#a little feverish and a lot of thoughts in my mind

[imsadstuff]

I can't breath

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle - Part 2/2 (Astarion/F!Reader)

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk),

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read Part 1: Here

Read on AO3: Here

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Wow. I'll try to make this brief. First of all, I just want to say thank you all so much for your continued support. I know this took me forever to write, but I've been going through a lot of emotional turmoil with school and some health issues with my animals. Your patience means so much to me, and I can only hope this lives up to everyone's expectations! This is my first time writing smut, and ngl I feel a bit like Icarus, so let me know if y'all liked it. Last, but not least, thanks again to my bestie/beta @imaginarydromedary for holding my hand through the shame.

Astarion sits quietly beside the fire, absently picking the dirt from beneath his manicured nails. The night had unfolded like countless others before it: boring, mundane. Uneventful.

Perhaps he should retire early. The Realm According to Bumpo sits patiently atop the desk in his tent, and if he heads to bed now, he could potentially finish a chapter before his watch begins.

He stands, patting the dust off his trousers, just as Shadowheart emerges from your tent. He initially doesn’t pay her any mind - fails to notice the concern etched across her face. 

“Astarion.” 

He snaps to attention, recognizing the fear in her voice.

Astarion’s stomach sinks when their eyes meet. Shadowheart isn’t normally one to succumb to panic, but she looks as though she’s just stumbled out of a wolf’s den.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. She - I’ve never seen…” Shadowheart pauses, taking a steadying breath. “She’s feverish. She was fine only hours ago. I heard a cry from her tent and feared something was amiss. When I found her, she…” The cleric hesitates, eyes contemplative - as if weighing exactly how much she wants to reveal. 

“Out with it, damn it!”

“Is there any chance she’s been poisoned? You two stayed behind, back in the village. Did she come into contact with anything that might have pierced her skin?”

“Poisoned? No, she -” Astarion retraces the events, turning over your brief conversations in his head before landing on the only noteworthy detail he can think of.

He taps a finger on his chin, a thoughtful smile creasing his face. “Unless, of course, the Infernal chocolates didn’t agree with her.”

“I’m sorry, the what?” 

“The chocolate she found at the apothecary. I assumed she hid it away so she could enjoy her little treat, unbothered. There was Infernal text on the wrapper.”

She stares at him with wide eyes, jaw slack with disbelief. “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

Astarion shrugs, unfazed.

“Where’s Wyll?”

He rolls his eyes. “How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

“Astarion!” 

“Oh, come on. That chocolate must have been at least a decade old. Are you certain this isn’t just some sort of stomach bug?”

The cleric shoves past him, groaning in exasperation. She shoots him a glare and mutters, “I’m certain,” before jogging in the direction of Wyll’s tent. 

“Infused with succubus spittle. Just one bite will have you and that special someone rolling around for hours. Consume responsibly." 

Astarion giggles boyishly. “An aphrodisiac? How fun.”

Wyll squints as he silently reads the next bit to himself, fingers tracing the text. He turns to Shadowheart, jaw tightening, "How much of this did you say she ingested?"

"I only found half the bar."

Wyll’s expression grows more serious. "This says the recommended serving size is one square… How many squares were left?"

“Oh, gods…” she breathes, "Six."

The three exchange silent, worried glances.

“Could she die from this?” Shadowheart asks, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Wyll’s lips press into a thin line. In truth, he doesn’t know the answer. He could ask Mizora for guidance, but the devil’s been awfully silent after his recent failures. He isn’t sure she'd be willing to answer him, let alone grant any favors. Still, it may be worth a call.

Just as Wyll’s about to suggest it, Astarion heaves a deep, dramatic sigh, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Alright, I know what we’re all thinking. I’ll take care of this.”

The other two regard each other, thoroughly confused.

“Look," Astarion explains, I may not be well-versed in magic, or magical remedies, for that matter, but now that we know what’s causing this… I think it’s obvious what needs to be done.”

“You’re joking.” Shadowheart laughs, incredulously.  

“No,” he continues, “We can’t just sit here and hope for the best. We need to act quickly, and let's just say, this fits into my... skill set.”

“So, you’re going to, what? Have sex with her? You think she’ll be capable of saying anything but yes, given the state she’s in?”

Astarion shoots her a glare. The mere thought that he’d ever so much as suggest doing something like that - bedding you when you’re too weak to reject him - the very idea of it makes him sick. 

He isn’t that evil. 

“Watch your tongue,” he spits at her, “before I do us all the favor of removing it.”

“Hang on, you two,” Wyll interjects, “Astarion, I think you might have a point. You would know better than anyone whether she’s in a right enough state of mind to… consent to this. You’re closest to her. She trusts you.” 

He turns to Shadowheart, “It’s worth a try.”

Astarion notices two things as he pulls back the flap of your tent.

The first is that it is unseasonably warm. Scorching hot, like summer. A stark contrast from the welcoming cool of the early spring night behind him. 

And second, that the air in the tent is heavy - heady with the scent of sweat and something else he can’t quite identify. It's clouding his senses, making his head swim. The taste of it settles on his tongue, like salt on the rim of an otherwise very sweet drink.

The moonlight at his back casts a dark shadow over your sleeping form. Astarion hesitates for a moment, taking in the sight of you, vulnerable and oblivious to his presence, feeling too much like a wolf looming over a snared rabbit.

You twitch, grimacing in pain. 

He frowns. This wasn’t the way he wanted to go about seducing you. His plan was much more sophisticated: a carafe of wine, a few honeyed words leading to a night of passion, your endless thanks, all culminating in some well-earned release and his assured protection.

A mutual exchange.

But, this?

He’s roused from his thoughts by another grunt, escaping from between your clenched teeth.

Whatever you’re going through, it looks like hell.

Ugh. You know what? Fine. Maybe this isn’t the way he envisioned it, but when has life ever blessed him with a perfect scenario? He’ll offer his… services, and respect whatever answer you give him. If you refuse him now, he can always try again later. Under less perilous circumstances, provided you survive the night.

And if not, well, he's never been one to play the hero, but at least he tried. 

He steps further inside, closing the entrance behind him. The moment he seals the tent shut, there is a palpable shift. The space feels infinitely heavier, laden with unnatural energy, reminiscent of anticipation, but just slightly… off.

He breathes, trying to focus on anything but that intoxicating scent. The haze of it is maddening.

The elf sits on his knees beside you, hands resting in his lap. 

He clears his throat, hoping the sound would be enough to wake you.

There’s no response. 

He whispers your name.

Nothing.

No choice, then.

He drums a finger against your bare arm.

The cleric was right. Your skin is so hot, it borders on scalding.

Finally, you begin to stir.

-

Again. It happened again. 

As soon as you closed your eyes to rest, you saw him - That thing that wore his skin. You felt his hands and mouth as he ravaged you until you fell apart beneath him, above him, wrapped around him, like he was everywhere all at once. 

He was demanding as he took pleasure from you. Ravenous. Mocking your cries, your begging.

The hours stretched into what felt like lifetimes, and you’d nearly given up hope, resigning yourself to the idea that this was your new, endless reality. 

Until suddenly, you hear a voice that pulls you from the dark recesses of your subconscious-- the very voice being used to torture you

Your name, uttered quietly by Astarion. Just Astarion. No second, more sinister layer beneath it.

Your eyelids flutter, then widen as a chilling realization washes over you. 

He’s touching you. The pads of his fingers are both a balm and an irritant, soothing and igniting the flames licking at the corners of your mind.

“You look like you’ve seen better days.” He teases. 

You recoil from his touch, sitting upwards and crawling back away from him. 

He can’t be here. He, of all people, can’t be here.

And yet, something within you is screeching in delight.

'That’s him, isn’t it? The object of your desires? How fun!’

You swallow. Hard. 

“Astarion, I -” 

He holds up a hand, silencing you. “I’m aware.”

“Shadowheart informed us of your… predicament,” he continues, “I can’t help but feel partly responsible, seeing as I was there when you found the chocolate -”

“The chocolate? Is that - wait, what?” 

Shit. Your head is pounding. 

You press your palms against your eyes and groan. 

“I’ll spare you the details, but that chocolate was laced with succubus spittle - a highly potent aphrodisiac - and you, my dear, have consumed enough to bring an entire brothel to its knees.”

Your eyes snap open, meeting his own. There isn’t an ounce of humor in his tone. No sign of his usual mischief.

Gods, he’s being fucking serious.

“Now, as amusing as this might be if it were anyone else, I’d prefer it if our party’s leader made it out of this alive, and that leaves us with a choice."

You gaze at him silently, waiting as the candlelight paints his sharp features in warm hues of amber and honey. 

'He’s quite handsome. I see why you like him.’

“You can ride this out alone,” Astarion explains, “Shadowheart will return with her best salves and more potions for the fever. We’ll hope this passes quickly, but Wyll’s translation suggests the amount you consumed could leave you in this state for up to a week.”

Your stomach churns. You’re going to be sick.

“And the alternative?” you manage to ask.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining with your own. Your skin prickles at the contact.

“The alternative is that you let me help you through this. Consider it a repayment, of sorts, for gifting me your blood. I’m somewhat of an expert on… well,” he lets out a humorless laugh, “let’s just say, I’m the best chance you’ve got.”

Maybe it's the blood roaring in your ears, or maybe you’re still dreaming, but it sounds like Astarion is offering to… fuck you?

“I’m sorry, what?”

He groans, visibly frustrated. “Sex, my dear. If the magic is compelling you to have it, I think we should listen.”

‘Handsome and smart.’ 

You hiss, “Would you please shut up?”

Astarion squints. “What was that?”

“Nothing, sorry.” You clear your throat. “Listen, I - I get what you’re trying to do. I appreciate it, really, but -” 

Pain lances through your abdomen, a sharp, icy shard that interrupts your words. You clutch at your side, releasing Astarion’s hand before falling helplessly on your back, twisting in agony.

He inches closer, voice tinged with urgency. “We’re running out of time. If you want my help, it's best to ask now, because as much as I love the idea of you begging for me to bed you, I won’t be comfortable doing this unless you agree to this while you’ve still got your wits about you.” 

Tears sting the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision at the edges. He’s right. You don’t think you can endure this alone, and as much as you fucking hate to admit it, the damned succubus magic - that thing - is right.  

You do desire him. You’ve wanted him since the moment you met beside the nautiloid. Now here he is, offering to alleviate your suffering.  

There’s just one part of his offer that you can’t quite come to terms with.

“I didn’t let you drink from me because I was hoping you’d repay me.” Your voice warbles, wet and stressed, “I can’t have sex with you if it’ll just be part of some ridiculous transaction. Not with anyone, and certainly not with you.” 

His expression softens as your words sink in. It’s a confession, of sorts. The kind he’s wholly unfamiliar with. It stuns him almost to the point of speechlessness.  

“My apologies. Believe me, it was more of an excuse than anything. I didn’t mean to suggest…” He lets his words trail off, shaking his head. You two can revisit this conversation later, when time isn’t of the essence. “It doesn’t matter. I want to do this. Let me help you.” 

The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver up your spine.

It’s clear he means this.

He means every word. 

You nod. “Okay.”

Astarion clears his throat, rolling the tension off his shoulders. 

“Good. Now that we’ve got that taken care of,” he says as he throws one of his legs over your waist, straddling you, “Why don’t you lie back and let me take care of this, hm?” 

His posture is relaxed. Confident. He regards you with hooded eyes and the faintest hint of a smirk. It’s quite the sight, one you’d enjoy significantly more if your body wasn’t busy screaming for his attention. 

His deft hands make quick work of the laces of your shirt, and with every string that loosens, your composure unravels further. You squirm, unable to resist the heat that teases your skin and the growing itch beneath it. 

As if Astarion can sense your rising panic, he places a cool palm against your burning cheek, his touch both gentle and practiced as he rubs smooth circles at the dip of your temple. 

“Relax, dear,” he whispers, both a request and a command. The gentle lilt in his voice masks the underlying authority, but your body obeys all the same, tension releasing from your muscles. “I’ve got you.”

Astarion quickly rids you of the offending fabric, chest and stomach now bared to him. His eyes scan over your form with focused intensity, lips pinched between his teeth, like an artist deciding what to make of their blank canvas.

“Normally, I’d take my time with this,” he admits, “but given the circumstances…” He swiftly undoes the buttons of your trousers before yanking them off along with your smallclothes. One single, fluid motion. 

He can’t hide the mild shock that follows when he sees the state of you - dripping wet, red and pulsing with need. 

He dips the tip of his finger between your folds. It glides over velvet skin, coating the digit in warm, wet slick. A strangled, pitiful noise escapes from your throat.

For a moment, Astarion’s calculated expression falters, surprised by the rate at which your body opens itself up to him. A glint of hunger lurks beneath the surface.

“This may be easier than I thought.” He says with a smirk, more to himself than to you. 

He presses two digits in, slow and intentional. There’s no resistance; A knife through warm butter. You’re dripping down his knuckles, gripping around him like a vice. He slides all the way in until the heel of his palm meets your clit. 

“Breathe.” 

Not even realizing you’d been holding your breath, you release it with a shutter.

“Very good.” He punctuates his words with the slow drag of his fingers. Long, languid movements. He’s taking his sweet time with you, pulling scandalous little cries from your lips. It’s like he’s toying with you - seeing how long you can hold out before breaking. 

It doesn’t take much time at all.

“Astarion -”

“Yes?”

“Please.”

“Please, what? What do you need, darling?” His eyes are fixed on your own, grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. A cat playing with a cornered mouse.

“More. Anything.” 

He hums in approval, then wets the pad of his thumb on his tongue before drawing circles exactly where you need. Heat coils at the base of your spine, forming a ball of tension that threatens to snap. 

The sheer intensity of it is enough to scare you, caught between the urge to chase the sensation or flee from it. “Astarion, I -” 

He ignores your warning as if he hadn’t heard it, plunging his fingers into your heat and curling them - expertly caressing a spot that threatens to shatter you. Your hands fly out, gripping the fabric of his shirt, the sheets beneath you, anything in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

“Go on, love. Let it out. I’ve got you.” 

Your body seizes as your orgasm tears through you, igniting every one of your oversensitive nerves. Back arching off the bedroll, several strangled sounds - almost pained - rip from your throat. The pleasure threatens to tear you apart, but the thick fog of lust occupying your mind begins to subside, offering the slightest bit of clarity as you twitch beneath him. 

Astarion grabs you by the jaw, tilting your head this way and that, admiring his handiwork. He's quite pleased with himself, with the mess he's made of you - jaw slack and brows pinched. He coaxes out the aftershocks, watching you squeeze around his fingers.

"There,” he gives you a playful pat on the cheek, "You're looking better already." 

"You're - agh - enjoying this too much."

"I never said I wasn't going to enjoy it." 

A beat of silence passes between the two of you as he allows you to catch your breath. For a moment, you think the coast is clear - that maybe, this was as far as things had to go. This was what the magic was compelling you to do, or at the very least - it was close enough. You fulfilled its wishes. Surely.

But then he pulls out of you, and the second you feel the vacuum of emptiness where his fingers once were, that voice in your head is screeching like some sort of petulant child. It pouts, waggling its non-existent finger in your direction. The demanding bitch. 

Part of you, instinctually, realizes that this is just the beginning - that you’re simply at the edge of the shore watching the tides recede while a devastating wave builds somewhere in the distance. 

“What is it? Does it still hurt?” Astarion asks, breaking the silence, and you realize that no, it doesn’t. Not like before, at least. 

You shake your head.

“Good. I’d wager that means this is working.” He smiles triumphantly, working the laces of his own clothes, and ridding himself of the final layers between you, revealing an intricate network of muscle beneath. For a man who’d supposedly been starved for the last two centuries, he certainly doesn’t look the part.

Astarion nudges your legs apart with his thigh, then settles between your knees, dragging the head of his cock between your folds. He hums in approval, admiring the sight as he coats himself in your slick. It practically drools out of you.

There’s no resistance when he dips himself into your entrance. 

His eyes scan over your face, searching for any discomfort, but all he finds is need. 

So, he presses in further. 

“Shit, you -” 

He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath as he bottoms out, then takes a moment, eyes pinched shut, collecting himself. 

He slides out, just an inch or so, before plunging back in, buried as deeply as he can reach. It’s so damn easy, the sinfully wet mess you’ve left all over his cock allowing him to glide in and out, tilting his hips with each thrust.

The stretch of him is perfect, like you were made for this - made to take him. His length rubbing and dragging against your walls acts like a balm, relaxing your body as you swallow and grip him in scorching heat. 

He grabs one of your thighs, pressing it into your chest - the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper into your core.

It isn’t long before you’re begging him for more, digging your heels into the curve of his back.

Astarion starts pounding into you - a new, brutal pace spurred on by your encouragement and the wet, filthy slap of his skin against yours. The sounds reverberate off the canvas of your tent, blending with your choked sobs. You just know your companions are going to have something to say about this in the morning, but you honestly can’t bring yourself to care. 

The only thing that matters now is the man above you - his nails digging into the flesh of your ass, whispering how good you feel. How well you’re taking him, “Like you were made for this - for me.” His grunts are like music to your ears, drowning out all other thoughts as his chest vibrates against your own.

It’s all too much. 

Your orgasm sneaks up on you before you have a chance to warn him, but he feels the way you flutter around his cock and acts on instinct - snaking his fingers between your bodies and rubbing your clit in quick circles. 

You throw your head back with a cry, shaking beneath him, and grip him like a vice as you come. The force of it slams into you, hot and devastating, tightening every muscle within its wake. You wind your limbs tightly around the hard planes of Astarion’s body as he rolls his hips into you, slow and deep. 

You can feel him twitching inside you, his rhythm suddenly stuttering with each thrust. Something tells you he’d come now, if you’d allow him.

But where?

'Where else?'

The very idea of him not spilling every drop he has inside of you disturbs you nearly to the point of panic, and with that, you finally understand what this damned succubus has been demanding of you this entire time.

“Astarion, please. I need you.” 

“Where?” he asks, voice muffled, panting hot and open-mouthed against the swell of your shoulder.

“Inside,” you beg, “Please. Please -  It’s alright.” 

He shudders, surging up into you one last time with a strangled grunt. Holding onto your hips, he pulses within you, the warmth of his release filling you to the brim, until a thick white ring of come forms at the base of his length. You can’t help but clench around him, moving to match his previous pace and trying desperately to wring as much out of him as you can, until it begins to seep out onto the sheets beneath you.

It isn’t until he stills inside of you that you release your hold on him. The two of you take a minute to collect yourselves, waiting for your heart to settle and listening to Astarion’s ragged breaths. 

He lifts his weight off of you with a grunt, settling back on his knees. 

“That was - agh,” he shivers as he pulls out of you. You don’t even want to look at the mess.

“I’m going to have to burn these sheets, aren’t I?” you ask, sitting up on your shoulders.

He throws his head back with a genuine, hearty laugh, and cards his fingers through his dampened hair. 

This is the most relaxed you think you’ve ever seen him - not a scowl line in sight. He rolls his shoulders, and sighs at the subsequent pop before turning his focus back on you.

“I’ll have you know,” Astarion muses, “I’ve done this more times than I can count— but this, my dear,” he chuckles, “This was one for the books.”

“So, was sleeping with me everything you could have possibly imagined?” It’s an obvious joke, given your tone. An offer to squash any chance of this happening again, should he wish to. An exit. 

He hums playfully. “Well, next time I think I’d prefer the subtle influence of wine over a mind-altering aphrodisiac, if it's all the same to you.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Did he just offer to do this again? Well, not exactly, but -

“And how are you feeling?” Astarion asks. 

Better, is the honest answer. Slightly confused and deeply embarrassed, but better. 

The apologies you’ll have to make after the night’s over seem endless, both to him and to Shadowheart for all the trouble you caused. Not to mention the others, who’ve probably had the sound of your squealing burned into their memories forever. The idea of it is daunting.

“Because if you’re still reeling from any nasty, lingering effects,” he continues, “I’m sure I could be… persuaded to help again.”

Oh.

Hm.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

-

Tag List (sorry if I missed anyone! I only added you if you explicitly asked to be tagged): @daedriclys @captain039 @sushiumex @sugasweettea @marauders-moon @starlightelegy @ablxssm @the-lake-is-calling

[s1m0nth3swag]

More milkman x reader smut but can you do chubby reader?? Please

Yes ofc!

As a chubby guy myself, none of my stories are ever written with a certain body type in mind, BUT obviously, I'm gonna write smth when requested so yeah!

Also I hope its okay that I brought body issues into this because I just think it fit the situation and the idea I had was just immediately "Francis would just be the absolute sweetest when making sure his partner loved themselves as much as he loves them".

Thanks so much for the request, anon!

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Smut, more soft, GN!Reader, Chubby Reader, Francis being just a tiny bit obsessed, established relationship, mentions of insecurity/ body image issues, Francis being a sweetheart and showing Reader that he loves them no matter what ♡♡

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!

Nothing annoyed you more than the days when you would feel like you didn't look good. You stared at the mirror, looking at your body with slight disgust and disappointment. You felt like you were too big in all the wrong places, and you can't help but hate yourself for it. You should work out, eat less, all that. Instead, you threw on a wide hoodie - one that belonged to your boyfriend Francis, hid your legs with loose fitting pants, and snuggled up on the couch, determined to ignore the thoughts you were having.

Francis was at work, so you were alone, and honestly, that wasn't helping one bit. You knew he'd help you, he always said that he loved you no matter what, not for your body but your soul, or something like that, but right now you doubted his words a little.

Once Francis returned, he found you on the couch still. You were focused on some random show you had put on to distract yourself, but he noticed the way you hugged your body uncomfortably. "You okay, love?" He asked, walking over and sitting down on the couch beside you. You nodded solemnly but didn't look at him. He immediately knew what was going on. He sighed, wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you onto his lap, cradling you softly. He placed kisses on your cheeks and neck, murmuring softly. "You know I love you, baby.. you're the absolute most perfect being on the planet for me." He tells you, but your insecurities have long taken over. You cling to him desperately, and even though deep down you knew he wasn't lying, you didn't fully trust his words.

After a few minutes of sitting together, Francis telling you that he loved you and peppering your face with kisses, he softly picked you up and carried you to the bedroom - for a simple milkman, Francis was stronger than he looked.

He muttered something along the lines of showing you that he was being honest before pulling the hoodie off of you. You protested, tried to keep the fabric covering your body, but Francis wouldn't let you. He didn't even give you the chance to say something. Instead, he held your hands over your head and placed soft kisses all over your upper body. He paid special attention to the areas he knew you hated most, muttering praises in between each kiss. You were a flustered mess, and though the feelings about your body didn't magically disappear, they definitely weren't your main focus anymore. The way Francis' lips felt against your now feverish skin was almost heavenly, and you swore he was probably an angel sent to you by God just to help you through life. It would explain a lot, actually.

Your boyfriend took his sweet time with you. He didn't pull off your pants before he was 100% sure that you didn't think about your body type anymore. Soft kisses against your thighs, his hand ghosting over the hem of your underwear as you practically begged him to finally take them off. "Promise you aren't thinking lowly of yourself anymore?" He hummed, grinning against your skin. You whined, pouting. "I promise, jus'.. please..?" You muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "Wouldn't be able to deny you any longer anyway." Francis chuckles, sliding your underwear down slowly, making you squirm impatiently. You hated that he was still fully clothed, so you did your best to tug at his shirt, mumbling something about unfairness. "Always so needy.." Your boyfriend hummed, but he gave in to your request, his shirt hitting the ground, his pants following soon after. The only thing separating the two of you were now his boxers - and of course, Francis had to be a dick about taking them off.

"You're so stunning... Do you know that baby?" He purred. "Tell me you know that." His hands slid over your thighs, squeezing lightly as he patiently waits for you to repeat his words. You wanted to protest, but at the same time, you knew he wouldn't let you get off easily. "I know.." You mumble, looking away from him. "Ah-ah. Look at me. Be honest." Francis smiles, placing a kiss against your thigh. You grumbled, looked at him, and repeated your words a little more strongly. "There you go." He hummed in answer, leaning up to press a kiss against your lips.

Francis made a point of giving you praise after every thrust. He refused to go faster since he wanted to make sure you fully understood. It didn't seem to bother him that you almost cried while begging him to move faster. He just kept dragging his hips slowly, mumbling a praise with a shaky voice and pressing kisses onto your cheeks or lips. While sure, it was really sweet, you couldn't help but genuinely want him to be a little rougher. You knew this was soft torture for him as well, since you could feel him twitch inside you, eager to chase after release. Francis only gave in after he had made sure that you knew he really wasn't playing around. He loved you. He didn't want you to feel bad about yourself just because of the way your body looked. You were more than attractive to him, after all.

You whined when he finally thrust into you properly, clenching around him as you gripped onto his back harshly. Francis let out a soft groan, snuggling his face against your neck as he finally allowed both of you to reach the high you had been begging for - and he had denied himself just to make sure you were focused. He didn't even care when he came inside you, too lazy to pull out in time as he pressed wet kisses against your neck.

"Promise you believe me, sweetheart?" He hums, resting against you. "Promise. For now." You chuckled, slightly tired after all that. Francis sighs and pouts, looking at you sternly. "Do I need to start all over again?" He asks, smiling as you shake your head and kiss him. "Just cuddling will do." You mumble against his lips.

[worukin]

╭୨୧︰ prince yandere x servant reader

・✦⇢ working as a butler was something you did willingly. after all, serving the royal family earned you lots of coin. and you were such a loyal servant that the prince couldn't help but want to snatch you up for himself.

︰꒰1・ ( warnings ) — slight possessive behaviour, yandere themes, clinginess, pet names, lots of affection, showing y/n off like a trophy.

︰꒰2・ ( notes ) — originally intended to make the yandere a vampire but i wasn't too sure. maybe in the near future? ahh idk. but i do have things planned. anyway, a little something for being absent as i work on bigger drafts! ( word count: insert wc )

( if you are uncomfy with this type of content, kindly block me instead. this was very fun to write hope you enjoy <3 )

After a long time of working in such a place, you found your way through the maze of hallways covered with odd decor.

Sometimes there would be paintings of people who were nude and it did fluster you quite a bit. Or a statue of an unknown person, maybe even some vases filled with flowers. All to tend to the taste of the Royal family.

Now, you've been here for such a long time now and grown used to The Prince's silly antics. Always asking you to do your chores around his wing. Not that you minded.

"Oh come on Y/n~ Don't you want to rest a bit?" He cooed, laying on his stomach as he watched you with glee. "I apologize your Highness, but doing so would be overstepping boundaries."

He huffed as you continued to dust his room. Wiping the windows, adjusting the curtains, moving the carpet. Oh how cute you were in his eyes. "I wouldn't mind, you are my favourite little servant after all "

Eyes shined with glee when you turned away to hide the fact you were flustered. Such high praise coming from the prince made you giddy. "Please your Highness, picking favourites isn't fair." You sighed.

"Oh darling but you love it!" He exclaimed, a pout forming on his lips. The prince always did enjoy spoiling you with his riches. You hummed— though it was true you reveled at the fact you were his favourite, you weren't happy with it giving you a bigger advantage than the others.

You stepped back from the vase of flowers, cleaning up the roots you cut off. "I'm glad you think highly of me, but this is quite unprofessional." The last thing you would want is being banished by Her Majesty for being with the Prince as a servant and not a noble.

"Is my affections for you not enough? Perhaps I need to be more open." The prince gave a close-eyed smile at the thought of bragging how he had such a catch, a loyal passionate servant like you doesn't come around often.

Your brow lifted. "Open? More open how?" A confused expression formed when all you got in response was a giggle. "My apologies your Highness, I didn't mean to speak so informally."

The prince scoffed. "Oh please, you are my favourite. If anything I'm glad you're relaxed around me to speak like that." Heart swelling just thinking about being informal with you— maybe he could just take you away for himself.

"Awe, wouldn't you enjoy being alone? Just the two of us and away from such a stuffy manor?" He dreamed of waking everyday beside you, instead of waking to the sound of another servant's knocking. You didn't answer.

The loud ring of a bell startled you, reminding you of your duties. "Oh! My apologies your Highness, but I must go now." Hurrying out of his room you uttered another sentence. "Thank you for having such fondness towards me."

He giggled, waving a hand around. "No worries my dear, see you at dinner~" the prince sighed as you left, hearts in the air and in his eyes. "Oh my love, you don't understand at all do you? No matter, I'll lay it to you soon enough."

Various thoughts of hooking his arm around your waist as you attended a ball— everyone in awe at such a pair. Untouchable you both would be, a barrier between you two and everyone else.

He'd leave feverish kisses on your skin to tease and to relish in such jealous stares. That's right, you're his.

ʚ ﹒ ﹕ ̟乀 all works belong to @worukin, do not repost on anywhere else with or without credit, do not plagiarise. ty!

[jilixthinker]

Lee Know with aphrodisiacs. THATS ALL I'M ASKING FOR. LEE KNOW + APHRODISIACS.

anon 💖 this has been sitting in my requests for the longest time! 🤧 but such an honest concept, i have been thinking about this a lot.

=͟͟͞♡ lee know × fem!reader

=͟͟͞♡ chocolate aphrodisiacs (hard thought)

Minho who is usually the brattiest of brats, always teasing and answering back before giving you what you asked him, until the day you try feeding him special christmas chocolate pralines and he just melts in your embrace while you are watching home alone on your sofa.

You are splayed on the couch, Minho squirming on top of you, straddling your laps and softly nibbling at your earlobe, quiet moans directly on your skin while you caress his plush tighs.

"Uhm... b-baby... I am so hot -ah- why does it f-feel so hot?"

You turn your head to kiss his jaw. His face is flushed and red, and his skin feels very warm against your lips.

"Oh kitty... you knew the chocolate was going to work. but you said you could resist, don't you? Mh... did you change your mind already?"

Minho moves from your ear to start licking at your neck. His tongue is soft and wet and he sucks tiny kisses near your collarbones.

"Uh- mh. Wan' to..."

He stutters while moving a bit above you, his body is feverish, semi-hard cock already forming a tent, the underline of it looking delicious. You move your hand to play with the head over the fabric of his pants, feeling the way it twitches under your touch.

"Want to what, princess? Tell me, I might give it to you since you are so nice and good today."

Minho sighs and looks at you from his spot, nuzzled on the crook of your neck. His lips are still stained with the remains of the chocolate his ate before, collected in the corner of his lips.

You grab his chin with your fingers and you slowly start to lick all over his parted mouth, the sweet taste of the chocolate invading your taste buds together with a little bit of his saliva.

Minho moans directly in your mouth, your hand still teasing the tip of his clothed cock.

"W-wan' to suck, please, please, let me... ah-"

You bite his lower lip and you slide your tongue against it, shoving your hand into his pants and palming him before grabbing his heavy balls and squish them softly.

"Kitty wants to suck but he's so lost than cannot tell me what? Aw, baby..."

You coo condescendingly and you keep rolling one warm ball on your hand, the weight so nice on your fingers.

"W-whatever.. please, I need it - ah."

You crush your lips against his, finally grabbing his cock fully and starting to jerk him off, the squelching sounds so dirty in the room.

"Kitty, you're so wet.. mh- so wet like a girl. My dirty baby."

You circle your wrist against his head, precum gushing out of his slit while minho lets out the most loving sighs on your lips. You start to rub on the sensitive spot under his tip and his tongue lolls out of his mouths.

"I'm gonna decide for you, pretty. Suck on my tongue while I get my filthy princess off, mh?"

Minho nods frantically and takes your wet muscle in between his swollen lips, starting to suck on it messily, spit soaking both of your chins.

When he comes, he lets out the most desperate moan, all shivering and trembling while spurting all of his release inside his underwear.

"Good kitty, so cute and obedient for me."

You kiss his temple and Minho crashes on your body. The smell of chocolate is still in the air.

Oh, you definitively have to do this more often.

[schoopsahoy]

i'm holding every breath for you

steve harrington x nextdoor neighbour!reader {8.2k} based on the song i’d lie by taylor swift. friends-to-lovers. lots of pining, a bit of angst, steve being oblivious to reader’s feelings. reader uses she/her pronouns. no use of y/n. not proofread

You root through the glove compartment of Steve’s car, bent over at the waist to peer into the small space trying to find the lip balm you swore you left there the last time he gave you a ride. 

“Why d’you have so much crap in here? How am I meant to find anything?” You pull out random scraps of paper, food wrappers and notes scribbled in a hurry that were barely legible.

“You wouldn’t have to look through it if you didn’t forget something every time you’re in here.” 

You shoot him a glare, no malice really behind it because he was right, you did have a bad habit of constantly leaving your stuff in his car. Though to be fair, you were constantly leaving things behind in the places you’d been, it wasn’t exclusive to his car.

“S’not my fault, I just forget.” You’ve got a pile of rubbish on your lap now, the glove box empty enough for you to actually see its contents. When you finally see the plastic tube you’ve been searching for you let out a small ah!, inhaling quickly as you pull it out with a victorious smile on your face. “Got it.” 

“Best put it somewhere safe, god forbid you have to root through my stuff again.” Steve’s eyebrows were raised, a sarcastic twang to his voice, but you know he’s not really mad. He was never mad, not at you anyway. 

“I know, sorry, could have all sorts of secrets in here.” 

You put all the rubbish you’ve accumulated back into the compartment, really you should keep hold of it to throw it all out. But the thought doesn’t cross your mind until you’re back home in your room.

“Think you know all of my secrets anyway, I’ll let it slide.” 

You sit back in your seat, pulling down the sun visor to shield your eyes from the summer evening sun that was hanging low in the sky. You have your own car, and were perfectly capable of driving it, but Steve insisted on driving you around because your car was old and rickety and ‘should not be allowed on the road’. He was at least a little bit right, and you can't say you mind him picking you up from your shifts at the grocery store. His passenger seat had always felt a bit like home, even through high school and the girlfriends that would come and go, your presence up front was a constant. 

You undo a few of the buttons on your work shirt, the sticky heat of the day clinging to the fabric and your skin. The air conditioning near the checkouts in work was temperamental at best, and today it had decided to pretty much pack in altogether. The first thing you’d done when you got into Steve’s car was crank the AC up to try and lower your body temperature from feverish to just plain old hot. 

“You coming to the lake this weekend?” You pick at your chipped nail varnish, Steve finally able to actually start the drive home now you’ve dug through his mess successfully. It was a Hawkin’s summer tradition to spend at least one day down by the lake, drinking and smoking a bit too much and getting a little dizzy from a full day of sun exposure. 

Steve hums, nodding in response as he pulls out of the parking lot. “You’ll never guess who asked me that at work today.” 

“At work? Robin?” You look away from your nails, brows furrowed and nose scrunched with confusion. 

“No, not Robin.” Steve chuckles, your response typical of your mind, always a little ditzy and in your own world. It was endearing in a way, your world view simple and honest and good. “Tammy Thompson.” 

Your mouth opens to a small ‘O’, head nodding slowly. “You gonna go with her?” 

“No, absolutely not. Couldn’t pay me to go with her.” 

“She’s not so bad, in the grand scheme of Hawkin’s.” 

“If my best option is Tammy Thompson, I think I’ll just stay single forever.” 

You press your lips together, nodding again. You were overly familiar with Steve’s dating woes, both throughout school and now into adulthood. Maybe if you were bolder, with less to lose than your best friend, you’d just tell him to date you. Bite the bullet and take the leap and just give it a try. But you weren’t bold, you were safe and comfortable in the familiar and not ready to jeopardise that by confessing some big feelings that Steve was oblivious to.

“You just gonna hide from her the whole time then?”

“Maybe, use you as a human shield.” He grins at you, watching as you scrunch up your nose again. It was one of those mannerisms that you did all the time, whenever something confused you or if he teased you a little. It was a dead giveaway for your emotions, even if you were unaware of it. 

“But you’re bigger than me, I don’t think I’d be very good at it.” 

“Y’not even gonna try? I’d do it for you.” He pouts at you, you’re sure he’s doing his best puppy dog eyes behind his sunglasses too. 

“Sure, I’ll try. But don’t blame me when she spots you, I can’t grow like 3 feet taller in a few days.” 

“Don’t think you’d need to grow 3 feet, honey.” 

“To do a proper job I would.” 

Steve just nods, smiling to himself as he pulls into the street you’ve both grown up on. Carpooling was pretty easy when you only had to make one stop, though he’d take you to the other side of the world if you asked him to. 

“You gonna need a lift to work tomorrow?” Steve parks up in his driveway, turning the ignition off and cutting off the AC you’ve been basking in, a small sigh coming from your lips as the cool air stops fanning on your skin. 

“S’okay, I start at like 6am so I can drive.” You pick your backpack up out of the footwell, corduroy straps held tightly in your hand. 

“You’re not driving that death trap when you’re half asleep, you know I don’t mind dropping you off.” Steve’s car keys dangle from his pointer finger, the collection of keyrings you’d gotten him over the years from every holiday you’d been on jingling against one another. “Just bang on my door if I don’t knock before you need to leave.”

“You’re silly for doing this, y’know that?” 

“Only for you, sweetheart.” 

Steve leans over to ruffle your hair, earning him a huff from you as you try to move your head away. You smooth out the mess as you climb out the passenger side, slinging your bag over one shoulder as you start to make your way over to your own house. 

“You forgetting something?” Steve calls after you, and as you turn you see him holding out the same lip balm you’d left behind before. 

“Oh, thanks Stevie.” You hurry back over to take the tube out of his hand, giving him a sweet smile before heading back home again. 

—

You’re used to early mornings, pretty good at pushing past the grogginess after having to work so many opening shifts and be alert when the sun is still climbing in the sky, but being jostled about the back of Eddie’s van with the rest of your friends when you’re all still half asleep hurt your head a little bit. 

It was the easiest option, meaning you could all make your way to the lake together and only have one designated driver, but you did miss seatbelts. 

The heat was still yet to break, the air thick and clammy despite only wearing a tank top and some jean shorts over your bikini. You’re already slathered in sunscreen, the artificial coconut smell a bit overwhelming in the enclosed space and it doesn’t seem to lessen even once you’re out in the fresh air. 

“I wish we had one of those big umbrellas.” You stand with your hands on your hips, watching the boys lug the bags filled with snacks and the cooler of beer and soda out of the van. “It’s so hot.” 

“That’s what the lakes for, cools you right down.” Eddie smiles, shaking his curls out of his eyes as he stands up straight. 

You shrug, staring out at the glistening water. “I don’t wanna get my hair wet.”

“It’s gonna get wet.” 

“Shame.” You chew the inside of your cheek and hold your arms out to take one of the picnic blankets that’d been brought along. 

It took you about fifteen minutes to all settle on a spot along the shore, Eddie and Robin wanting to be as close to the pier as possible so they can dive-bomb into the water but Nancy saying there’ll be too much foot traffic there and nobody will be able to relax. You stand back, letting your friends argue it out and laying down your blanket once the issue had been resolved. 

The sun feels nice on your skin, the lake having more of a breeze than the rest of town making it bearable to lay out in. It doesn’t take too long for the midday heat to have you peeling off your tank top, shorts unbuttoned and rolled down a little so you can feel the heat on your stomach. 

Eddie hands out one of the joints he pre-rolled for the occasion, something about needing to start early so he can sober up before he drives you all home. The smoke has your head feeling a little fuzzy, mixing with the beer you’ve been sipping slowly and slowing your mind down. 

“You’re going pink.” Steve sits down next to you, cross legged and shoulders almost brushing. 

“I thought it was green?” You tilt your head to one side, putting the back of your hand to your head to feel your temperature. “I feel okay.” 

“No, not that, your shoulders.” 

You lift your sunglasses onto the top of your head, looking down to your shoulders which were turning a little pink. Your freckles coming out where the sun had kissed your skin. “Oh, right, I am.” 

“C’mere.” Steve leans over to reach for the sunscreen, not moving from his seat next to you as he stretches his arm over the blanket. “Your mom will be mad if I let you get burnt.” 

You shake your head, shuffling around so Steve can get to your shoulders easier. “You’re her favourite, she’d just tell me to be more careful.” 

The sunscreen feels cold, even as Steve rubs it in carefully against the hot patches of skin on your shoulders, being careful to get it under the straps of your bikini. You’re used to his gentle touches, him always looking after you ever since you were kids, but now you’re older and you’re more aware of the way his hands move and how he treats you like you’re precious and it makes your heart skip a little. 

He moves a hand away to take the joint off Robin, inhaling as he keeps massaging the sunscreen in with his other hand. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin, not yet in the sunburn territory, just a little warm. Your skin always feels soft, he’s not sure if it’s some moisturiser you use or if it’s just how you are. He leans his arm over your shoulder, holding the joint out to you as you take it between your fingers. 

You inhale, careful not to press your lips against the roach too hard in case your lipgloss transfers too much. Steve finally finishes rubbing the cream into your shoulders, and you shuffle again so that you’re facing him. “Is my face pink too? My nose feels kinda warm.” 

Steve lifts his own sunglasses up so he can look at you clearer, hair pushed back by the frames and his hand shielding his eyes from the sun's glare. “A little, you want sunscreen on there too?”

You nod your head, closing your eyes. Your eyelashes cast little shadows on your cheeks, something Steve hasn’t really noticed before but he likes it. Likes seeing you up close, even after all these years. His movements are careful as he brushes the cream across your nose and over your cheeks, just using one finger to rub it into your skin. 

You enjoy the sweet moments, but sometimes they’re too easy to get lost in. It's easy to pretend you don’t harbour all these feelings for Steve when you’re apart, even when you’re just hanging out at a safe distance. But when he’s close, your mind gets a bit carried away. Dreaming up scenarios where he might press a kiss to your lips whilst your eyes are still closed, hold your hand once he’s done and keep it there for the rest of the day. You’ve got a big imagination, it’s a real bother sometimes. 

Steve finishes his careful application, and sets his hand down in his lap to look over your face once more to check he hasn’t missed anywhere. He takes a moment to just watch how you breath steady, a small smile on your lips that always seems to be there without you even knowing. “Okay, you’re done.” 

You open your eyes, instantly squinting from the bright sunlight. You quickly bring your sunglasses back over your eyes, the red heart shaped frames contrasting against your complexion. “Thanks Steve, you’re the best.” 

“I know, s’why you love me.” 

If only you knew, you think. You have to force your face not to react to his words, simply giving him a smile as you lay back down to sunbathe some more. 

The heat and the smoke and the alcohol makes you clingy. They always do, even on their own, so mixing all three was sure to have you craving closeness. 

The boys had all been in the lake, splashing and tackling each other and making enough noise to draw attention from most of the people on the lake. When Steve walks back to the blanket, you hold out your arms to him as if to summon him. 

“Hey, honey. You good?” He sits in that same spot next to you, you instantly lean your head on his shoulder and hum a response. His body is still wet, but you suddenly don’t mind your hair getting a little damp. Steve knows what you’re like when you’re high, having spent enough nights on his back porch sharing a joint when his parents were out of town. Knows how you like to be close to him, he doesn’t mind it so much either. 

“M’good.” You mumble, pushing your face further into his neck. He smells like the fresh water, that same strong sunscreen but somehow still like Steve. You wish you could bottle it up, it's probably your favourite smell in the world. 

Steve puts his arm around your waist, head resting on top of yours. If it was anyone else the close contact in the heat would probably be too much, but it’s okay if it’s you. You’re like an extension of him at this point. “You had enough water today? Don’t want you going loopy.”

“Yeah, drank like two bottles.” You nudge your head in the direction of the empty water bottles discarded next to you, keeping them in a pile to collect at the end of the day. 

“Oh, must just be loopy anyway then.” He teases, giving your side a gentle squeeze. It feels like his hand has an electric current running through it and each movement sends shockwaves through you. 

“Thought you already knew that.” 

“I do, it’s cute.” 

“So you’ll visit me in the loony bin then?” You shift your head slightly so you can look up at him through your sunglasses, everything tinged some muddy colour from the lenses. 

“Every day, if they don’t lock me up with you.” 

“God, can you two get a room? Even Robin and Vickie aren’t this bad and they’re actually together.” Eddie shouts over from the other end of the mismatched collection of blankets, your cheeks heat up more than they already are with his words. The sun at least gives you an excuse for the flush of colour. 

“Can it, Munson.” Steve flips him off with the hand that isn’t still on your waist, the other boy returning the signal with a smug grin on his lips. 

You kind of want the ground to swallow you, suddenly aware that everyone probably knows you’re in love with your best friend. You don’t want the pity smiles or the sorry stares, but then if everyone else knows, why doesn’t Steve? Surely someone must have let something slip by now. Hopefully they haven’t. It’s even worse to think he knows and is ignoring it to save you from the rejection. You squeeze your eyes hard to try and push the thoughts away. 

You lean further into Steve’s side, the cool water on his skin feels soothing against your own. His hand finally moves from your waist up to stroke your hair. His thumb brushing slowly over and over. 

“You seen Tammy Thompson yet?” You want to put the question back inside your head as soon as you’ve said it. 

“Yeah, think you did a pretty good job at being my shield though. Took one look at us and turned on her heel.” 

You smile to yourself, a small laugh coming out as you put your arms around Steve. “That’s good. Maybe I’ll get a job as a bodyguard.” 

Steve chuckles and you can feel the movement against your body, the vibrations making your hairs stand on end. “Don’t think they usually let bodyguards do this sorta thing.” 

“Oh.” You hold your bottom lip under your teeth and exhale. “Maybe not then.” 

—

You’re wallowing. It’s maybe overdramatic, and you’re glad nobody else is there to see it, but you are. You have the house to yourself again, and the whole day off work, but you’ve spent most of it laid out on your lawn with a book trying to distract yourself from the fact that Steve is on a date. 

He told you yesterday, as he was dropping you off from work again, that some pretty girl had been in Family Video and he’d asked her out and she’d said yes. You’d smiled, told him you were happy for him, because he was your best friend and you wanted him to be happy more than anything else in the world. But it hasn't stopped you from moping about the entire day.

The grass tickles the skin on your back that’s exposed from where your shirt is riding up, the feeling irritating you more than it usually would. You’d managed to read about twenty pages in the past hour, having to re-read each paragraph at least three times because your mind keeps wandering. 

Your book is left at your side, defeated by the words that jumbled in your brain, your arm over your eyes to block out the last of the day's light. 

“Hey, you.” Steve chimes from over the shared fence, you hadn’t heard his car pulling up and his voice spooks you a bit as you quickly sit up. 

“Steve, you’re here.” You furrow your brow, confused by his presence. You were no expert on dating, but you had assumed he’d be out much later than this. 

“Can I come over?”

“Stupid question.” 

He smiles at your response, giving you a nod as he walks down the fence and back around into your back garden. “You been out here all day?” 

“Almost. I had to go inside for a bit because it was too hot.” Your legs stretch out in front of you as you lean back on your palms, head tilted up to look at Steve who’s still standing over you. His body blocks the sun, his shadow gives you some relief from it.

“It was pretty hot today.” Steve agrees, lingering in his spot for a minute before he finally takes a seat next to you mirroring your posture. 

“How was your date?” You try to sound interested, like you’re hoping he had the best time and was going to see her again and maybe she was the one. The thought really made you want to die a bit. 

“Bit of a bust.” Steve shrugs, he doesn’t sound too phased by it. You curse yourself for wanting to smile. 

“That’s a shame.” You say, shifting your weight off your palms so you can sit up straight and pick at the grass under your hands. “Not gonna see her again?”

“Probably not, just didn’t have much to say to each other.” 

“But you can talk anyone’s ear off.” You tease, looking at him with your eyes squinted a little, corners of your mouth turned up. Your features look soft in the evening sun, shadows rounding out your cheeks and the little bump on your nose bridge. 

“I can talk your ear off.” Steve corrects you, and gives your shoulder a light shove. The light reflecting off his hair has it turning the colour of honey, the same with his eyes. You wish he wasn’t so pretty, his face was far too easy to look at. 

“Sorry it didn’t go well.” You twist your mouth to the side, eyes all apologetic because you do want him to be happy even if it does hurt your heart. 

“Don’t be. It was nice enough, just not second-date nice.” 

“Y’want to watch a movie? We can watch A Nightmare on Elm Street, might make you feel better.” 

“Why would it make me feel better?” 

“Because you’re not getting chopped up in your sleep.” You say it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Touche. Okay, let’s do it.” Steve pushes himself up off the lawn, holding his hand out to you to help you up. You put your hand in his, his grip solid but still gentle as he pulls you up from the grass. 

You brush your legs off, little indents from the grass left in the bare skin of your calves. “I’ve got the good popcorn too.” 

You walk into your house through the patio doors, the laminate floor cold underfoot as you pad your way into the kitchen. You root through the cupboards, pulling out the various tins and boxes of health food your mom had stocked up on until you finally find the popcorn. 

“See, cinema quality.” You hold the packet out to Steve, pointing at the words printed on it. 

“You’re too good to me.” 

“Tell me about it.” You roll your eyes, all affection and sweetness really. You turn the stove on, placing the biggest pan you can find on the hob and letting it heat a little before tipping the kernels into it and putting the lid on top. 

You hop onto the counter beside the cooker, legs dangling and ankles hitting the cupboard below you as you swing them a little. “Now we wait.” 

Steve’s leaning against the island in the middle of your kitchen, hands in the front pockets of his jeans as he looks at you. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact you’ve been lazing around in the sticky heat all day, hair probably a mess and skin a little dewy and definitely not looking your best. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, head tilted a little as his eyes stay locked on you. 

You shrug your shoulders, trying your best to keep your breathing steady and not give away the fact that such a simple question has your throat drying up and your stomach twisting into a knot. “Sure, ask away.” 

“Do people ever just, like, assume we’re dating?” He asks the question so casually, like he was just asking how your day had been. “Like, when you’re trying to date, do they ever say that?” 

You scrunch your nose up, tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek as you try to come up with an answer, try to pull words out of your brain that currently feels like it’s been scrambled. “I d’know, I don’t date much, so I guess not.”

Steve pauses, just nodding at your response. He knew you didn’t really date, not after high school anyway. He’d never given it much thought, you’d always come away from dates complaining they were boring or got too handsy or didn’t laugh at your jokes and he’d always thought that those guys must be crazy. Because you were great, the best person he knew if he was being honest. 

“Why?” You force the question out, hoping your voice doesn’t audibly crack from how much effort it's taken to say just one word.

“I was just wondering. Heard it a couple times now, and I was just curious if you had too.” 

Heard it a couple times now. The words echo in your brain, bouncing around over and over to the point it was making you a bit dizzy. Your hands grip the counter beneath you to try and ground yourself. 

The sound of the kernels popping against the lid of the pan breaks the silence before you have to, a silent prayer of thanks to whatever God is watching over you in the moment. You hop down off the counter to get a proper look at the pan, watching as the kernels expand and pop until the little bangs slow and you can turn the stove off. 

You stand on your tiptoes to reach the cupboard above your head, fishing out the largest bowl in there and carefully tipping the popcorn into it. You finally turn back to Steve, bowl held close to your chest with both hands so you won’t drop it. “Okay, let’s go watch some people get slashed up.” 

Steve laughs, the little creases at the corners of his eyes deepening with his smile. “You’re morbid.” 

“No, I’m creative.” You say the words bluntly, but your eyes are still full of warmth for the boy in front of you. Even the coldest words wouldn’t be able to take away from the way you always look at him, a bit like a lovesick puppy. 

You put the bowl of popcorn on the table in the middle of your living room before trying to find the tape you need from the stack around the television set. You have to check a few cases, because most of them weren’t in the right one and there was no point trying to logically work out which one it’d be in. 

“Didn’t you loan this from Family Video like, two months ago?” Steve asks, already in his usual spot on your couch as he watches you open your fifth case to no avail. 

“Probably, yeah.” You don’t sound too bothered by it, the late fee something you’ve never had to pay thanks to Steve always wiping it for you. Finally, on your eighth try, you pull the correct tape out and hold it up to Steve with a grin. “Got it.” 

You eject the tape that’s currently in the VCR player, putting it into the case that you’d found A Nightmare on Elm Street in without checking if it was the right one, and push the right tape into the player before you stand up. 

“That seems like a flawed sorting system.” Steve nods towards the scattered cases on the carpet as you sit down next to him. 

You shrug. “It works for me. We don’t all work in a video store, Steve.”

“You’re right, my bad.” He holds his hands up in defeat. 

You lean forward to grab the popcorn bowl and pass it to Steve. “Try it, I need an unbiased opinion on it.” 

“Why would you be biased?” His question is muffled by him throwing some popcorn into his mouth. 

“I bought it, I want it to be good.” 

“Makes sense.” Steve nods and takes another handful of popcorn. “It’s good, but not cinema good.” 

You sigh, taking a handful for yourself now that Steve had given his review. “They always lie on the packets.” 

You and Steve had watched this film about ten times, including when it was in the theatre and you made him go twice. Knowing the plot back to front was really not helping to distract you from how close Steve is sitting to you, you didn’t have to pay attention because you know what’s about to happen so instead your brain is entirely focused on the fact you can feel Steve’s body heat, his leg pressing against your own and his arm resting on the back of the couch behind you. 

You’re really trying to keep your mind on the movie, eyes stuck to the screen barely blinking, but your brain just won’t cooperate. It’s not like Steve doesn’t always sit this close to you, because he does. But you’re still reeling from what he said in the kitchen and your thoughts show no sign of slowing. 

Steve sits up to put the half eaten bowl of popcorn back on the table, his movements making your breath hitch in your chest and your muscles tense. You think you must look crazy. 

“You feelin’ okay?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, which only makes you tense up more.

“Mhm.” You hum, turning just a little to glance at him and give him your most convincing smile. “Probably just got sun sickness y’know? Brains been cooked all day.” 

“You mean heat stroke?” He rubs his thumb over the curve of your shoulder, the feeling comforting in a sickly sort of way. 

“Nah, different things.” 

“You wanna go to bed? We don’t have to watch the movie.”

You shake your head, eyes focusing back on the gory scene on the tv in front of you. “I’m okay, I think it’s helping.” 

“Watching people get chopped up?”

“Exactly.”

—-

The Hideout is dark and loud and warm, and you’re a bit out of place. You promised Eddie months ago you would come and watch his band play, always meaning to do so but things never lining up the right way, but tonight you were making good on that promise. 

You try to dress the part, at least to the extent your wardrobe allows, a strappy black top and a short skirt - that definitely used to fit fine but was now bordering on indecent - all covered up by a big denim jacket that you thrifted a couple years back. A bit of eyeliner smudged across your lids, messy and already creasing with the heat of the venue. 

Steve is at your side, obviously. Because he heard you were planning to go to The Hideout and there was no way he was letting you go alone, not when you look like that and the place would no doubt be crawling with creepy guys. Not that he told you all this, he just said he wanted to come along. He was always protective over you, but this felt different to him for some reason. Like, he didn’t want creepy guys to bother you, but maybe he didn’t want any guy to bother you? Those were thoughts he’d have to unpack later. 

You pull at the hem of your skirt as you linger near the outskirts of the room, shuffling from one foot to another in your doc martens that aren’t quite broken in yet. You look up at Steve through your mascara coated lashes, eyes wide a bit like a deer caught in headlights, mouth open a little with your tongue pressing against the back of your teeth. 

“You all good?” Steve has to shout a little to be heard over the music thumping through the venue, the old sound system struggling to keep up with the heavy bass. 

You nod, eyes darting between Steve and the bustling space around you. Your hands stay at the hem of your skirt, finding a loose stitch to pick and pull at as a distraction. “I think I need a drink.” 

“Yeah? What d’you want? I’ll get it for you.” Steve could see the way you were staring at the bar, it’s at least two deep the whole way along and you’re definitely smaller than at least 90% of the people waiting. It just made more sense for him to be the one to try and fight his way through. 

“Just a lemonade. Unless they don’t card, then I’ll have a beer. But lemonade's totally fine.” The words fall out of your mouth quickly, the heat of the room suddenly sticking to your chest and making you feel flushed. 

“Okay, just wait here and I’ll be back.” Steve steps away, but turns back to put his hands on your arms. He locks his eyes with yours, your pupils still blown from the dim lighting. “Right here.” 

“Right here.” You look down at your shoes and then back up to Steve, giving him a reassuring smile that you weren’t going to move. 

You watch Steve make his way to the bar, feeling a bit exposed now you’re standing alone. He turns back to you from his spot in the queue - if you could even call it that - only briefly, just to check you’re okay and haven’t moved. 

It doesn’t take Steve that long to get served, probably about ten minutes from him leaving you to actually having the drinks in his hands. He tried to keep an eye on you, but the closer he got to the bar the more people crowded behind him and blocked his view. So he curses himself a little when he finally breaks through the mass of bodies to see you talking to some guy. Some guy who is definitely at least ten years older than you, and is definitely drunk. 

“Um yeah, my friend is in one of the bands playing tonight.” You try to be polite, making small talk has never been your strong suit but you don’t want to be rude. Especially not when you’re on your own. 

“Oh right, cool.” The guy - you think his name is Mark? He did tell you but you didn’t really listen - nods enthusiastically. “Just a friend, though? No boyfriend?” 

“I, erm -“ You laugh awkwardly, not really sure what to say. You want to lie, it’d be the easiest way to end this conversation. But you’re even worse at thinking fast than you are at small talk. 

You don’t have to lie though, or say anything at all, because Steve is back at your side and standing so close your body’s are practically pressed together. He holds out a cup for you to take without a word, and as soon as you take hold of it his arm snakes around your waist to hold you to him. 

“Hey, honey. Who’s this?” Steve looks between you and the other man who’s now looking much less interested in talking and much more interested in leaving.

“Oh, I was just telling him that we know Eddie.” You dodge the question of who he is, because you can’t give a real answer. 

“Right, and that’s it?” Steve sips his drink, not taking his eyes off the guy in front of you.

“Relax dude, I get it. I don’t want your girl.” Mark, or maybe it was Matt, holds his hands up before he skulks off back into the crowd, most likely to find his friends or another girl to try and hit on. 

Hearing the phrase your girl makes your head spin, especially with Steve’s arm so tight around your waist and his body pressing into yours. You take a deep breath and a shaky sip of your drink as you try to calm yourself, because everything is fine. Steve is here and people think you’re together and it’s so fine. 

“You alright?” Steve finally breaks the silence, squeezing you somehow closer to him as he speaks. 

“Yeah, thanks Stevie.” You grin up at him, the low lighting doing you a favour by covering up the pink that was spreading over your cheeks. 

“You didn’t wanna speak to that guy, right? Because you can totally speak to any guy you want, he just looked a bit…” He trails off, scrunching his face a little and shrugging in place of words.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t want to, I’m here with you.” The words come out before you really think about them, your eyes widening a little as soon as you realise what you’ve said. 

Steve doesn’t seem to react, if he heard what you said - or more so what you meant - he doesn’t show it. “Okay, good. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” 

You just smile at him, enough confirmation that you are happy. Perfectly content just in his presence. Even if the room is too close and the beer is kinda warm and you feel like you’re dressed up in a costume instead of your clothes. 

When you see Eddie walk out onto the stage you step away from Steve, tugging on his hand to pull him closer so you can actually watch your friend and hopefully get his attention to prove that you held up your promise and came out to a show. 

Even when you settle in a spot close to the stage, you don’t drop Steve’s hand, and he doesn’t drop yours. Your plastic cup in one hand and Steve in the other, it all feels a bit surreal. Maybe it’s the heat making your brain a little mushy. 

You manage to catch Eddie's eye at some point, grinning and holding your drink up at him. He looks between you and Steve, down at your conjoined hands, and nods dramatically with a wide smile. You’re going to have to tell him it’s not what it looks like later, not sure how to articulate that with just one hand and facial expressions. 

It’s nice seeing your friend so in his element, the energy of the room lifted by the band's energy on stage. You feel bad for waiting so long to come and watch, even if it was always out of your control. 

Their set isn’t too long, only five songs, but they really make the most of their slot. The whole place seemed to get involved, everyone cheering when they finally finished up and headed off the small stage. 

“You wanna get some air?” Steve asks, some loose hairs falling into his face as he looks down to you. 

“Yeah, s’pretty hot in here.” 

Steve leads you through the crowd, still holding onto your hand, and out through the venue doors into the parking lot. There’s a few people outside smoking, little groups gathered together all talking and drinking and looking like they belonged. It made you laugh a little to think about what you and Steve must look like here. 

“That was fun, Eddie is so good.” You look down at the almost empty cup in your hand, swirling the remaining liquid around in it til it nearly splashes over the sides. 

“Yeah, it was. Don’t think I’ll become a regular here though.” Steve laughs, giving your hand a squeeze as if to acknowledge that he is still holding it. You try not to read into it.

“Yeah, the place doesn’t really scream ‘Steve Harrington’.” You shrug, finally drinking the last of your beer. If it wasn’t warm when you first got it, it definitely was now. 

You see Eddie walk outside and finally release Steve’s hand to skip over and hug him, already wishing you hadn’t let go because what if he doesn’t hold it again. You push the thought out of your head and try to focus on Eddie. “That was so good Ed’s, you looked so cool.”

“Thanks short stack.” Eddie leans back to pat you on your head. “‘Bout time you finally came.”

“I know, I don’t break promises.” You speak matter-of-factly, face all serious as you cross your arms over your chest.

Steve was beside you again, though not so close this time. “Good job, Munson. Guess you’re not all talk.” He teases, Eddie giving his shoulder a playful

shove in response. 

“It’s good to see you two together. About time.” Eddie points between you and Steve, and your chest tightens as you process what he’s said. 

“Oh, no, we’re not-“ You laugh, but it comes out awkward and forced and you look between Steve and Eddie and the floor and try to bargain with the powers that be to strike you down. 

“Oh, shit, my bad.” Eddie looks around the parking lot, pressing his lips together as he sighs. “Better hurry it up Harrington, or someone else’ll snap her up.” He pats Steve on the back, and you look at him like he’s gone absolutely insane. 

Steve nods, a weak laugh at Eddie's comment giving nothing away about how he feels about it. 

You take a deep breath through your nose, hoping the cool night air might stop you from passing out on the spot. 

“I better get back inside, have a good night kids. Stay safe.” Eddie waves you off as he walks back inside, disappearing into the dark room and leaving you outside with all the tension and awkwardness in the air that he’d put there. You’d be mad at him if he wasn’t such a nice guy. 

You and Steve are both quiet for a minute, and you think this is finally it. You’d managed to keep your friendship untouched by your feelings for so long but it’d finally come crashing down. 

“Reckon we head home?” Steve cocks his head as he looks down at you, you must look a sorry state given the pity filled smile he’s giving you. 

“Yeah, probably for the best.” Your voice is quiet, and you drag your feet along as you walk to Steve’s car. You toss your cups away in a bin along the way, all over dramatic and woeful as you sigh with the movement. 

The drive home was quiet. Steve would try and spark up a conversation but your brain was whirring and everything felt like too much and you could barely force a coherent sentence out. 

When you finally arrive at Steve’s house, and your house respectively, you feel frozen in your seat. Because what if you get out and go home and that’s that? Steve stops giving you rides to work and stops watching movies with you and stops letting you stay in his bed when you drink a little too much and don’t want to be alone. 

Steve says your name, and you force yourself to stop spiralling in your own thoughts to look over at him. “I had a really nice time tonight.” 

“Really? You didn’t think the place was a bit gross?” You pulled the sleeves of your jacket down over your hands, holding them in your lap.

Steve laughs, shaking his head at you. “The Hideouts always been gross. I had a really nice time with you.” Even under the dim street lights Steve can see your puzzled expression, brows pinched together and a little pout on your lips. 

“Well, yeah, we always have a nice time Stevie. S’why we’re friends.” 

Steve sighed, because you were right. But it’s not what he was trying to say. He was never all that good with his words, and he also didn’t really know exactly what he wanted to say. “Y’know what Eddie said?”

“We don’t have to talk about it, it’s just Eddie, he just says stuff.” You can’t make eye contact as you speak, in half a mind to just bolt from the car, hop your fence and lock yourself in your house for the rest of your days.

“Well, yeah, he does. But I guess lately I’ve been thinking about it, about us.” 

You swear your heart was moments away from actually bursting from your chest it was beating so hard, your hands feeling clammy as they gripped tightly onto the denim of your jacket sleeves. “What about us?” 

“Just that we’re so close, you know? You’re my best friend, but then sometimes, lately, I look at you and it feels different.” Steve tries to gauge your reaction to his words, but your eyes are staring down at your hands in your lap and your hair is falling so that it covers your face. Maybe he’s got this majorly wrong, completely misread things between the two of you. 

“Different how?” All you can manage is stupid questions pushing him for more, for him to just be clear and concise and put you out of your misery. 

“Different like sometimes I think I want to kiss you.”

You stop fiddling with your jacket then. The words hitting you in the chest like a semi-truck. You’re not sure you actually heard him right, because you’ve been so certain all this time that your feelings were one sided. A hopeless crush that would just burn in your chest forever, longing for more but never getting it. 

“You think you want to? Or you want to?” You finally look up at Steve, turning slightly in the passenger seat so you’re facing him. Seeing the way he’s looking at you, so full of affection and like you put the stars in the sky, makes your stomach flutter like there’s a hoard of butterflies in there waiting to be set free. 

“I want to.” Steve breathes the words out, soft spoken like if he says them too loud it’ll scare you away. “If you want me to.” 

Your mouth hangs open a little as you try to speak, words failing you completely. So you just nod, blinking quick a few times to make sure you’re actually awake and this isn’t just a cruel dream. “Yeah, I want you to.” You eventually manage, your voice cracking a little. 

Steve moves carefully, his hand cupping your cheek so softly it’s almost as if he’s not touching you at all. You breathe in deep through your nose, closing your eyes in anticipation. You’re still not entirely convinced it’s happening until you feel his lips press against yours. 

It’s slow and shy at first, a little unsure of what’s allowed when you’re kissing your best friend, when you finally cross that boundary. You tilt your head into his hand some more, as if to say it’s okay, permission to kiss you the way you’ve been dreaming about. 

Your hand moves to Steve’s jaw, thumb running along his cheek against the stubble that was there after a couple of days of not shaving. You part your lips a little, and Steve takes your movements as a green light. He kisses you a little harder now, still gentle but with more behind it. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip making your breath hitch in your throat. 

It’s a simple kiss, nothing crazy or wild but it’s just what you want. Because it was Steve, and he wants you. 

When he finally pulls his mouth away from yours, he rests his forehead against your own. “Was that okay?” 

You can’t help but giggle, because it’s such a ridiculous question to you. Of course it was okay, God, it was so much more than okay. “Yeah, Stevie, it’s okay.” 

“So I can do it again?” 

You’re both whispering, faces still so close that you don’t need to speak any louder. “Yeah, any time.” 

Steve presses another gentle kiss to your lips, just a quick one this time but still as full of affection as first. You have to blink hard when he properly pulls away from you to try and stop your head from spinning. 

“I wanna do this properly, y’know. Not just kiss you in my car. I wanna take you on a real date, wine and dine you.” Steve nudges your chin with his finger, head cocked to the side as he looks at you.

“I don’t really like wine.” You shrug. “I’ll give it a try though.” 

“You’re a real trooper.” 

“Anything for you.” You smile sweetly, and you mean it. You think you’d do absolutely anything for Steve Harrington. But it’s fine, because he’d do absolutely anything for you, too.

thank u so much for reading + thank u to the anon for the song rec / request <3

[dameare]

Personal Brand of Heater | Jacob Black x Fem!Reader (Oneshot)

Word count: 1,899

Summary: The first time I had kissed Jacob was entirely an accident. That was how I wanted to think about it, at least.

Silly notes: So... it was 4am... and it was cold, so at the time writing this made a lot of sense. Plus I was lonely and destructively pining for the one and only, Jacob Black. *hands you this fic* Enjoy!

The first time I had kissed Jacob was entirely an accident. That was how I wanted to think about it, at least.

Winter was just by the horizon, approaching with a certain quiet inevitability, and a blanket of darkness was beginning to unfurl itself across the landscape—and Forks, being the cold and sleepy town that it was, made the first hints of a wintry burden a lot more obvious.

So it was cold. And it was just that there was something about cuddling with Jacob in the middle of the night that did it for me. It made total sense: I was freezing, and Jacob was hot. Literally. Like my personal brand of heater. And maybe I also liked him a little bit. Or a little too much. Or maybe I was in-love. It was the only explanation, even though before what had happened I'd hardly given myself enough time to even name what I'd started to feel for Jake.

It sounded stupid at first, being in-love with Jake. There was no way. But the more I thought about it, the more convinced and horrified I became. That stupid fluttery feeling in my stomach whenever Jake looked at me. I'd thought about the way my chest sometimes felt like it was going to explode when he hugged me, or the way my stomach dropped and twisted at the thought of Jacob hugging a different woman that wasn’t me. God, I was in-love. Of course I was. But even that wasn’t reasonable enough to accidentally kiss him.

So when I had had the clever idea of hitting Jacob up to “hang out” at two in the morning and he didn’t reply, I'd assumed that would be the end of it, and that I would have to curl up in bed, alone and feverish from the chills the night brought.

But that wasn’t the case, and I had only realised this when Jacob was already launching himself through my second-story window and then into my room with a stealthy thud. The dumbass.

I looked at him, stunned. “Jake, what the hell?”

“Whew, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Jacob said, a wide and pleasant grin of mockery spreading across his face—the one that made my stomach do the dumb flip thing. GAH. “I’m sure you don’t really mind.”

“I don’t,” I said automatically. I wasn't stunned at seeing him anymore, because he wasn’t wearing a shirt and I was stunned at something else instead. The pale moonlight sneaking in through my open window made his russet skin look richer. He looked ethereal. The dangerous kind of ethereal. “Do you ever get cold?” I asked dumbly, trying to shift my focus.

Jacob laughed. “Didn’t you already ask that before?”

“I did? Maybe I forgot.” And maybe I had also forgotten how to talk.

He opened his mouth, looking like he was about to crack a joke, but something made him change his expression. Instead, worry creased his forehead, and he inched closer to me.

He was huge, and he leaned over me, so huge that his shadow made my little room look darker. I was looking up at him, completely overwhelmed—my head was pounding and my chest was freaking out and the fever, which I had momentarily forgotten about ever since he came in, came hitting me again. I swayed unsteadily, legs going slightly limp. Jacob grabbed me easily by the waist. “Hey, hey. Is everything okay?” He whispered anxiously, slowly easing me towards the edge of the bed. “You’re shivering, why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Are you cold?”

I only managed to nod before my legs gave way, plopping into a weak heap on the bed.

His hand was really warm. “Jesus christ, you’re freezing. Don’t you have a heater somewhere?”

I shivered uselessly on the bed, delirious. He watched me for one long moment, hesitating. Then he snuck to my side and began settling down onto the bed, and before I could even begin to protest, his arms were already wrapped around me—one arm under my head and the other tightly snug around my waist. And then I wasn't protesting anymore.

I let my head rest against his bare chest. “You’re so warm,” I muttered, the words muffled out by his chest. The heat was so inviting, so comfortable that I didn’t want to pull away. Not that I could ever, even if I had the energy to. The warmth seeped into my skin, the icy grips of the night slowly melting away.

Jacob chuckled, pleased. “That better? Don’t move too much, alright. Save your energy for me. I’ll warm you up.”

“What about you?” I exhaled heavily. “You’re going to freeze.”

“Not really,” he promised. “Hey, say, why don’t you try sleeping? What’s kept you up this late?”

I thought for a second. "Hypothetically," I said, my mind gaining clarity. "If you weren't a werewolf anymore and you lived in the city, what's the first thing you'd do?"

I felt his chest stop at a chuckle, and then there was silence. When it dragged on for a moment too long, I tilted my head to look at his expression. He was staring into the distance, where I'd put up a bunch of city photos for my vision board. His eyes seemed to light up. "If I weren't a werewolf anymore," he mused. "I'd try out all the burgers in the city and check out what they sell in Walmart. I heard they sell weird stuff there... and then maybe I'd go shopping in one of those big malls... get a job... go to a university."

I snorted. "Wow okay, I understand the rest, but Walmart? Really?"

"Don't judge me," he met my eyes, suddenly defensive. He smiled playfully and pushed my hair out of my face. "Let's hear yours. If you decided to live in the city, away from... all of this. What would you do?"

There was hardly any need to think, because it was all I ever thought about during my first summer in Forks. And it was hardly even a summer, really, because it rained all the time and it was still cold even on the good days where the sun was slightly more visible. "I would live by myself in the city, in a small apartment. Like a normal person," I said, wincing at the last part, because all things considered, I thought the word *normal* just didn't exist in Forks anymore, and saying it felt like a major offense. He nodded, and I went on, "I would go to bookstores and those loud concerts... and then go for a late night drive after, you know? Just drive for hours without a destination. It kind of sounds nice. It's like surrendering all your worries for one night. I think that kind of freedom would make me feel lighter."

I watched his face. He laughed at first, saying, "Your answer makes mine look like child's play."

"I'd try out every burger with you, and go to every Walmart conceivable." I offered.

"You'd do that?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

He grinned. "Well, I'd carry your books for you, and I'd drive you across the city for as long as you want. Sounds fair?"

"So it's a promise." I smirked.

"Hah well, not that my being a werewolf can stop me from making you happy," he said. Then he tightened his grip just a bit and lifted me effortlessly, setting me on top of him. "Is this better?"

I hummed a yes, suddenly finding it very, very difficult to breathe. "You're... really warm," I sighed.

He smiled softly. It looked so much better up close, so much so that my stomach did that weird flippy thing again. "You said that earlier. Although," a sheen of mischief lit his eyes up, "if you want to feel warmer you could always just take your clothes off."

"Jacob," I warned, a smile threatening to break out of my face. "Shut up, will you?"

"Survival one-oh-one," he teased.

"Saying that isn't really a friends thing."

He raised one eyebrow, curious. "Oh so taking your clothes off is where you draw the line?"

"Like every sane person, ever, duh."

"Well, cuddling like this isn't really a friends thing either," he retorted.

My face flushed red. "What do you mean?"

"The way I hold you," he said quietly, with a sudden hint of seriousness to his voice. "Is this how friends are supposed to roll?" He asked, his face speculative.

I stayed quiet. I wasn't breathing again. It was the question, and maybe the way the gentle glow of the moon was casted upon his face. His eyes twinkled in the light, like pools of rich and velvety chocolate. He was sort of beautiful that I didn't want to breathe ever again. He stared right through me, watchful and interested. His eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, and our breaths mixed with how close our faces were. It was so warm and so right.

My gaze flickered from his eyes to his mouth, then back again. His mouth tugged up at one corner, as if he had the faintest idea of what I was thinking—and maybe, just maybe, he thought the same.

It was slow, but also quick in a weird way—not quick as in like something in the heat of the moment, but quick enough that I couldn't register what was happening, and slow enough for me to remember every single detail—slow enough for me to conclude that it really wasn't an accident.

His hand gently made its way to the small of my back. He rubbed gently, and I leaned in, our faces inching even closer; I could hear my heartbeat loud against my chest, so loud maybe he'd heard it too. But his eyes were fixed, mesmerised as I moved in. Our noses touched and he inched to the side, nudging forward with the tip of his chin; he glanced at my mouth, then flickered quickly back to my eyes.

There was a momentary pause where our faces both hovered, so close and mellow and sure, and I ached in anticipation. I stole one more glance at his mouth, and then I was sighing into the kiss, the aches and worries leaving my body. His lips were hot, and it scorched against mine, but god he was so gentle—like a gentle rush of air through leaves. The kiss stayed warm and slow, almost exploratory, but there was also a sliver of hunger shoved in between—like Jacob had been dying to do this for a while, and when he finally did he couldn't stop anymore. My lower lip caught delicately in his teeth, and he sucked on it; I allowed him, because I loved exploring his mouth just as much—in an almost obsessive manner. My tongue wandered, the pleasant taste of something woodsy settling into my mouth.

When we pulled apart, it was with soft gasps and fitful smiles and chuckles. He patted my head. "Was that also a friends thing?"

"Nothing about us is friendly," I finally admitted.

"So that means...?"

"I want to be your girlfriend, Jake."

His face stretched out into a huge grin. It was contagious. "Took you long enough, my little moon."

"Is that a yes?" I pinched him lightly.

He chuckled. "Do you want to go at it again for an answer?"

[steddieas-shegoes]

sew you up

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'hurt/comfort' rated t wc: 993 cw: injury tags: post-vecna, someone finally takes care of steve's bat bite, getting together

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

He just had to get them all safe. Then he could take care of the bite.

He just had to keep an eye on Eddie, make sure no government officials tried to take him or let the police arrest him. Then he could take care of the bite.

He just had to help Wayne get them moved into their new trailer. Then he could take care of the bite.

Excuses kept piling up, one after another, and the pulsing, searing pain of the bite became easier to ignore. That meant it was healing, right?

But one month later, the bite was still as open and ugly as it had been when the bat latched on, and he had to face the facts.

“You okay over there?” Eddie asked from his bed.

He was mostly mobile, but moved much slower than he used to and had a lot of aches and pains from still-healing scar tissue. He rested in bed more than he did anything else, and Steve usually kept him company long after everyone else left.

“Yeah, think I’m just tired.”

He was tired. But he was also in pain, and could feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he clenched his jaw to avoid groaning.

He’d just moved wrong a little while ago and the pain wasn’t subsiding like it usually did. He’d be fine.

“You’re pretty pale, Stevie.”

“Might be coming down with something,” he shrugged it off. It could be true, after all. He was feeling feverish.

“Oh! Meant to ask you the other day. How’s that bite doing?” Eddie asked casually.

Too casually.

Steve stared back at him, eyes squinting in suspicion.

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah? Mine’s kinda hurting still. Can’t bend down all the way.”

Still so casual.

“Yours was worse than mine, man.”

Eddie nodded, seemingly accepting that as a response, almost looking like he was going to move on.

“I saw a doctor for mine. Many doctors. A few nurses. One government person who took an hour bandaging it up. Not sure what that was about,” Eddie shook himself out of a thought. “But you didn’t see anyone, did you?”

Steve bit his lip.

“No. But mine wasn’t that bad. It’s healing.”

Eddie put his notebook down and took in Steve’s posture. Steve tried to sit up straighter in the desk chair he was lounging in, but as soon as he tried, he let out a hiss and small whimper.

“Let me see it.”

Eddie’s tone was short, serious, something Steve had never heard from him before.

He stood up slowly, wincing as the area around the bite pulled painfully.

Eddie slowly moved to the edge of his bed and parted his legs, waving his hand to get Steve to come closer.

Steve moved closer, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered when Eddie’s hand gripped his uninjured hip to tug him even closer.

His other hand lifted Steve’s shirt up enough to see the wound.

“Steve,” he breathed out. “This needs to be stitched up. It’s too deep to heal on its own. You’ve just been walking around with this?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s gotten a little better.”

Eddie looked up at him with wide eyes.

“This is better?”

Steve nodded.

“This is. Steve, does Robin know it’s this bad?”

Steve shook his head.

“Does anyone?”

Steve shook his head again.

“Alright. I’m fixing this.” Eddie started to get up, gently pushing Steve away from him, but not removing his hand from his hip. “You lay down. I’m grabbing my sewing kit and alcohol.”

“Wait. What?” Steve felt himself panic. “You can’t- you’re not!”

“Steve. Do what I tell you to do before I call Robin and tell her you’ve been ignoring a fucking demobat bite for a month.”

So Steve got as comfortable as he could on the bed, lifted his shirt up to his chest, and waited.

Eddie took his time, but Steve didn’t mind, would much rather wait than Eddie hurt himself worse.

Eventually, Eddie came back and pulled the chair to the side of the bed.

He worked slowly, but confidently. He gave Steve a pillow to hold so he wouldn’t flinch too much while he worked, closing up the main part of the bite so it could actually heal.

When he was done, he bandaged it up tight, and then traced the edges of the bandage.

“Why didn’t you say something?” He whispered.

“Didn’t think it was that bad,” Steve whispered back.

“You didn’t think an open wound like that was bad? Jesus.” Eddie shook his head. “I knew you were self-sacrificial, but this is insane. You can’t hide this shit, Stevie. You could get an infection, you could die.”

Steve gulped.

He’d considered it a few times, but figured he would have already ended up in the hospital if it was going to happen.

“Yeah. But you fixed it, so I’ll be fine.”

“You better let me change your bandages every day for the next week so I can make sure it’s healing right.”

“Won’t that get annoying?” Steve asked.

Eddie didn’t answer for a moment, just watched as Steve pulled his shirt back down.

And then his lips were gently pressing against Steve’s forehead, lingering heat making Steve close his eyes.

“You could never annoy me. The only thing annoying to me is that you thought that being taken care of was annoying,” Eddie said, lips still resting against Steve’s skin, his breath almost tickling.

“So you’re my nurse, now?” Steve asked with a smirk.

Eddie pulled back and cupped his cheek.

“Yep. You better be a good patient.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll steal your hairspray.”

Steve gasped.

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would. So you better do as I say and make sure you take care of this.”

“Fine. Do I get a real kiss for being on my best behavior?”

Eddie bit his bottom lip, his cheeks going red.

“Maybe if you make room for me in bed.”

“Deal.”

[l-littlebird-l]

Hello, little bird🥰✨ I hope you’re doing well! I wanted to thank you once again for the masterpiece “The Blind Dance”, that was breathtaking!❤️‍🔥

If you don’t mind, I’d love to share with you some of my thoughts, they might be veeery stupid, I’m sorry in advance, that’s just what happens in my feverish brain (Ominis’ been filling my mind completely for several months🙈)

So, personally I’m into powerful and let’s say dominant Ominis hehe. What do you think about it:

Ominis and MC are friends and of course both of them have hidden feelings for each other. One day, MC appears to have a bruise on her neck from some regular fight she had. Ominis can’t see it obviously, but hears some ambiguous remarks about her neck. He gets super jealous and storms to his beloved Undercroft/dormitory/any empty classroom to let off some steam, she notices his state and follows him. And when she asks wtf with you, he bursts out. Like... slams her up against the wall, holds her neck where the bruise is and smth like “who the hell was he?!” (maybe some assumptions that it was Sebastian, cause he knows they spend a lot of time together), basically revealing his dark intimidating side a bit. There can also be insults and some parseltongue spilling of course cause this boy can’t control himself hehe. She’s outraged, trying to push him away, but he realizes how stupid he was, apologizes passionately and then.. no less passionate and possessive sex with parseltongue as well🔥

Gooods I just needed to share it with you, and maybe you will find some ideas inspiring for your incredible talent! And it’s totally fine if you find it an utter rubbish, my brain’s just not working properly when it relates to Ominis😂

Thank you again, we’re all so happy to have you in this fandom!💕

Thank you so much for your patience with this piece! I loved writing it and I had a lot of fun playing around with Ominis’ emotions. 😉 Rest assured, your prompt for this piece was amazing. Thank you so much for being my first request, and I really appreciate all the kind words you give me. The Blind Dance is one of my favorites as well. Ominis just has this way about him. 💕 You definitely piqued some ideas for later stories. Thank you again, and enjoy!

• Jealousy Is a Terrible Thing •

Ominis Gaunt x MC (Smut)

— Requests are Open —

Summary: Ominis’ jealousy flares up when Sebastian returns to the common room well past midnight, carrying your scent. The accumulation of lies and excuses reaches its breaking point, leading to a heated confrontation between you two.

—

Ominis is a master at finding every possible opportunity he can to get closer to you. He's like a magnet, whether that means strategically choosing the seat next to yours in class, skillfully appearing in the same hallways as you, suggesting lunch dates at The Three Broomsticks, or inviting you to join him for study sessions in a cozy corner of the library.

For him, every minute spent by your side fills his day with an unparalleled sense of happiness. It's as if the entire world around him had shifted since you entered his life. He now has something, or rather someone, to look forward to greeting every single day.

But today, however, things took an unusual turn. Ominis had hardly slept, and his mood was decidedly foul. All night, his mind had raced, tormented by the question of why Sebastian had returned to the common room so late last night, bearing the unmistakable trace of your scent. He wrestled with this enigma throughout the night, and what compounded his distress was Sebastian's blatant falsehood. Sebastian was notorious for brushing things off and fabricating the flimsiest of excuses. But that scent, Ominis recognized it all too intimately—it was unquestionably yours. A fire churned within him, a spark of jealously aflame.

(Recap)

As the clocks hands inched past curfew, Sebastian clandestinely slipped into the common room, his movements shrouded in secrecy. His arrival, however, didn’t go unnoticed. Ominis lifted his head from his book as he drew a deep breath, catching a tantalizing trace of your scent emanating from Sebastian's clothing.

Without missing a beat, Ominis confronted Sebastian, his voice laced with an unmistakable sharp edge. "Sebastian, you're out past curfew. What were you up to?"

Sebastian, however, was quick on his feet. He met Ominis' gaze with a feign air of innocence. "Oh, nothing much, just a late-night stroll. Clearing my head, you know."

Ominis slammed his book shut and rose from his seat, his brows knit together with irritation. "Late-night stroll? Clearing your head?" he scoffed, his voice tinted with bitterness. "Don't insult my intelligence, Sebastian. I can smell her on you."

Sebastian tried to maintain an air of nonchalance, beads of sweat formed along his forehead. "You're imagining things, Ominis. Just a bit paranoid, aren't we?"

But Ominis was having none of it. He took several steps forward, his words biting through the air. "I know the scent of her perfume, Sebastian. Don't think you can play the fool with me."

Sebastian's mask of indifference began to crack as Ominis' possessiveness pressed in on him. "Fine," he spat back, the veneer of politeness shattering. "I was with her. So what? She can choose who she spends her time with."

Ominis' patience wore thin, and his anger flared as he leaned forward. "You're playing a dangerous game, Sebastian," he growled, his jealousy unleashing. "She's mine, and you'd do well to remember that."

Sebastian, seemingly unfazed, crossed his arms with a smirk, his voice edged with false nonchalance. "Why do you care so much, Ominis? What I do with her is none of your concern."

Ominis gritted his teeth, his temper burning from within. He wanted to shout, to demand answers, but his pride kept him restrained. “Just answer the question, Sebastian. What were you doing with her?”

Sebastian leaned forward, his tone a venomous whisper. "Maybe you're just not man enough to satisfy her."

Ominis clenched his jaw, his jealousy scraping the forefront, but he couldn't bring himself to reveal the true depth of his feelings.

Sebastian leaned back, a smug grin playing on his face. "You're so possessive, Ominis. It's pathetic. She's not yours to control."

Ominis, his anger boiling over, shot back, "You're just a playboy, Sebastian. You don't understand what it means to truly care about someone."

Their words hung in the air, charged with tension and unresolved emotions. The common rooms quiet atmosphere seemed to amplify, and neither of them was ready to back down.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed, as he leaned in closer to Ominis, his voice dripping with venom. "And what would you know about caring for someone? You've never even seen her face, let alone know what it's like to be with someone like her."

Ominis couldn’t take it anymore. The frustration, the jealousy, the pain all swirled inside him like a tempest. He had been holding back, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but Sebastian’s taunts and insinuations were pushing him over the edge. A dark, sinuous whisper echoing within his head.

With furious colors, Ominis lunged at Sebastian, his control slipping away like sand through his fingers. He grabbed Sebastian’s collar, his fingers digging into the fabric as he shoved him forcefully against the wall. His face was contorted with rage as he leaned in closely.

Sebastian was caught off guard by Ominis’ sudden loss of control, despite being pinned against the wall and faced with Ominis' seething anger, he managed to taunt one last time. He grinned, though there was a nervous edge to it.

"Ominis, you're blind in more ways than one," he sneered, digging in with a final jab.

Ominis' grip on Sebastian's collar tightened, his knuckles turning white. He was on the verge of losing control completely, his anger and jealousy driving him to the brink of madness. The whisper inside, growing louder with each passing second.

As Sebastian's taunting words hit Ominis, they seemed to strike a deeper chord. Ominis' anger slowly faded, replaced by a wounded look in his eyes. He slowly released his grip on Sebastian's collar, taking a step back and facing away.

His voice, when he spoke, was filled with a poisonous blend of hurt and resignation. "Fine, Sebastian. Have it your way," he muttered, his anger now overshadowed by a sense of defeat and pain.

Sebastian held his gaze on Ominis’ back for a moment longer before breaking away, storming off to bed with Ominis' words echoing in his ears.

Left alone in the dimly lit common room, Ominis couldn't quell the burning jealousy that gripped his heart. His mind raced with turbulent thoughts, imagining what you and Sebastian were doing together. Each passing minute felt like an eternity as his possessiveness over you gnawed at him, making it impossible for him to find solace in sleep. The scent of another man, bearing traces of you, lingered in the air, a reminder that he couldn't shake off.

As the day dragged on, he found himself in the library, waiting for your arrival. The evening had been earmarked for a study session between the two of you. He positioned himself in a secluded corner of the library, setting the stage for a mental game amidst the book-lined corridors. Aware of the intricate nature of his little mind game, he knew that extracting answers required meticulous finesse. Every move, every word was a potential gambit on your friendship. His mind was a turbulent sea of unanswered questions, each wave threatening to consume his thoughts. The stakes were high, and the risks, even higher. But his determination burned in red. He needed answers, and if Sebastian wasn’t going to give them to him— then you will.

Even moments before your arrival, his mind raced with restless thoughts, the relentless curiosity within him clawing at his very core. A low grumble slipped from his lips, his fingers sinking into the pages of his book, an unsettling image flashing vividly within his thoughts.

"There you are," a familiar voice greeted him with enthusiasm, the sound of your steps weaving around the bookshelves as you plopped your stack of books on the table.

Ominis, drawn by the melody of your sweet voice, lifted his head, and his countenance transformed. His features softened, and a smile, one reserved solely for you, gently curved his lips. The crashing waves of his mind finding ease.

"So you decided to come after all," he teased, deliberately averting his gaze back to the book in his hand as his grip softens.

"Of course I'd show up, I'd never miss our study time together. It’s too precious," you playfully retorted, settling down next to him.

As you opened your books, the sound of the pages turning harmonized with the subtle waft of your scent, enveloping the space around him. That same, familiar scent, lingering in the air, stirring something within.

The library was unusually hushed, the subtle sound of his nails picking at the corners of parchment, bending them with a nervous energy. Your gaze instinctively followed the sound, an elegant dance of curiosity shifting between his fidgeting fingers and his pensive expression.

You sat there, quietly studying him for a few moments, pondering on what’s occupying his thoughts. Something about him seemed amiss, though you couldn't quite pinpoint it.

You leaned into him, your body brushing against his as your lips drew close to his ear, your voice a soft whisper. "You're not typically one to fidget with your hands. Is something on your mind, Ominis?"

Your closeness seemed to have a calculated impact, causing his demeanor to subtly shift. The sound of the parchment ceased as he turned his focus toward you, his face adorned with a serene mask of calmness. "Hmm? Oh, no. Nothings on my mind."

Your concern etched lines of worry onto your brow, still convinced that something weighed heavily on his mind, but he wasn’t budging.

"Ominis..." you hummed, your hand gently finding its place against his thigh, your voice carrying a soothing, reassuring tone. "You know you can talk to me."

In a fleeting moment, all his defenses crumbled. A lump formed in his throat, your sweet, captivating scent enveloping him like a warm embrace. The gentle brush of your hand against his thigh ignited an indescribable sensation deep within him. In that moment, he wished for time to stand still, for this instant to stretch into eternity. Just you and him, a world apart from everyone else—a world far from Sebastian. It all faded into obscurity. It was as if only the two of you existed in that space.

You couldn't help but notice how your presence seemed to have a calming effect on him. Your fingers traced a gentle, reassuring path up and down his thigh, and a soft, affectionate grin danced at the corners of your lips as you observed him intently. He looks so sweet…

In this sanctuary, Ominis felt a newfound comfort, an urge to confide in you, to lay bare everything that had tormented him, and perhaps even to express the emotions he'd kept concealed for so long. He yearned to spill it all out, to finally lay his heart on the table.

Just as he was about to speak, a subtle squeeze from your hand against his thigh brought him back to reality. His lashes faltered, and with a soft, deliberate hold, his hand grazed against yours, seemingly hesitant to speak.

His lips were parted, and for a brief moment, he seemed as if he was on the brink of saying something, but his lips drew a line. Instead, he took in a deep breath, casually flipping to the next page in his book with a flick of his wand.

"You needn’t worry about me, I'm fine," Ominis insisted, his words carefully neutral. "I just couldn’t find sleep."

You sighed, not entirely convinced by his statement, but willing to go with it. "How come?" You inquired gently, your fingers naturally gravitating toward the comforting warmth of his inner thigh.

His breath hitched for a mere second, the feeling of your hand tantalizingly close clouded his mind with your sweet, intoxicating presence.

"Sleep often seems to evade me more times than I care to count. So I opted for some light reading in the common room last night," he began, his voice steady. A momentary pause followed as he carefully considered his next words. He taps his nail against the parchment with an unsettledness. “Just as I was wrapping up on my reading, a rather… perplexing encounter held me.”

His eyes lined up with keen perception as he sensed your hand twitch in response to his words, a restrained, sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew he had you hooked.

"Oh? And… who might’ve that been?" Your words faltered, your heart beginning to race as the realization set in, that you had unwittingly walked into his cunning little trap.

"Sebastian," he stated firmly, the pretense of an unruffled countenance still in place as he smoothly turned to the next page in his book.

"S— Sebastian, huh?" You gradually withdrew your hand from his thigh, fingers curling around the contours of your book as you anxiously flipped through several pages.

"Any thoughts on why he might have been up after curfew?" He nonchalantly twirled his wand between his fingers, deliberately taking his time as he keenly detects your composure slowly unraveling beside him.

"No— not at all. Why would I have any insight?” You brought your hand to your lips, your teeth nibbling nervously at your nails as your thoughts begin to race.

"Really, now?" He leaned back, drawing in a deep breath as he meticulously assessed the situation. "I had thought you two were rather… close. Mayhaps I judged wrong," he mused, his finger idly tracing the edges of his book, waiting for your next answer.

You cleared your throat, collecting your hair in your hands as you lifted it up off your neck and sweeping it aside to cool off.

“We should get back to studying, Ominis.” You mumbled quietly, adverting your attention back to your books.

A pit formed within his midriff, an uneasy sensation coursing through him as he discerned that you had just lied to him and casually brushed aside his inquiry. Lost in his thoughts, something had sparked his attention, a faint, distant sound emanating several tables away. His ears perked as he found himself inexplicably drawn into the poison of hushed whispers and muted laughter.

"Did you see that mark on her neck?"

"Gods, what is it?"

"Isn't it obvious? It's a hickey!"

"Merlin's Beard... who do you think it was?"

"I bet you 5 Galleons it was Sebastian Sallow."

"What— no way."

"You think she's been snogging Sallow?"

"By the looks of it, she's been doing more than just snogging." The subdued group of students snickered amongst themselves.

"And…. guess what I saw last night… I saw the two of them leaving the castle after curfew."

"What, really..? That's foul... and she has the audacity to put her hands all over Gaunt— are you going to report it to the Headmaster?"

“Not yet, I’m waiting for the perfect moment.”

“You sneaky little minx.”

“She deserves it. I can’t wait to see her crumble.”

"She should be ashamed of herself...”

"Isn't one enough? Leave the rest of them for us."

“She’s such a slut.”

A flush of crimson spread across Ominis' face as his anger surged like a rising tide within. His fists clenched together in a white-knuckled grip, his imagination running wild with scenarios from last night, each one more maddening than the last. Thoughts became an impenetrable fog, clouding his usually sharp mind. His jaw clenched as he slammed his book shut, the resounding thud echoing throughout the library. He stormed out, leaving behind a wake of turbulent emotions.

Ominis could hear his heart ringing in his ears. The whole world around him fading into a distant blur as he pushed himself through the crowded halls. His nails dig into the handle of his wand as anger, frustration, and jealousy envelopes him whole. The thought of you doing something so vile with his best friend tinged his heart. He felt as if the air was sucked right out of his lungs, his own emotions strangling him.

You sat there, bewildered by his sudden outburst. Trying to make sense of what just happened, you close your books in a hurry, leaving them behind as you quickly followed suit. Your eyes glued to the back of his pristine button-up as you chased after him, deftly slipping through the turbulent sea of students and nearly stumbling over an outstretched foot.

"Om— Ominis, wait…" your voice caught as you hastily found your footing, resolutely following his swift path into an unassuming classroom, leaving behind a clear path of confused faces.

As you enter the classroom, your eyes swept across the empty space, finding no trace of Ominis. You take a hesitant step back, perplexed. Suddenly, the wooden doors behind you click shut. You quickly pivot around to find Ominis standing there, blocking the only exit out.

“Ominis…” you muttered, standing there frozen and confused as an uneasiness settled within your midriff.

His eyes almost gleamed with a shade of green, as if a dormant darkness within him had awakened. A pure-blood Gaunt, a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, the snake with no eyes, now revealed itself. His once-hidden frustrations surged to the surface, directed towards you. His body burned with resentment, hands trembling at his sides.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice low and tinged with a threatening edge, leaving no room for evasion or lies. "What were you doing with Sebastian last night?"

A sudden chill runs down your spine, as if he could actually see into your soul. You stagger back, your heart racing in response to his probing question.

"What do you mean..?" you stammered, desperately searching your mind for any little thing to grab at.

Your heart pounded in your chest, caught between the fear of angering him and the guilt of keeping the truth from him. You hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of Ominis’ words pressing down on you, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit it, not yet. The room seemed to close in and crackle with tension, clashing with your desire to protect the truth.

"I— I was…" your words faltered as Ominis took an intimidating step forward. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, struggling to find the right words. Your tongue felt heavy, surrendering yourself to complete silence.

Suddenly, he lunges forward, his fingers wrapping around your jaw, pivoting you around, and slamming you against the closed doors. His breath brushes against your lips as he leans in, his eyes effortlessly locked onto yours.

You winced, your eyes squeezing tight from the sudden force, his hold around your jaw softening as his fingers grazed down your neck.

"You were?" He asked, his voice baring a darkness you hadn’t seen before.

"I... I was just... studying," you muttered, attempting to maintain the facade, but the heat of his body pressed against yours and his possessive hold shattered your composure.

Your mind raced, torn between your desire to protect Sebastian and the overwhelming presence of Ominis. His demeanor was suffocating, hard to resist the urge to spill the truth, but you stubbornly clung to your feeble lie.

Every word you spoke, every lie you told, was like fuel to the fire. His fingers encircled around your throat, tightening with warning. "Tell me then, what's this?" he inquired, the pads of his fingers pressing into the tender, bruised skin below your jaw.

You yelped, your hand reaching for his wrist in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pressure. He took your hand in his, pinning it against the wooden doors. With a low, frustrated growl, he eased his grip from around your throat, his fingers still remaining over the mark.

“Speak,” he said, as if you were some pet of his to command.

You gasped, finally able to breathe, your head spinning. "Ominis, what's happened to you?" you whispered, your voice colored with confusion.

He grew tired of waiting for an answer. His mind filling in all the details on its own. He pushes your jaw to the side with his thumb as he leans into the crook of your neck, his breath scraping against your skin. His soft lips brushed across your bruise, that same dark whisper filling his head with poisoned words.

“You like this?” He growled, his lips barely transgressing against your skin.

Your voice caught in your throat as Ominis' grip tightened, preventing you from speaking.

"Have something to say, do you?" Ominis’ voice dripped with irritation at your feeble attempt to speak.

An agonizing silence enveloped the room as you nervously shook your head in response.

"I didn’t think so." He sinks his teeth into your bruise, eliciting a pained wince from your lips. The warm caress of his tongue against your skin, paired with his piercing teeth digging into your neck sent an indescribable sensation pooling between your thighs. His hand snaked from your throat and down your waistline, gripping into your hip. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his knee stopped you from squeezing your thighs together.

He had you within his grasp, a pretty little thing trembling against the doors. In this moment, you were unequivocally his, a possession to be claimed. The air felt thick and heavy. He relished in the power he held over you, knowing he could do anything to you. It was crystal clear: You were his to mark, not Sebastian’s, his. And he intended to make that known.

"You like being a little slut for me?" He drags his lips agonizingly slow against your skin, catching your breath.

Despite the fear and the turbulent emotions, an undeniable surge of desire coursed through you. Ominis' dominance had awakened a primal longing within you, and your response was unmistakable. Your breath hitched, and your body caved into your desire, your hips arching slightly against his knee.

Ominis was acutely aware of your response. A sly smirk curled his lips as he felt the subtle shift in your body, the way you arched against his knee, the way your arm fell limp within his grasp, and the subtle wavering within your breath. It was evident of the power he held over you.

Ominis couldn’t help but taunt you further, his voice dripping with possessiveness and a hint of cruelty. “You feel that?” he whispered, pressing his knee against your damp knickers.

Overcome by lust, you found yourself writhing in place, unable to contain the fiery yearning that coursed through your veins. Your heart hammered within your chest, a relentless rhythm of anticipation and longing, each beat echoing the insatiable need for more. Every inch of your skin felt like it was burning, burning for his touch.

Ominis, consumed by his desire, pushed your thighs apart with a dominating force, making it clear who was in control. He pressed his hips into you, his hunger evident in the way he held you against the doors. There was no denying the raw and burning need he felt for you in that moment.

“You like being fucked so hard there’s bruises all over your pretty little skin?” He growled through gritted teeth, his grip around your wrist constricting. The anger in his voice sent tremors through your body, leaving you almost afraid to utter a word. A barely audible gasp escaped your trembling lips.

He couldn't fathom how you could lose your self-control so easily under such circumstances. His mind seethed with jealousy and anger. Were you always this easy to rile up? Is this what you and Sebastian do when he’s not around? Is that what you want from him? Unable to contain his rage any longer, he lashed out, slamming his hands against the wooden doors, staggering backwards.

"Is this what you want? Isn't Sebastian enough for you? You think you can go around putting your pretty little hands on guys and expect us to fuck you? You're— you’re such a..." He growled, his voice a mixture of anger and hurt.

Ominis leaned back against an empty desk, running his fingers over his jaw, a look of shame crossing his face. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he attempted to collect himself, but the damage was done. He knew he had lost control and shattered any chance of friendship that remained between the two of you. With a heavy sigh, he buried his face in his trembling hand, overwhelmed by the strangling feeling he has in his heart.

You were left speechless, your heart aching at his distress. With cautious steps, you moved towards him, your hand finding purchase against his shoulder as your thumb brushed with a soothing comfort.

"Ominis…" you whispered softly, your voice wavering with concern and immense sadness. "Please, just talk to me… What's going on with you? Why did you say such hurtful things?"

You settled down next to him, your hand gently gliding down his back. "This… this isn't like you, Ominis..." You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his waist, embracing him from behind.

The softness within your voice melted away all his defenses. Unable to contain his turmoil any longer, he began to unravel, pouring out the torment that had consumed him. His voice quivered. It sounded like he was on the brink crying. Your embrace around him tightened, unable to bear the sound of his shuddering voice.

"Please…" your voice trembled as you pleaded in him, the agonizing prick of tears welling within your eyes.

Ominis drew in a deep breath, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. Slowly, he lifted his head from his hand, his gaze, blankly fixed upon the floor.

"It was him, wasn't it?" His voice held a note of anguish, as if he didn’t want the truth at all.

"What was him?" You asked gently, lifting your head from his shoulder and resting your chin against its curve.

He took a few moments, taking in deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to come to terms with it himself. “That bruise along your neck… It was Sebastian.”

"What?" You furrowed your eyebrows, your fingers instinctively brushing across the mark that adorned itself just below your jaw. "This?" Confusion filled your voice as your mind raced with questions. “No— Sebastian never hurt me, why would you think that?”

He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, his hands clenching in visible disarray. "Not hurt you…" he uttered with an evident struggle in his voice. His head turns toward you as you break from the one-sided embrace. Your eyes traced along his pained face, tears glossing over. You tenderly cupped his cheek, urging him to face you.

“Ominis…” you murmured softly. “What then?”

He slowly picked his arm up, his fingers gliding over your caress with gentleness, nuzzling his cheek into your hand. This warmth was what he so desperately needed. His gaze lowered with somberness, his other hand reaching out to hold yours within your lap.

He shifted towards you, his hand falling from his cheek, finding purchase against your thigh. He appeared hesitant, at a loss for words— his mind wrangling with itself to even speak.

"That mark," he started, his head still lowered. "It was from making love, wasn't it?"

You sat there, blinking for a moment, caught off guard by his accusation. Speechless, you almost let out a baffled laugh but quickly restrained it. "Making love?" you retorted, your hand lowering from his cheek as you wrapped your fingers around his nape, drawing him in closer.

You pressed your forehead against his, gazing into his soft ocean eyes. "Listen to me, Ominis… There’s nothing going on between me and Sebastian,” you hushed, your voice filled with sincerity.

He pulls away with furrowed brows, disbelief etched across his face. You clasped your hands around his, pulling him back in. "Ominis, please… This bruise here, it was from an encounter with goblins. Sebastian and I… we snuck out of the castle last night. We wanted to have a little fun, go for a midnight adventure,” you paused briefly, a heavy sigh filling the air. “But I… I got into a little trouble. I messed up my footing and a goblin attacked me. I was exhausted. Sebastian had to carry me back to the castle… I’m so sorry, Ominis. I should’ve been honest with you… I had no idea how much this pained you."

He felt ashamed, he felt hopeless, and he felt so, so indescribably ignorant. The weight of his emotions hung heavy within the air.

“I promise you, there’s no other man out there that has my heart,” you continued softly, your words piquing his interest. Ominis slowly lifted his chin as his gaze fell upon you.

Your lips curled into a sweet smile, brushing your thumb in soothing circles over his hands. “No one else, but you.”

His lashes faltered, and that very pit within his stomach had completely vanished. He felt all the heaviness within him lifted, the venomous whispers within his head— gone, replaced by a sense of clarity and peace."No one else?" He asked softly, his voice broken.

“Ominis, I love you… I love you so much that it pains me. It pains me to see you like this. I fell in love with that very sweetness you hold so deep within your heart. You’re someone special to me…” you wavered, the weight of your confession hanging in the air, your heart pounding within your chest as the gravity of your words settled between you both like a weightless plume.

He gently withdraws his hand from your grasp, his fingers tenderly tracing along your jaw as he clasped his hand just below your ear. His soft touch sent a shiver down your spine as he tilts your head back, his thumb brushing against your cheek, pressing his longing lips against yours.

Your eyes fluttered shut, savoring the sweet taste of his affection, your lips molding together in a tender, passionate kiss. In that moment, the world around you faded into insignificance. Everything that had just transpired, gone. All that remains now is the unyielding confession of love. The kiss lingered until he finally pulled away, his lips hovering just an inch from yours.

His warm breath caressed your lower lip as he spoke in an unwavering, gentle, and remorseful tone. "I've loved you from the moment I met you, more deeply than I could ever express. I've tried to hide it, to bury it, but it's always been there… burning within me. You mean more to me than words can convey, and I can't imagine my life without you."

Ominis’ voice quivered with emotion, "I love you with everything I am, and I always will, no matter what. I love you, all that you are, my dear little bird. I’m so… so so—"

You cut him off before he sank back into his darkness, your lips locking together in a fervent embrace. His brows furrowed as his lips followed suit, firmly. The kiss deepened, a passionate, unending surge of emotion that left you both breathless. In that moment, it felt like everything had finally fallen into place, and your hearts were bound together as one.

You wanted to reassure him, to make him understand that he had nothing to worry about. Your heart belonged to him and him alone. You hooked your leg over Ominis’ hip, gently lowering yourself into his lap. He wrapped his hand around your waist with a tender embrace.

With a shared urgency, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth, eliciting soft sigh past his lips. In the midst of your heated kisses, soft whispers of, “I love you,” flowed freely between you both. It was as if those three words had become a cherished refrain, a reminder of your unwavering love for each other, and neither of you could get enough of it.

Your kisses became a sweet storm. Peppering his lips as your hands cradled his jaw, your hips moving in a rhythm of their own, swaying with the desire that coursed through your veins.

A burning sensation snapped you back to reality, a tantalizing stiffness pressing against your knickers, awakening you from the flames. You were acutely aware of the desire that had burned between you.

Unable to resist, you both tumbled against the desk, your lips still locked in a fiery embrace. The kisses turned heated, sloppy, and wet as you explored eachothers cavity with unbridled hunger. His grip around your hip tightened, pressing you firmly against his arousal, a quiet moan of pleasure escaped your lips. Desire pooled between your thighs, wetting his trousers from the friction.

With a final, lingering kiss, you gradually poised yourself up, straddling him with your hands pressed against his chest. Your cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, but something about his presence made you feel safe and unashamed. The embarrassment you anticipated seemed to melt away in his soft, gentle touch.

A sweet, contented smile graced your lips as you began to roll your hips, a gentle grind that pressed your soaked knickers against his clothed arousal, eliciting a soft, quiet hum from Ominis’ lips.

He tilted his head back with a warm moan, the sharp contour of his jaw capturing your attention. You reached for his hands, delicately intertwining your fingers with his, guiding his touch as you circled your hips. A quiet sigh of pleasure escaped your lips, filling the thick air around you.

Ominis’ lips parted, eliciting an unrestrained moan as his cock twitches beneath you. He lost full control over his hips, incapable to stop them from moving in rhythm with yours. This was everything he had ever yearned for— your sweet hands in his, the soft, quiet moans that slipped past your lips, the constant whispers of affirmation. Yet, amidst this symphony of pleasure, there was one thing he longed to hear… the sweet sound of you moaning his name.

Feeling your hands withdraw from their loving embrace and hearing the subtle rustling of fabric above him, Ominis reached out, gently clasping your hands in his once again.

"Allow me," he whispered in a tender tone, his desire to adore you evident in his gentle pale eyes.

Your hands slowly dropped as he began to unbutton your blouse with a tantalizing slowness, savoring every moment so he could etch this memory into eternity. His fingers brushed across your shoulders, unable to resist the urge to whisper with admiration, "So soft..." He slid your blouse over your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your elbows. Your fingers curled under the rim of his trousers, eagerly reciprocating the desire.

Ominis, however, wasn't met with the expected sensation of a bra strap along your shoulders. Instead, he found himself intrigued, his fingers tracing down your collarbone until they reached the supple, sensitive flesh at the curve of your breast. His feather-light touch sent a cascade of goosebumps dancing across your skin, eliciting a subtle sigh of approval from your parted lips. His large hands then enveloped your breast, gently squeezing and kneading without hesitation.

Your eyes locked onto his almost devious grin. You unhooked your fingers from under his trousers and smoothly shimmied the rest of your blouse off, your gaze then moving toward his buttoned shirt, relinquishing it’s hold. You pushed open the flaps of his shirt, your eyes feasting on the sight of his well-formed figure. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as your fingers trailed down his chest, tracing the dots that adorned his pale flesh in a playful zigzag pattern until they reached his hip. He was truly a vision of beauty, and in this moment, you couldn't fathom how he could doubt your desire for him over anyone else, even Sebastian.

"Ominis… I want you," you whispered, the words dripping with desire.

"Then take me," he dared, his expression sweet and inviting, in stark contrast to everything below.

Your cheeks blazed with a deep, rosy hue as you bit into your cheek, his words leaving you breathless with desire. With a sultry grace, you lifted yourself onto your knees, your hands working deftly to tug down his trousers and briefs just enough to reveal his hard, throbbing cock. It was much larger than you had imagined when you were grinding against him, and the sight left you speechless. Even his length was adorned with a scattering of freckles.

His hands, warm and tender, snaked up your thighs, just under your skirt, cradling them with a gentle hold. He showed incredible patience, letting you take your time and go at your own pace. You reached below you, your fingers curling around the soaked fabric that clung to your heated flesh. Pulling them aside, you wrapped your fingers around his base, slowly lowering yourself onto him.

The pink crown of his arousal glistened with pre-cum, slipping between your slick folds as you guided him into your eager core. His length squeezed into you inch by inch, eliciting a joined shudder. Ominis tightened his grip around your thighs as he felt your cunt slowly enveloping his length, drawing him deeper inside you. A hushed wince escaped your lips as he pushed you firmly against his hips.

A low, guttural curse slipped from Ominis’ tongue, the agonizing sensation of your tight cunt gripping around his cock with raw hunger.

With slow, deliberate movements, you took control, lifting your hips and sensually lowering yourself onto him, savoring every inch of his throbbing desire as it filled you completely. Finding a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies. Ominis' hands ventured further under your skirt, his fingers clasping possessively around your hips, pressing deeply into your skin as you surrendered yourself to the veil of desire.

The sensation of his pulsating cock reaching deep within you, hitting the depths of your cunt and clenching around his cock in a strangling hold. It was everything he had ever fantasized about. The tantalizing stride and rolls of your hips, the softness and warmth of your skin touching his. The labored breaths and sweet moans he elicited out of you, it felt so fucking good.

The way you rolled your hips and took his cock like it was meant for you. How your body trembled every time he hit that sensitive spot. The desperate moans escaping your lips as he started to force your movements quicker by your hips. It drove him mad, mad for you. He craved more, wanting to hear those pretty little lips of yours gasp and scream his name, and he knew exactly how to make that happen.

With a firm grip around your hips, he easily maneuvered, rolling you onto your back and positioning himself over you. With one hand supporting his weight, his other guided the underside of your thigh until it was pressed against your side.

"Ominis, wai—"

He silenced your protests with a deep, penetrating thrust that sent a loud moan spilling from your lips. His nails dug into the soft flesh of your thigh as a sly grin curled at the corners of his lips. Your slick cunt tightened around his cock as he continued with long, measured strides in and out of your slick heat, drawing a soft yelp from the depths of your throat. Your hand clutched around his forearm, anchoring yourself as he quickened his pace.

"Ah, fuck..." you winced, furrowing your brows in pleasure as he drove into you relentlessly.

A deep, guttural groan reverberated within his throat as he reveled in the tightness of your cunt. He shifted his hand from your thigh to support his weight against the desk, looming over you with a demeanor that made you feel small and trapped beneath his towering figure.

He may be blind, but Ominis was attuned to your every desire, intimately aware of what turned you on. A sly grin danced along his lips as he continued his relentless thrusts, each one hitting that sweet spot that drove you mad.

He swooped down, burying his face into the crook of your neck as his labored breaths crashed against your skin. The sweet sound of your whimpers riled something familiar within him. "You like that?" he growled against your neck.

You gasped, your nails digging into his forearm as your body shuddered from his words. A subtle sneer lathered your tender neck with hungry kisses and soft bites.

His lips trailed sensuously along your neck, planting soft, teasing kisses against your earlobe. “I know you like this,” he grunted, his hips driving into you with hard, measured thrusts that left you gasping with desperate approval. The needy whines that escaped your lips were all the affirmation he needed. His tongue traced the contours of your ear, soft nips and low growls that sent shivers down your spine.

"Oh fuck, Ominis..." you pleaded, gasping for air as he relentlessly pounded into you.

“You’re so tight…” he snarled, his voice thick with desire, peppering your ear and neck with a trail of hungry kisses and licks. His pace slowed into long, tantalizing strides, all the while bearing knowing smile.

"Ominis, please..." you whimpered softly, your nails digging further into his skin.

"Please, what?" His voice shuddered, sinking his teeth into your neck as he maintained his steady pace.

"Oh, fuck… please—"

He hummed against your skin, seemingly oblivious to your intent, relishing in the sweet desperation of your trembling voice.

"Please… fuck me harder," you exasperated, writhing beneath him.

He gripped your hip in place, preventing your movements as he continued with his slow, ruthless strides.

"What’s my name," he demanded, his voice a heated whisper against your ear.

You panted heavily, your thighs trembling at his hips, your voice a sultry plea, “Fuck me harder, Ominis…” Before you could finish the rest of his name, he slammed his hips into you with a hungry growl against your ear. You bucked your hips with an arch of your back, eliciting a yelp that echoed within the halls of the castle.

“Good girl,” he whispered, sending an intoxicating blaze of fire coursing through your body. With every forceful thrust, a torrent of pleasure surged within you, an unrelenting tempest that threatened to consume your very being. A knot of insatiable desire coiled deep within your midriff, pulling tighter with each invasion of his hips.

Sweat glistened across your entwined bodies, his movements a fevered dance of untamed lust and longing. Your nails etched fiery trails along Ominis’ back, branding him with your passion. The pain that etched along his back soon became pleasure as he lost full control of himself. The classroom echoed with a crescendo of fervent gasps and uninhibited moans.

As he surrendered to his primal desires, his voice became a sultry serenade, a soft trail of parseltongue with unbridled lust slipping from his lips like a seductive spell. He teetered on the precipice of release, the moment of climax drawing tantalizingly near with each scorching thrust.

His head hangs low, driven by an insatiable need as he plunges deep into you, his hips etching a delicious soreness into your supple flesh. Your thighs trembled against his hips, helpless to resist the throbbing sensation as he fills your needy little cunt to the brim, spewing threads of his warm, sticky desire that claimed you as his.

Exasperated curses punctuated the air, escaping your lips as your body contracts beneath his rigid thrusts. Your back arches with a deep curve, your hips locked in a drunken lust as he fills you to the rim. Ominis hovers above you, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, his thoughts lost in the intoxicating haze of euphoria.

A heated warmth seeps from your defiled cunt, dribbling sensuously against the smooth wooden desk beneath you. Ominis, with a heavy and contented sigh, begins to slowly withdraw, his cock sliding out with a wet, suctioning noise that lingers in the air.

You gaze at him through half-lidded lashes, your face carrying the unmistakable weight of exhaustion, each breath labored with fire. Ominis' well-satisfied cock twitches, strings of cum dripping from his tip.

With an almost inconceivable smirk, Ominis runs his fingers through his tousled hair, his freckled cheeks flushed from exertion. “You’re mine, you know that?” He said softly, delicate beads of sweat tracing along the contours of his midriff, a captivating sight only for you to see.

You nodded obediently, with a soft, weary sigh, “I’m yours.”

He left you utterly spent, your body feeling heavy against the wooden desk. Your legs remained parted, trembling from the aftermath, as you struggled to catch your breath, your mind remained shrouded in a tantalizing fog of lingering lust.

“Ominis…” your voice wavered, still carrying the heat of the fervent moment.

A mischievous chuckle escaped his lips as he gazed at you with desire-fueled hunger. “Round two?” His suggestion hung in the air, a tempting invitation to plunge back into the depths of pleasure once more.

[dadsbongos]

i loved that denji one ty 😝🤘u said u've been wanting to write for him? ur in luck cuz i can only think about him 😎😎

how about (fem) reader is sick or something and denji's there to take care of her but like he sucks at it and he doesnt know the fever temps (cuz that'd be pretty funny)

or switched and reader takes care of sick denji :)

ok i know... i know you said him being bad at it is funny... but i think aki having forced him to become a good nurse is sillier

645 words -- not proofread :/

~~~

“I knew you were hot,” Denji wiggles the thermometer in front of your sweaty face, grinning despite the miserable downturn of your lips.

“Denji.”

“Sorry,” he huffs, studying the dial again and sucking air through his jagged teeth, “This is shit, though. You’re boiling.”

You nod sluggishly, “I know, Denji.”

“That’s seriously bad.”

“I know, Denji.”

He frowns, bending down to wring a towel through cool water before laying it over your forehead. Smoothing down the cloth just because he feels useless otherwise. Denji gnaws his bottom lip as he thinks, sitting on the edge of your bed to hold your clammy hand.

“Do you want soup?” he murmurs unsurely, watching you wince and swallow hard before nodding slowly. With a new and apparent objective in mind, Denji beams down at you before rushing off, “Okay!”

Soon after, he returns with an off-white bowl shaking in his hands before sitting beside you again on the bed. You blink up at him with crinkly, boogery eyes and croak out desperately, “...chicken noodle?”

“Chicken noodle,” Denji nods surely, spooning soup up and into your mouth, “I tried not to make the broth too hate.”

“Thanks, Denji.”

“‘Cuz if I burned your tongue I think I’d skin my hand.”

You chuckle weakly, sputtering phlegm and wheezing as you do before soothing a hand over your chest, “Thanks, Denji.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” he happily feeds you more soup, feeling his whole body go lighter and lighter the longer you go eating his food without throwing it up. He knows it’s a little strange, but he remembers eating all of Aki’s cooking because he wanted Aki to know he appreciated it -- and he prays now that you might have the same motivation.

“Tea,” you’re mostly mouthing the word, desperate to avoid harsh scratching against the sore spot in the back of your throat. 

“Tea!” he hugs the emptied bowl to his chest (still getting the drippy remnants of chicken noodle soup on his shirt), prepared to rush out of your shared bedroom before pausing, “With honey, right?”

You nod sluggishly, yawning into the open air.

Denji’s eyes light up excitedly, “Lots of honey, right?”

Again, you nod. More so to entertain Denji than anything.

When he returns, it's with a steaming mug and a spoon in his mouth. You point at the spoon with a shaky finger and he speaks clumsily around it, “Honey!” he plucks out the spoon and lays it in his lap when he sits to avoid setting it on your nice dresser. Then he hands the warm mug to you, “And honey here, for my honey.”

You grimace playfully, rasping a “corny”, before blowing into the tea and sipping. 

“‘s true,” he wants to lay down with you, but you’d whack him upright -- too stacked with preemptive guilt of spreading germs onto Denji to let him cuddle you. 

“My neck feels slimy…”

“Shit,” he feels over the folded cloth on your head, “It’s warm!” he dips his fingertips into the large bowl of water he kept to re-moisten the cloth, “Warm!”

Denji runs off to the bathroom and soaks the cloth in cold water to slick over your feverish forehead before refilling the water bowl. Your heavy eyes follow him through the doorways, he stumbles and his hands are unsteady but he’s helpful. You’re sure Aki whipped him into shape on one of his rare sick days. Then, the thought of Power strikes and you’re almost giggling aloud -- what a nightmare that Fiend would be if she got ill.

“Back!” Denji cheers, settling the bowl down and stirring a single finger through the iced water, “Nice and cold for ya. If you overheated that’d be bad.”

“I know, Denji.”

“‘Cuz I don’t want you sick anymore,” he pouts.

Soothed by good humor, you smile genuinely and wave off his worry, “I know, Denji.”

[ckret2]

Chapter 15 of Bill's a human prisoner and everybody's grumpy about it, featuring: NIGHTMARES NIGHTMARES NIGHTMARES NIGHTM

Remember these? We're getting 'em both in one chapter. Plus: FORD! Also: a little bit of human gore, a lot of bizarre alien gore.

This is a shorter chapter, but it's the first one with a direct glimpse into Bill's backstory and home dimension. I hope you enjoy! And are deeply horrified!

####

"You have to stop spouting this nonsense." A golden line slithered around him, weaving back and forth, her furious eye focused on him as she paced. "Nobody comes to your services for deranged muttering about points of light in darkness. They don't want to hear about things that are above-but-not-north of us! What does that mean, above-but-not-north?"

"It means what it says, Mom." Above him—above, but not north, in an endless void outside the plane of the world—countless stars twinkled in an unending dark. "That's where the third dimension is. And that's what it looks like! I don't know how else to explain it to someone who hasn't seen it!"

"Then why explain it at all? They don't want to hear it! It's a surprise you aren't already losing congregants. I know you can tell you're losing their interest."

He could tell. Sullenly, he said, "Maybe we just—just need smarter congregants. If they weren't too stupid to understand—"

"People are stupid, sweetie. That's why they follow you. You don't want the smart ones anyway, or they'd be smart enough to see through all the lies you make up about the third dimension—"

"I'm not making it up!"

"Every week you talk about impossible places that can't exist! Either you're lying or insane—which is it?"

How could he answer that? He looked up into space, as if the distant stars only he saw could help him.

"Oh, don't do that, I hate when your eye goes white like that. It might impress your worshipers but it doesn't work on your mother, young triangle." She paced around him faster, coiling tighter, surrounding him on all sides in gold, her eye peering straight into his. "I don't care whether you're a liar or a lunatic—you're still my golden child, and everyone else will see that too as long as you tell them what we say. Nobody wants to hear that the third dimension is a dark, empty void! Tell them it's full of color and life! Tell them it's filled with the spirits of departed shapes, or messengers, divine guides, muses—"

"But it isn't! I don't care what they want it to be, it's not true! I'm trying to make them understand!" He had to make them understand, he needed somebody to understand. He thought he'd go insane if he was the only one who could see how empty and awful space was.

"I've listened to your gibberish about points of light and up-not-north for months and I don't understand it, so how can anyone else—"

"You're not trying to understand!" Space and all its vast emptiness was oh, so close, so achingly close. Pressing against everyone's bodies, breathing over their organs, lighting up those tight-coiled fibers beneath everyone's skin, shining on the bloody bones and thin muscles. "Either you're not listening or you're stupid!" How couldn't anyone else see space?

"How dare you—!"

How could they be close enough to touch it and still deny what it was?

Why was he the only freak who could bend up into it?

Her sharp tail cracked like a whip behind his base. "I'll teach you to talk back to me like that!"

His mind was feverish with anger, pulsing and roiling behind his eye—and for a moment, he wasn't afraid of anything.

She could bend and flex and coil, she was the most flexible line he'd ever seen. The doctors thought he might have inherited his ability to bend up-not-north from her, some genetic predisposition to flexibility. If he could bend UP, so could she. He'd make her. He'd force her. He'd show her.

He jammed his corner into her side. She shrieked, uncoiling from around him to scrunch around her wound. "Watch your— What are you—"

"You'll see," he said, shoving her against the wall, shoving her into a corner. "You'll see if it's the last thing you do!" It was like cramming a long rope into a short box; each time he shoved, she bent and curved and bent again.

"Stop—stop, it HURTS—"

He could see it in his mind's eye: if he kept pushing and pushing eventually there'd be no more room in two dimensional space for her to fill, and then she'd be forced to bend UP, up into the third dimension, all that open free space. Then she'dsee the dark, she'd see the far points of light—

"STOP!" She howled in pain. He kept pushing. She was out of room.

She didn't bend up.

He shoved—and she splintered. Bone snapping, cartilage tearing, he could see inside her thin body as things broke and ruptured.

He didn't know what to do.

And for several long, long seconds—he couldn't remember what was happening. The world seemed to bend wrong, rippling up-but-not-north and down-but-not-south, and his head swam and his vision blurred, and he couldn't remember.

Her skin fractured and peeled off, strand after strand. He’d seen grotesque injuries and rotting bodies before—he’d been in hospitals and seen through the bandages, been in graveyards and seen into the coffins, unable not to see though the doors and walls and tombs. He’d seen the way the skin came off, the way it split into hairy filaments as it loosened from the body, bristly around injuries or sloughed off whole from the long dead. But he'd never seen dead skin curl like his mother's, loosely zig-zagging back and forth and wrapping into spirals like the centers of flowers. It filled the spaces between his fingertips, wrapped up his arms. He could shut his eye but he still saw it through his eyelid, still felt it tickling at the corners of his mouth. 

Irrationally, wildly, hysterically, watching his mother die, he wondered—when he died, when he was a corpse, when he rotted—when his body split open in half from his burst eye, as the labyrinth of his guts bloated and unwound and inverted themselves to spill in sick threads from his mouth, and his skin peeled free, layer by hairy layer, from his eyelid out—would his rotting golden skin curl like his mother's had?

He knew it would. He knew it would. He knew it would.

####

He woke to moonlight streaming through curls upon curls of golden skin dangling in his eye, choking him on rot.

He squeezed his eyes shut, batted the hair aside, and forced himself to breathe until the nausea subsided.

He hated how humans dreamt.

He decided he didn't want any more sleep tonight.

He dragged himself upright, shambled downstairs, and tried to ignore the coils of his internal organs spilling out of his head and dangling around his face.

He needed a drink.

####

Ford woke up standing over a bed and a body.

He couldn't identify the shape or size of the body under the sheets, due to how badly it was contorted and the way the dark pools of blood in the bedsheets distorted the shadows. All he could see was the head: a flash of a pale cheek turned away, and the unmistakeable Pines hair curls. The hair was matted with blood.

Ford's hands were coated in hot blood and cold blue flames. There was a nauseating metallic taste in his mouth and something thick and warm dripping down his chin.

He heard a quiet chuckle. He whipped around to face it—

And saw himself reflected in a triangular window, a gray shade. He was smiling so widely he could see moonlight glinting off his molars. His slitted eyes glowed a sickly yellow.

Ford woke up staring at the ceiling. He licked his lips; reassuringly dry. He held up his hands; clean.

He sighed.

Ford could roll over and go back to sleep. He'd gotten used to dreams like this decades ago; these days he hardly even had them. But he was already awake and irritated. He might as well pick up where he'd left his research at dinner time—do something that felt productive. He got up, fished a crumpled paper that said "Downstairs" out of his bedside stand and set it next to Stan's glasses, and crept out of the guest room to head for the vending machine.

Bill was in the kitchen.

Ford stopped in the next room, staring through the doorway. Bill was sitting in the dark, only his silhouette visible in the light through the window. He was hunched over the kitchen table, supported on his elbows, unmoving. Ford couldn't see Bill's reflection in the window. Not even his eyes.

Ford wondered what he dreamed about. Perhaps the thrill of possessing people.

He was half tempted to confront Bill—demand to know what he was up to—but, Ford told himself, there was nothing to confront Bill for. They'd given him permission to use the kitchen freely. Bill wasn't up to anything. It was well within his rights to sit silently at the table in the dark.

Ford just didn't like it.

He crept into the living room. Bill never noticed him.

####

Dipper divided the nightmares he'd been having since last summer into two categories: the Bill nightmares; and the Bipper nightmares—which were, in a way, also Bill nightmares.

The Bill nightmares were just his regular nightmares, except that Bill was also in them. For Dipper, regular nightmares were a mishmash of fears, insecurities, chaos, and random weirdness. It was natural that Bill, the most terrifying entity Dipper had ever met, occasionally guest starred in his dreams. The problem was that, since Bill actually could invade dreams and always brought chaos and random weirdness in his wake, it was that much harder for Dipper to realize he was dreaming rather than actually facing Bill—and, once he woke up, harder for him to reassure himself it really was only a dream.

(Mabel told him she had similar problems, and it wasn't even limited to nightmares. Sometimes, no matter how sweet or unthreatening her dream was—and sometimes because it was so sweet—their erratic scene-changing logic-breaking wish-making nature gave her the creeping sense that she was trapped back in Mabeland. Not often, she said. But occasionally, when Dipper couldn't sleep either, he could hear her wake herself repeating "—I wanna go back to reality—I want to go back—go back to the real world," and then meow herself back to sleep.)

On the other hand, the Bipper nightmares were like no dreams he'd ever had before.

They might start out as normal nightmares—dreaming of a near death experience, or a monster charging at him, or some humiliation too deep to endure further sleeping through—until he jolted awake. Or he'd think he'd jolted awake—in truth, he'd just woken up into another dream, so realistic he thought he was awake until he realized he was hovering over his bed, and the world looked hazy and false, and his body was still beneath the covers. Just like when Bill had ripped him free of his body.

The first time he'd had the Bipper nightmare, Dipper thought Bill had taken over him again, and that at any moment his body would open its eyes and laugh at him. When that didn't happen, he thought he'd died. He'd flown to Mabel's room, to his parents', to Waddles, to the neighbors' houses, trying desperately to get someone's attention—and when nothing worked, he returned to his still body in despair and waited there, sure that in a few hours his parents would come to get him for school and find him dead...

But then he'd woken up. For real, this time. And then he woke the rest of the house with his screaming.

He learned to cope with these nightmares, both the Bill ones and the Bipper ones. He talked about them with Mabel during the day or went to her for reassurance at night. Sometimes he called Ford, if he and Stan were in a time zone where they'd still be awake. (Ford said he'd had nightmares for years about Bill invading his dreams—and almost none of them had been real. He said that his visits from Bill were usually less chaotic than a normal dream. Bill liked his weirdness but he liked being the center of attention more; he liked to stage his dreams like a movie director, keeping a firm grip on the setting and the narrative flow, snapping from location to location and moment to moment with an artistry that natural dreams didn't have. The muddled mundanity of your average nightmare was beneath Bill.)

And Dipper learned to wait out his Bipper nightmares. Sometimes he wandered the hallways, but he found that engaging with the dream tended to prolong it; instead, if he stayed by his body and didn't do anything, eventually he'd drift back into deep sleep and wake back up. He started keeping a radio on at night—he could hear it in his sleep—and listening to the weird 3 a.m. broadcasts kept him entertained enough until he woke.

####

But since returning to Gravity Falls, Dipper had found a new way to deal with his nightmares:

Yelling at Bill about them.

Tonight, he was having his guilt-dream about his dad asking why he'd given up kickboxing; until the dream was interrupted by Bill emerging from the refrigerator to announce that Weirdmageddon was opening a second location in Piedmont and then throw a rabid skunk at Dipper's face. Dipper had woken up too angry to think straight, stomped to Bill's empty window seat, and then stomped downstairs.

He found Bill sitting in the kitchen in the dark, washing down a bag of cookies with a pack of hard cider and staring out at the night. Dipper stopped in the doorway. "You!"

Bill turned to give Dipper a bleary-eyed look. "Me?" 

"Stop messing with my dreams and stay out of my head!"

"Beg pardon?" Bill's eyelids were desynchronized as he slowly blinked. "I'm just..." He gestured vaguely around the kitchen with a mostly-empty cider can. "I am just—sitting here."

"You've been in my nightmares all year," Dipper said hotly, even as he was waking up enough to realize that Bill, down here in the kitchen, probably wasn't influencing his dreams. "So just—just..." This was stupid. "Cut it out, man."

"You've been dreaming about me? How sweet." Bill gave Dipper a mocking grin, propped his chin in his hand, propped his elbow on the table, actually missed putting his elbow on the table by at least six inches, and fell to the ground with a yelp.

Dipper stared tiredly at Bill cackling on the floor, and turned around and trudged upstairs.

Dipper found that, whenever he had nightmares about golden geometric apocalypses, it was reassuring to get an instant reminder that Bill had been nowhere near his head. Even if he thought Bill was laying on the "helpless human" act a little thick.

####

(I'm still recovering from Health Junk, so if you've got any comments, I'd deeply appreciate them now even more than I usually do. Thank you, y'all readers and commenters and friends are really keeping me going during this time of feeling like a pile of half-sentient gunk. 🙏✨)

[avatar-anna]

Hunger

summary: harry reflects on a relationship that's long over

words: 6k

Candles burnt down to the floor, wearing less than you were before, shoes sitting by the door, never put them on. We would stay in the house for days, spilling breakfast on pillowcases, your stuff don’t taste the same, now that you’re gone.

Harry sat alone in his kitchen, his fingers clasped around a pale blue mug. The lip was chipped and the paint had visible streaks on it. It stood out against the rest of his collection of pristine, white and navy blue mugs, but his hand always reached for the same one that he should’ve thrown out by now. 

The high-pitched shriek of the kettle startled him away from his thoughts, though he wasn’t thinking so much as staring blankly at the pair of little initials and the date scribbled on the bottom of the mug.

He prepped his tea, his movements mechanical as he relied on muscle memory to guide him through his kitchen. When he finally slumped back into his seat at the kitchen table, he looked around. He used to think the table would one day be surrounded by high chairs and littered with sippy cups and homemade placemats. The fantasy was so clear in his head it felt real.

Now he felt nothing.

Harry took a sip from the mug and grimaced. He didn’t know why he still had this flavor of tea, he’d always preferred something more floral. But he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. She always insisted on having a box of it in the house at all times. Harry always secretly hated it, but now he was drinking her tea from her favorite mug.

Each sip brought back a new memory; puzzle pieces fell into place until four years worth of a relationship laid itself out in front of him.

“Don’t go yet,” he said.

The morning air prickled his bare shoulders, but he didn’t bother with clothes. He hoped they wouldn’t be necessary in the next few minutes. 

“‘Don’t go?’” she repeated. “I haven’t been home in three days.”

The last few days replayed in his mind like an achingly sweet summer melody.

Harry had always loved the beginning of a relationship. The giddy uncertainty, the easily flushed cheeks, butterflies that thrived all the time in lovesick bellies. He never thought anything could beat the initial euphoria of a budding romance. It was a practically perfect feeling.

“I want to make breakfast for you,” he said, not realizing the words were true until they were out of his mouth.

Her movements stilled. She’d been slowly slipping back into her clothes, had just been about to put on her shoes, when Harry made his offer. With one boot dangling from her hand, she seemed to consider her options.

“It’s not gonna be, like, beans on toast or anything like that, is it? I can fake a lot, but I don’t know if I can fake enjoy eating that.”

Laughing at her admission, Harry shook his head. “No, I will not make you eat beans on—Wait a minute. Did you fake anything the last three days?”

Her responding grin was coy. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You Americans are so brutal,” he said, clutching his chest as if he’d been wounded. “But now that you’ve said that, I simply cannot let you leave. I must rectify any ill performances on my part.”

He wasn’t actually upset by her teasing. He liked to think he was humble, but he also knew if he hadn’t been anything less than satisfactory, she wouldn’t have stayed at his place for three days.

Harry watched as the boot slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud. His grin widened when she came over to him and straddled his waist on the bed. Her kiss was soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that wasn’t rushed or feverish because they had plenty of time. It was the kind of kiss that gave him a feeling he wanted to chase for the rest of his life.

Carefully, he flipped her over so that she was on her back. With one last peck to her lips, he said, “Now, make yourself comfortable again and I’ll bring breakfast up for the two of us to share.”

“You want to eat up here?” she asked him. “We’re gonna get food all over your million threadcount, hand woven, personally delivered Egyptian sheets and pillowcases.”

“Oh hush.”

Since seeing and feeling his bed for the first time, she gawked at how cloud-like it felt and had teased him mercilessly when he rattled off a brand name and description that sounded about as expensive as the bed probably was. Harry put up with it, had found it funny, even. Her laugh was music to his ears and her smile was even moreso. She was beautiful in every possible way, and he wanted to keep her in his bed for as long as she would let him.

Sliding out of bed, Harry put on a pair of briefs and a robe before going to make breakfast. Something quick and easy. Not because he couldn’t do anything else, he just didn’t want to be away from her for so long. 

Harry had never felt like that before. There was this indescribable insatiability he developed when they met. He simply couldn’t get enough of her.

Thinking back to the first few stanzas of their epic, Harry waited for butterflies to flutter so much it made his head spin. But they didn’t come. The flame on their candle had burned out a long time ago. Now all he felt was the harsh reality of her absence.

I guess I’m prone to overthinking. One thing goes wrong and I can’t adjust. I’ve lost the taste for the good in us, and I’m sorry.

“So, Harry, tell me how you’ve been.”

Harry shrugged, looking down at the scuff marks on his shoes. “Fine, I guess.”

“I’m gonna need you to do a little better than that, Harry.”

He didn’t really have anything to give, though, so he just shrugged again. The woman sighed, and though he wasn’t looking at her, Harry imagined his therapist taking off her glasses to rub the lenses with her sweater.

He’d been seeing her on and off for the last few years, so they knew each other quite well, which did not work in Harry’s favor at the moment. She could tell he was hiding something, and she was patient enough to wait him out until he eventually told her what was on his mind.

But they only had an hour, and he could use a little push in the right direction.

“You’ve been thinking about her again.”

He shrugged again. “A little.”

“What about her?” she asked.

Confused, Harry looked up for the first time since the session started. “What do you mean?”

“Are you thinking about just her as a person? Oe the beginning of the relationship? The end?”

Harry’s foot began bouncing rapidly. “The end, I guess. Why it ended.”

“And why do you think it ended?” she asked him gently.

“I let my fears get the best of me, of us, I suppose.”

“So you get to live your dream, but I can’t live mine?”

“That’s not what I’m saying! I’m just asking you if you really thought about this. Japan is a big deal.”

“Have I really thought about this? This is what I’ve been waiting my whole career for! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and it sounds like you want me to turn it down.”

She was a journalist, trying to make her way in the fashion industry. When Harry met her, she was taking some no-name publication and rebuilding it from the ground up. She made it trendy and worth reading, and was praised for her work. But when an offer to be a head editor at Vogue Japan was made to her, she couldn’t believe how well her hard work paid off. 

And all Harry could do was ask if this was really what she wanted.

“Come on tour with me,” he said desperately. “We can be together and you’ll get experience—”

The emotions on her face switched from frustration to disbelief to anger when he made that suggestion. “That’s your solution? Giving me a handout?”

“No, of course not! I just want us to be together. Is that such a bad thing?”

“I—I can’t believe this. I thought you would be happy for me.”

“I am, darling. Please, I only meant—”

“I need some air,” she said suddenly. 

Grabbing her keys off the counter, she left, not saying if or when she’d be back. 

“But that’s not when you broke up, is it?” his therapist asked him. She’d heard bits and pieces of Harry’s relationship in previous sessions, but not enough to paint a full picture.

“No, but that was the beginning of the end. She took the job and moved, and I convinced myself I couldn’t do long distance. We’d done it when I went on tour and she had to stay behind and work, but this was different. More permanent.”

“And what about her? Could she handle the long distance?”

“She was willing to try.”

His therapist didn’t say anything for a while, considering her next questions and waiting to see if Harry would offer up anything else. He didn’t.

“How do you think you would respond now, if you were in that position again?”

“Wh—Why are you asking me that? It’s over. She hates me now.”

“Do you really think that?”

He wasn’t ready to answer that question. He didn’t want to consider the gut-wrenching possibility that she hated him. So he did what he’d been doing in these sessions lately. He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he answered her original question.

“I would fight for us,” he said. “I would do everything I could to make it work.”

Not mentioning how he ignored her other question, the therapist said, “So you still love her then.”

Harry hung his head and mustered a small nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I still love her.”

We had a hunger then, only each other then. Couldn’t get enough when we started. Always a hunger then, now it’s just emptiness. We were in love, we were starving. We had a hunger then.

Harry’s heart pounded as he gripped the mic stand. He’d played shows in stadiums packed with tens of thousands of people, he’d stood in front of a room full of the world’s most beloved artists to accept awards, and he performed at the Grammy’s. How was this performance more nerve-wracking than any of that?

He was at a friend’s wedding, and a few months back, the bride and groom asked if Harry would sing the song for their first dance. He’d said yes, but now that the time had come, his palms began to sweat in a way they hadn’t since his early One Direction days.

“And now, please give a round of applause for the bride and groom!”

That was his cue. Curtains drew back, revealing Harry to the rest of the wedding guests. He’d been there for the ceremony, but his performance remained a secret until now. 

His eyes immediately searched for hers, the way they always did. She was always able to calm his nerves like no one else could. She was his rock. 

Finally, he spotted her. Her eyes were wide with surprise like the rest of the wedding guests, only when she regained her composure, she narrowed her eyes at him as if to say, “I can’t believe you hid this from me!”

Harry grinned, then looked back down at his lap to make sure his fingers were in the right place on the guitar before quietly counting, “One, two, three, four.”

“Woah, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch. A long lonely time. And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much. Are you still mine? I need your love, I need your love. God speed your love to me.”

His eyes found hers subconsciously as he sang. They always did. This time, though, Harry searched her face to read her reaction. “Unchained Melody” was one of her favorite songs. She hummed it often while they were in bed reading together, in the kitchen while they danced, in his dressing room after a show. “I’ve always wanted someone to love me like that,” she explained to him once. “To have someone hunger for my love. Doesn’t that seem like a bad life, does it?”

Harry was more than willing to be that someone.

As he sang, he looked directly into her eyes. He wanted her to know that this—this performance—was hers. The song was for his friends to dance to, but his performance was dedicated to her.

“Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the open arms of the sea. Lonely rivers sigh, ‘Wait for me. I’ll be coming home. Wait for me.’”

“God, I love you so much,” she panted, pressing him up against the door of the hotel ballroom’s bathroom. Neither of them could wait to go back to their room, so they snuck away like two teenagers at prom.

“I love you too,” was all Harry could muster. He prided himself on being more poetic with his declarations of love, but her kiss was dizzying and left his thoughts muddled.

There was no need for words after that, anyway. Her lips detached from his neck and found his again, her hands finding purchase in his hair. Harry’s hands were all over the place—the ends of her hair, her cheeks, eagerly gripping and caressing whatever he could, the noises she made only spurring him on.

Taking advantage of the flimsy straps that held up her dress, he pushed them off her shoulders and watched it fall in a lacy pool at her feet. He was quick to get on his knees, kissing up her leg and stopping at the high point of her thigh. He sucked a spot into her soft skin.

“H, come on, please,” she whimpered, a tremor running through her body.

“Don’t worry, angel, I’m coming to take care of you,” he mumbled against her, dragging his lips up, up, up before lifting her leg over his shoulder.

She whimpered again, but not so much at his touch. She never said it, but she loved when he called her angel. "You are to me," he told her once. "The closest thing a man can get to heaven on earth. You're heaven. My heaven."

It was safe to say neither of them left the confines of his bedroom that day.

Harry raised his eyes to meet hers. “I love you. You want me to show you just how much?”

“Yes, please. Come on, we don’t have much time.”

Harry paused, a grin twitching on his lips. “Oh no. Can’t rush work like this. We’re gonna have to stop if we don’t have enough time.”

She pouted at him, clearly not amused with his teasing. He enjoyed it, though, loved how desperate she became when he dangled himself like a carrot in front of her. When she was seconds away from stopping her foot out of frustration, he kissed her inner thigh again.

“I’m only teasing, angel. I’ll make sure no one notices we’ve been gone too long.”

She huffed, but there wasn’t any more time for pouting. She gripped his hair, harder than she normally would, as retaliation for not giving her any warning, but he was only loving on her the only way he knew how, with his entire being. Ardently. Unequivocally.

We could ruin a perfect night. On my birthday I made you cry. You told me you learned to drive, I guess you lied. I could never get sick of you, I just bit off more than I could chew, and as one year turns into two, I’m still not over you.

Harry left therapy in a daze, his head still dredging up memories from the past. He seemed to be stuck reliving all of his worst mistakes. No amount of time had eased the ache of regret. So much so that he tried not to keep tabs on her anymore. When they first broke up, he would spend an unhealthy amount of time on her social media, just so he could see her smile. It had been so long since he’d seen it.

He wanted to reach out so many times, but he never did. No one would let him. His sister held his phone hostage at night for a month, his manager eventually changed the passwords to his social media accounts, and his mother simply helped him see reason. Their breakup was final, and both of them were hurt in ways that would take a long time to heal. Contacting her before either one of them were ready wouldn’t do any good.

So for a whole year, Harry was miserably alone. He hardly slept, and even when he did, tears soaked the pillow. There was no more breakfasts in bed, no more dancing in the kitchen, no more anything. His house was glaringly empty.

All he could think about was the past, where he pretty much lived for the better part of a year. Harry dwelled on their best and worst moments, torturing his guilt, picking at the scab on his heart instead of letting it scar. He thought about that night, especially. The one that ended it all.

Harry didn’t always have a party on his birthday, but this year he thought why not. 

She came, of course she did. They’d hardly spoken the last few days, their busy schedules and differing timezones limiting them to a couple of texts. But she was happy, she was so, so happy. Harry could tell through her texts and the phone calls. She loved her job, she loved her apartment, and she loved the people she worked with. She was filled with so much love for her new life in Japan, that Harry sometimes felt that she was leaving him in the dust. She wasn’t, of course, but there were moments where Harry feigned being tired or pretended to be asleep when she called because he missed her too much.

It was crazy to think about in hindsight, but he never claimed to be an expert at relationships. Harry loved her more than the day they met, but the physical distance between them allowed for bitterness to sink its nasty claws into him. And when she’d told him in advance that she wanted to bring a friend from work, and Harry told her it was fine, but all that did was make him even more paranoid.

She was so happy to see him despite the palpable tension and unsaid words between them. And he had been happy to see her too, had spun her around in his arms and reacquainted his lips with hers in a kiss that made him want to send everyone home. For a minute, nothing was wrong. For a minute, everything was as it should have been. They were together again, everything was going to be fine.

And then she introduced him to her friend.

Looking back now, Harry had the common sense to know that that was all he was to her, a friend. But Harry from the past thought differently. 

All night, his vision grew redder and redder as he watched her flaunt her “friend” to everyone at the party. She laughed loudly, stuck by his side, bragged about his long list of accomplishments, shared anecdotes and inside jokes. With each drink Harry knocked back, Harry’s anger took root, grasping onto every pre-existing doubt and fear he had to form one monstrous knot in the pit of his stomach. 

“A toast,” she said when everyone had gathered around at her request. “To my beloved, the only person in my life worth traveling thousands of miles for. I love you more than words can describe. Happy birthday, baby.”

Everyone awwed and clapped and raised their glasses. Everyone but Harry. How could she say things like that when the man she was cheating on him with was in the room with them?

Raising his own glass finally, he gave a toast of his own. “My girlfriend, the liar, everyone.”

His words caused the chatter in the room to cease as all eyes turned to the two of them.

“What are you talking about, baby? Is everything okay?” she asked him, her cheeks flushed.

“You really didn’t think I wouldn’t figure it out? You’re fucking him,” he spat, nodding his head angrily at her colleague.

Shock came before anger, but she didn’t say a word, which only served to make Harry feel more vindicated in his accusations. “You’re not even going to deny it? Not even gonna try to give me some lame fucking excuse?”

“You’re drunk,” was all she said, shaking her head bitterly.

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong! How could you do this to me?”

A frustrated tear rolled down her cheek, but at that moment, Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. He was just so furious.

People started coming up with excuses to leave, and they slowly trickled out of Harry’s house until it was empty. Her friend was the last to go, muttering under his breath that he was going to his hotel. She simply nodded and gave his arm a squeeze.

It wasn’t until they were completely alone that she spoke. “Are you really that insecure to think I would cheat on you?”

Her voice was calm, thinly veiling her anger. Harry was the complete opposite, too many drinks in to be anything but loud. “What am I supposed to think? I hardly see you, you spend all your time with him—”

“You’re supposed to trust me!” she cried, her limits finally reached. “You’re supposed to have faith in me because we love each other and we’ve been together too long to think that someone could come between us!”

“You were all over—”

“Do not even finish that sentence, Harry Styles, I swear to God,” she warned. “He doesn’t know anyone here, I was being a good friend. And besides, you were the one whose been hiding behind your fucking liquor—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault, is it? I’m the one who screwed up here?” he said, not backing down. He should’ve, but he didn’t.

“You were the one who decided to let drunken stupidity think for you, Harry. He’s my co-worker, we work on a lot of projects together, of course we’re close. Do you know how many times I see or hear that you’ve cheated on me with some actress or model? But I’ve never believed any of that bullshit because that’s all it is. Because I don’t think so little of you.”

She wouldn’t look him in the eye, she couldn’t. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and as Harry’s fog of fury dissipated he wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He’d been so wrapped up in himself, he never thought about what the distance would be like from her perspective until it was too late.

“Angel, I—”

“You just humiliated me in front of all of our friends over something that isn’t even true,” she said, a little astonished that he’d behaved like this. “And you know what? Maybe he and I are good friends, but H, you’ve been so distant. You hardly call, you’ve skipped out on FaceTime dates. You iced me out for no reason. All over something we could've resolved if you just talked to me.”

Harry did reach out to her then as another tear fell, but she stepped away from him.

“How could you do that to me? To us?”

“I’m sorry, I—I know you would never cheat. I don’t know why I would—”

“We were designing something together. For you. That’s why he came tonight. I wanted him to see your reaction in person,” she said, her voice steadier now than it had been since the argument began.

Sighing, she reached for his hand and kissed his knuckles. It should’ve felt relieving, but it didn’t. Somehow, he knew they'd reached the end. They both did.

Harry would live to regret that night for the rest of his life. Before, the issues they were having could’ve been fixed. She could take time off, he could call more, visit more, but he’d done irrevocable damage, and now he had to pay the price.

A year after they broke up, Harry went to see her to apologize. He was a wreck without her. Life just wasn’t the same when she wasn't in it. So after a year went by, he hoped enough time had passed where they could talk things out, possibly test the waters of their relationship once more.

But he was in bad shape, and she wasn’t in a place where she could fix him. She was still in love with him too, but she also wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. So she sent him away, and it fell like they’d broken up all over again.

All Harry could do was cry in the weeks that followed. That goodbye felt final. She didn’t want him back, and he could only blame himself for being alone.

We had a hunger then. Now it’s just emptiness. Couldn’t get enough when we started. Always a hunger then.

Harry didn’t really want to come to this event. There were too many people with cameras and questions, and too much socializing that he wasn’t really in the mood for. He had no desire to wear a smile he didn’t feel and make small talk with people in the industry who only wanted to talk to him just to say they did.

But he came anyway, was practically forced out of his house by his manager. So he was here, but he was keeping to himself. Anyone that wanted to talk would have to come up to him, he wasn’t about to go out of his way. The red carpet entrance alone was exhausting. People asking for his next album or single or anything. He just gave a close lipped smile, resisted the urge to fidget with his rings, and stepped inside the event space.

He was at the back of the room, counting down the minutes until he thought it was appropriate to leave. The dinner was fine, having sat next to people he was familiar enough with. An Italian designer, a director and his wife, two members of a band, and himself. He let his table do most of the talking while he picked at his food and sipped on his sparkling water, and having picked up on his somber mood, they pretty much left him alone.

The members of his table cleared out after dinner to get more drinks or talk to other guests they recognized or to make their way to the dance floor. Harry stayed where he was for another fifteen minutes before deciding to head home.

“Harry?”

That voice. The one that haunted his dreams at night and kept him company in his daydreams. Part of him thought he really was losing his mind when he heard his name, but then she called out to him again, and he knew it had to be real.

Turning around, he silently prayed his knees wouldn’t buckle.

She was radiant, she was Venus emerging from the sea. She looked the same, yet different, like she’d done a lot of living since the last time she saw him. Harry was happy that the last two years seemed to have been kind to her.

“Hi,” he finally managed to say, his voice barely discernible above all the others in the room.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see her here. It was some event put on by Vanity Fair, so it would make sense that she would be invited. Harry had to be forced out of the house by his manager tonight, but now he couldn’t be more thankful. Just seeing her again made him feel just a little bit better.

She stepped closer to hear him better, and he could only hope she wouldn’t notice the bags under his eyes. To Harry’s surprise, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Too shocked to process what was happening, he hardly felt it, his arms remaining awkwardly at his sides.

“How are you?” she asked.

The truth simply wouldn’t do. She didn’t need to know that he was still catastrophically in love with her, even after two whole years of them being broken up. So, giving her the same line he gave his therapist two days ago, he said, “Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?” she asked, a playful smile on her lips.

Harry blushed. “Yeah, it’s just—it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said, like he didn’t know the exact number of days since they’d seen each other.

“It has,” she replied, but he didn’t sense much in terms of fondness or nostalgia in her voice. Whatever feelings she had or didn’t have, she was doing a much better job of hiding them than he was.

He probably shouldn’t have, but he found himself saying, “I—I’ve missed you.”

The room they were in was much too loud, but Harry swore he heard her breath hitch. Other than that, though, she didn’t really react. Harry took her lack of response as his anser. His conversation with his therapist had been on his mind, and in a stroke of courage, tried to extend an olive branch, and he only ended up looking like a lovesick fool.

Harry mumbled some kind of goodbye and excused himself. He hated that he was still in love with her and she wasn’t, that she’d been able to move on and he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. He just wanted to be loved again and—

“Do you—Do you want to dance?”

Harry froze in his tracks. Slowly turning back on his heel to face her, he said, “You want to dance? With me?”

She nodded and held out her hand.

So now they were dancing. A hand on her waist, one on his shoulders, two joined together as they swayed back and forth to the music. Other couples had their heads rested on their partners’ shoulders, but she stayed standing up straight. She wasn’t rigid, just keeping enough distance between them so as not to confuse things further.

Harry didn’t really know what to feel. He was over the moon, of course. He’d wished and waited and hoped and dreamed and prayed that an opportunity like this would present itself, and it finally had. Only he never accounted for the confusion and uncertainty. He didn’t know what their shared dance meant. Was it merely a dance or was it a door opening to more? He couldn’t be sure, and since she didn’t say anything, he didn’t either, settling for enjoying having her in his arms again in this small way.

She smelled divine, the familiarity of her perfume a punch to the face. Memories of them tangled together—a picnic date that ended with Harry sleeping on her lap, him rushing her to the Emergency Room when she slipped and fell trying to reach a salad bowl on the top shelf, their first “I love yous,” the last time he saw her completely bare—flashed across his mind as they danced. It all felt nearly perfect. If it wasn’t for the uncertainty of how this dance would end, it would’ve been.

“Can I confess something?” she asked out of the blue.

“Of course,” he said, trying not to sound too eager.

“I can’t—I can’t remember the song,” she said.

“Can’t remember what song?”

“The song you sang when you washed my hair that one time. I—I can remember the shampoo you used, and I can remember what you were wearing, and what color nail polish we were wearing, and I remember you humming a song, but I don’t remember which one.”

For a moment, Harry’s heart stopped beating. He remembered the day, thought about it often. He just didn’t anticipate her bringing it up so plainly like that.

“You’re not getting in with me?”

When she had particularly stressful days at work, Harry liked to run baths for her. It was a way to help her relax, but it was also an opportunity for them to spend time together intimately too. He usually sat behind her and just listened as she said whatever she needed to get off her chest, or talked about random things until she eventually fell asleep against him. He’d rub her shoulders, kiss her neck, feed her grapes, do whatever he needed to until the tension was released from her body.

Used to their bath rituals, she expected Harry to climb into the tub after her, but he stayed where he was. He hadn’t even removed a stitch of clothing.

“No, I want to try something different, if you don’t mind,” he said.

Kneeling next to the tub, Harry took a pitcher and ran the faucet, filling it up all the way to the brim. She watched his expression closely with curious eyes, noting the concentration etched into his face.

“Tilt your head back for me, please.”

Realization dawned on her, and she did as he asked, her eyes closing as Harry poured the water down the crown of her head. His fingers were feather-light as he moved her hair around to soak it thoroughly, his touch sending happy little tingles from the top of her head down to the rest of her body.

Neither of them said much, though sometimes he asked if he was being gentle enough, and she quietly gave him pointers on how to properly care for her hair. It was peaceful and comfortable, both of them content to just bask in the other’s presence.

“Tonight you’re mine completely. You give your love so sweetly. Tonight, the light of love is in your eyes. Will you still love me tomorrow?”

Harry’s voice was so soft, she could hardly make out the words, but she was just able to. The words, his hands in her hair, it filled the room with warmth, made her love him even more than she already did. She’d never met anyone so loving, so eager to express their love in ways that were unique and personal, as Harry. She knew from that moment on that it was a privilege to love and be loved by him, and she vowed she would always reciprocate that kind of love for him.

“I remember,” he said quietly, his eyes darting down to make sure he didn’t step on her toes. How could he not? "It was a Carole King song."

“I think about that night often,” she admitted.

Harry couldn’t quite believe the conversation they were having, couldn’t believe they were having it in a room full of people. But he was too scared to alter this moment in any way, so he didn’t suggest finding somewhere more quiet to talk. He worried that the tiniest of changes would ruin it. All he could do was be thankful that the music was loud and people seemed to be in their own worlds and not paying them any attention.

“Y—You do?”

She nodded. “I—I feel like it’s the only time I hear your voice these days. Why—Why don’t you sing anymore, Harry?”

“I write now mostly,” was his non-answer.

How could he admit to her that he couldn’t stand to sing the songs he wrote because he cried every time he tried to? Every lyric was a tribute to the passion they shared, the love between them, how he ruined everything. The songs he wrote relieved and punished him at the same time. He felt like Tantalus, who was always within reach of food but could never eat it, cursed to starve for eternity. Harry was tormented by these songs, starved of living the life he had in them, but knowing he never could. So he sold them off or kept them to himself instead.

“Oh,” she said. “Are you—Does that make you happy?”

“Are you happy?” he asked her.

He needed to know if she was as starved as he was. If she wasn’t, if she was happy without him, it would possibly kill him, but he wouldn’t admit that he wasn’t over her. Her happiness meant everything to him, he wouldn’t ruin it again.

“I—Yes. Yes, I’m happy.”

Tears were coming, he could feel his throat closing up and his eyes stinging. The hand on her waist curled in on itself so that his nails were biting into his palms. Harry tried to focus on that pain and not his heart shredding itself into tiny, irreparable pieces.

“Good. That’s—That’s good. I’m happy for you,” he said around the lump lodged in his throat. He began to pull away, not caring if it made his true feelings obvious to her. He needed to get away before he really made a scene. “It was nice seeing you again.”

Harry tried to turn around, to turn away from her, but she grasped his hand before he could, her thumb soothing over where his nails had dug crescent moons into his palm. Raising their joined hands, she kissed his knuckles, the action alone powerful enough to bring him to his knees.

“I’m happy, but I—I could be happier.”

He tried to find the words, any words, but he couldn’t. His brain was short circuting. All he could do was rest his forehead against hers, tears of solace falling silently as they continued to sway to the music.

[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Nine

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way? 

Authors Note: Part Nine!! Hope you lot like this one! Thank you so much for all the love its been shown, means a whole lot xx

Warnings: Scene that involves a lot of sudden panic and themes of possessive violence (Nothing too graphic, promise!), drinking but it's to be expected tbh

Masterlist

The pavement outside of the bar was grounding. A solid presence beneath my unsteady feet. 

I let that feeling engulf me as I wandered a little further down from the club doors to press my back against the outer wall. The brick became a tether, I felt the grain of its grit against the leather of my jacket, the way its chill pooled across the back of my head, its rough ridges latching onto the hair that fell there.

It had been the briefest of seconds, a startled glance shared between us both before I had ripped myself away. Knowing that I’d only somehow lose myself in those eyes of his if I lingered a second too long.

But Matty had been all too bashful and almost completely unaware of my presence, so over the top in his greetings to everyone else that he had virtually made it too easy for me to slip straight past his guard and out into the night.

Now, alone, I dragged in a ragged breath. The feverish wisp of the evening air swirled around my tongue, only to then wind its way down the back of my throat. It helped to somewhat still my trembling hands.

Then, almost frantically, I moved to rifle through the pockets of my jacket in search of a pack of fags, or perhaps a lighter- practically desperate to find another means of escape. My mind wouldn’t stop its endless spinning.

I didn't get the chance though, not when the person I'd all but bolted from came tumbling out of the doorway a few feet away, dazed smile paired with a pair of sharp cutting eyes.

"There she is!"

I swallowed thickly just as my head snapped left to meet Matty, who was now making his merry way over, hands tucked in his trousers as he grinned amiably at me. Like everything was fine. Normal.

"Was beginning to think you'd done a runner!"

He didn't look much different from the last time I had seen him, which oddly felt so long ago now. That day in the cafe and then by the tube station. But still, there was something unfamiliar about the jaunty way he now held himself. It was a little too confident, arrogant almost. I wasn't sure how to interpret it. If I was even supposed to.

"No. Just needed some air." I replied, a breath of relief escaping me when my fingers finally wrapped around the familiar feel of cardboard. I pulled the carton out to distract myself from his overwhelming presence and plucked a cigarette from its contents before then extending it outwards. It felt impolite not to offer.

Matty only bared his teeth at me in a grin, as charming as ever, before he leant forward to snag another from the casing. I fumbled then for a lighter, patting myself down in search of it. 

I needn't have bothered though because I blinked and then there was a flame, unwavering in the wind as Matty dangled it carelessly just under my nose. 

My eyes sought his and I wet my lips before making room for the filter.

Matty leaned in closer and I hunched slightly so that I could burn the cigarette’s end, but as I did I continued to observe Matty, his stance, the mask he wore, whilst the fancy chrome lighter worked its magic.

I didn't know exactly where my heart was in that precise moment, but it definitely wasn't in my chest. It was climbing up my throat, pounding against my skin, hammering in my ears. 

I hadn't really noticed it before but now, just being around Matty- especially when not entirely sober- was a somewhat difficult task for me to endure. The man was every sort of red flag rolled up into one being, the kind of person I knew I was better off just staying away from. 

Because people like Matty tended to lure the likes of me in, with their charming smiles and cutting eyes. 

The perfect sort of trap that left you helpless, stranded.

Right then, it almost seemed as though Matty had the power to read every insulant or incriminating thought that had ever crossed my mind. As though all of it was written as clear as day across my face.

Matty took a long drag of his cigarette and propped himself up against the wall beside me, a little too close for current comfort but I couldn't really find it in myself to pull back now.

"Seemed like you couldn't get away fast enough." 

He said it so nonchalantly that I was a little unsure on how best to answer, whether Matty was honestly offended or not by my sudden departure. But before I could even think up a reply, Matty was already striving on.

"But, I can only imagine- must've been more than awkward to see the object you've been ignoring for, well fuck knows how long, standing right there. Within reach."

Matty turned his infamous grin on me then, but my breath had already been caught by the unbidden emotion in the man's eyes. 

"I-" I tried but Matty merely shrugged me off, cigarette ash flailing as he did.

"Don't need an excuse, babe. I get it. I can be a bit much at times- clingy, I reckon’s the right word."

I choked a little on my next drag but immediately started to shake my head. "No, no- honestly, Matty. It wasn't like that."

Matty levelled me with an odd look, but said nothing more.

"Look, I promise. Alright? It’s just- I've had a lot on recently. Everything's been fucking stressing me out, more so than usual, and it's all just. Well, it's all just sort of gotten on top of me." 

Knuckling the side of my eye in frustration, I tugged a hand through my hair, hating myself for the way I couldn't even seem to worm my way out of this one. For the dejected look that sat so blatantly on Matty's face. 

"I am really not saying this right." I huffed out unhappily before I dropped my fag and stamped the remaining cherry out.

Matty merely snorted and I pressed my lips together to keep from biting and instead took a breath, turning to him.

"I'm sorry." Is what I apparently decided on, and felt almost as surprised as Matty looked when the words bypassed my lips. But in truth, I found that I really was sorry for making Matty feel as though he was to blame here. And for whatever other idiotic thing Matty might've told himself as to why I’d been acting like a right bitch lately.

Matty looked at me for a long pause, his hand stilled in midair between us, and I really wasn't very sure how to take the small smile that tugged at his lips a moment later.

"No need for apologies. Honestly. Well, only if you're planning to continue ignoring my messages after all this." Matty quipped and he laughed lightly when he caught my expression, blowing a cloud of smoke out of the side of his mouth.

I felt looser having heard his reply though, and tried for a smile.

"No. No, I wasn't planning on it."

"Good." Matty nodded and I really appreciated the way his face brightened when he did so. But I knew I’d never tell him. "Now! Are you going to buy me a drink for all of my troubles, or am I going to have to bribe that grumpy ginger mate of yours? Who’s even that sodding tall anyway?"

A startled laugh bubbled up from my chest and I couldn't for the life of me even think to decline the ask when Matty was looking at me like that, eyes shining under the streetlamp light, cheeky smile brightening his entire being.

"I'd like to see you try."

I quietly waited for Matty to finish the remnants of his cigarette before I followed the singer back inside, feeling the humidity of the cramped club pool over me the moment we bypassed the entrance.

Matty grabbed at my hand just as we slid by the highly intoxicated hen-do party who were crowding the doors. The action was done without merely a second thought, which wedged that heart of mine up into the walls of my throat and left me almost unaware as Matty continued to lead me through the rest of the crowd. 

His fingers wrapped effortlessly around my own and I clung to them like an anchor to the ocean floor. Struggling greatly to suppress the bubbling urge to play with the large metal ring that adorned Matty’s index finger.

"Oi, I thought you'd left!" Came a booming voice from over my left shoulder, it resonated around us once Matty and I had finally reached the bar.

It was on impulse that I glanced over in its direction and gaped at the sudden appearance of Auley, who's blue eyes were keen but playful, taking the situation in. It was Matty though, who replied, face turned up into a cocky grin as he subtly observed the incoming target.

"It seems,” He said, “That Squeaks here cannot say no to the likes of me."

Matty’s fingers were still grasping mine, I noted then, and was merely grateful for the way the bar's dim yellow lights were able to cover up the faint blush that had crawled up my neck. That statement had only strengthened it though, it seemed. Because, in all honesty, it felt like more than just a partial truth. 

The laughter that followed from Auley was brash and unavoidable, and he made sure to catch my gaze.

"Ah, I see!" Auley winked at me as he went to grab at the large tray of drinks the barman passed him. "Must be those devilishly good looks of yours, mate."

I hated feeling so wrong-footed so I shot back, "Or, maybe his charm."

Auley smirked just as I ducked my head. "I'll let everyone know you're stickin' around then, Mouse. Join us, yeah?"

Before I could dissuade him, to rewrite the picture he’d decided on in his head, the tall ginger had already dived back into the crowd, his head bobbing along to the song playing overhead as he sailed his way through. Everyone back at the table would know that I’d stuck around soon enough.

"What're you drinking then?"

Blinking, I spun back to face Matty and found a busty barmaid waiting on his reply. She was a pretty thing, propped up against the sleek counter, lips quirked high enough to contradict her sultry eyes. 

"Uh," I fumbled slightly before I simply shrugged, "Whatever you're having is fine."

Matty smiled, teeth glinting with the extremity of it, then leant in closer to order, close enough to the barmaid that I struggled to hear their exchange.

The woman flashed him a flirty smile before she finally slipped away, leaving me alone with the likes of Matty once again. I couldn’t for the life of me decide on how I felt about that.

"You been out long then?" I asked as a way of conversation, eyes flitting around the rest of the room, my voice raised just enough to be heard over the music.

"Depends on who you're asking."

My forehead pinched at that, and so Matty laughed.

"Jamie doesn't know I'm out."

I gave a slow nod. "Right. But won't he find out though? You know, come morning, when your mug's plastered all over Twitter and The Times."

Matty’s smile soured ever so slightly at that but he still chirped right back, pressing further into my space, arm brushing mine. “That’s the fun of it, Squeaks. Gotta live a little, yeah?”

The barmaid came wading back over before I could over-analyse his response, settling down an expensive bottle of Belvedere alongside two glasses. "Hope you enjoy it."

Matty dipped his chin at her, one side of his mouth tugging its way up before he hip-checked me into motion.

"Come on then, lead the way!"

--

Strobe lights danced in his peripheral vision, blinding and eccentric enough to cast shadows and beams out over the room. The bass of the current song being played overhead resonated deep within his chest, thudding alongside his erratic heartbeat. But Matty couldn't seem to concentrate on any of that, not when the girl swaying beside him stood so close, a breath away.

"DJ tonight is really going for it!" She declared as she tossed her head back carelessly, laughing up at the ceiling. 

Matty couldn’t find it in him to reply, too busy staring. Mouth agape as his eyes raked over the length of her body. The moisture that clung to the line of her throat, the way that the shorter hairs that framed her face curled in the humidity, how her body just moved. As though she didn't even have to try. Like she was just dancing to dance, not caring who was watching.

Briefly, Matty wondered how hot she must have felt wrapped up in that tight leather jacket of hers, but couldn't for the life of him bring himself to ask. Not when she looked so carefree, so buoyant. Plus, the leather only added to the image Matty had honed in on.

She was grinning still, almost madly now, when she turned her head to catch his keen gaze. She leant in close, so close that Matty could breathe in the scent of her all too easily, the same sweet fragrance that surrounded her constantly and had been filling up his head for days since he’d first smelt it.

"Listen to this riff coming up! Just after the bridge." She instructed him, bright eyes hidden behind drooping lids as her lips brushed against the shell of Matty’s ear. 

He forced back a shiver at the feeling and tried his very hardest to follow the order, straining to focus on the song instead of the girl’s proximity.

She continued to bop her head languidly and her eyes finally fell completely shut just as a guitar sounded. The chords of it flowed so fluently, edging closer and closer towards a finale. 

She looked so serene whilst she listened, so carefree. As though the only language she'd ever been able to truly understand was the sound of music.

They fell into rhythm without even thinking, the two of them, he dropped his head against her neck so that his hips could sway with hers, a drink loosely gripped between the pads of his fingers. And she seemingly allowed it, even as they stood in a crowd so full of onlooking people. 

It was strange though. All of his thoughts were centred around her, the way she moved, the rise and fall of her chest. The three freckles perched on the bone of her collar. But just as that realisation settled in and they continued to dance, Matty felt the sudden sensation of air forcing its way back into his lungs. The action was so apparently clear that he realised, momentarily, that he'd forgotten just how imperative it was to simply breathe. 

He wasn't sure whether it was down to the alcohol, or something other, but he revelled in the sharp chill of it, the rushing of his blood. The way it made him dizzy with adrenaline. It was akin to something he hadn’t felt in a long while.

--

"Mouse."

I hummed noncommittally in response, not paying the voice behind me much mind as I approached the bar again. Matty wanted something fizzy this time around and I didn’t mind sharing.

"Mouse!" It came again, louder.

The crowd seemed to have tripled in the short time it had taken me to weave my way off of the dance floor, it was buzzing now, hands and faces and drinks everywhere. My gaze flickered back over my shoulder momentarily to see if I could still make Matty out in the heaving mass, just so that I could reassure him that I'd soon be back, that I was already at the bar.

"Mouse!" There it was again, that voice, only this time it was accompanied by a grabbing hand. 

I startled at the sensation and whipped around, frowning when I saw it was Ronan standing there, my confused gaze now peering up into his storming blue. I shrugged the hand off, then rubbed at the wrist it had seized.

"That'll leave a bruise." I mumbled with a pinched expression.

Ronan's lips only thinned as he stared down at me, not saying a word. 

I huffed unhappily, "What did you want, Ro?"

Ronan’s sharp scoff cut through the noise, sounding as though I should have already known the answer to that one. "You're bladdered." He practically spat.

"Thanks for the insight, Sherlock." I countered with a mocking salute, and went to turn away again but there was that hand.

"Jesus, Ronan! Can't I just enjoy a night out? Thought you'd be the first person to egg me on!" I found myself exclaiming, only growing annoyed by the unnecessary exchange, by his rough touch.

I saw his jaw tick, the muscles work beneath the grit of his teeth, and instinctively took a deep breath.

With an exaggerated sniff, Ronan cut his eyes at me again, and even in my drunken haze, I knew that I’d made a mistake somewhere.

"Look, I'm sorry." I tried to backpedal, pulse quickening, "I'm just a little tipsy. Didn't mean to go off on you like that."

"Save it." Ronan grunted out, his hand grabbing at my arm once again, this time it was a lot harsher, heavier. So much so that I couldn't hide my wince, nor the sharp inhale. "We're leavin'."

My tongue fell slack as I attempted to swallow the weighty feeling in my throat, sobering up quickly just as Ronan began to tug me through the hordes of bustling clubbers.

It had been a long while since I had first walked away from the redhead. A drunken one night stand which had progressed into a recurring bad habit during my last year at uni, when I'd still been struggling to wrap my head around everything. Fighting back and forth with the idea of being with somebody, of allowing them to see me completely. Of learning how to trust.

In truth, I’d been at my lowest, and the first few times Ronan and I had slept together, I wasn't so sure that I'd been able to walk, much less jump into bed with someone I considered a mate, when I woke up the next morning. 

But I had brushed it aside, figuring that my inebriated mind had only gone after what my sober self had tried its best not to want.

I couldn't really recall the many people I'd got with during that odd period of time, I honestly hadn't wanted to remember much. But Ronan had been mixed in with a throng of others- bartenders, waiters, boys from my classes. And somewhere amongst them all, there had also been Teddy's dad. But the redhead had been a constant. Somewhat of a regular seeing as though I’d had a tiny crush on him way back when.

Then Teddy had obviously come along and I’d been forced to face the facts.

Ronan, as grand as he could often be, was jealous as the best of times, and sadistic at the worst. He didn't much like to share and the man tended to swing towards the belief that the people he had in and out of his bed were his to keep. 

And I wasn't demented enough to think that I'd deserved the treatment, but no one else had noticed back then, no one else could have understood. Then with the arrival of Teddy, Ronan hadn't been much interested in the likes of me anymore. And although I'd been adamant that we’d remain friends, I really hadn't seen much of anyone after leaving uni. And I’d been more than content with that fact for a long while now.

In a panicked breath, I fought for my mind to catch up with the rest of me just as I tore my arm from Ronan’s overbearing grip, causing me to stumble backwards into a large group gathered around a tall table. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" 

Came Ronan's heated voice, it was all that I could really focus on as I struggled to continue backwards, desperate to get away but not wanting to cause a scene. I whispered apologies under my breath without even thinking, tripping over my own feet in my haste.

"Mouse!"

The redhead was hot on my tail though, calling out to me again and again as he forced his way through the overlapping crowd that bustled between us. 

I continued with my sorry’s, murmuring to the people around me as I started to shove and push.

But I had been so focused on the voice coming towards me that I’d all but jumped right out of my skin when I heard my name echo in my ear. A quick flash and hands were settling themselves on my shoulders to still me. 

Impulsively, I jolted away, springing around to meet Alice's wide eyes.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Alice. Alice, where's-" I struggled to get enough oxygen into my lungs as I fumbled for words, any words. The blinding fear and panic I should've been feeling only moments ago convulsed through me now like a tornado ripping effortlessly through a city.

"Mouse!" 

Was that Ronan again? 

My head throbbed with the thought, desperate now.

"Please, Alice."

I could feel the shortness of my breaths as they came out in huffs, my startled eyes flickering every which way as I searched for a way out. An escape.

"Mouse, what's happened? Mouse?" And oh, did I wish that she'd stop saying my name. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to catch a sight of familiar red.

Alice was hesitant to get any closer now after how I'd so violently flinched, but even through the foggy panic I felt I could see her evident worry.

"Mouse! Alice!"

I watched as Alice's troubled gaze trailed somewhere over my left shoulder, to a space just behind me, and I couldn't help the aggressive way I started to shake my head. Hoping she’d somehow understand. I was overreacting sure, but trembling so hard it almost hurt. It should’ve hurt, I thought.

"Matty." Was the first word that spewed out of my mouth, and I started repeating it like a prayer as I felt the walls of the bar begin to close in. And so, a more than concerned Alice nodded hurriedly at me before she cautiously draped an arm around my waist and started to lead me away.

I was almost certain that Ronan was still calling out, but I couldn't quite hear his voice anymore over the pounding in my ears and so I tried to focus on where we were going. I thought Alice was talking, too. But her voice was so gentle that I struggled to read her lips. 

People were flashing by and I noticed a familiar face pass us by then, but they looked far too alarmed and hurried on without a greeting smile, their arms stretched outwards to catch something behind us.

Alice stumbled on, only sparing a single glance backwards as she veered me out from the overwhelming crowd.

I could honestly think a little clearer now, eyes shuttered, flickering back and forth between everyone and everything. Though it all still felt too much.

"Just up here, okay, lovie?" Alice murmured, her presence soothing, safe.

I licked at my lower lip and dipped my head in acknowledgment. "Sorry." I replied breathlessly, voice faint.

Alice blinked at me owlishly and then frowned, before she then squeezed me closer to her side. "Had me worried there, babe, but you don't have to apologise. No need, alright?"

Before I could even think up a response, Alice was speaking again- only, not to me. I dragged my head back up upon hearing a familiar lilt and was bombarded with the sight of a staggered looking Matty. The bright smile he'd been wearing upon our arrival had been wiped away the second he’d gotten one good look at my face. 

"What the hell happened to you?"

The question made me think and my forehead furrowed at the sound of the unknown voice. I peered around slightly to find another man seated right beside Matty, he was of a similar build and with hair just as dark. Matty, who had jumped up to meet Alice and I as we drew closer to the booth, reached out for me.

The expression he wore confused me to no end but I couldn't question it, not when Alice was already handing me over to him, albeit with a bit of hesitancy.

"Is she okay?" Matty asked her briskly, his eyes never once leaving mine. I’d never seen them go so wide.

"She honestly came out of nowhere, practically on the verge of a panic attack and looking as though she'd just seen a ghost." Alice explained wearily, whilst Matty ushered me into the nearest seat. His seat.

He jerked his head at the man sitting opposite as he slid in after me, "Go get us some water, will you!"

The man, put on the spot, looked both alarmed and perplexed at the sudden order, but nodded at Matty all the same before he ducked quickly out of the booth.

"Who-" But my inquiry was cut off.

"Danny, mate of mine. Ignore him." Matty answered, somehow already knowing my question, as a careful hand came up to cup my chin, it guided my face closer so that I could get a better look at him. As gentle as Matty was whilst handling me though, I could see the venomous anger in his eyes, the emotions that warred there. "Who was it?"

I blinked slowly but didn’t look away. "What d’you mean?"

He inhaled slowly, so calm it would’ve been intriguing any other time. "It's obvious that something happened, Squeaks. So who was it?"

Squeaks. Squeaks. Squeaks.

I focused on the way my name curled around Matty’s soft spoken tongue.

"Babe." Matty tried to regain my attention and I felt a soft hand tap my shoulder before it dropped itself. "I can't make you tell me what happened but I want to know who to avoid when I try to get you out of here. You hearin’ me?"

I gaped slightly before hurrying to shake my head in return.

"No, no, it's fine, Matty. Honestly. I didn't, I didn’t mean to scare everyone. I'll be fine. I’m okay."

He levelled me with a look, and for some reason it made me feel as though we were the only two people in the room.

"Please don't lie to me. Not right now." 

Was what Matty came out with, his voice so steady that I truly did wonder whether he'd actually had a drop of alcohol tonight.

"I was raised by liars, can't stand lies." He added and I swallowed thickly.

Matty just sighed.

"Look, I can probably get us out the back door, alright? I'll get Danny to deal with anyone else." He told me, but only continued to ramble on as he pulled his mobile out from his front pocket, and then he was rambling down the phone to somebody else. 

I watched him all the while, still a little dazed from the blinding panic I’d just felt and the idea of Ronan still not being too far. My eyes wouldn’t leave Matty though, even with those thoughts, even though my body craved to search him out, to see if he was near. Head screaming with the intensity of it.

Matty gave me a tiny smile when he hung up and his hand came to rest over my forearm, a vast contradiction to the harsh grip I’d felt there earlier.

"I've got a car waiting outside, you okay with me dropping you home?"

My mum had always claimed I’d been far too proud, hated having other people take care of me, hated them doing the things I could easily do myself. But at that moment all I wanted was my bed. Was to be home. 

And so, taking a big leap, I jerked my head in a quick nod, if anyone could even call it that, and it felt like Matty understood just how much power I was giving up then when the man slid out of the booth and offered up a hand.

Still, I took it.

[chainelunaire]

a heart of a jack of clubs

(7,4k words. angst through and through, somehow ambigious ending. slowburn. so slow, it takes them quarter of a century to fuck.)

when you’re almost 8 months pregnant, you meet scaramouche.

it’s pretty awkward, actually - you sit under a tree in a chinju forest, trying to breathe, but you do a pretty bad job at that. everything hurts so much, you hoped no one would hear your crying, but gods like to laugh at you. you close your eyes from time to time, hoping you would never open them again. you never knew that giving birth is such a challenge, you only heard of it, and you thought you’ve prepared yourself. but it was supposed to be a month more untill you meet your child. and now, well, yeah. nothing is ever right in your life.

when you open your eyes again, after getting so tired of screaming and maybe losing your consciousness for a minute, there’s three of them right in front of you: a little girl with soft white hair in a pretty green dress, touching your forehead. a man with a stark red strand in his light grey hair, his gaze is so worried and pained. the third man stays behind those two, and you can’t even comprehend how he looks like.

“i think she’s dying” girls says a little too brightly. the man with white hair looks a little bit bewildered.

“don’t say it like that!”

“does it matter?” the third man says. “open your eyes, kaedehara. she is dying.”

“still, you can hurt her with this even more” the kind man sits in front of you - his touch is blessedly chill against your feverish skin. “lady, can you hear me? can you understand what i say to you?”

you can only blink slowly in response. because of the pain you can’t really scream anymore, but tears start streaming down your face once again. you want to ask them to kill you, because you’ve suffered for god knows how many hours by now. maybe you even do ask them, considering that the girl now frowns, the kind man tries to wipe your tears away and even the third man stiffens because of your cries.

“i am no expert, but i think it’s a preterm birth.” girl says, her tone really sad now “she really might die. we need to move her in some more of a clean space, quickly.”

“we can’t really move her, you know?” girl turns her head and you guess her gaze makes the third man sigh loudly. “okay, okay, don’t look at me like that” you hear his steps and he finally bends in front of you. you can’t really see his face because of how ridiculously big his hat is, but his voice is much softer now when he speaks to you directly “hold on my shoulders, lady, we’re gonna take a quick ride.”

you do as he says, feeling another wave of terrible pain shuttering your body. almost laying on his chest, yet you hear no heartbeat. his skin velvety and cool under your fingertips, when he easily lifts you from the ground, and from now on you don’t remember anything.

***

you took your son outside to play in grass, when scaramouche returns from sumeru. unexpectedly, as always.

here’s the trick: even if you can say now, that kazuha is your friend (and thank god for him, he’s the best human who ever walked this earth), nahida is probably your friend too, even though you don’t see her a lot and she’s much, much more reserved than kazuha (who is a grown man, despite his height), scaramouche is an interesting case. you’ve never ever asked him, who he even was, what he did for life. you felt like you had no right, since you’ve been nobody yourself. he’s just kinda...there. you don’t know what to think of him. you can’t label it, so you just don’t do it.

he visits you regularly. he’s at your house more often, then even kazuha; he has more than enough duties in sea, and scaramouche doesn’t. he just does as he pleases. and it seems like he wants to be near you a lot of the times. you don’t mind, really: he’s a nice company, very useful and not overbearing. he also seems to know a lot about caring for kids, which you find unexpected, but again, you need that guidance. 

even if in the beginning you thought he was the one with a cold heart, now you’re definitely not sure. you gave birth that night and you’ve slept for over two weeks after. nahida told you, that she put you in that state, since she was afraid, you die. your body was so fragile after giving birth, she spent days and nights healing you. kazuha was busy building you new home with the help of the beidou’s crew - you don’t want to know, how nahida learnt, that you were homeless. in that time, scaramouche was the one who cared for your son: he fed him, lulled him to sleep, checked on his health. you’ve learnt that only months after, nahida told you that. but you kinda got the feeling anyway.

you could easily say, scaramouche liked spending time with the kid. he brought him presents anytime he visited. expensive toys from fontaine, liyue and snezhnaya, clothes from natlan, candies and some delicious food from sumeru. he says, he doesn’t care about mora, and it looks like he doesn’t lie, but you still feel uneasy with how much he spends on your son. but again, he helped you. he still helps you a lot. weeks, then months go by, and you’re so used to him at your side, you start to feel a bit lost when he finally leaves again. you know he’ll return, yet you still wonder, what if not.

“look who’s all grown up now” your son squeals in delight when he hears scaramouche’s voice, and you turn your head too, because your son tends to have better sight than you, he also hears a lot more than you. 

scaramouche’s on his way to your little home, and you stand up to greet him. you actually stop, because he stumbles funnily, when you come near him. it’s as if he wanted to hug you, forgetting himself for a second. you see no problem though. you would hug him, if he wanted you to. 

it’s always a happy time, when he’s at your home - playing with your son, while you make dinner, then telling you both his stories. they’re quite endearing, and he has such a nice voice, while telling them, it’s as if he was truly a balladeer. your son loves listening to him, he actually likes to sit on his lap and watching him speak. you usually stand near the kitchenette, cup of tea in your hands, watching them talk.

it brings you somewhere close to longing for something you never had. but you, weakly, love that feeling. and sometimes scaramouche looks at you strangely, like he wants to ask, what are you thinking, but even if he did ask, you don’t know what to tell him. you don’t know what you want of him yourself.

you love when scaramouche comes to your home. that you know for sure.

this time is only slightly different. your son is sleeping soundly in your arms, when you want to bring him to his bed. you hear scaramouche’s voice near your ear:

“lemme hold him. please”

you look at him with wide eyes.

he actually rarely took your son in his arms. it wasn’t like he didn’t want to, more out of his respect for you as your son’s mother. 

he holds your son with such gentleness, caressing his hair through his fingers. you smile, because of how fond you find that gesture. he studies the kid’s face for a minute, and then he looks straight in your eyes:

“you really love him, huh?”

“what? of course i do. i am his mom”

“not every mother loves her child” and you know, there’s a bad, bad story behind those words, yet you say nothing on that matter. 

“you love him too” you say instead. it’s as clear as the sky is blue to you. it’s clear for pretty anybody - read, nahida and kazuha - too.

and yet, for a second, he looks like a kid, who got cought stealing candies before dinner.

“bullshit. i’m just helping you because you’re such a baby and know nothing”

“yeah. that’s why you asked to hold my son”

“exactly”

“okay. give him back to me then”

he actually takes a step back. you think it’s funny how he looks like he will fight you if you try to snatch a baby back in your arms. so you laugh quietely.

“scaramouche” you call him.

“what” he snaps back, but quiet enough not to wake your son. you take one step towards him, then another, untill you can hug him lightly, and he’s so stiff in your arms, like a porcelain doll.

“it’s okay. you can love my son too,” you whisper, feeling how his head falls on your shoulder. “i allow that.”

you stay like that for long, long moments, and you’re actually so surprised that your heart doesn’t beat so fast. it’s just so calm to you, being near him.

“i wanted to say to you that it’s okay to stay here, you know” 

“i always stay, stupid”

“no. i mean for real. i know you don’t want that, probably. but you can always stay with us. for however long”

you hear him laugh bitterly.

“you say you know i don’t want to stay? so funny”

“why?”

“because it means you truly know nothing”

***

your first kiss with scaramouche happens when your son is five and he learns that everyone has a father, except him.

interestingly enough, it’s kazuha, who tells you that. he visited you again, while being in inazuma, as he always did for past years. your bond only grew stronger with years, but you know that it’s nothing, comparing to his bond with scaramouche. they weren’t even that good of a friends. it’s more likely that something tragic bonded them, and you’re partly glad you know nothing about it.

you’ve learned a lot about scaramouche in past years while living with him. he still left sometimes, when nahida needed him or his duties called, but he lived with you for much longer. his trips were much shorter too. you fell into some kind of ruitine, and with that came few things you needed to know about each other.

he never actually hid anything from you, it’s just that you felt uncomfortable being persistent, so you learned thing at a time. you’ve learnt he doesn’t need to eat or drink, but he likes to cook and does this often. you’ve learnt he doesn’t care if it’s hot or cold outside, he’s fine anytime. if listen closely, you can hear how his joints quietely screeching everytime he moves. his skin is slightly velvety to touch, like cold porcelain. he sleeps with his eyes open.

he’s not a human, not really. you thought that would worry you more, with everything you’ve been through, yet you just... don’t care.

“i never thought i would tell you this, but it doesn’t matter. you’ve learned this yourself!” kazuha says, and you stand outside the room, hearing everything they say, hoping, they won’t see you. “you know, how much nahida loves you, and i know you love her - don’t you dare to interrupt me right now. it doesn’t always have to be blood. don’t fool me and say you don’t love the kid.”

“i do” scaramouche says after a long pause “and i’m not his father. there’s no need for a father at all. they’re useless.”

“but he wants one. he wants you to be”

“he has a father, he was born somehow, wasn’t he? do you see him here? me too. so that’s what i’m not. i’m not his father.”

you feel so much pain you can’t breathe.

you don’t even go out to say your goodbye to kazuha. you just sit on a stone near the cliff, watching foxes running and playing around. you hate them with your whole being.

“so you heard everything”

it’s rare now to see scaramouche parading in his hat and fancy outfit. his hair grew a bit longer, he wears no hat, and his shorts and shirt are very simple. his haori is a present from you on his birthday. he wears it religiously.

and you’re pained.

“i have”

“i see. may i sit near you?”

you nod, turning your head away.

he sits silently next to you. he’s still the most pleasant person to just sit next to in complete silence, and you despise yourself for how weak you were. you gave up on being close to him, but your son? what he ever did to him?

“actually, i genuinely hate inazuma” scaramouche says suddenly - your heart clenches, because yeah, of course, why would he love it here? you live in a deep of a chinju forest, in small wooden house with your son. he has an opportunity to visit anywhere he wants. whay would he want to even be there, of all places? “i hate it so fucking much, you can’t imagine.”

“i truly can’t”

“yeah, you can’t” he says again, no mockery in his voice. “this is the place where i was born and left behind. the only thing i ever wanted is to set everything up in flames here. and i felt like that for years. centuries.”

your heart sinks.

“i thought you’re i don’t know? twenty five?” kazuha is around thirty, so you’ve guessed he’s also around his age, even with how young he looks. scaramouche chuckles.

“yeah. slightly older than that” he looks at you with unreadable smile “still, i’m here. any ideas, why?”

“you’re masochistic?”

“no, anything else? come on, you can do better than that” his smile disappears as fastly, as it was brought. “here i thought you would explain me why”

you don’t answer anything to that. he chuckles again - more bitterly this time.

“i meant what i said. kid has a father. a shitty one, i assume. i don’t want to be anything like that. you need to believe me” he takes your hand in his and squeezes it slightly, making you look at him. and he’s so serious and worried right now, you feel your heart might explode. “i wish only the best on you two. i wouldn’t do anything to harm you. and you don’t have to tell me anything. i know a thing or two about how shitty those kitsune bastards can be. in the end, it’s your life, and i’m no one to you, you owe me nothing”

“are you serious right now?!” you almost yell, yanking your hand away. “you’ve lived here for five years! five! you’ve teached my son how to read, you’ve played with him, you brought him gifts, you brought me gifts, and you sleep in my room on a bed that stands next to mine, and you are no one to me?! you fucking selfish little-” you stop only when you hear him laughing. it makes you even more mad, but it disappears the moment you see how glassy his eyes are. and he keeps laughing and laughing and laughing, untill he stops completely.

“i do sound like my mother” he whispers, more to himself than to you. and then he looks at you again, his eyes are so clear and sad for how badly he hurt you. “i shouldn’t have said that”

the worst part is that you don’t feel hurt for yourself. you feel bad for your kid.

you never planned on having kids. your plan was to become a priestess in a great shrine, which is really ironic, considering of course it was a kitsune who made you change your mind. who made you drop everything you planned behind, to run away with him from your hometown, only for him to drop you the second he got what he wanted from you. and maybe he didn’t even want anything at all. probably that, because that’s just how cruel yokais can be. it was all just a fun game, and you kinda lost. you would strongly disagree it was fun at all.

that’s the reason your pregnancy was so difficult. the baby was just too strong for your human body. he keeps getting stronger every day, and you were so thankful to scaramouche because he seemed to know how to handle your son. he’s so strong willed and independent even now, that you need help. because yeah, you do not know how to raise a child.

your son looks like a normal kid, except for his now little dark claws. they showed when he became four, and he cried that night, thinking he’s very ugly now. and you know why he’s thinking that. some might say he’s scary and looks like a demon, but even though your son’s eyes are blood red with a vertical pupil, they remind you strangely of kazuha, of all people. your son is half yokai, yeah, and people might be scared of him, but his gaze holds no malice. he’s the sweetest boy, who loves you deeply, who loves scaramouche, nahida and kazuha. you hope, he’ll be like kazuha, because his kindness and gentleness is seen in him even now, and you don’t want to hate your kid just because for who his father is.

the dinner is very silent - even your son keeps it low, because he somehow sensed that something is wrong between you two. he thanks you for food, kisses you on a cheek while saying goodnight and then turns to his room.

“don’t you wanna say goodnight to me too?” scaramouche asks suddenly. your son turns to him, surprised. ever so gentle, scaramouche rarely openly show affection towards kid, even when your son wanted him to.

“can i?” he asks hesitantly. scaramouche smiles lightly and extends his hand.

“come here, give your dad a hug”

you drop the plate you were holding, and your son literally runs towards scaramouche. you know if it was you he would probably hit you (not intentionally, but he’s that strong at his age), but scaramouche catches him easily, and it reminds you of a day when he brought you here just as easily. you chew your bottom lip, while watching, how happily your son hugs said man, and that man, while smiling, looks you right into the eyes, as if asking for your forgiveness.

you turn away.

scaramouche usually reads after the dinner, yet you’re not surprised to find him in your room. he looks up at you - it’s late in the evening, your son is very much asleep, so it’s quiet and cozy here.

“that was super weird.”

“which part?”

“i’m not his father. i’m not anyone’s father” he frowns “and it felt really weird saying things like that”

“oh, really”

“don’t fucking laugh at me, woman” you think it’s adorable, how his harsh words don’t match the soft tone of his voice. “i’m not-”

“scaramouche”

“what?”

“can i kiss you?”

you’re afraid you broke him for a minute - he looks at you with such a strange expression on his face, you can’t comprehend it. he looks so young and vulnerable and alive, you can’t imagive, how he’s not a human. and how much you want him by your side.

“yes” he says quietely, voice not above just a whisper “yes, you can”

***

your son is eleven, when his... father decides to show up.

and you think, why would it end differently? of course there’s always a way to ruin it for you. last few years was the best you ever had in your life, so something needs to change to show you, how are you not actually in charge.

your life became just a little bit too perfect. it consisted of you, scaramouche and your son having a breakfast together, then you stay to study with your son, while scaramouche works in a garden, because you can’t do hard work, so your health won’t worsen. later you usually go for a walk to a shrine or at the seacost. you’ve visited countless festivals and watched fireworks together. in evenings you still listen to scaramouche’s stories, and then you say goodnight to your son, so you can to bed together. years later, you still only sleep together. he likes to kiss you, yeah, but nothing more. you’re fine. you’re not sure your body won’t betray you anyway.

so of course it has to be ruined.

and this prick - you really can’t even bring yourself to call him a father of your beautiful, kind, sweet son - shows up looking exactly like you’ve seen him last time. you know time flies, and you’re fine with you aging, yet it feels like a slap in a face. you’ve never felt this way with scaramouche, even though he too, obviously, doesn’t change a bit.

give me my son, that prick says. you did everything i’ve wanted from you. now it’s time for me to teach my son how he needs to be.

your blood boils with such rage, you think you’ve never been able to feel this much. you remember how one morning he just never returned, and later you found out you were pregnant. how much you cried, feeling horror almost in your bones, and how high priestess said that if you decide to keep the child, best case scenario it’ll take a good half of your life. the decision wasn’t up to you anyway. it was late, and you made peace with the fact that you will probably die soon.

did you really think i’ll just leave my son be with you, he asks, not really wanting you answer. 

fuck you. scaramouche is his father, you think stubbornly. and, also, fuck you again.

he says, he’ll return back when your kid will turn twelve, and he’ll ask if he stays with you or go with him. he will know that man who raised him never was his father, and he’ll hate you for it. 

and maybe if you were stupid young self, you would listen to him. you would dread the date and think a hundred times over how to tell your son that... how to tell him anything. you would cry because your son might turn into his father, hurting more and more people, without the possibility for this cycle to break.

now you’re smarter. 

you see there’s a lot of foxes near your house. your son sits at a table, focused on a book scaramoche presented him just a week ago. it’s a book from nahida, so it’s very special. scaramouche is nowhere to be seen - he’s probably in city, buying stuff you need. your heart aches for how heartbroken he will be.

foxes get closer to your son. be it your young self, you would cry out of horror.

but now you’re smarter. 

so you take your son’s hand and just run.

***

you hide with your son for five years, when you meet nahida.

your son is first to pinpoint her in the crowd. people moving and dancing around you, there’s smell of hot spice and something sweet in the air, the sun is so hot and red. you change regions frequently, you need to, but natlan so far is the least favourite of yours. you hate how loud it is, how hot it is. there’s no serenity in those lands, only war and feasts.

“nahida? nahida!” your son’s voice helps you to snap out of it. you feel something between panic and excitement.

there she is: still so small and young, an adult in a kid’s body. you’r afraid people might hurt her. but she moves right towards you, her gaze stoic and unwavering.

“nahida!” your son kneels so he can hug her and she does immediately hug him back, her little hands look even smaller on his back. your son is not very tall, rather lean and not so broad. he reminds you of a fox - the only one you won’t hate.

“i’m so glad to see you. it’s been so long” you blame yourself for longing in his voice. you took everything from him too.

“how have you been?” she asks him, holding his face with her hands. he smiles widely.

“we’re fine. wanna talk to mom? i thought you like me better” she finally giggles and pats him on a head.

“we’ll have plenty of a time to talk. but yes, i need to talk to your mother”

you can’t let go of your habits that easily - all those years you spend watching your son every moment, so no one would steal him from you. nahida sees that, she was always capable of seeing through people.

“i wonder what it takes to be able to hide from everyone, even from the goddess of wisdom” she starts. 

you sigh.

“you wouldn’t want to know”

“i always wanna know” she argues “i can’t believe i was finally able to find you. we’ve all tried to find you”

“please, don’t torture me like that. please.”

she gets quiet for a moment.

“you look sick” it’s because you are sick. there was no peace in your life, not a second since you were on a run. you don’t age like normal humans, not after given a birth to yokai, yet sometimes you wish you just get grey hair and that’s it. your body hurts all the time, so much, sometimes you can’t sit straight. “i told you years ago, if you don’t watch yourself you will-”

“don’t care”

“but i do. your son does.” you know who else does too, probably. “can you at least tell me, what happened? i can’t help you if-”

“no one can help me.”

“i think we might argue about that” she gets closer to you and takes your hand into hers. you immediately feel strange relief, as if something very heavy was taken off your shoulders. “tell me. we will find a way. i, as an archon of wisdom, will find a way for you”

there’s sunset, and music gets louder, people start dancing again. your son looks at you, his lips trembling. you so, so want to go back to your home in a dark forest. 

“please, mom” he whispers, almost inaudible. “let’s return”

the ghost of his father still haunts you at nights, but with years passing your horror started to fade away. there’s no way somebody was able to make your son someone different. he loved you deeply, yet you knew he judged you for not saying anyone a word. 

he looked so much like scaramouche sometimes, it brought you to a physical pain. he frowned like him, his smile was just as mischievous and fond as his, he liked to read, liked to watch fireworks and work in garden. he was so softspoken even when he was hurt or angry.

there’s no way he could be like anyone but his father.

you blink once, twice, feeling tears sting your eyes. 

and start speaking.

***

you’re with kazuha in mondstadt year later, when scaramouche steps in your rented room.

“there you are” is all he says. you almost jump off the chair, turning to him immediately.

“i’ll leave you two” kazuha stands up and winks at you. “good luck”

traitor.

what you expected to see? scaramouche looks exactly like six years ago, still young and lean, though he looks much, much darker now. his clothes are from the way back, when he dressed in black and turqiuose, but now it has more purple to it. the bells on his veil dangle dangerously.

"let’s summarize what we have here” he says as if nothing happened, as if you haven’t seen him for so long. “instead of talking to me and just saying you need some help, you decided to run away and hide for years, am i right?”

“it wasn’t like that”

“oh? tell me how it was then”

you have no words. you knew he would be mad, that’s why you begged nahida not to tell him anything. nahida said okay. and there was kazuha, who didn’t say anything, when you tried to ask for his promise to stay silent.

he probably did it for your son. he wanted to see him so much, it became hard to keep him low.

“i hear nothing” the venom in his voice almost burns you.

“i couldn’t say anything. he would take my son away”

“he wouldn’t”

you smile sadly. you still feel heavy in your stomach, your back hurts.

“he would” you repeat, and for the first time scaramouche looks less mad. “when i returned home, after i found out i was pregnant, he followed me. i didn’t know that. and when i told my family i needed help, well...”

he looks at you expectantly. you feel so cold in your limbs.

“what did he do?” he asks you, way calmly this time.

“my yonger sister, she... she went out one day and never came back. my parents searched everywhere, nothing. and week later another girl. and another”

he stays silent, yet you see how he clenches his fists so much, you hear that sweet, sweet sound of creaking joints. you can’t smile anymore. 

“i know it was him.” you say simply. “there’s no evidence. i don’t know what he did to them. i hope they hadn’t suffered and died quickly, because he enjoys... he loves to play.”

“i killed him” he says matter-of-factly. you feel cold sweat on your back with how calm and lifeless he looks. “he broke the rules anyway. so i did what i had to do”.

“what rules are you talking about? how did you even found him?”

“i asked my mother” that surprises you. “see, i could, of course, just kill him in silence. but the forest belongs to yokai. there are rules. kitsune can’t really mess with humans that much anymore. apparently, that made everyone’s life difficult, and it was not easy to lure him in... long story short, he’s dead. he won’t bother you anymore.”

“you asked your mother?”

now he looked nervous.

“i had to. i needed help to track him down. this is her land. she knows where he could hide, since she’s yokai herself” you remember all the times he spoke to you about his family, his mothers or his sister. he rarely did this, granted, yet it pains you even more to hear him going through it alone.

“are you okay?”

“you kidding?” he looks at you, bewildered “that’s what you choose to ask me?!”

“i don’t know what else to ask” you asnwer truthfully. 

you see the gnosis on his chest starts to shine - he closes it with his hand, as if his heart hurt. you know he has no heart. you’ve never heard his heartbeat.

suddenly the door slams open.

there’s kazuha with your son, standing in front door. kazuha took him under his wing, helping you hide him, because there’s no such place as the ocean, and though kitsune usually hate water, your son loved it. you’ve seen him only yestersay, thinking he’s already on a ship, which is now under kazuha’s command.

but it seems like everything goes not how you expected today.

you see so much emotions on scaramouche’s face. from surprise and joy to sadness and anger. he’s angry at you, because you’ve stolen him of those years he could spent near you and your kid, like a family that you were. you see, that it’ll take time for him to forgive you for those years he lost, net seeing your son growing up, changing and become who he is now. they’re the same height now, the eyes of your son are still bright red and kind, but not at all naive. he’ll only learn now, how simillar they look, when they get angry, or how their sense of humour is basically the same. they look nothing alike, and yet it was your son and his behaviour who reminded you always of what you’ve left behind. and you’re so sorry too.

you’re so, so sorry you hurt them both.

and then scaramouche smiles - widely, so fond and kind, like years ago.

“so grown up now, you don’t even want to give me a hug?” he says, only half-joking. he’s testing waters, if he could take what was his once back.

your son runs towards him in a second.

kazuha pats your back reassuringly, as if saying that it’s going to be okay now. you’re sure you’ve never seen scaramouche cry. it’s just tears down his face, as he smiles and hugs your son tighter. and you actually now know, what you want to ask.

can you return home?

***

it’s almost twenty five years after you first meet scaramouche, when you finally can say you’ve found peace.

scaramouche chuckles, when you say that to him, as if you said something really funny.

“your standarts are still really low” he says, and you nod thoughtfully.

“yeah. i’m living with you at the end of the day”

he glares at you, but says nothing. you’ve learnt a lot from him in those years, so now he keeps his mouth shut.

when you first returned to your home in a forest, you were too busy bringing it back it’s cozy view. it was still not as abandoned, as you imagined. kazuha told you, scaramouche returned here regularly, hoping to meet you here one day. 

it took him a year to become less paranoid. you could understand that, since you too couldn’t really let go of the feeling that you’re free to do what you want. finally, what you want. not what you need. nahida took your son to sumeru, to help him become more independent, and you? you were truly all for youself, the first time in your life.

“what is going on inside that brain of yours now?” scaramouche asks you impatiently. you only smile in response.

“that’s a secret”

“ugh. disgusting” he holds you closer, eyes sparkling with mischief “tell me”

you look at him and can’t not smile. he’s so beautiful in your eyes. you could never understand, how he switches so easily between being angsty teen brat and a centuries old wise son of a god. you think that that sounds right, because only a god could create someone so endearing and loving and vulnerable and brave-

“you’re doing it again”

“doing what?”

“drifting off” he says seriously. “what’s on your mind?”

what’s on your mind? your son was no longer there, so you couldn’t tell yourself scaramouche was here only for him. however much he loved him, it was stupid to stay in denial. you couldn’t afford that anymore.

“do you love me?” you ask him. he looks surprised for a second, but collects himself very quickly.

“of course not. i just enjoy spending years of my life near somebody i hate”

“you would love that. you easily could do that out of spite, don’t lie.”

“you know me so well” he retorts sarcastically, but stops himself, seeing your face “why you asking stupid questions?”

“because i want more”

he stays silent, and you hate how sometimes you truly can’t say, what he’s thinking right now.

“okay let’s forget-”

“you’ve seen me naked” he starts cautiously. that you did. “i’m not human. i am a puppet at the end of the day.”

“do i look like somebody who would spend years of their life living with a puppet and suddenly find out that yeah, i might actually care that said puppet has no dick?” he coughs, as you quirk your eyebrow. “yeah, exactly”

“but can you imagine my mother designing my dick?” he asks in the most flat tone, his face unreadable. you can’t help but cackle. the corner of his mouth twitches, as if he tries to supress a smile. “that fox bitch definitely could though.”

“maybe it’s for the best she was stopped”

“probably, yeah”

you want to say to him, he’s not a puppet, he should stop thinking of himself like that, but you know it would just anger him, if anything. he was always realistic. he was a puppet. with his own mind, his thoughts, desires, feelings. he was just...like that.

and the thing is, even with your inexperience, you know, that there are definitely more skilled men in a block. maybe you could even snatch one for a good night, but you don’t want to, genuinely. you never did. you want this puppet - you want him - and there all it is to it.

so when he finally gives in and kisses you, rolling on his back so you would be on top of him, you can only sigh. he sits up and puts your hair from your face with quiet, yet so fond smile, you can feel your heart breaking your ribs.

“you’re so beautiful” he whispers, while looking you straight in the eyes “always were and always will be”

you kiss him with desire you refuse to ignore any longer. 

he’s definitely not the most expirienced either, but what he lacks with skill he makes up to with his patience and tenderness. he has to be gentle because of how fragile your health is, so he tries to do that exactly. his smile so innocent, almost angelic, if only it wasn’t for the devilish sparks in his eyes, that lit up when you whine his name. you quickly decide, that you both love that. that, and how cool his skin feels under your touch, especially when he kisses your neck, while telling you to lift yourself a bit. you shiver in anticipation and yet still moan, when you feel the first finger inside. you don’t see his face, but you know that now he must be smiling like a stupid arrogant brat that he is.

and yet, his fingers feel so good, you clench on his shoulders with such force you fear you can break him. he only shushes you, his other hand patting your back, mouth never leaves your neck for long. he fucks you slow and steadily, keeping you in place, so you don’t move and he’s the one deciding the pace. even when you beg him to go faster, he only kisses you lovingly and continues to torture you with slow deep thrusts. you hate him for it, but not really.

you come with his name on your lips, and he keeps fucking you through it, so tenderly you feel tears in your eyes. to your surprise, you feel something wet on your neck too.

“scaramouche?” you ask worriedly, lifting his face with your hands so you can look at him properly. “are you okay?”

his eyes are glassy, and his cheeks are wet with tears, but you’ve learned a long ago that his tears are the only way showing anything of his emotions. and even though he cries, that’s not all to it.

“i’m great” he chuckles and kisses your shoulder, as you ruffle his hair “better than i have ever been”.

***

it’s winter, when you talk to scaramouche abouth death.

you have always dodged this topic elegantly. nahida told you, now decades ago, that your life won’t be long, nor that it would be joyful. scaramouche argued with her on that, but you silently agree with her. your life was on a thread the minute you felt your son in you. you can’t believe he’s so mature now, even though he still looks like a teen boy. and while scaramouche doesn’t visit his mothers ever, your son did visit his mom once. he later stayed in her shrine for about a year, learning from her, since she was, in scaramouche’s words, a knowledgeable bitch. 

but it wasn’t you and your condition, that triggered that talk.

kazuha dies so suddenly, it leaves everyone in shock. of course he was an old man now, but still you hadn’t expect it. you’re sure, if it was up to scaramouche or nahida, they would try to save him, but he just... dies in his sleep, that’s kind of it. the most peaceful, most kind death one could ever imagine. your heart roars in loss when you hear the news, your son cries in his bed when he learns his favourite unckle won’t ever return. he was your friend, the best friend of your small family, his kindness saved you the day you wanted to die - losing him feels worse than losing an arm. even nahida, who, you know, is very, very reserved, can’t help but shed a few tears.

only scaramouche stays stoic. even months after, you don’t really talk about how he lost another human that he loved dearly. 

you lay in bed together, your face in his neck, while he stares at a ceiling, swirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. 

“you're angry” you whisper. you know he is. you know his fears all too well now.

but he surprises you.

“no” he says quietely. “not really”

“huh?!”

“if it was me, say, hundred years ago, i would be so pissed with him” he says with a smile - not his usual arrogant one, something different. “that would make me so mad, i would probably find a way to bring him back alive just to kill him myself for that. but i think i get it now. huh. we really do change through our lives, don’t we?”

you don’t know what to answer to that, so you just lay there silently.

“i asked nahida to turn my head off, when you die”

this is such a shock, you stand up on your elbows to look at him. but he looks back at you - calmly and peaceful.

“what did you just say?”

“i said, i asked nahida to turn me off, when you die.” he scoffs softly and caresses your hand gently. “because you will die, y/n. like i said, i get it know. it’s not something you can’t decide not to do. yet i can decide what to do with myself. and six hundred years is more than enough”

“you can’t just decide to kill yourself” you whisper in shock, “nahida won’t do that, she won’t do that to you” he looks at you in surprise, but then smiles.

“oh, it’s not like that. she just... she’ll change the things in my head, i don’t know. she’s way better with tech, than me. so one day i’ll just stop working, i guess.” it’s impossible to you how he smiles dreamily, how content he looks “huh, i don’t know for how long i’ll walk on this land after you, but i’m looking forward to find it out.”

“what about our son?” and there it is, the only pain he lets himself have.

“nahida will take care of it. and, like i said, i won’t be gone in a blink of an eye. i’ll take care of him myself too. i guess, i’ll just finally have a life i’ve always dreamt about” he again turns to you and smiles fondly “i had a purpose and i fullfilled it. that would be a normal human life. have i ever told you? i once wanted to become a god. now i want nothing, but to become a mortal.”

you know it’s useless to argue with him, but you try to keep in mind that he really is centuries old. you would never know what it feels like to be this old. and to think of it - you don’t really want to find out. you see the example right before your eyes, how lonely it can be.

“you look so worried”

“i feel like i’ve been bamboozeled”

“oh, you definitely have been” he laughs and puts you near himself, so he can kiss your forehead. “but let’s use what we have now yeah?” you nod and he smiles wider, while rolling you on your back, so he can be on top of you. he looks so smug doing it you can’t help but scoff. 

“alright then” he kisses your nose lovingly, and you giggle again. “hold on my shoulders, lady. we’re gonna take a wild ride.”

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

kappa and reader while on their roadtrip decide to go out on a cutsie date they end up in some bar there’s live music great atmosphere they get p drunk & things escalate as they get back to their van 🤭…

Someone send help, I want him so bad 😩😩

Fairy Lights

Summary: Just a silly, little drabble about van life with Kappa 😌🌻

Pairing: Kappa x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Content Warnings: Soft Horny Hippie Smut 18+!, Unprotected P In V, Oral (F Receiving), Fingering, Cum Eating, Mentions About Alcohol And Being Drunk, Kappa's Dirty Talk, Breeding, Possible Impreg

A/N: We are gradually working towards Dad!Kappa and I see absolutely nothing wrong with that 🥴

Tagging the horny horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine

Let me take you to the movies

Can I take you to the show?

Let me be yours ever truly

Can I make your garden grow?

- Houses Of The Holy By Led Zeppelin

"Fuck!", You sighed while hastily wiggling your ass out of your lacey slip, "The guitarist did a damn good job, no?"

"Maybe, but I don't give a wet fart about that right now!" Kappa huffed as he shimmied himself out of his pants equally clumsy, his already rock-hard, eager cock thudding against his lower abdomen.

With a wide grin playing around his lips, he looked at you, his pupils blown wide in desire and adoration as he propped your thighs on his shoulders before thrusting himself into you as far as he possibly could.

"Good lord, Kappa!", You exhaled sharply, your head lolling back deep into a tie-dye patterned pillow, "You fuck like a madman when your drunk!"

"All I hear is you saying that I don't fuck you just right when I'm sober, honey." Kappa quipped right back, the palms of his hands snaking themselves around your thighs to pull you impossibly close to him.

"That's not..ugh, fuck.." You heard your trembling voice flailing as he started rolling his hips against your lap, rendering your mind blank with each jut.

"That's not what?" He teased with a mischievous grin spreading all over his face whilst the tip of his nose lovingly caressed yours.

You smelled the alcohol in his breath, the countless cheap beers and whisky shots both of you had oh so eagerly chugged down at the bar. In a feverish shot of sudden worry, you gasped at your man.

"Shit, fuck…what if anybody sees us?" Your brain abruptly recalled the fact that the two of you were fucking in a goddamn parking lot.

"We're in the van, sugar.", Kappa cooed into your ear from above, "The car might be shakin' a lil' but that's all, don't worry."

He pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple while thrusting into you, his girth stretching you out just the way you liked it.

"You sure?" You couldn't quite let it go just now.

"Just shut up and let me make you feel good, been thinking about that all night long.", He groaned against the shell of your ear, effectively sending a wave of goosebumps down your back, "Nothing on my mind but you since you started dancing, practically eye-fucking me while twirling that dress of yours."

" 'N I thought we were having a cute date night out, babe.", You giggled out of breath, turning your head to catch his mouth, teasingly biting down on his bottom lip, "All while you were just thinking 'bout filling me up, huh?"

"Uh-Huh.." It rolled over his tongue in a low moan, his face following the gentle tug of your teeth as your shaking fingers wrapped around his forearms, holding on to him, "Been thinking about knocking you up lately. How'd 'u like that, hm?"

Just the mere thought of it had your throbbing cunt clenching down around his cock, pulling him deeper into you.

"Oh, okay…", Kappa huffed in surprise, picking up his pace and practically ramming himself into you without holding back, "Getting you all worked up, no? Wanna be a momma so bad?"

"A little mini-us… a ranch, big garden and all, maybe?" You rambled out in between raggedy breaths, feeling your body buzzing with the mixture of intoxication and an oncoming orgasm.

"Shit, fuck…that sound so good, babe.", His hips progressively faltered in their rhythm, "Gon' fill you all up, sugar."

It took but a few more thrusts, his balls slapping against your ass, before he spearheaded deep into you for one last time, his cock pulsing and pumping out hot ribbons of his seed.

"Hmhmm…don't stop, please, boutta cum, too!" You whined as you felt him stopping, moans and filthy curses cascading out of his mouth as his climax washed through him.

"Fuck, sorry, lemme fix that, sunshine." Kappa groaned, reluctantly pulling out of you but leaving your twitching legs right on top of his shoulders as his head wandered down amidst your quivering thighs.

He wasted absolutely no second thought about parting your cum and slick soaked folds with his tongue, directly aiming for your needy clit while his release trickled out of you.

"Taste so good.." He hummed into your cunt, sending a tide of pleasure through your body, your nerves starting to tingle and buzz again.

"Have ta make sure all that stays nice 'n put…" Kappas low tone vibrated through you as two of his fingers pushed into you, gently fucking his cum back into you.

Just that sent you right over the edge, your walls clenching and pulling all around his fingers as you involuntarily wiggled your ass over the mattress in orgasmic convulsions, practically riding your climax out on his tongue that was flat against your throbbing clit.

"There you go, sugar." You heard his shit-eating grin before you even saw it as he slipped your legs from his shoulder, his face rising back up to yours again.

With a content humm, Kappa let himself slump down next to you, cradling your form in his arms while reaching out to the side to fish for a halfway full cup of tea from way earlier in the day.

"Drink up, love, don't wanna deal with a hangover later, no?" He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his sweaty skin glowing in a post-orgasmic shine and the soft hue of the tiny fairy lights stuck to the ceiling of the van.

"Even if…'m just gonna pout at you until you fuck the hangover out of me, hm?"

[venus-haze]

Kick It Out (Queen Maeve x Reader)

Summary: Maeve doesn’t date, for her own good and that of anyone she might be interested in. Teaching you how to kickbox definitely isn’t dating, even if the two of you do flirt every time you’re alone.

Note: Female reader with some references to being plus size, but not enough for me to designate the fic as such. No other descriptors are used. This takes place slightly before Homelander outed Maeve, but she still does a lot of internal shittalking about him. Hopefully I did well with her characterization because I’m already planning a follow-up. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Some references to homophobia Maeve’s experienced. Homelander vaguely threatens the reader to Maeve. Semi-public fingering, Maeve's kinda rough. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

It was a coincidence, really, when Maeve walked by Vought’s employee gym during one of the yoga sessions that was part of HR’s company wellness initiative. She’d forgotten Vought even had that, not interacting much with the corporation's rank and file on a regular basis and using The Seven’s exclusive gym to train. The employee gym was spacious, clean, and at that moment filled with dozens of Vought employees in a rainbow of athleticwear. Maeve could remember the old Jane Fonda workout tapes her mom used to put on in the mornings, how pleased she was with little Maggie’s rapt attention at the videos. You always need to keep your body moving, Maggie. It’s so important. 

Her eyes scanned the group lazily until they landed on you in the middle of a stretch that made Maeve feel like that little girl staring at Jane Fonda in spandex all over again. She licked her lips, giving you a quick once over before anyone could notice. You would become target number one the moment Homelander got a whiff she was remotely interested in you. Her fists clenched at the thought of how he–and her own complacency–ruined her relationship with Elena. She couldn’t do that to you, not that she even knew your name, and she wouldn’t learn it if she could help it. She wasn’t that selfish.

At least, that’s what she thought, until somehow she kept running into you. An interview here, a briefing there, she wasn’t even sure what you did at Vought exactly. It didn’t matter. You clearly hadn’t drunk the Kool-Aid, viewing your job as a way to pay the bills instead of the feverish devotion so many of its employees had. She started looking forward to seeing you, taking the opportunity to stand next to you when she could and exchange quips back and forth about how corny a promotion seemed or how weird the marketing team was. 

Like clockwork, though, you’d be in the employee gym whenever the yoga classes were being held. She casually brought it up one day, asking if you were really that into yoga, or just taking advantage of the free classes.

You nodded. “Yoga’s nice, but I’d love to get into kickboxing or something. I’m kind of nervous to sign up for a class. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up.”

“I can teach you,” Maeve said, the words coming out of her mouth before she could even think.

“Are you sure? That’d be great, but only if you have the time and everything.”

“Yeah, let me give you my number. It’ll be easier to plan that way.”

You handed your phone to her, and she quickly entered her personal number into your messages, texting a simple ‘Hey’ to herself. She hesitated a moment before giving you back your phone. Okay, this was for real. She was committing to it. 

“I’ll text you later. I’m free most weeknights, so just let me know,” you said cheerfully.

A sour mix of excitement and regret clouded her mind until you left, and as she walked down the hall to the elevator, she thought she’d at least have a chance to at least convince herself that it wouldn’t be that bad. She was never that lucky.

“Uncharacteristically nice of you to offer to help out Y/N,” Homelander said, almost as if materializing out of nowhere.

Maeve balled her hands into fists at her side. Why did he always have to be lurking? Recently, he had been fucking off to god only knows where, sometimes for days at a time. Of course he had to be around when she finally made a move. “I’m just full of surprises.”

“Your heart’s beating like a racehorse, Maeve. You’re not that excited about just practicing some kickboxing moves, are you? I’d be a better partner than her, in that case. You and I are practically indestructible. Her on the other hand—it’s amazing how fragile humans are.”

Maeve remained silent, letting out a shaky breath as she refused to acknowledge his taunting.

“You think she knows her sports bra is a size too small? I mean, one downward dog and her tits are practically spilling out of—“

“Get a grip,” Maeve snapped.

“Hey, don’t be like that. It’s just locker room talk,” Homelander said, a menacing smile plastered across his face. “Speaking of surprises, I wonder what Y/N would think if she knew this was all a ploy for you to get into those tight yoga pants of hers. I guess I can’t blame you. Not exactly my type, but with the way you can see her panty line through them, she’s practically asking for it.”

“Asking for what?” she asked, standing taller as she looked him in the eye, daring him to make his threat. 

“Hit a nerve there, huh, Maeve?”

“Mind your business, and I’ll mind mine.”

“Well, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” he said abruptly.

She knew him well enough that it meant someone was coming down the hall, and he didn’t want them hearing a word he said. Scoffing, she shook her head as she walked away, trying to keep a brave face as she made her way to the elevator. 

Storming into her suite, she slammed the door behind her and threw the nearest breakable object at the wall before collapsing onto the couch, her head in her hands. Fuck. She’d been too obvious, too careless, and now you were going to be on the receiving end of it. Keeping her distance wouldn’t be fair to you, and it’d only put you in more danger when it came to Homelander. As much of a Girl Scout as Starlight could be sometimes, at least she was willing to risk it all for Hughie, even when he was lying through his teeth to her about Butcher and Compound V. At the very least, Maeve could do the same for you moving forward.

Still, she decided she was way too sober for her liking, and dug through her cabinets to find a half-drunk bottle of vodka, wanting to escape the gravity of the situation she found herself in for just a little while. 

The next day, she woke up a few minutes past eleven, her head pounding as she checked her phone. A few missed calls and texts, including one from you: ‘Hey! Homelander said you were sick. Hope you feel better soon💐’

Between the thought of Homelander being near you and her raging hangover, Maeve leaned over the side of the bed, throwing up into the nearby trash can. She got another text from Ashley, asking if she’d still be able to do her designated crime fighting schedule that night since she was supposed to team up with A-Train. Staring at the text, she grinned, getting out of bed to choke down a few aspirin and make her way to crime analytics.

The department’s office was depressingly dark, and the girl who nervously pulled up the schedule for the next few weeks looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Opening the notes on her phone, she quickly typed what days and times Homelander would be away from the tower. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d do while she figured out how to take control of the situation. 

Your kickboxing lessons with her began a little after seven on a Thursday evening. Maeve had asked you to keep everything under wraps, claiming she didn’t want everyone pestering her to train them. This was a one-off thing because you were friends. She was relieved at how your face lit up when she put it that way.

The whole arrangement made her realize how rusty she was at flirting with someone she was actually interested in, as opposed to the sleazy guys she’d bring up to the tower for one-night stands only to kick them out afterward. Training with you was great, you were eager to learn despite struggling to pick up some of the moves. She took the opportunity to stand close to you, putting her arms over yours and guiding your movements, her body framing yours. Sometimes her hands would linger over your skin, feeling how soft you were against her until she felt you shiver or heard your breath hitch. The physical, intimate closeness drove her crazy. In those moments, she wondered what your whole body felt like, your stomach and thighs surely plush beneath her fingertips.

Things came to a head during your fourth training session. Homelander hadn’t been at the tower for a day or so, and you were acting bolder. There was no way you didn’t catch her staring at the way you bounced around while Heart’s ‘Kick It Out’ blasted from the speakers you’d connected your phone to. She was sure you were doing it on purpose at that point.

“I think I’m almost as good as you,” you joked, beads of sweat rolling down your forehead.

She laughed. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Bring it on!”

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you stood across from her on the training mat. Your stance wasn’t the best, but you were trying despite her dodging your blows with ease. Just because she liked you, it didn’t mean she was going to hand you a win. You were having fun, a smile on your face as she caught your lifted leg before you could really kick.

In any other scenario, she figured you could hold your own pretty well in a fight with a non-supe. You threw a punch which Maeve blocked without so much as blinking. One more time, you went for another kick, only for her to send you flat on your back with a thud.

She pinned you to the mat, the two of you silent except for your breathing. Maeve didn’t do anything but stare at your face, just mere inches from hers for a few moments. God, you were fucking pretty. Your eyes seemed to sparkle despite the harsh gym lighting, and your parted lips were almost calling to her.

“You win,” you said softly from beneath her.

“Do I get a prize?”

“Wanna get drinks after this? On me?”

She smiled, reluctantly getting up from on top of you. “Hope you have your credit card ready.”

You took her outstretched hand, almost surprised at how fluidly she pulled you up onto your feet, until you remembered she was the strongest woman in the world, after all. The fact that she was getting drinks with you was a plus.

“I know a few places in my neighborhood, if you don’t mind going out to Brooklyn,” you said. “They’re kind of dives, but they’re fun.”

“That honestly sounds perfect.”

“Okay. I’m gonna shower and change really quick.”

She nodded. “Take your time.”

As soon as you disappeared into the locker room, Maeve looked down at her costume, internally groaning. It was the furthest thing from inconspicuous. In all honesty, she missed having a secret identity, the small thing that separated her from the persona that Vought manufactured for her. Whether for sentimentality or foolish hope of a situation like this one, she’d kept some of her street clothes. 

Glancing at the locker room again, she decided to rush up to her suite and throw on something that would afford the two of you some privacy. Tapping her foot impatiently, she waited for the elevator doors to open before slipping inside and pressing the button for her floor.

When she reached her suite, she frowned at the selection of clothing in her dresser. Touching one shirt, she felt a lump form in her throat. The somewhat coarse fabric sent memories rushing back, she’d worn it on one of her last dates with Elena, before she handed her whole life over to Vought and Homelander sunk his hooks into her. There was a slight stain on the sleeve, evidence of Elena’s wine glass that had tipped over when some asshole decided to make it clear that he didn’t approve of their date, so he had to make it the whole restaurant’s problem. When he started becoming aggressive, Maeve grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him over, knocking him into at least three other tables with the sheer force she used. That was the catalyst for her initially fake relationship with Homelander, as Vought’s marketing team decided it would improve her image after the incident. 

She exhaled, shaking her head as she tried grounding herself. Things could be different with you. She’d take back control of her life—from Vought, from Homelander, from her own self-sabotage. Her outfit choice for the kind-of-but-not-really date was simple. She ran her fingers through her signature styled waves, messing her hair up a bit to make her less recognizable. Seeing herself in the mirror, she smiled. For the first time in months, she looked and felt like herself.

Her phone buzzed, and to her relief, it was a text from you.

‘Hey! Ready to go when you are🍻’ 

Biting her lip, she retyped her response to you three times before sending, ‘Great be down in a min😄’ 

She instantly regretted her choice of emoji, but it didn’t matter, something that simple wasn’t going to ruin her night. After all, she couldn’t remember the last time she was asked out by someone she actually liked. You hadn’t explicitly said it was a date, but the tension was there, and Maeve hoped to god she wasn’t reading too much into things.

You were waiting in the gym for her, now changed back into your work clothes of a blouse and skirt. In the meantime, you had pulled up the info for some of the bars that you and your friends frequented in your neighborhood. She looked over them quickly, settling on a 70s-themed one you recommended based on the decor and cheap burgers. Her mind raced while the two of you walked down the hall and to the elevator, deciding to leave through a service corridor rather than the building’s main floor.

As the elevator made its descent to the lower levels of the building, Maeve figured she at least owed it to you to let you know what you were getting yourself into. She’d already put you at risk with the amount of time she was spending with you. You looked at her in confusion when she pressed the emergency stop. 

“You know this isn’t just drinks, right?”

You smiled a bit, “What is it then?”

“Y/N, I’m serious,” she said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Maeve, can you just be real with me instead of the cryptic shit?”

“Fuck," she groaned. "Okay, look. I’m into you, but Homelander’s a jealous son of a bitch who won’t let me have a life, so the fact that we’ve been spending time together and going out for drinks means you’re in serious danger.”

You were quiet for a few moments. She took your silence as an understandable rejection, moving to press the emergency stop button to bring you back up until you spoke. 

“I’ll take the risk.”

“Are you sure? Y/N, Homelander won’t hold back. I’ll do what I can to protect you, but–”

You looked at her, really looked at her, as she laid out the risks for you clear as day. It didn’t matter. You’d come to the conclusion pretty quickly that she was worth it. She was Queen fucking Maeve for Christ’s sake. Most importantly, though, you were into her too, and you’d never forgive yourself for passing up the opportunity to go out with her and see where things led.

As she was in the middle of listing ways Homelander could kill you, you interrupted her with a quick peck on the lips, enough to startle her out of her rant for a moment. That seemed to get the message through, because she kissed you, backing you into the elevator wall across from the closed doors. 

You parted your lips for her, happy to let her take the lead as she cupped your cheek in her hand, her fingers pulling your face closer to her. Even though she’d just pinned you to the floor less than an hour earlier, you were taken aback by how strong she was. She bit gently on your bottom lip, her teeth tugging at it before kissing you again. 

Groping one of your breasts through your blouse, she moved her hand further down your body until she reached your thighs, her fingers gently tracing undistinguishable patterns into your skin. You could feel her start to play with the hem of your skirt before sliding her hand beneath it.

You whispered a soft “yes” against her lips when her fingers brushed against the damp spot on your panties. Pressing her fingers against your core, she watched your face contort in pleasure as you whimpered for more. 

It felt like eternity before she finally pushed her hand past the cotton material and began teasing your clit, ignoring your aching pussy. She pressed hot, open kisses against your skin before settling on the crook of your neck, biting into the tender skin so hard you almost thought it would break. 

“Maeve, fuck,” you moaned.

“Too hard?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Harder.”

Maeve grinned, slipping her index and middle fingers into your pussy, and you were almost embarrassed at how wet you were. She didn’t care, curling her fingers inside you, pumping them in and out until your breath caught in your throat. You gasped as you gripped her shoulders, trying to keep your legs from giving out from under you. Using her other hand, she held you up by your thigh, her fingers squeezing your soft flesh. 

You leaned your head back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut as she began rubbing her thumb against your clit, bringing her attention back to it as your pussy clenched around her fingers. She brought her lips to your ear, her teeth grazing your earlobe before she whispered, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“I’m close,” you barely managed to say.

“Don’t hold back. I wanna feel you,” she said, her voice raspy as she squeezed your thigh for emphasis. 

“Fuck–fuck, I’m–”

You came on her hand, fully relying on her strength to keep you up as she kept fingering you through your orgasm. Pressing her lips to yours, you were hardly able to kiss her back as you moaned into her mouth, your fingers clawing at the wall behind you as you tried getting a grip on something.

Finally, she pulled her hand from your pussy, and the one that had been holding you by your thigh wrapped around your waist to support you. She brought her hand to her mouth, licking your juices off of them so casually you wouldn’t have thought anything of it. You kissed her again, feeling lightheaded at the taste of yourself on her lips. Still, you figured someone must have noticed by then that the elevator wasn’t working. You didn’t even want to think about anyone finding you and Maeve like that, especially if Homelander ended up hearing about it through the grapevine.

“My roommate’s working the night shift,” you whispered, your voice noticeably hoarser than before. “I’ve got beer at my place.”

“Fuck the bar,” Maeve said, kissing you again.

You let out a yelp that dissolved into a fit of giggles as she literally swept you off your feet. She smiled, pressing the emergency stop button, sending the two of you back down to the service corridor you’d be slipping out into the night from.