cackle. A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he takes another bite, waving you off.

Carmy eats like a monster, so messy and boyish it’s endearing. You match his pace, engrossed in the food in front of you, texts forgotten.

“What are you doing?” Syd walks over to where Natalie is peeking through a window. The younger woman glances outside where Nat is looking, and sighs, “You know they can see you if they look over here.”

“They’re literally oblivious. Does this happen a lot?” The blonde pulls out her phone to snap a photo. 

You and Carmy are a few feet away from the front door of The Bear. You’re chatting, and it’s easy to tell that neither of you want to be the first to leave. Carmy is hovering next to you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Don’t take a – yes, this happens a lot. Like once a week, or something.”

Natalie whips around to face her, “And you haven’t told me?!”

Syd shrugs, “I don’t know. I was worried it was going to be like…last time. It doesn’t matter, it’s not my business.”

“What do you think they do?”

“Rob banks — who knows, Nat. It’s not affecting work and he’s been less of a douche lately so I’m not complaining.”

“Are the lovebirds outside?” Richie comes out of the kitchen, adjusting his tie.

Natalie turns to him, “What do you know?”

“Oh my god,” Syd groans. “I’m going to go prep, before this turns into a whole thing. Richie, don’t fuck this up for us.”

The man gives a two-finger salute, “You got it, boss.” At Nat’s pointed look he holds his hands up, “Alright, alright, chill out. Look, I’m not trying to fuck with anything, okay? The place has a good thing going for it right now, so if that means we let the kids disappear for an hour or two once a week, I’m cool with it.”

Natalie frowns, “It’s not that I’m not cool with it. I just—“

“Have to know what’s going on at all times?”

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “No…yes. Maybe? Things have been getting better but I just get worried.”

“Maybe we gotta let him decide who he wants to talk to and when. Forcing the conversation obviously isn’t working.” Natalie blinks at him in surprise, at which he laughs, “Something my therapist said.”

“You have a therapist?”

“Now don’t go spreading that around. It’s mainly to help Eva. I wasn’t planning on doing more than one stupid session anyways, but Point Pleasant out there convinced me one night when they were watching Eva, so.” Richie is never sheepish, but there’s an obvious fondness for you that Natalie can see on his face.

“Point Pleasant?”

The man screws his face up, “Yeah, it’s not sticking, is it? Mothman feels too on the nose. Don’t even get me started on that, it’s all my kid wants to read about now.”

Just how much change have you already caused in this family of theirs?

Natalie barely has time to dig into the thought when Carmy walks into the restaurant. There’s a smile on his face, one that falls slightly when he spots the two of them standing by the window.

“Hey Bear.”

“Hey, didn’t know you were coming by. I would’ve grabbed you some food or something. Have you eaten?”

Natalie blinks, shocked. She bites her tongue before she can ask where her little brother went. “I’m okay, Carm. Thank you, though.”

 “Yeah, no problem. Gotta help prep, but touch base with me before you leave?”

“Sure, Bear.” Carmy gives a nod, pats Richie on the shoulder, then walks through the kitchen doors. “What the fuck?”

Richie snorts at her words, “Yeah, I thought the same thing, too.”

(from carmy in the big blue apron, 10:34pm): Lights are on, but I don't see you. You good?

(sent 10:37pm): not having the best day, don’t really want to subject you to that.

You think that does it. Carmy usually doesn’t push it with you. There’s a crudely drawn line that the two of you dance around. You’ve shared just enough that you consider him a friend, but he hasn’t seen the darker parts. It’s easier when you get to take the mask off yourself — it’s much worse when it gets torn from your face without you saying so. Control slips from your fingers and no matter how hard you try to put the shattered pieces back together, it fails. 

(from carmy in the big blue apron, 10:41pm): You wouldn’t be. Feel free to tell me to fuck off though.

A laugh escapes your lips, and you wipe the tears that steadily fall down your face. Few people in your life have seen you like this. There’s a very real worry in your head that it will push him away. The urge to run crawls up your spine. 

Desperate little rabbit.

Your fingers twitch, and you’re typing before you can stop yourself.

(sent 10:43pm): there’s a spare key in the hanging flower pot

You’re unsure if he’s still out front, but you can’t bring yourself to get off the floor. There’s static in your head that’s far too loud. You can barely feel your body and any grounding techniques you’ve tried haven’t worked.

He finds you in between the books, your back against one shelf, knees pulled up to your chest. He doesn’t say anything, but sits down opposite of you, legs extended. It takes a moment for you to look up at him, fear and shame filling up the back of your throat. You fight the tears that well up, grimacing. 

“Fuck,” you sob, pushing the palms of your hands into your eye sockets. “You really don’t need to be here right now.” You inhale, almost choking on the spit and mucus in your mouth.

There’s pressure against your left side, and you lift up a hand to watch Carmen nudge his leg against yours. “I, uh, have panic attacks, sometimes.” You sniffle, wiping your nose on your sleeve — gross. “They were bad, before I came back home. But they got worse after…” he trails off, clearing his throat. “Shit, what I’m saying is…if you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me. Not anything you don’t want to.” 

You don’t say anything for a while, but Carmy continues sitting next to you. He doesn’t make a run for it, like the thoughts in your head predicted he would. It’s just you and him under the warm lighting of the bookstore. The heat from his leg has melted into yours, softening you enough to let the overwhelming feelings leave you.

Inhale. Hold four seconds. Exhale.

He's doing your breathing technique, you realize. Carmy might not even notice he's doing it, but you copy him until the lingering panic fades.

Your pinky reaches out from where it was clenched into a fist, brushing against his hand that’s resting on his bent knee. His eyes shoot over to you, and a wry smile tugs at your lips. “Bet you weren’t expecting this when you came over tonight, huh?”

His brow furrows, fingers catching yours, “It’s okay, really.” Your hands entwine, Carmen’s thumb moving back and forth across your knuckles. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to fight the onslaught of tears for an entirely different reason.

He's sweet. So much so that you don't know what to do with it.

“Thanks, Carmy.” You let your head fall back to rest against the shelf behind you, already feeling a migraine start to form behind your eyes. “It was stupid. I dropped my phone and it bounced off a table and hit my foot. It didn’t even hurt, but it was the thing that broke the camel’s back, I guess.” Thoughtlessly, your fingers have started to trace the tattoo on the back of his hand, the motion soothing you. “This week has been shit. Little things, stacking up.” Running out of vanilla syrup, sleeping through your alarm one morning, your car needing a new battery. “And my mom called. Has been calling. She doesn’t stop. Every day she calls and every time I can’t bring myself to pick up because I know it’s just going to make me feel worse. Haven’t heard from her in months and now all of a sudden she won’t leave me the fuck alone.” You spit the words out, “She only talks about herself and when she even thinks to ask about me she never really cares. It’s like she has this idea of me in her head, that I’ll never be — that I don’t want to be. I can’t meet her expectations. I’m not her perfect little girl anymore and I wish I could just scream that in her face but anytime I talk to her it’s like I’m suddenly…” it’s half a scoff, half laugh, “…suddenly I’m in that house again and I just stand there, not saying anything.” As if realizing where you are, you pull away from Carmy, curling back into yourself. “Shit, I really didn’t mean to trauma dump on you.” 

Your relationship with your mother is complicated. It’s layers upon layers of things that you barely have time to dissect. You’re known to be a runner. A new place, new job; you can remake yourself as many times as you want. As much as you think it’s easier, your heart hurts just the same. She doesn’t call you by your name. She can barely treat you with common decency and yet she sends you money when you need it. She loves you, but not how you want her to. It’s the best you’ll get from her. 

But you’ve experienced better than that, from people who’ve known you less. It puts everything into perspective — a big, red warning sign. You’ve crafted masks to fit your face into exactly what people want from you your entire life. You’ve tugged them from your skin in sheets, desperate to figure out who you are under the layers upon layers you had built to protect yourself. You’re finally starting to like yourself.

You’d hate to fuck it up.

Carmy’s quiet; you’re getting ready to sprint. Or backpedal. Anything to—

“That’s fucked.”

It’s the first time that your gaze meets his. Blue eyes reflect the fairy lights above you. Your heart is thundering in your ears. 

“It’s fine, I know how to handle it, usually.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Something passes through his gaze, like he’s seeing something else for a second, but it passes with a huff. “Look, I get it, the expectations thing. It’s not all the same, a-and I’m sure there’s way more to it then just…what you’ve said.” 

“Carmen—”

“You don’t need to change, is all I’m saying.” Before you can respond, he gets off the floor, knees popping. His hands are held out for you, and you’re reminded of that night at the end of Natalie’s driveway. You’ve touched his hands tonight more than you have the entire time you’ve known him. “C’mon, let’s get you something to eat.” At your scrunched face, he hums, “I can make grilled cheese.”

“You’re playing dirty.” You let him pull you up, wiping at your face. “I probably look like a mess.”

“Lemme see,” he murmurs. He looks you over, making a point of brushing imaginary dust off your shoulders. “Nah, you’re good. It’s dark enough that nobody will be able to tell.” 

He’s offering you a reprieve; it warms your insides. You take it, letting the achy emotions be folded and put away to be processed later.

You pout, “With the bright lights in your kitchen showing how blotchy my skin is?” Even the idea of the white lighting bearing down on you makes your oncoming migraine twinge.

Carmy helps you collect your things, bending down to grab your phone from its place on the floor. “We don’t have to go to The Bear. My apartment isn’t too far.”

Your heart skips a few beats.

“Your place?”

He’s looking at you again, “Uh, yeah. If that’s fine. Didn’t want the lights to hurt your eyes.”

How can he see you so well? How can he walk right through your carefully built walls?

Maybe because you've given him the map. Bit by bit, piece by piece.

He’s grabbed your keys now, tote too. It’s thrown over his shoulder, looking every bit like he’s ready to hit the Saturday Farmer’s Market. You’d giggle if you weren’t so exhausted. 

“Okay.”

“S’fine?” At your nod, he says, “I can drive, then drop you off at home, after. Didn’t see your car outside at all. Or, I could just drive you home now. Whichever.” He’s nervous, hand tightening on the strap of your bag. 

“I want my grilled cheese,” you whine, gravitating toward him.

He laughs, “Alright, alright.” Urging you out the front door, he turns and locks it. “I’ll grab some stuff from the restaurant, my car is parked in the back. You want to go and warm it up?” Carmy digs around in his own pockets, tugging out his own keys, detaching the car fob and holding it out for you. 

Mama Bear.

The thought has you biting your lip to keep the grin off your face.

It’s a quick walk to The Bear, and as he waves you off, you call out his name. “My stuff?” His cheeks flush — is it from the weather or you? He shrugs your tote bag from his shoulder, and you take it from him. “Won’t be too long?”

Carmy coughs, voice a bit higher than normal, “Yeah, like five minutes?” He turns, “You go ahead. There’s an extra sweatshirt tossed in the back somewhere, if you’re cold. It’s almost November and you don’t have a real jacket, you’re gonna freeze.” That last part is mumbled you barely hear it. 

Your breath catches, and you press the palm of your hand into your chest.

Please, let me keep this.

Thoughts whispered into the wind, to the universe. A silent plea. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more.

It’s the smile he gives you — after he opens the driver’s side door, handing you a plastic bin filled with cheese and a loaf of bread — when he notices you’re wearing the sweatshirt he offered you, that just affirms your thought. You want him to keep smiling at you like that.

The fluttery feeling spreads from your chest to your limbs; your fingers tingle like they’re waking up from sleep. It doesn’t catch, but settles into the warmth you’ve come to affiliate with Carmy’s presence.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you reply, “thinking about that grilled cheese.” You peer into the bucket he’s given you. “So fancy.”

“You’re sleep deprived.” He put the car in reverse, putting his hand behind your headrest to look behind him. You live up to his words, because you head butt his arm with your forehead gently. It’s not something you would normally do — if you were more awake, if your migraine wasn’t pulsing. But you’re tired, and Carmy has given you more comfort than you know what to deal with, it’s spilling over your edges. You don’t see him react, and let him pull his hand back so he can drive. “You got the aux?”

You give a two-fingered salute, “Tune master, to the rescue.” The laugh you pull from him — gentle, a bit exasperated — is filed away for later. You’ll hoard it, along with every little bit of himself he gives to you.

Inhale.

Let me keep this. 

Exhale.

You’re in his kitchen.

His actual kitchen, not the big, fancy one that he’s known for. Dingy, warm lighting on above the stove, messily written notes to himself about recipes on his fridge. He hasn’t had someone at his place since…

He shakes the thought away, determined to make you feel better. The buzzing anxiety he thought he’d have hasn't made an appearance, and he’s locked into making you the best damned grilled cheese you’ve ever had (again). He may not be the best with words, but he can do this. 

You’d asked him fairly quickly after you got to his place, if he would mind if you smoked a little before eating. “It’d help me get an appetite, and help my brain a little bit,” you had said. “If it would bother you though, I won’t.” You had seemed nervous to ask; Carmy wonders if you’ve ever smoked in front of anyone.

(You hadn’t. But you also hadn’t had a meltdown in front of anyone either. Plenty of masks have come down tonight, what’s another?)

He had shown you to the tiny patio, watching you through the window as you blew smoke through your lips. You were only out there for a few minutes, coming back in looking a little sheepish. You’d poked around his living room a little, before meandering your way to him.

Inevitably, you end up sitting on the kitchen counter that juts out from the wall. You’re sipping on a can of pop — through a plastic straw you had floating around in your tote bag — going between scrolling on your phone and peering over to see what he’s doing. He’s shredded the cheeses he’d brought home, layering them onto some spare sourdough. A mix of softened butter, mayo, and garlic powder has been spread thinly across the slices. It’s set into the frying pan with a slight sizzle, when movement catches his eye.

You’ve grabbed a pinch of cheese from the plate, shoving it into your mouth so fast he barely catches it. You hold your hand over your lips, hiding the evidence.

“Did you just—”

“Woah, that’s crazy,” you look around with wide eyes, “did you see that? Some random guy just ran in here and stole some cheese! I tried to stop him and everything!” You’re laughing at your little stint, and he can’t help but join you.

“Oh yeah?”

You lean forward, snatching another handful, “Oh my god, he just did it again!”

He waves his spatula at you, “I saw you!”

You use your other hand to cover his eyeline. “How dare you accuse me of thievery, Carmen!” you exclaim, muffled by cheese. He bumps your knee with his hip, failing to hide his grin, and you poke his thigh with a sock-covered foot. He’s tired; you are too, but both of you are used to the exhaustion. Fatigue giving way in the early hours for something else, soft and silly.

Got a sneaky one there, eh, Bear?

You fit nicely into his space. His sweater suits you, too.

He finishes the sandwich quickly, sliding it onto a plastic plate, before turning to hand you your food. A gentle laugh escapes him when you do your little “happy food dance” as you grab the plate from him. He watches as you nibble on the corner, easing closer to you.

There’s that pull again. One Carmy doesn’t bother to fight. How could he, when you’ve done nothing but make him feel like a person? He’d make another billion grilled cheeses, if it meant he got to see you enjoy it every time.

“Carmy.”

“Hm?”

“Bite?” You hold out half of the sandwich out to him, and he steps between your knees, where you sit criss-cross on the counter. He grabs it from you, and you share the late-night snack in the dim lighting of his kitchen. When you’re both done — plate set on the counter, hands wiped free of grease on a paper towel — Carmy lingers.

It takes him by surprise when your fingers brush against his forehead. He freezes, letting you tug softly on a stray curl. A light huff comes out your nose, like you’re laughing at a joke only you can hear.

Carmy thinks this might be the closest he’s gotten to peace.

“Thanks,” you murmur into the quiet, “for being with me while I was…”

“Yeah, no problem.” He braves the prick of anxiety, the voice in his head telling him he doesn’t deserve this, giving your calf a gentle squeeze where he knows your Mothman tattoo hides under your jeans. 

You haven’t run away yet.

In fact, the way you lean into his touch, your own hand drifting from his forehead to rest on his shoulder, only makes him want to touch you more. It’s a desperate thing, one that comes out of nowhere. You've trusted him with something; you've let him care for you, in the way he knows how.

"Can I hug you?" The question, whispered into the quiet, knocks the wind out of him.

"Y-yeah," he all but falls into you, arms wrapping around your waist as you pull him in by his shoulders. You rest your chin on his shoulder, rubbing his back with one hand.

He squeezes you instinctively, and you squeak in surprise, before dissolving into giggles. You pull away just enough to see his face, "I didn't think you were much of a hugger."

"M'not."

You hum, eyes searching his while you run your fingers up and down the length of his arms.

"I didn't think you were," he mumbles, "for what it's worth."

You shrug, "I am with people I'm close to. I know it's different for everyone. Or that some days I don't want to be touched, because I'm overstimulated, or something. It's okay, though?"

Better than okay. Maybe he's contact high, but he's sure that's not right. He's safe; not on edge, yet every nerve ending is alight because you've touched him.

He has no idea what the fuck is going on.

You've made him crazy. Or the sanest he's ever been.

Say something, dipshit.

Fuck, right. You're waiting for him to reply, eyes wide.

"S'cool. Nice." He coughs, "It doesn't bother me." Your nose is scrunched, cheeks puffed out. He pokes your cheek, "Did you want me to drive you home?" Carmy forces himself to back out of your space, going to put the dishes in the sink to be washed later.

"We could watch a movie?"

"I don't really have anything..."

"You don't have streaming services?"

He looks at you over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, "You think I have time to watch Netflix?"

"You can have my login. At least until it kicks you off." You hop off the counter, "We should watch a Disney movie."

His heart warms as you start to talk — mostly to yourself — about what movie to put on.

It's 2am, he's exhausted, but he's never been more awake.