#am i supposed to post hole or something

[nerdintheforest]

Thank You and Happy Holidays to my massive tumblr following of... *checks notes* 100 people!

It's a pleasure knowing you enjoy my arts and crafts posting interspersed with nerdy reblogs.

[coquelicoq]

idk if this is just me but i can't tell you anything about the height of anyone who's not within like one inch of my height except that they're shorter than me or taller than me. my friends in high school had this elaborate thing happening around height order and i was just like, wait, you guys aren't all exactly the same height??? which i had to stop asking because it offended them. but in my defense if they weren't all the same height why were they always trying to prove who was taller. i have a friend who is considered by her family to be tall and when she told me this i had to very diplomatically not make my eyeballs into question marks because i had always classed her as "one of the short ones". i've since determined she is in fact taller than the average american woman but i'm just like. okay but the average american woman is short though.

[sturniolosass]

Quiet. - Matt Sturniolo

Summary: You and Matt are bored of the movie you’re watching and a few things go down… including the bed frame being broken

-based on this post i made a few days back..

Warnings: smut, swearing, choking, biting, Dom!Matt, Sub!reader…etc.

You and Matt had been together for a while now, around seven months to be exact.

Tonight Matt had decided to invite you over something you’re always down for. But as of now you we being somewhat ignored while he played a couple games of fortnite with his friends.. Chris included, Unfortunately I couldn’t help but become more and more bored by the second… wishing he’d get off the game and give me more attention.. Something I felt too bad to admit considering he’s always getting off the game when I’m around… Eventually (after 2 hours) I got fed up with just sitting around in the background so I decide to grab a extra chair from the Dinning area and sit next to him

Upon sitting the chair down Matt looks up at me and smiles.. only a quick glance so he could assess my facial movement hoping I wasn’t as mad as I seemed.. I just look at the screen..

After around 5 minutes i start to focus on the way his hands are moving.. super fast.. over the keys he pressed so delicately, it turned me on, fast.. “shut the fuck up pussy” Matt shouts at a player he killed.. I could slowly feel my pink underwear get soaked, an extra large T shirt Matt had given me keeping me from staining the chair..I slowly run my hands down to my underwear to check if i’ve made a mess on the chair, hoping Matt doesn’t catch me when my hands between my legs.. I remove my hand quickly after realizing I’ve made a nice sized puddle on the seat running to my bag I grab a clean pair of underwear and rush out to the bathroom.. Not even thinking of the puddle on the chair..

I return from the bathroom and am immediately greeted with darkness.. I was confused for a second until i hear Matt, “come over here” he speak from his bed in the darkness.. “Did you get off the game? why is it dark.” i ask still confused.. “just come here” he spouts. I climb in the bed with my two knees, immediately sweep off them and laid flat on the mattress.. Matt above me with my wrists pined down with his hands.. “you made a huge mess on my chair..” He spoke leaning down directly in my ear.. “ how am i supposed to clean that” he added

“i didn’t mean to..” i spoke… “he turns his head.. “hmm what was it? what got you all worked up” he asks one hand trailing down my stomach to reach for my pussy… “i-it was.. you playing the game.. well—your fingers specifically.. they really made me hot..” i reply lightheaded.. “is that so? what about them?” he asked pushing his hands in my underwear slowly “was it? my hand on the mouse or the keys? or was it how fast you correlated it to me holding you down and rubbing your pussy” he questioned hand reaching my hole, eventually diving in with two fingers.. I couldn’t reply, too stunned to speak as he pushed his fingers further lathering them up in my juices, he pulls his hand out sucking both fingers.. pulling my underwear down from underneath me..

Kissing down my stomach as he yanked them down.. arriving at my area placing a soft kiss almost as a sign of respect due to the fact that he’s about to devour the poor thing.. Face immediately digging in causing me to spur a few profanities “oh fu-shit- Matt” i moaned, as his tongue run up and down on my clit, sucking and slobbering all over it.. “please Matt” i beg, worried I’d make a even bigger mess than before on the chair.. He just continues to eat me out, licking in somewhat of a figure eight formation.. moaning in between every one of my moans..

Coming closer to my climax i can’t help but grab his head pushing him deeper in my ocean, tongue diving deeper than the titanic, as i begin to orgasm i start to cream, him sliding two fingers in and out of me as his tongue does the two step on my flit sends me into over drive.. In less than two minutes I’m finishing, him still pumping two fingers in and out as he smiles up at me, gorgeous blue eyes staring in my soul

Rising over me and pulling my legs down he looks me in my eyes causing me to get more wet by the minute. He leans down closer to my neck kissing down to my collar bones, “Matthew please just fuck me” I beg not being able to take his soft lips kissing all over me.. wanting for him to just be inside me already.. “i’m going as fast as i can love..be patient.” he speaks finally making it to my nipple, sucking it him between his teeth immediately, rolling his tongue around it like a lollipop, he then grabs my waist pulling himself down closer to me.. his warm body hovering over me.. he releases my nipple “are you ready love?” he asks staring up at me from my boobs “yes matt please! i-I need you!” i beg in to which he pulls his pants down his ankles and off his legs.. He positions himself to my hole, mesmerized by the juices flowing out. “ok” he smiles and slides in for the first thrust, his hands gripping his headboard above me, “aghh-Ma-you’re so big oh my-“ i moan feeling every inch of him enter me.. being shadowed by his arm hanging from the bedpost.

He continues to thrust deeper and deeper in me, brushing that spot each time “oh f-fu-Matt” i stammer. “look at me?” he tells “huh” i react unable to keep my eyes open.. “look at me, i wanna see you cum, i wanna be the last time you think of when you climax” he asks thrusting in and out in such a quick pace.. eventually i hear a crack.. unbothered by it he continues to stroke deep gripping the bed frame tighter and tighter with each thrust, becoming deeper and deeper with each stroke..

“FUCK” he moans almost as a shout.. “ouu- matthew..fuck me..goodness” a few moans utter from my breathless mouth.. I can feel myself arching my back as i let my orgasm take over me. “MATT-fuck” i scream in to which he grabs my face preventing me from screaming any louder.. I can feel him begin to increase his pace looking in my eyes “yeah, i know baby” he says “cum for me” he adds.. “just like that” he says as he pushes me to orgasm..

I watch his face contort as his thrust get violent, getting closer to his high. eyes closing as he lets out the breathiest moans “o-oh fu-ck, shi- god you feel like heaven” he breathes. eyes rolling back, and just then that’s when i hear the bed frame crack, both of us falling 20 inches to the floor, mattress and bed cot underneath us, matt still inside me. He hurriedly gets up “are you ok? are you ok?” he stammers worriedly hopping off the bed “i’m ok im just on the floor” i laugh from the angle im looking up at him.

He then helps me up and stands there thinking of a way to fix his bed, now on the floor.. He decides to remove his bed frame completely for the time being.. “Can you sit over at the desk?” he asks looking at me with a concerned look.. I just laugh and walk over and sit in his chair. He then lifts the bed up off the ground leaning it against the wall and then grabs each panel one by one taking them down to the garage..

I just decide to hop in the shower..

Once i’m out the shower i come back in the room for the second time to see Matt sitting on his bed, that is now on the floor completely made up with no bed frame.. “I didn’t know what else to do.. I can order a new one tomorrow” he states.. “haha ok, what are we gonna tell Chris and Nick” I laugh thinking of all they’d have to say… “I don’t know..Nothing for now” he chuckles.. I just hop into the bed.. “your TV is up wayyyy too high now” i laugh at his TV mounted to the wall. “stop- i’m gonna have a bed frame!!” he whines jokingly.

3 hours later…

You hear Chris and Nick in the hallway talking about a fortnite game they were playing which spikes Matt’s attention. He hops up and runs out the room..

Minutes later you hear Matt nearing the bedroom door talking to Chris.. They both enter the room in a rush to what i’m assuming is get to the fortnite launch.. “Yo what the fuck-what happened to your bed” Chris states, Nick walking in behind them.. he gives you a funny disgusted look walking out the room “You both are nasty- oh my god” he fake gags. Matt and I both look to eachother. Chris shaking his head in disapproval “i can’t believe that’s what i was hearing earlier” “I need to go” He adds walking out the room and down the steps to his. “NICK ITS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE” I yell.. “GIRL BYE” He shouts back from the steps leading to his room making his way up the stairs so they can all get on the game.

You and Matt just giggle with eachother before he puts his headset back on…

De End 🧌

A/N: aye i wrote this as fast as i could for yall,so you know… my bad if it isnt “perfect”, also idk if i should’ve had a tag list but.. idk lmk if yall wanna be on a tag list.. also btw message me yalll!! I BE BORED!!

[peathepirate]

Part 22 - Finale

The one with criminal activities.

« PREVIOUS | BACK TO START

I can't believe this project is actually finished. I started sketching the first pages in January of 2021 (if my Instagram stories are to believe) and now I'm done? What am I even supposed to do now that I'm not drawing WINGS anymore?

It's not a perfect comic. It wasn't really meant to be a finished comic either, I was kind of messing around to see if I actually liked making longer comics. Turns out I do! I've always viewed this project as "practice", so the style is all over the place and at times, the art is really hard to look at (*cough* entire part 7 *cough*). But I finished it, all 206 pages of it! I never knew I had this much persistence in me :D

Things I wish I'd known before starting the comic: 1) Having a script will save you from many plot holes and plot threads that never lead anywhere (and it also gives you opportunities to do fun foreshadowing <- this is something I couldn't do for a Thing I came up with and had to drop because I'd already posted the first updates before writing the script). 2) Drawing in batches actually saves time, people aren't joking when they say that. It always takes time to get used to inking after sketching, or coloring after inking, etc. And when I say batches, I don't mean ten pages at a time, I mean like 40-50 pages at a time. I wish I'd realized this before the last 40 pages of this comic...

Thank you so, so much for each and every one of you who have been on this journey with me. It really has meant the world to me to have people I could share this story with. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed making it <3

[astrophileous]

What about bau!reader who gets shot on a case and Morgan gets angry? like really angry. i leave the rest up to you but i’m kicking my feet and giggling to the thought of morgan getting all angry and mad🤭

if any of you saw this post I made abt agent anderson, it was about this blurb lmao. ty for the request sweetie! I hope this is to your liking 💞

Warning(s): gn!reader, injured reader, talks of gunshot, derek is angry 😠, profanities

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Heavy footsteps thundered along the white stark hallway. People scampered like hunted rabbits when they saw him, but Derek didn't care. Nothing else mattered to him right at that moment except for reaching the destination in his mind.

Emily Prentiss was the first person Derek saw in the pristine waiting room. The black-haired woman stood to her feet the second her eyes landed on him. Emily had never seen such fury in the man's eyes. She didn't think she would even recognize him in this state if it weren't for the familiar face drilling holes straight through her skull.

"Anything?" Derek bellowed, his voice echoing against every available surface in the room.

Emily shook her head.

"How bad is it? Tell me."

"I don't know," the brunette lamented. "They already ushered (Y/N) inside when I arrived. I don't know anything."

"Well, somebody has to fucking know something." Derek started to pace, his posture domineering in the middle of the room. "Where is—"

Before he could formulate the name in his mind, the person in question appeared from the hallway with Spencer hot on his heels. Agent Anderson faltered in his tracks when he spotted Derek in the waiting room, his countenance getting paler as the latter stalked towards him.

"You," Derek seethed. "You tell me what the fuck happened out there, right now."

Anderson couldn't even look at Derek's face without trembling. Spencer stepped in between the two, trying to push Derek away by his shoulder but the older man wouldn't even budge.

"Morgan, this is not the time nor the place," Spencer warned.

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just asking a question," Derek sneered. "Am I right, Anderson? We're just having a conversation, right?"

"R-Right."

"Good. Now tell me what fucking happened."

The atmosphere thickened in the room. Anderson's eyes darted everywhere as if looking for a reprieve. It was a futile attempt, really. There was nowhere that the man could run where Derek couldn't follow.

"It was supposed to be routine questioning. We didn't—we didn't know that the guy had a warrant against him. I only heard the gunshot before I found (Y/L/N) in the backyard."

"Where were you? Why weren't you two together?"

"We... we, uh, we split up."

"You what?"

"(Y/L/N) said—" Anderson stopped himself when Derek proceeded to glower, forcing the younger agent to backtrack and choose his words more carefully, "—like I said, we didn't think the guy was any threat when we arrived. He shot (Y/L/N) and ran while I was calling for help."

The muscles on Derek's face twitched. "So, not only did you put (Y/N)'s life on the line, but you also let the shooter go free?"

"What? I didn't—we weren't—the injury isn't even that fatal!"

Anderson regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. Spencer physically winced after hearing the sentence, and from across the room, Emily was frowning, shaking her head in disapproval as if she was reprimanding her young child.

"I see. It's not even that fatal, is it?"

"T-That's not what I—" gulping down, Anderson tried to scour for his voice, "—I just meant that the, um, the bullet? It didn't even go through. It only grazed (Y/L/N)'s side."

Spencer let out a tired sigh from between them.

"Yeah? You're lucky it didn't go through, Anderson." Derek stepped forward, his index finger blunt but piercing as it fell on Anderson's chest. "Because if the bullet did go through, I would've made sure that you'd fucking pay—"

"Excuse me? Anyone here for (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?"

Derek's threats were cut short by the doctor's appearance in the room. Anderson breathed out his relief as Derek approached the physician.

"I'm the fiancé, Doctor," Derek informed. "Can you tell us anything?"

"Well, I've cleaned and patched up the wound. The bullet only grazed the side so there aren't any shrapnels in it. Just needed a few stitches, really. It could've been worse," the doctor disclosed.

Derek nodded along during her entire explanation. "Can, uh, can I...?"

"Oh! Yes, of course. Just head down this hall. It's the second room to the right."

Derek barely managed to rush out a quick thank you before sprinting down the hallway shown by the doctor. He knocked on the second room to the right, hearing you yell a come in! before he went to open the door.

"Hey, you," Derek said once he was inside the threshold.

You were sitting on a stretcher, your shirt buttoned only at the top as your fingers deftly did the rest. Derek caught a glimpse of the bandage on your side and his heart was in a peril of jumping straight out of his chest. The harrowing feeling was eventually chased away by the sight of your blinding smile.

"Hi, handsome," you greeted.

Your voice was still the same exultant lull that he knew and loved all too well. In fact, if he didn't know any better, there was no visible indication to reveal the horrific encounter that you just went through a couple of hours prior. You looked the same. Normal. Derek allowed the relief to flood as this knowledge dawned on him.

"Why do you look like you just suffered through a massive heart attack?" you asked, bemused as you reached out a palm to his direction.

"Because it feels like I did just have a massive heart attack." Derek accepted your palm and kissed the knuckles before securing your joint hands inside the pocket of his jacket. "You scared the living shit out of me, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry, love. We were blindsided. Didn't mean to worry you."

"You're okay, though?"

"Uh-huh. Just a little sore. And it kinda hurts when I do this." You extended your arm, flinching when a surge of pain instantly ran down your side.

"Stop it. Don't do that. Why would you do that if it hurts?"

"To demonstrate," you replied nonchalantly. "By the way, you shouldn't have been so harsh on Anderson."

"What? How did you know?"

"I didn't. But I know how you are, and your answer just confirmed everything to me." Derek didn't know whether to feel deceived or impressed by what you just said. "You should ease up on him. It's not his fault, you know?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. When two people are paired together and one of them ends up in the hospital with a gunshot wound, I think it's fair to blame the other half of the pair for it, don't you think?"

"But it's the shooter's fault, Derek, not Anderson."

"The shooter may have pulled the trigger, but Anderson didn't have your back." Derek used his free hand to brush a knuckle against your cheekbone. "You wouldn't be here right now if he did."

You huffed an aggravated breath, detangling your fingers from his own in a rebellious act of frustration. "If the situation were flipped, and it was Anderson who lay here instead of me, you would've gone well out of your way to convince me that what happened to him wasn't my fault."

"If the situation were flipped, Anderson wouldn't even be lying on this hospital bed in the first place."

"You don't know that!"

"Maybe. But you don't know what could've happened, either." Derek's hand slipped along your elbow, tugging it gently as he shuffled closer to you. "C'mon, baby. We need to get you home."

"No." You shook his hand away from your arm, getting off the bed as Derek blanched in surprise. "I can do it myself."

Derek watched dumbfoundedly as you staggered towards the table where your jacket, gun, and credentials were stowed. He kept an eagle eye on you as you tried putting on the jacket by yourself, cringing internally when he heard the wretched hiss escaping your lips.

"Okay, baby, stop. That's enough. (Y/N)." Derek snatched the jacket off your back, rearranging its position before helping you slide each arm into the sleeves. "Just let me help you, dammit. Why are you so stubborn?"

"I don't need help from someone who berates other people for fun," you grumbled.

"That's what you think? That I'm doing it because it's fun?"

You paid Derek no regard as you teetered towards the lone chair in the room, sitting yourself down slowly before bending to fix your shoes that had become untied. It turned out to be an arduous feat to do with your injury, and for the next minute, you found yourself shifting into various positions to find one that wouldn't feel like a dozen knives being plunged straight through your flesh.

Across the room, Derek stared at every one of your movements in agony.

"C'mon, baby. Let me do that for you."

"No."

"You're literally in pain as we speak."

"I can take it."

"Why the hell are you doing this?"

"You know why."

Derek sighed.

"Fine," he relented. "I'll apologize to Anderson. Happy now?"

You stopped fiddling with the end of your shoelaces. Your entire face lit up like a kid in a candy store when you found his eyes from the distance. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Derek strode forward, kneeling in front of you so he could help you tie your shoelaces. "Just let me help you when you need me to, okay?"

"Okay!" you exclaimed, leaning down to leave a kiss on Derek's forehead.

Your fiancé had to contain his smile from your adorable but unexpected gesture. "You're lucky I love you, sweetheart."

Even as he said it, Derek knew that deep down, he was actually the lucky one.

[s-4pphics]

A/N: me vs writing what i’m supposed to aka moth aka vampire possession aka anyway here’s post santa barbara angst don’t ask questions im not really sure LOL

“You’re back.” 

Determined hands freeze in the dirt, the freshly watered daisies glistening under the beaming sun rays. Your soiled fingers halt all movement at the soft acknowledgment from behind. A sigh leaves your lips. 

“… I am.” 

An exhausted one, and it’s not from your strenuous labor in the garden. Your body refuses to turn, but holes burn in your spine, leaving behind lasered streaks of green. 

“Can you look at me?” Ellie pleads gently. The softest you’ve heard her be in months. 

What she doesn’t know is that you’ve been back. For a week actually, hiding out in other people’s homes throughout Jackson, assisting in places where Ellie’s least likely to go. The garden in particular; Pollen makes her sneeze. 

Time is vital and interesting; Dina left her and Ellie’s farmhouse with her son when you fled Jackson. She sought you out, but you weren’t there. You spent most of your time alone, walking, running, killing what you had to. Searched for peace, internal and external. The sight of the waterfall was worth the months-long trip. Your home is different now. Eerily quiet. The kids you helped teached to read don't play outside or laugh as often anymore. You hardly see Tommy or Maria around. Jesse is dead. Joel is dead. Dina isolates with JJ. Hugs him like she’ll die if she lets go. 

Ellie’s forever changed. The town’s forever changed, and you’ve finally accepted that it’s for the worse. 

“Is listening not enough?” 

Cordiality is beyond you. Spite is evident. Even the flowers can feel it. 

You tried to be patient, to coddle, to mourn and aid and tend. Sacrifice your own wellbeing for the sake of hers. You tried, Dina tried, Tommy didn’t but he did at the same time. Oddly, destructively, but in his own way. You blame him and don’t. Hate him and don’t. He’s violently and permanently scorned, but so are you. So is Ellie. She says nothing from behind you. You rise with a pop in your knees and an upturned lip. 

When you face Ellie, your knees wobble. Scarred: emotionally, physically, mentally. Permanently. Her eyes are more breakable than glass, the shattered hand that displays defeat hid shamefully behind her back. But her cheeks are fuller, no longer the hollow vacancies they were before she left. Maria was always on her back about finishing her meals. 

Grief is complicated. Hurt. Anger. The flowers wilt. Listening isn’t enough, and neither is sacrifice.

Ellie’s nose always twitches when she thinks. Your heart gives a sporadic pulse, but not enough to revive the shell you're trapped in. 

“I don’t want an apology from you.” 

She shakes her head, “I know.” 

“Then why are we talking?” 

Another twitch of her nose. She searches for something. “I—“

But then she flinches away from you, a bent arm coming up to cover her nose and mouth when she sneezes. A painful jerk thrums through your chest, but still not enough. 

“Bless you.” 

One more sneeze, but softer. A bit squeaky. Remnant of when you first met her at 13 and she followed you out to the greenhouse to watch you water the orange trees. 

“Thanks.” 

You nod stiffly. When she doesn’t say anything, you move to leave. Your work is done and she knows you’re back; There’s no point in being alone with her. 

Ellie doesn’t follow, but she does speak. 

“I’m trying.” 

You pause, one foot in front of the other. A doe learning how to walk for the first time. 

“I’m trying to be normal. I’m trying to be okay but it’s not working.” Her voice trembles.

You weren’t expecting a confession. Normal. An interesting use of the word. No one feels that anymore. 

“It probably won’t for a long time.” You state, just as quietly as she, “But if you stop trying, you’ll rot from the inside. If that’s what you want, then fine. But if not… That's all you can do now.” 

“Will we ever be okay?” 

‘We’ means many. ‘We’ means two. Your back’s to Ellie, but you can see her. Unmoving, but frantic. Her mind cranks at a million miles a minute. You feel her eyes on you. Too familiar. 

You’re not sure how to answer, so you don’t. You take one last look at her before you walk away. 

Flowers never look the same the next day. 

[tickettride]

I know you're hurting || B.C.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

pairing is benny cross x f!reader

in which you have no choice but to call benny after being stabbed, even though he's just supposed to be a memory. it was raining when you met him, and it's raining again when he almost loses you. or are those tears in his eyes?

word count: 1,9k

warnings: a lot of blood, angst and panic, mentions of death and hospital, probably a few mistakes

A/N: in a love/hate relationship with this one, but I really wanted to post something here. and look at those eyes? am I strong enough to resist such pathetic eyes? I’m afraid not :/

You had never believed in fate and luck until then. Those were just concepts invented by humans to make others feel less alone. The bikeriders club had imploded, and that was it. The reasons weren’t linked to destiny, just to a few guys looking for trouble. Delusion would lead you nowhere.

But then, why did it have to be you with that hole in your abdomen? 

The question sent you to your knees, breathing heavily in agony. The knife was at your feet, lying in a puddle of blood. Your blood. You had managed to remove it from your stomach with a scream, and now it felt as though it had drained all your energy. 

Your body screamed to lay down and take it easy, but you couldn’t. You had to call someone, anyone, to get some help. A face flashed in your mind, and it made you cry even harder. God, you had no choice. Your parents would kill you, and none of your friends were in town. The few people who had walked by the store—fate had decided they would arrive that that very moment when you were so close to death—had run away in terror, and you were still waiting for someone to get you out of this horror.

So you didn’t think twice. Hoisting yourself painfully, one of your hands pressed hard against your wound as the other reached out for the counter. Within the next minute, you were standing, mustering all your strength to get to that damn phone behind the cash register. 

A small noise escaped your throat when you stepped across the cashier, his eyes forever fixed on the ceiling. You briefly wondered if he had seen your terrified face before getting shot.

The two young men had startled you at first, but you hadn’t thought for one second that they would panic after trying to rob Mickey and stab you to keep your mouth shut forever. 

You swore you knew one of them from school. 

Nearly falling against the wall, you finally managed to take the phone and dial the number you couldn’t forget. He had given it to you on the day you met, his eyelashes wet and dark from the rain.

“In case you need me,” he had explained, the number written on a clean napkin. “Ask for Benny.”

You’d never had the opportunity to call until then. Not when he had been there to protect you. A creep getting a bit too close to you? You just had to meet Benny’s eyes. You had never realized how lucky you had truly been back then. 

The ringing stopped and turned into a buzzing silence. You prayed hard to hear Benny’s voice, but you weren’t lucky. 

“Who’s this?” 

You took a shaky breath, trying hard to keep hope. If Benny wasn’t the one on the other side of the line, then he was surely playing cards or smoking outside. That’s where he spent most of his days—now fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to lead him far away from you on that very day. Would it?

You gave the man your name, only then realizing you were talking to Cal. You hadn’t heard his voice in forever. 

“You’re hurt?” Cal asked, his tone filled with worry. 

“Um-hum,” you replied hesitantly, glancing at the door to make sure no one was coming in. You couldn’t risk him coming to get you. Cal would take at least three guys with him, and the outcome would be bloodier. “I’m fine. Is… is Benny around? I need to talk to him.”

Your vision grew hazy. And the hand holding your stomach felt so wet, so gross. The longer you waited for an answer, the further the panic spread through you. 

“I think so, yeah," Cal mumbled.

And after what felt like forever, Benny said your name. The world rolled off his tongue so beautifully that you couldn’t help but let out a sob of relief, your head thudding against the wall. This fucking man. 

“Hey,” you sounded bashful, so ashamed he was the only person you could reach. 

“Cal said you sounded weird,” Benny said. “What happened?”

Your heart beat so hard against your ribcage it hurt. Benny and you had broken up two months ago for this exact reason: the danger. You couldn’t bear living in a state of constant fear, anxious that Benny would get hurt, or worse. And Benny… he had told you he wouldn’t change. Couldn’t change. Now you had almost died, and you couldn’t even blame him.

It was just your own misfortune. And now, you felt so guilty for breaking things off when that danger was absolutely everywhere. With or without Benny, you wouldn’t escape it.

“I just wanted to run a few errands, and those guys just… they burst into Mickey's store with a gun. They said they just wanted the money, but they looked so lost."

For a long moment, Benny said nothing. “Are you hurt?”

“They’ve stabbed me,” you blurted, and it felt so odd to say the words out loud. Of course, the city had its fair share of thugs and criminals. They were just not supposed to assault a decent store in the middle of the fucking afternoon. “I’m bleedin’ so bad, Benny. It won’t stop bleedin’. I swear they just had guns comin’ in, but—but the tall one pulled out a knife and—"

“Fuck!” you suddenly heard, causing you to startle and hold the phone away from your ear momentarily. “Don’t move, alright? I’m comin’ to get ya.”

“Um-hum.”

No other response came, and you supposed he had already taken off. You had never doubted Benny would show up in a second for you, wherever you were. After all, he had promised you so on the day he had first kissed you.

And Benny was true to his word. Twenty minutes later, while you were pressing your hands on the wound with all your strength, writhing in pain, he appeared in front of you.

From the quick rising and falling of his chest, you guessed he had run through the store to find you there, in the back alley. Like the first time you spotted him, the raindrops fell graciously over the curve of his nose, making you jealous when they kissed his lips. You hadn’t cared about the rain when you had limped outside, just wanting to get some fresh air and the sight of Mickey’s lifeless body out of your sight.

“I told you not to move,” Benny simply said, no hello or I’ve missed your face.

“I couldn’t stay inside with that stench,” you replied cooly, unable to meet his eyes. 

Silence filled the alley for a short time, when Benny finally noticed the blood seeping out onto your shirt. You watched as his eyes went up to your face again, the blood on the floor and your body delivering him to a sudden chill. You couldn’t hide the pain, the tears, and the dread anymore. You were standing there, bare before him, and there was nothing you could do to pretend. 

“Goddamn. What’d they do to ya?"

Benny came closer to take your wrist, but you stopped him, afraid that he would touch it. “No.”

“Let me see,” he rasped, trying to pry your fingers away from your curled-up hand. 

Your panic only seemed to work him up. He gazed at the wound for a long time, and you could almost see the thoughts behind his eyes. Thinking about how he would find those two guys again and make them pay for laying one finger on you. He would find the same damn knife and make them pay for that look in your eyes, filled with worry.

The red liquid ran quickly into the crevices of your palm. Benny said something, but your heartbeat thrumming in your ears made it hard to listen. All you could feel was the blood on your hand, never faltering.

“I think I’m gonna faint," you slurred, losing all strength in a second.

It took Benny even shorter to leap to you and hold your body against him, his warm scent filling your nostrils.

“Hey, you hear me?” Benny was talking in your ear, his strong arm sweeping beneath your knees and lifting you until you were cradled to his chest. “You’re okay. I’ve got ya.”

His voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the rain pouring down. With your head lolling against his neck, you shakily observed your red hand. Wasn’t it supposed to stop bleeding? Why was it bleeding so damn much? 

The sight was as unsettling as it was sickening, freezing you in morbid fascination. 

“Don’t let me die here, Benny,” you heard yourself mumble, your tears mixing with the raindrops.

You looked up at him. His eyebrows were knitted together, rivulets flowing down his cheek. 

“I won’t,” he promised like all the promises he had made back then, and it felt like you were flying, although he was just striding down the alley towards the main street. Your fear was contagious, but not your shame. While you tried hard to ignore the puzzled eyes of the cars driving past you, Benny barely paid them any attention. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Benny snapped you out of your daze, and you realized you were gasping in for a breath, praying they hadn’t ripped something vital inside you. “I know you’re hurtin’.”

The term of endearment made you sniffle hard. Instead of easing the heartache, all it did was break you in pieces again. You wished you could have kissed him right there. Tell him you would do anything to stay alive and give him all the love he needed. Although selfishly, you couldn’t help but love the attention he was giving you.

“We’re gonna get ya taken care of, sweets. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

A warm kiss was placed on your wet forehead, his mouth lingering for longer than necessary while he battled his instincts and crossed the busy street. Through his affection and the fake determined steps, you could see how terrified he really was. He was just as overwhelmed as you, his features slightly hardening to hide the burgeoning emotions. Benny had lost so many people over the years; you couldn’t be the next one abandoning him.

You almost felt guilty for getting the leather seat of the car wet, but he had softly lowered you before you could say anything and you were hurting too much anyway. You kept your mouth shut as the rain thrashed against the window, and it didn't stop until Benny told you were at the hospital. The smell of it burned your nose, even from inside the car. You didn’t even want to open your eyes.

You hated how dizzy and half-alive you felt, but you hated hospitals even more. 

“Wait,” you stopped Benny before he could get out of the car, and it struck you how upset and frantic he really looked. There was this wetness in his eyes that wouldn’t leave, even when you tried to give him your best reassuring look. 

“I know you can’t stand the place–”

“That’s not it,” you cut him off, and you watched how hard he refrained himself from telling you to fucking hurry. “Can you–can you kiss me? Just in case.”

“You’re not dyin’,” Benny rushed to reply, shaking his head as though the idea was killing him inside. 

"The last thing I saw when he stabbed me was your face. Not my goddamn future or my parents. I saw you,” your voice cracked again. “Please.”

You wished, fervently, that his hands had not cradled your cheek so easily in such an ugly and mundane parking lot. On the few occasions you had allowed yourself to fantasize about the way you would find your Benny again, it had been romantic and beautiful. Not with your hands dripping red, staining his jacket. Not with your wet and sweaty hair glued to your forehead, and the ungraceful whines leaving your mouth when he accidentally touched you where it hurt. 

You clung desperately to his neck, the daze in your mind turning into something less painful. Benny kissed you as if it were the last time, and you sank against his love that came from the pit of his soul, where no one had been able to reach. No one but you. You kissed him back as strongly, one hand clutching his thick, disheveled hair.

“It’s not a goodbye kiss,” Benny warned, glassy eyes set on yours as he shook his head repeatedly. “You hear me? You’re stayin’ with me.”

All you could do was nod as he wiped the hot tear that rolled down your cheek. Fate and all the misfortunes set on your path still made no sense to you, but you supposed it was less scary with Benny on your side. After that kiss, you were certain he wouldn’t leave you ever again. And it wasn’t even delusion.

It started right in the hospital room, where he refused to leave you for more than a minute. You were safe and out of danger—as for now—but Benny wasn’t having any of it.

"I'm stayin'," he kept saying to the nurses, and when he looked back at you with those eyes, you knew he meant it. He would always stay.

[doctorsiren]

"The first step is always the hardest, I’ve heard. I know there’s no way I could have taken it without her. Of course, my problem wasn’t magically solved. She’s an amazing little magician, but no one is that good. Yet…she showed me a way to get out of the hole I was in…showed me that it was possible to be okay when I thought I had lost everything. In reality, I hadn’t…but in the process of this, I was throwing everything away from her. I knew I needed to get better. Initially, it wasn’t for myself. I didn’t feel like I deserved it. It was for her…and somewhere along the way…I realized that I did deserve to get better. It took a lot of time and support. I am better now.

Even so…it shouldn’t have been her responsibility. Only 8 years old and she was both so mature and so innocent. She knew too much about the world, about how harsh it could be…and yet she still held onto her childlike light. She shouldn’t have been put in the position to be the parent. That was my job. But she would run in with her glow and help me see the way. I needed to show her that the world didn’t need to be so harsh, the same way she had already done for me. I couldn’t do that in the state I was in. I knew I had fallen too far when she cried because of me. I vowed from that moment to never let myself be the reason she felt pain or sadness.

I love her. She loves me…and one day, her love allowed me to love myself again. She truly is my sunshine."

I wanted to give an explanation for why he's addicted to grape juice rather than alcohol / wine. I get that it's supposed to be a joke about him being addicted to grape juice because the way that it's talked about in the game, it's very much alcohol-coded. But I like to think of it as literal.

This goes sort of the same way my beanie comic did. This takes place after it, as shown by him putting on the beanie to try and quell his panic attack. I also wrote a monologue, as the beanie post was captioned with something from the game itself. I wanted this to feel similar.

The beanie post focused on colour and light, whereas this one is purely on the light.

[primejourney]

Hello world!

I’ve been wanting to get back to drawing daily, and having fallen in the SubMas fandom rabbit hole recently, I was excited to learn about the Sept-Ingo challenge! I’m excited to use this as a way to practice, but also to see what areas I could focus on practicing. 

I worked hard all Labor Day weekend on this one for the prompt “BATTLE”. It depicts Ingo and Emmet during their time as depot agents. (I suppose it could be a bit more Ingo centric! But it just didn’t feel right without Emmet there!). 

Critique is always welcome! I tried to mess around with foreshortening, something I’ve never really tried before (I haven’t practiced anatomy very much either!). I know it needs improvement, but I have to say I am proud of what I’ve accomplished — it’s so nice to create a finished work again!! 

(also...sorry for posting so late @monthofingo ..! i draw very slowly ;D;)

More about my inspiration under the cut

I was inspired by @maniacwatchestheworld post about how the brothers’ Klinklangs were most likely their starters! I adore Chandelure and Elektross as much as the next SubMas fan, but I think these two deserve some more love! They represent Ingo and Emmet’s battling synchronicity and bond very well! I like to think they used them a lot in their time as depot agents before they became masters. 

I took inspiration from the idea of the two Pokémon having Plus and Minus as abilities! You might notice the two klangs look a little different from each other. ;)

I originally wanted to include a speech bubble with an attack name or cool phrase, but I couldn’t squeeze one in…and I couldn’t think of one. I’d love to hear if you guys have any ideas of what they might be saying. :D (I entertained "Gear Shift!" but technically, only one of them knows that move, lol).

p.s. if anyone has tips on how to draw their silly hats in perspective i would be eternally indebted to you ;D:)

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Moves

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: loosely based off Suki Waterhouse's Moves. It was also supposed to be SMUT, but apparently that wasn't meant to be.

Author's note 2: y'all I meant to post this earlier but got distracted.

Summary: Y/n has had feelings for Andrew for a while now, and she's pretty sure he feels the same. Can one night change everything?

Warnings: unrequited love, but also, more requited than not.

She likes him – maybe its a little more than like, at this point. She adores the colour of his eyes, the way they’re green when its bright out, but then when they meet at dimly lit pubs or he hangs around late at night and neither of them bothers to turn on an overhead light, they’re this dark, hazel hue. She is thrilled by his laugh – not the polite courtesy chuckle he spares when someone tells a joke that isn’t even funny – she means that full bodied sound that erupts from his throat when they’re watching that one episode of that one show, the way he rocks backwards a little and rests his hand over his chest. And there’s something about the way he says her name too, that makes Y/n giddy inside, especially when she picks up his call late at night, while he’s on tour and the rest of the band is asleep but he can’t seem to keep his eyes shut without her voice being the last thing he hears before doing it.

Andrew told her that once;

"I don't think I could sleep if I tried....I need to talk to you first. Hear your voice so I can just...."

"Just what?"

He paused, hesitating, "nothing, I just like the way you sound. That's all."

Y/n could have sworn that it would have been the call that changed everything. She'd held her breath until around two am, when he finally yawned and said he was going to try to get some sleep.

He must feel the same, Y/n determined shortly after that. Because friends don’t sling their long arms around your shoulders, or kiss your forehead right after pulling you against them.

Friends don’t have moments where their lips get so close to the other’s that it won’t expend any real effort to make them to touch.

Andrew was the one to pull away that night and apologize profusely before blaming it on the liquor. She’s never told him, but she wishes he hadn’t. She thinks about it so painfully often that she swears the memory is burning a hole into her heart – the ache of what could've been, but isn’t.

Y/n is thinking about it tonight. They’re sitting on Andrew's back porch, a bottle of wine shared between them. The backyard is illuminated by the light over the wide, glass door that separates his kitchen from the deck, and the blue hued, inground lights that give the pool that sits between his house and the foliage bordering the woods a glacial glow. Off in the distance, she can hear crickets and the occasional rustle of some other, nocturnal creature moving through the trees.

The mood would be entirely romantic if it weren’t for the smell of barbeque and booze clinging to the thick, humid air. It's why they’re outside; its unusually warm and sticky for an Irish October, but Andrew has informed her its becoming typical for this time of the year. He also said that being outside helps, but Y/n thinks that was just an excuse for them to sit outside in hopes that the fresh air would sober them up.

But she doesn’t particularly mind – even if she’s been bitten by a couple mosquitoes.

Everyone else is long gone, and he'd asked her to stay back for a few more drinks while she helped him cram leftovers into his fridge. Its not unusual for her to be the only one left at his place – or vise versa – so Y/n is used to being alone in Andrew’s presence. In fact, she thinks she prefers when its just the pair of them, occupying a quiet space saying nothing but whatever pops into their somewhat inebriated minds;

“I read this poem that made me think of you.”

“I bought you a jacket, but I forgot to pack it.”

“Have you read that book I told you about?”

“Would you read this thing I wrote?” He asks after a couple hours of them going around in circles of menial chatter. Of late, everything Andrew writes is about her, and while he’s thought of telling her that more times than he can count, he can't seem to force the words out of his mouth. It isn’t even that he’s intimidated by her – that would be far too uncomplicated for an overthinker of his caliber. No.

He could never be intimidated by Y/n anyway; he’s known her for too long, too well. She’s the person that puts him most at ease; his heart doesn’t quicken when she touches his arm the way she’s touching it now as she says, “Of course, I’d love to.” In fact, the tick in his chest slows when she does that, he isn't nervous or worried or anything, he's just…. happy. And though her hands are usually so cold, Andrew swears there’s a tingle permeating the thin fabric of his grey Henley when she touches him.

Their eyes meet as Y/n promises to read what he’s written and she finds herself drawing in a shallow breath. There’s something else on the barest top of her liquor-stained tongue, but its refusing to break past her lips;

“I’ll read anything you write. I’d do anything for you, really.”

“Great, great,” Andrew beams suddenly, straightening his back before standing with purpose. “I’m gonna get it, wait here.” He doesn’t wait for Y/n to respond, not even with a nod, before disappearing into the house.

While he’s gone, Y/n tops off those sleek, stemless wine glasses with the remainder of the chilled Sauvignon Blanc and takes a sip of hers, hoping it’ll help combat the sticky heat that’s surrounding the property. She knows she probably shouldn't have anymore; her head is already fuzzy and there’s that tell tale film over her eyes. The one that makes lights stretch out like shooting stars and makes you feel like you're walking through a dream. Andrew must not be any better either, because he stumbled over all too familiar steps on his way back into the house.

“Got it,” he announces as he returns to the patio, raising the notebook over the head in triumph. Andrew is less than graceful when he retires next to her again, dropping the book into her lap. After a lengthy sip of his wine, he leans back onto his elbows. “It's the last thing in there,” his cheeks heat up, the dusty red colour creeping up his cheeks, towards his ears.

He’s a funny sort of drunk; chatty and able to make a joke of literally anything. He’s flirty too, yet somehow retaining his usual reserve. When they venture to pubs, he’ll flirt his way right into a one night stand without even realizing it, and then slink back to her side, rattling off an excuse involving the words, “ehm, well, she isn’t really my type.”

“Yeah? What is your type?” She’d ask, eyes challenging him.

He’ll look at her for a bit longer than usual, squirting his eyes a little as his waning smile fades completely. “Doesn’t matter,” he’ll eventually say dismissively, covering his words with a swing of his drink before changing the topic.

“Its not finished yet,” he mumbles as Y/n finds the page.

“It looks finished,” Y/n frowns, looking down at the way he’s signed the bottom of the page, the way he usually does after scrawling out the final words.

Andrew shakes his head, “ehm, I mean….the idea. I’m not done with the idea.”

“Oh.” They lapse into easy silence when she starts reading, meticulously scanning every line, barely restraining herself from ghosting her thumb over his hurried, untidy penmanship. Y/n can feel Andrew’s eyes on her as she reads. He's still laid back and propped on one elbow as he steadily sips his wine while she tries to get her hazy mind to comprehend everything on the page.

Its a love song or a profession – or she’s pretty fucking drunk and has lost all ability to to comprehend words.

No, its definitely a confession. A beautifully written one. Of course everything he writes is always much akin to poetry; but with this, every word is strung together like tiny bulbs in a reel of fairy lights. Each one in perfect harmony with the other. They’re carefully chosen, as if just one were missing its entire, delicate balance would be pitched into uncertainty.

“Andrew….” He sits up, draining the last of his wine as she lifts her head from the page.

“Is it bad? The worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ever written?” He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he flashes her a lopsided smile.

“It's beautiful,” Y/n rasps, suddenly feeling like the air’s been knocked from her chest, or like she’s been running too fast. There’s something besides the night���s oppressive heat surrounding them, something fragile and precious. Part of her wants to say something else, she can see on his face that he’s aching for more, but Y/n is absolutely terrified that if she does, it’ll be the wrong thing and the moment will be shattered into a million little pieces, scattered across the forests behind his house by an unexpected breeze, the way it happened on a night all too similar to this one.

“But?” Andrew is the one that dares to speak, the word uttered softly and with the weight of reproach clinging to its single syllable.

God, what if he’s ruined everything? What if the reason he’s never been able to tell Y/n the way he feels is because a morsel deep within him knows she doesn’t return his feelings. Andrew doesn’t even know if she’s interested in a relationship – or anything adjacent – right now, she doesn’t talk about going on dates and or fancying anyone.

What if the reason she never talks about other men is because she’s somehow gathered how he feels and is trying to protect him from the hurt? That would be awfully cruel, but he supposes it's the kindest thing she can do without ruining their friendship.

“But….” Right before her, in a matter of seconds, a dozen emotions cross Andrew's face and Y/n realizes that, if she’d been in front of a mirror the night he told her he likes hearing her voice before he goes to sleep, this is what she might have seen reflected in it. That cautious hope, with a bit of fear sprinkled in.

Upon realizing that there's no ‘perfect’ thing to say, Y/n hastily leans forward and rests her lips on his, in a chaste, close-mouthed kiss. He’s shocked at first, she can feel it in the way he stiffens. But after another couple breaths spent like that, Andrew wraps an arm around her, flattening his palm on the center of her back. As he relaxes, Y/n deepens the kiss, deserting the book in her lap to cup his face. His beard tickles the inside of her hands, just like she’s always imagined it would, and his tongue and lips are sweet with the wine’s fruity notes.

When they break, faces only inches apart, Andrew lets out a shaking breath while Y/n holds onto hers. “God….I don’t think I would’ve ever done that,” he admits, shoulders rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths.

Sometimes he wishes he had her courage, but most times, he’s glad its hers.

A hint of a smile tugs at her kiss-swollen lips. “I know,” she laughs softly, the sound airy and musical.

Her eyes are twinkling, like two stars plucked from right over the vast bed of darkness hung over their heads. Andrew is certain that no two stars have ever shone brighter, so its fitting that they belong to her – the most dazzling person he knows. Setting his glass down, he lifts his free hand to her cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing her lips. “I’ve been thinking about it for a damn long time,” he admits. It's hard for him to put a definite number to it, it might as well have been very soon after they met.

“Me too,” Y/n rests her hand over his wrist, offering it an affectionate squeeze.

“I think…..” he trails off, struggling to keep a firm grip on his thoughts. His imagination is running a little wild right now; his mind is already churning out thoughts of his future as it changes shape. It's funny to him how one thing can change everything else.

One kiss, and he swears he’s seeing the rest of his life. Holding it.

“Sshh, we don’t have to talk about it tonight,” Y/n whispers. Talking complicates – they’ve been talking for too damn long anyway, and knowing Andrew, his brain is already three weeks ahead of him. Its sweet actually, because every plan she’s made for her future has been built around him, and now suddenly, he’s doing the same thing. “Lets just….”

“Just what?”

“Do this,” in an instant, Y/n closes the space between them again and seals her lips over Andrew’s. That time, he responds immediately, pulling her against him until the only thing left for her to do is slide her leg over his thighs and shuffle into his lap, pressing her chest to his and draping one arm over his shoulder while she keeps her other against his cheek. The way his beard scratches the area around her mouth makes her smile, and she thinks its something she'll get used to quickly.

All of it is so close to being as commonplace his arm slung around her shoulders and the sound of his voice coming through her phone while there’s a timezone and entire ocean between them. The way his mouth moves against hers, the heat of his hands as they hold onto her waist, the sound of his voice as he says;

“I’m glad you stayed.”

[bruisedboys]

underneath kitchen lights — james potter x reader

summary — james has a crush on you, lily’s shy and unbelievably sweet coworker. you nurse a crush of your own. (based on all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine!)

or .. you got a slurpee for free, I caught you looking at me, in the 7/11 under fluorescent lights. I spilled mac and cheese on my pants, and thought about kissing you underneath kitchen lights!

contains — shy!fem!reader, florist!reader, strangers-ish to friends to lovers, rugby player!james, modern au, flirting, mutual pining, fluff, james being a total sweetheart, sirius being a twat and a good friend, wolfstar because I couldn’t resist, kissing, lovesick!james, idiots in love tbh, and ummm lots of references to all my ghosts!!

notes — um I am very nervous to post this. but also please don’t let it flop.

fem!reader 8k words

James has an embarrassingly big crush on you. For someone he’s only met twice now, you’re very good at getting stuck in his head. It’s hardly his fault — you’re lovely. You always smell like flowers (which is kind of a given, he supposes. You work with Lily at Harriet’s, the florist’s down the road). You’re very pretty. You’re quiet and a bit shy but you’ve spoken enough that James at least knows you’re polite and friendly.

He’s talked to you a grand total of one time. You’d exchanged a few words and James had been very very quick to fall in love with everything about you. Your hands as you wrung them in front of you — a shy tell, he’d guessed. Your voice, pretty and soft, and how it’d sounded when you said his name. The way you dressed, your hair, the quirk in your mouth when he’d made a joke, the hitch in your breath when he’d shook your hand. He was a goner the second he’d met you.

“Prongs,” drawls Sirius, followed by a hard punch in the bicep. “You know you’re not as subtle as you think.”

James scowls in the general direction of Sirius’ voice. He’d been staring at you, he’s sorry to admit. You’re talking to Lily and you’re smiling about something she’s said and you just look so pretty.

He badly wants to talk to you properly, he has ever since the first time Lily bought you around to a party like this one, but he’s scared of embarrassing himself. He’s not exactly the best flirter when it comes to girls he actually likes. His tongue gets all tied and he can’t say two words without ultimately embarrassing himself. He’s not as much of a charmer as everyone thinks he is. He’s also scared you won’t like him, but he won’t get into that.

“Shut up,” he advises Sirius, rubbing his sore arm. “I don’t even know what you’re on about.”

Sirius, sprawled on the couch next to James, rolls his eyes and snorts. “Yeah, okay,” he says, all sarcasm. “S’not like you’re burning holes into Y/N’s face or anything.”

For a split second James panics. He whirls around to look at you so fast he almost snaps his neck in half. Have you heard Sirius? Do you think James is a total creep now? No — you’re still engrossed in your conversation with Lily. James breathes a sigh of relief but it’s cut short when he realises Sirius is laughing at him.

“Mate,” he guffaws. “You’re hopeless.”

It’s James’ turn to roll his eyes. “Thanks a lot,” he says dryly.

Sirius grins with all his stupidly perfect teeth. “Y’welcome.”

James sighs and scrubs a heavy hand down his face. Maybe he is as hopeless as Sirius thinks. He’s certainly feeling quite hopeless right now. With you across the room and him sitting here unable to make himself get up and talk to you. As subtle as he can he twists to look over the back of the couch again to see what you’re doing. He’s just in time to see you disappearing into the kitchen by yourself, Lily now talking with the other girls by the ranch slider.

His heart rate spikes. This is his chance.

James is getting to his feet before he knows what he’s doing. He dodges another hearty punch from Sirius, pretends not to hear Lily when she asks him where he’s going, and follows you into the kitchen on clumsy feet like a puppy on a leash.

He stumbles into Lily’s kitchen and there you are. Standing with your head in the fridge, the bright white lights cast over your skin. And there’s a lot of skin to look at. Your shoulders, your upper back. There’s a beauty spot on your back, just next to your shoulder blade. Your dress floats just above the halfway point of your thighs. You’ve got really nice legs. James snaps his eyes back up to your head before he can feel too guilty and clears his throat.

You start and then whirl around, eyes wide as saucers, one hand curled around the fridge door.

“Oh,” you say, breathless. “James. You scared me.”

James is so busy melting over the way you say his name that he almost forgets to speak. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to.”

You shake your head and your big dangly earrings jingle like bells. “No, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry.”

You smile all soft and pretty and James really thinks he might pass out. He steps forward and leans against the kitchen island as casually as he can, when really he’s using it for support lest he keel over.

You’re looking at him like you’re expecting him to say something. He clears his throat again.

“Um,” he starts lamely. He braves through. “I, um— you look really nice tonight. I wanted to tell you earlier but Lily’s been stuck to you like a leech since you got here.”

You blink at him and James worries he’s said the wrong thing. Maybe this was the worst idea he’s ever had. And he’s had a lot of bad ideas. But then you beam.

“Oh,” you say, shocked like you can’t quite believe it. Which should be impossible, really, James thinks. You’re beautiful. It’s hard not to believe it. “Thank you, James.”

James smiles back. Your shyness at being complimented only fuels him. “You’re welcome. Just don’t tell Lily I called her a leech.” At this, you giggle, and James stammers through his next words, dazed from your laugh. “So, uh— are you looking for a drink?”

He gestures to the fridge, which you seem to have forgotten about, the door hanging wide open under your grip.

“What? Oh,” you say sheepishly, and suddenly you’re embarrassed and staring at your shoes. “No, I’m…” You lift your head and blink at him under your lashes. “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”

James is perplexed, but he’s not gonna laugh at you if you don’t want him to. He licks his dry lips. “Yeah, I promise.”

You smile, then dip your head towards him like you’re sharing secrets. “I was cooling off,” you admit, sheepish. “It got too hot in the living room and Lily’s patio has mosquitos.” You hardly give him time to reply before you’re cringing, saying, “It’s weird, right?” Like you know he’s gonna think it’s strange.

He doesn’t think it’s strange. Well, maybe a little. But he’s been found in worse positions at parties. You look so embarrassed about it James is almost sorry he asked. Almost, because embarrassed you is adorable. You lean back and scrub your neck awkwardly, bracelets clanking on your wrist.

“No, I know,” he groans sympathetically, nodding vehemently. “Lily really needs a mosquito net or something, so we can open the damn door without getting eaten alive. Can I join you?”

You look baffled for a moment, and then shy all over again.

“You want to join me while I stick my head in the fridge?” You ask, an amusement to your tone that James adores.

James shrugs. “Why not?”

You smile outright then. “Okay,” you say, stepping aside so there’s more room in front of the fridge for him. “C’mon, then.”

James practically skips over to you. The moment he steps into your space he can smell your lovely scent. Flowery and sweet, something floral like hyacinth mixed with something sweet like honey. It’s intoxicating. He feels like he could drown in it. But there’s no time for drowning, not when your hand wraps around his elbow and pulls him into your side, your feet shuffling to accommodate him.

“Move closer,” you urge shyly. “You gotta get the full experience.”

James moves closer. So close his arm brushes yours and he could hold your hand if he wanted to. He very much wants to. He imagines your skin is as soft as it looks.

The coldness of the refrigerator washes over him and it’s actually really nice. Even though he can be a total party animal sometimes, he understands why you would be here instead of in there. It’s quiet in here. Nice and cool. No lingering scent of heavy wine. No Sirius to tease him and no Marlene to badger him with questions about his love life.

“This is nice,” he says quietly, over the gentle buzz of the fridge.

You giggle softly. James thinks he’d like to make you laugh a million times over. “Isn’t it?”

“Mm,” James hums. “I should do this at parties more often.”

You laugh again, delighted at his joking. “You should. Then I wouldn’t be so lonely when I escape to the kitchen.”

James laughs too. He can’t quite believe his luck right now, squished in front of Lily’s refrigerator with you, elbow to elbow, the rest of his friends and the party long forgotten.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” he says, smiling big.

The next time James sees you, it doesn’t go quite as well as previously. To put it simply, it’s a disaster.

First of all, he’s late. Remus and Sirius are having a housewarming party at their new place and he’s had training all day so he’d forgotten all about it. It’s not until 9:30, an hour after the party was supposed to start, that he’s climbing in his car after training and his phone buzzes.

He picks it up, exhausted, expecting one of his teammates. Instead it’s a string of messages from Remus.

You’re late James!!!!

We started without u. Where r u????

Sirius is gonna wring ur neck

James scrolls through the messages with a mixture of confusion and dread. Confusion because at first he has absolutely no idea what Remus is talking about. Dread when he realises.

He speeds all the way home, showers at lightning speed, pulls on a rumpled shirt and a pair of jeans that he’s sure aren’t clean, and he’s out the door within ten minutes of getting home. Still, by the time he gets to Sirius and Remus’ place it’s almost 10. His hair looks a mess but it’ll have to do. He doesn’t even think about the fact that you could possibly be there. That is, until he’s finished apologising profusely to his friends and Sirius mentions you. James perks up from where he’d been slumping on the couch, feeling exhausted and sorry for himself.

“What?” He asks, too loud. He tries to tamp it down but honestly, it doesn’t really work. He’s still buzzing with nervous energy when he asks, “Is she here?”

Sirius grins, looking uncharacteristically cat-like. “Uh— yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. His stupid grin only grows and James thinks he’d quite like to punch his teeth out. “She came with Lily. Moons thought we should invite her. She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?”

James knows he’s teasing but can’t quite bring himself to care — the prospect of seeing you has demolished all other feelings of pathetic-ness. He leaps off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen, guessing that’s where you’ll be, a barely touched drink in his hand and Sirius’ teasing following him all the way. He’s so busy fixing his shirt before he sees you that he doesn’t see you. He walks right into you on the threshold of the kitchen.

“James!” You gasp, stopping short.

James’ drink, to his horror, has spilt all down your front. His glass, previously full, is now half empty, the rest of it splattered all over your white top.

You barely have time to be surprised before he’s apologising.

“Shit,” he curses, mind blanking. His hands go to fix the damage before he realises he probably shouldn’t touch your chest, where his drink is now seeping into your top and showing no signs of stopping. He pulls his hands back lamely. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N. Oh gosh. I’m so dumb, I—“

Your rush to forgive him is almost as quick as his apology. “No!” You shake your head and it’s awfully cute despite the situation. “No, it’s okay, James. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

James grimaces. He tries not to look at the dark red stain that looks like blood on your white blouse. It is quite possibly the worst thing he could’ve spilt on you.

“It’s okay,” you say again, softer, reassuring, probably clocking the pathetic look on his face.

“Don’t, angel,” James says, shaking his head. “S’my fault.” He grabs your elbow gently and starts to pull you out to the living room, seeking Remus, who he knows will have a spare t-shirt that’s at least clean. “C’mon, I’ll find you something else to wear.”

“Wait, James. Wait.” You plant your feet in the doorway of the kitchen and James stops walking. He looks back at you, feeling guilty, hopeless, confused, and a bit endeared by you still, all at once.

“What?” He asks as gently as he can when he’s feeling like such a loser.

“I don’t wanna cause any trouble,” you say, biting down on your bottom lip so hard James is sure it hurts. You’re shy, he remembers. Quiet and polite. You probably don’t like people making a fuss over you, even though you should really. You’re pretty enough that people should be making a fuss over you all the time. “I think I’ll just go home, s’only a ten minute walk. I was going to leave soon, anyway.”

James frowns. “I can’t let you do that,” he says, shaking his head. He also can’t let you feel uncomfortable. He conjures a compromise. “Look, how about you wait here while I go ask Remus for a spare shirt? And then I’ll walk you home to make it up to you.”

He knows walking you home isn’t near enough to make up for ruining your top. But it’s the best he can do right now.

“But you just got here, didn’t you?” you say, frowning yourself.

James shrugs. That’s hardly a problem for him. “Don’t worry. I see those two asshats every day of my life, sweetheart.”

You still look unsure but James isn’t changing his mind. He’s going to walk you home if it’s the last thing he does. But first, something for you to change into. He leaves you in the kitchen and finds Remus, whom he asks for a shirt, to which Remus says, “What’s that for?” too loudly.

James explains what happened dejectedly. He’s not exactly surprised when Sirius laughs at him for it.

It’s a quiet walk to your place. You live close, which is both good and bad. Good because it means every time James is at Remus and Sirius’s, he’ll know you’re only ten minutes away. Bad … well, for the same reason.

James tries his best to fill the silence with easy conversation. It’s not hard, especially when you’re so sweet and kind and answer his questions so pleasantly. You’re easy to talk to. You don’t laugh at him when he slips on his words. You don’t make him wait for answers. You ask him questions, too, timid as you are about it.

James finds he enjoys your company even more than he was expecting. You’re like a breath of fresh air. You’ve got the radiance of an early spring morning and the softness to go with it.

It’s safe to say he’s disappointed when you come to a stop in front of your place.

“This is me,” you say, fishing your keys out of your purse. You’re in one of Remus’ band tees and James thinks you look much better than Remus does in it. As much as he loves Remus. He realises he’s staring too late, his eyes following you as you walk up your front steps.

You unlock your door and then look back at him, timid.

“Did you want to come in?” You ask, sweet in your shyness.

James would very much like to come in. He also thinks he might fall on his face if he spends much more time with you. He’s already dizzy on his feet and he’s been with you all of fifteen minutes.

“No, no, that’s okay,” he says as kindly as he can. “I should probably get back, or Sirius’ll have my head.” At least he knows where you live now. In a totally not creepy way.

He steps forward to take your wrist in his hand, his thumb pressing into your pulse point. He can feel your heartbeat. It’s not quite as fast as his feels but pretty close.

“I’m really really sorry about your top,” he tells you. He spreads his fingers over your forearm, your skin warm as late summer under his touch. “Can I do anything to make up for it? Buy you a new one?”

He wasn’t joking, but you giggle, your face lighting up, your eyes crinkling at the corners. James feels something akin to a mad swarm of butterflies in his ribcage.

“No, James,” you laugh, breathless and lilting. Your free hand lands on his forearm and his skin burns under your touch. “It’s okay, really.”

“Okay,” James breathes. His head spins as you squeeze his arm. Your skin is impossibly soft. You smell so nice. “But, seriously, let me know if there’s anything I can do. It was such a nice top, it looked lovely on you.”

You flush like James knew you would. He’s slowly discovering he likes making you flustered more than he’ll admit.

“Thanks, James,” you say, and James imagines if he touched your face you’d be burning. “But, really, it’s okay. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. See you around, angel.”

It’s only after you close the door and James is at the bottom of the steps that he realises he should’ve asked for your number. He really is as hopeless as Sirius says.

-

James Potter is on your mind most of the time. You can’t help it. You’re not above admitting you have a crush on him. You are above admitting how big said crush is.

He’s really one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. Sure, you don’t meet a lot of people. But you’re sure if you did he’d still be one of the best. He’s kind, he’s funny, he’s unbelievably charming. He’s a bit awkward sometimes and you like that, it makes you feel better about your own social ineptitude.

It also helps that he’s very very handsome. You would look at him all day if you could. He’s all dark, velvety skin, inky curls that you’ve imagined weaving your fingers through more times than you can count. Deep brown eyes turned bright with his ever-present smile. Thick eyelashes, a lovely sloping nose, a quirk to his mouth that you think you could get drunk on. He dresses well, too, though you’re sure he’d look just as good in a hoodie and sweatpants. Or nothing at all. You’d squashed that thought before it could go any further.

You don’t even mind that he spilled wine all over your nicest top. Sure, the stain is never gonna come out. It’s sitting in your closet, ruined. Embarrassing as it is, you smile every time you see it. James had made up for it tenfold anyway, walking you home and telling you he was sorry about a hundred times. It would be hard to not forgive him.

“Y/N?”

There’s a call of your name from the office door. You’re in here on your lunch break, not really eating more than you are thinking about James. Margaret, the older lady who owns Harriet’s but only comes in Thursdays and Tuesdays, is poking her head through the door.

“Hi, dear,” she says. “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a customer out here asking for you? I can tell him to come back later, if you’d like, but he seems quite insistent.”

He. Of course, your mind flies straight to James. Which is ridiculous, you know, but it was already parked and idle at James, anyway.

“He’s asking for me?” You ask, perplexed. You don’t usually get personally requested by customers. And if it is James, you’re sure he’d ask for Lily instead.

“Yes, dear,” Margaret smiles, and she looks amused.

You get up because it’s your job, not because you’re hoping like hell it’s James. You put down your barely-eaten sandwich, brush past Margaret with a small ‘thank you’ and emerge into the shop.

There, standing at the counter, is James Potter.

“Y/N!” He says as soon as you emerge. He’s bouncy. Frazzled. You would even say excited. “Hi, lovely. I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this, were you on your break?”

“Oh, um, no. It just ended,” you lie. You still had a good ten minutes left. Not that you’re gonna tell him that.

James’ smile makes the lie worth it. “Perfect. ‘Cos I need your help.”

You think you physically perk up. Like a cat when it smells food is near. You hope he doesn’t notice.

“Okay,” you smile. You’re happy to help if it’s James you’re helping. “With that?”

James explains that he needs a bouquet, your best work, better than a boring one you can get at the grocery store because he really really needs this person he’s giving it to to like it. Your smile fades at this. At the fact that he’s getting flowers for someone else. He won’t tell you who this someone else is. He also won’t tell you why he’s giving it to them. You’re sorry to assume it’s a girl he likes. Possibly Lily? Maybe that’s why he asked for you and not her. You wouldn’t be surprised, they’re close and she’s gorgeous.

Of course, you help him anyway. You recommend flowers that last the longest, colours that go together, which ones smell the best. He’s asks you what your favourites are and ends up going with those, saying he trusts your judgment.

You have to admit it’s all very endearing. And you have so much fun helping him that by the time he leaves, arms full of a huge bouquet made up of all your picks of flowers, you’re beaming. Despite the daunting fact that he’s walking out of your shop with a bouquet for someone else.

Margaret appears once he’s gone. She’s got this big smile on her face that you can’t quite make sense of.

“He’s a handsome one,” she muses. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Your cheeks go redder than the roses on the shelf behind you.

Much later, you’re in the comfort of your small home, a bowl of steaming hot mac and cheese in your lap while the TV drones on. It’s some sort of romantic comedy that you can’t say you’re very interested in. Despite the lead male being very attractive. You’re about to change programmes when there’s a knock on your door.

You start. Nobody ever comes over. You don’t have many friends, and the ones that you do have, you tend to go over to their places, rather than the other way around. You’re so busy worrying about who it is that you haven’t even stood up before there’s another knock.

You get up off the couch, mac and cheese forgotten on the coffee table. You give your outfit a once over. You’re in sleep shorts and a hoodie that’s too big for you. Not your best work, but it’ll have to do. You fix your hair with little to no care and then open the door.

It’s James. You gape. You definitely should’ve paid more attention to your hair.

“James,” you say.

He beams right back, seemingly unaware of your sleepy appearance. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You stare at him. He looks pretty as ever. It’s only just going on sunset, and the colourful sky casts streaks of orange and golden yellow over his pretty face. The last bits of sun tangle themselves into his curls and drown themselves in his eyes. He’s dressed casual, but he still manages to pull it off, like you’d thought. A hoodie and jeans, a pair of beat up converse. He’s hiding something behind his back and you think you hear cellophane crinkle when he moves.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he’s saying. He doesn’t have your number. But Lily does. Is it crazy to think he’s maybe asked her for it? “Is this a bad time?”

His kindness reminds you how to speak. “Uh— um, no. S’not a bad time, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Are you— um, did you want to come in?”

You’re rambling, you know. He hasn’t even told you why he’s here and you’re asking him to come in.

James smiles kindly and it makes it all better. He’s good at that. At making you feel okay for being a bit of an awkward loser (your own words, not his, of course.)

“I’d love to come in,” he says, all smiles. “But first, I have something for you.” He pulls whatever he’s been hiding out from behind his back and offers it to you between your chest and his. “To say I’m sorry about your top.”

You blink. It’s a bouquet. It’s the bouquet. The one you’d helped him put together. The one that has all your favourite flowers and colours and smells because despite you thinking it was for someone else, you’d still wanted the best for James. You blink again.

“James,” you say, a little breathless, a lot speechless. “They’re for me?”

James laughs and you feel dizzy for a moment. He’s got a really nice laugh. “F’course there for you, sweetheart. Who else?”

He makes you take them from him, one of his hands guiding yours around the stalks. His skin is warm and sets yours on fire. You’re surprised the bouquet doesn’t go up in flames when you take it from him.

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter. “I thought …” you don’t finish your sentence. You’d thought they were for some other girl who’d caught his eye. You change tactics mid sentence, “They’re lovely, James.”

“I know they are, dove. You picked ‘em out.”

You giggle then. He’s the sweetest boy on the planet, you decide. He let you pick out your own flowers, and you didn’t even know it. You’ve never properly been given flowers before, despite working at a florist’s. It’s a new feeling. Like a star burning in your chest that doesn’t seem to want to go out. It hovers in you ribcage and stays there, buzzing madly.

“Thank you,” you say, lifting your eyes to his. You find he’s already gazing right back at you. There’s a rogue curl falling over his forehead that you’d love to push out of the way. “Really. I love them.”

James flashes you a boyish grin. “Good, ‘cos if you didn’t, I’d have to have a word with the girl who chose them.”

You’re still beaming when he comes inside. He follows you into the kitchen, where you find a vase for the flowers. You set about taking them out of their packaging, cutting the stalks and putting them gently in the glass vase filled with water.

James watches you and you can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant about it all, about being in your space, but his eyes scan your kitchen like it’s a map he’s trying to figure out. Your mismatched mugs on the counter. Your magnets and Polaroids and receipts on the fridge. Your overgrown plants on the windowsill.

You carry your flowers to your small living room and put them in the dead center of your coffee table. The bouquet is so big it would block most of your view of the TV if you sat on the couch. You hardly care. You’d rather look at them than the TV, anyway.

Setting the flowers down, you spot your half eaten mac and cheese and hope James doesn’t take you for a slob. You’re lucky he didn’t catch you on a Friday night. You’d be drowning in ice cream, probably.

“Are you hungry?” You ask him, half hoping he’ll say no, because who in their right mind asks their crush if they want macaroni and cheese? It’s so lame, but you can’t take it back now. “I have mac and cheese, but that’s about it, sorry.”

You cringe and wish you’d held your tongue, but James beams.

“I’d love some mac n’ cheese,” he says. “Unless it’s boxed, that shit tastes like cardboard.”

You get him some mac and cheese, glad you made it yourself, gladder you haven’t resorted to boxed food just yet. The two of you sit in the kitchen on your tall kitchen stools under your golden lights and eat. James is easier to be around than anyone you’ve ever met. He makes you feel special but not to the point where it’s too overwhelming. He’s kind and he’s golden, he acts like you’re the only person he ever wants to talk to.

Watching him eat in your home is more of a pleasure for you than you’d like to admit. He compliments your cooking. He says he likes the bowl he’s got, which is a white one with pink flowers all over it that you bought at a market ages ago. He gets a string of cheese dangling from his lip and makes a dorky face trying to get it into his mouth without using his fingers. You think you’d like to kiss him. His lips all puckered and eyes crossed as he attempts to scoop the cheese into his waiting mouth.

You’re so busy laughing at him that you don’t notice your own bowl balancing precariously on the edge of the counter. When you go back to take another spoonful, your hand knocks the bowl and it goes tumbling. Right into your lap.

“Shit,” you curse, gasping when a dollop of hot pasta lands half on your thigh and half on your shorts. The sauce spreads like wildfire over the fabric of your sleep shorts. Why do things keep spilling on your clothes when James is around? It’s becoming a theme. Your horror grows when the bowl clatters to the floor and while it doesn’t smash, it spills mac & cheese everywhere. “Oh, shit, that’s embarrassing. Um.”

You bend to clean up your mess but James beats you to it.

“Here, let me,” he says. He slides off his chair and is quick to start scooping up the ruined pasta.

“Sorry,” you stutter, standing helplessly as James cleans up your mess for you.

“Don’t be,” James shrugs and looks up at you, his cheeks dimpling as he smiles kindly. “Go change, I’ll sort this out.”

You feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude and affection for him that makes you want to kiss him stupid. You don’t. Instead you go down to your room and find something to change into. Seeing as he’s already seen you in your sleep shorts, you suppose your checkered flannel pyjama pants aren’t really much worse. Nothing can be more embarrassing than what’s just happened, you decide.

By the time you’ve changed (plus spent a lot of extra time staring at yourself in the mirror, practicing your smile), James has cleaned up the spill and is washing your bowls in the sink. You decide then and there that you like him a lot more than you’d initially thought.

You emerge into the kitchen on light footing. You feel like a magnet being drawn to him like this. It’s bizzare, how much you want to be around him, no matter how shy he makes you. It’s something you’ve never experienced before. A rip in the ocean calling your name. You know of the danger but you don’t really care. You ignore the signs because he’s James and you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body. The warning signs basically don’t exist.

“Thank you, James,” you say, standing on the threshold of the kitchen.

James flashes you a big smile, up to his arms in soap and suds, scrubbing away at a bowl. He looks like a house husband. It’s almost more than your heart can take. “That’s okay. Hey, nice pyjamas. Y’look good.”

You can tell by his tone he’s not teasing. He’s being genuine, which is somehow worse than if he’d been teasing. Your smile is so big it hurts.

-

James is gonna kiss you tonight. He’s sure of it.

So far, all of his advances have gone well. Perfect, even. Unless you count the drink-spilling incident, but if it hadn’t been for that he’d probably never have found the courage to get you alone again.

He’s taken you out to lunch once. He’s been into your work twice, not including the first time. He’s invited you to his rugby game tonight, to which you’d said yes more enthusiastically than he’d expected. It’s not exactly a date, per say. But he’d wanted to see you today and he had a game and his coach would blow his head off if he’d missed it for a girl. No matter how lovely said girl is.

He’s waxed poetic about you to Sirius and Remus more times than he can count. He’s yet to kiss you. Sirius thinks this is beyond absurd.

“So you haven’t even kissed her yet?” He asks, incredulous. He’s in his rugby kit, hair up in braids, chugging a Gatorade though the game hasn’t even started yet. “What’s the hold up, mate?”

James groans. Sirius is yet to understand that some people don’t like to jump into the deep end before they’re ready. “I don’t want to scare her off,” he explains, straightening up from where he’d been tying his laces.

“Oh yeah, you’re reaaally scary, Prongsie,” Sirius drawls, dripping in sarcasm. He rolls his eyes and then clasps James’ shoulder. He’s surprisingly and uncharacteristically genuine when he says, “Look, I think she likes you enough that kissing her won’t scare her off.”

James blinks and looks up at his friend. “You think she likes me?”

Sirius makes a face. “Are you kidding? What other girl would want to watch you eat shit in a field with a dozen other sweaty guys?”

And he’s back, James thinks. Trust Sirius to be a sweetheart one second and as asshole the next.

Soon enough James is out on the field and he wants to say his mind is on the game and not you but he’d be lying.

For the first five minutes he’s distracted trying to spot you in the stands. Then the next ten minutes are spent trying not to stare at you. You’re with Remus, whom James is hoping isn’t relaying anything he’s ever said to him about you.

You look as though, to James’ extreme delight, that you’ve dressed up for this. In a pretty dress and a jacket that borders on being so big on you it swallows you up. Sure, you’d still looked pretty drop-dead in your pyjamas the other night. But this is another level of gorgeous.

The first chance he gets he bounds over to you, ignoring his coaches instructions to ‘stay with the team’. Most of the team has scattered for half time, anyway. James makes a beeline for you.

“You came!” He shouts as soon as you’re in shouting distance.

You grin and wave at him, brilliant and dazzling and so damn pretty in the early evening sun. You’re not far up the stadium and James is grateful he doesn’t have to climb too many steps — though he’d definitely climb all the way to the top row to see you if he had to.

“Hi, James,” you say, looking happy as a clam to see him.

James beams back. He wonders vaguely if he looks as lovesick as he’s feeling. He can’t even bring himself to care if he does. He’s lucky Remus is nowhere to be seen — probably loving on Sirius somewhere.

“Hi, angel,” James says, smiling around his words, which come out all sticky-sounding and fond. “I’m so glad you came.”

You beam and rock on your heels, looking one part shy and two parts delighted, your hands clasped in front of you like you’re not sure what to do now.

“Can I give you a hug?” James asks. “I’m so happy to see you, I might explode if you say no.”

He’s joking, of course. Or maybe not so much. You nod, a tad vehement, James notices smugly.

“Yes, please,” you say, breathless.

James steps into your space, heartbeat a mile a minute. You smell like flowers again. Lavender, he thinks. He definitely doesn’t smell anywhere near as good. “You’re sure I’m not too sweaty and gross?”

You shrug. “I don’t care, James.”

“You should. You look lovely.”

You make a noise that sounds half pained and half pleased and it makes James’ heart skyrocket.

“Can you just hug me?” You ask, a hint of desperation in your tone that’s actually much more than a hint but James is trying to be a gentleman. “Please?”

James thinks if you keep this up (by this, he means, acting as though maybe you like him as much as he likes you), he’ll die on the spot. He hugs you. For his own and your sake. Wraps you up in a big strong hug that’s so passionate he accidentally lifts you off the ground slightly. You don’t seem to mind. Your arms weave around his neck like they were meant to and you hook your chin over his shoulder and go all melty.

James almost moans. He can’t believe how perfectly you fit in his arms. How your body melds into his so nicely. He’s big and firm and loud and you’re quiet and small in your own way. But it works, and James is so glad it does.

“How was work, lovely?” He says into your hair. Your hair, which smells like coconut and something sweeter.

“It was okay.” Your voice is quiet but you sound just as pleased as he does to be wrapped in each other’s arms. “Lily says good luck.”

“Hey!” This is Sirius, jogging towards the stands and the, for want of a better word, lovefest. “Why don’t I ever get hugs like that?”

James releases you but keeps a good hold on your waist, twisting to meet Sirius. “What? You want one too, Pads?”

He lets go of you and holds his arms out for a hug, half joking but also half serious.

“Not from you!” Sirius scoffs, backing away from James like his hug will give him an incurable disease. “From your pretty cheerleader over there.”

Sirius plants his hands in his hips and nods his head towards you where you’re standing behind James. James doesn’t need to look to know Sirius has probably made you embarrassed.

“She doesn’t want to hug you,” he says dryly, in an attempt to save you from his obnoxious friend. “Where’s your boyfriend? You can hug him instead.”

Sirius scowls but it doesn’t last long. You brush past James and it takes him a second to realise what’s happening.

“I’ll hug you, Sirius,” you’re saying sweetly. “C’mere.”

And to everyone’s surprise, you hug Sirius. James finds it both endearing and highly annoying. Annoying because Sirius is smirking at him over your shoulder, his hands on your lower back. Endearing because it’s apparent you’re trying to make friends with James’ friends and he couldn’t be happier. The hug doesn’t last quite as long as yours and his, though. And Sirius doesn’t quite lift you off the ground like James did.

James watches, reluctantly fond, as Sirius pulls away and smiles at you all kind and un-Sirius-like.

“Thank you, m’lovely,” he says, swooping down to kiss your cheek. James shouldn’t feel jealous, because Sirius kisses everyone on the cheek, but he does anyway.

His jealousy quickly fades when you practically skip back over to him, all smiles.

“Sorry about him,” James says quickly. He’s very used to apologising for his friends.

“No, that’s okay,” you shake your head and then take James’ forearm in your hand unthinkingly. Heat licks all up James’ arm.

“Y/N,” he says, sounding more confident than he feels. “Do you—?”

The shriek of his coach’s whistle cuts him off. Time to get back on the field, it says. James groans, long suffering, throwing his head back like he’s been resigned to the worst fate in the world. You giggle and it makes it all better.

James’ team loses the game. It’s embarrassing and then it’s not, because you bound up to him afterwards and give him a hug even better than the one at half time, gushing about how good he was, telling him it doesn’t matter that he lost because he played amazing, anyway.

He sure feels like a winner as he walks with you to the parking lot, his duffel bag swept to his wrong side so he can walk as close to you as possible.

“I didn’t know you were so good.” You’re still gushing and James thinks he’s never blushed more in his life. “I mean, not that I didn’t expect it. You just never told me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Sirius,” James murmurs, feeling overly feverish.

“What? What’s that mean?”

James gestures vaguely with his hands. “I don’t go around bragging, is what it means. And I’m not that good. We’re just a local team, babe.”

It’s your turn to flush. Head to foot you go all shy. He thinks it’s the pet name that did it. And maybe the fact that he’s pointed out your gushing.

“Right,” you say to your shoes. “Well, I think you should play for the country, is all I’m saying.”

James laughs, delighted and a bit startled at your joking, but mostly just sick as a dog in love with you. “Really? Wow, you should tell my coach that, sweetheart. I think he’d totally agree.”

You pick up on his sarcasm and burst into giggles that make James’ chest want to explode. He realizes you’ve almost reached his car and puts his plan into action.

“Hey, did you drive here?” He asks.

You look up at him and James thinks he sees an inkling of hope in your pretty eyes. “No, I caught the bus. Why?”

“Did you want to go get Slurpees with me? I saw a 7/11 near your place the other night.” Then, because he really wants you to say yes, “I’m paying.”

Maybe it’s James’ wishful thinking but he’s pretty sure you light up like a Christmas tree. He really thinks if you keep doing things like this his head is gonna get too big for his body. You beam, looking like an angel on earth in the last fragments of sunlight, skin painted in an array of bleeding golds and pinks and oranges.

“Yeah, okay,” you nod. “Except you don’t have to pay for me, James, I have my card.”

James shakes his head, grinning as he fishes his keys from his bag. “Nah, don’t worry. Pretty girls get slurpees for free.”

He’s ninety-eight percent sure you freeze up like a block of ice as he unlocks his car. He has the generosity to not mention it.

The drive to the 7/11 closest to your place is quiet. But good quiet. James puts on the radio and is delighted when you start humming along like he’s not even there, your fingers tapping along the window where you’ve rolled it down, the wind brushing over your pretty face. He can’t quite get enough of you. Even just driving in silence with you feels like cloud nine. He’s enamored. Totally lovelorn. He’s surprised he can even drive straight.

When you get there he parks the car and then tells you to wait so he can open your door for you. He holds your hand to guide you into the 7/11. It feels like walking on air.

You both greet the guy at the cashier, you much more shyly, but James is learning you’re nothing if not polite. It’s practically empty inside, which James is glad for. How is he supposed to kiss you if there’s a bunch of strangers around? He leads you over to the slurpee machine with the excitement of a kid in a candy store.

“What flavour do you feel like?” He asks, grabbing a cup for you.

“Um,” you lick your lips and James wonders, not for the first time, how it would be to kiss them. “Grape, I think.”

“Grape?” He wrinkles his nose in pretense. “I’m more of a cherry guy, but I’ll let it slide ‘cos I like you.”

You giggle and flush, to James' extreme delight. He lets go of your hand to fill your cup for you, all the way to the top. He pops on a lid and a straw and passes it to you, cold condensation dripping over his fingers like raindrops.

“Thank you,” you say softly, taking the cup from him, your fingers soft as they brush his.

James gives you a big smile in place of a you’re welcome, then preoccupies himself with filling his own cup. He can feel your eyes on him all the while. Practically burning holes into the side of his face. His face, which feels like it’s on fire. He finishes filling his cup and shoves a lid on.

“Have I got something on my face?” He asks without looking at you, definitely teasing but he thinks you can take it.

You groan and punch him in the arm. Punch isn’t really the right word. It’s more of a brush of your knuckles. James hardly feels a thing. “James.”

James laughs, delighted at your reaction. “What?” He chuckles, picking a straw and turning to look at you. “You were—“

But you’re gone, turning into the candy section just in time for James to see the back of your jacket disappear. He follows you, grinning like mad.

“Y/N,” he says, sing-song.

“James,” you copy, with half the enthusiasm but twice the sweetness. He can almost hear you rolling your eyes.

James can’t help it, he snags your jacket in his fingers and pulls. You squeal as he twists you to face him, his hand coming to hook around your waist. Your slurpees get crushed in between your chests. James can feel the coldness of his soaking into his shirt but he hardly cares. You’re so close he could kiss you. He’d like to. It’s what he’s been trying to do all evening.

You’re gasping, breathless from the closeness and his sudden attack. “James,” you say again, panting. “What are you doing?”

James shrugs. “Nuthin’. Did you want some candy?”

You swallow and adjust your grip on your cup where it’s pressed to his chest. You’re staring at his lips. He’s staring at yours, too.

“No,” you say, your pretty eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “I don’t want candy.”

James licks his lips, partly because he thinks he’s about to kiss you, but mostly to tease you. “Then what do you want?”

Your eyes follow the slow movement of his tongue. “Um.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks, softer now. Less taunting. More sincere.

You stare at him. “We’re in the middle of a 7/11, James,” you chastise. But you don’t turn him down.

“So? There’s no one in here but us.”

He inches closer. His slurpee is probably spilling over with how much he’s squashing it but he can’t bring himself to check. He’s too transfixed by you, the hopeful look on your pretty features, eyes blown wide, lips slightly parted.

“Okay,” you breathe, hardly a word at all.

“Okay, what?” James says back, just as quiet. “I can kiss you?”

“Yes,” you nod once. Your hand ghosts over James’ elbow and he hopes you’ll grab it when he does finally kiss you. “Please.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing than that. He kisses you, and the very first thing he thinks is that he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Thrown himself in the deep end, chum for the sharks. Because it’s glorious. It’s better than he ever imagined, better than anything he could’ve conjured up in his mind. You taste like grape slurpee, sugary and sweet. You’re tentative like you always are, but it doesn’t mean you hold back. You let him kiss you as hard as he pleases, tilting your head up to meet him, gripping his elbow with your free hand like you never want to let go.

He kisses you firm but careful, passionate so you know how much he likes you but soft enough so you know he’s okay to go slow if you need to.

Soon enough the moment is ruined — James shouldn’t have expected anything less. The guy at the cashier is wondering aloud if James is planning on ever paying for the Slurpees now dripping condensation into both of your clothes and hands.

James sighs and goes to pull out his wallet, but not before pressing another kiss to your smiling mouth.

-

feedback and reblogs are very very appreciated! please please lmk if u liked it (but not if u didn’t ahahah) xx

[jolapeno]

under the stars

joel miller x f!reader | masterlist

summary: joel finds that you become a thing of unnatural order, all ethereal as the moonlight kisses your curves.

wordcount: 3.7k warnings: post outbreak. smut. oral sex (m receiving). tying joel up with rope. cutting joel free with a knife. p in v. jo's spelling. feelings, but joel-feelings. softer!joel an: i've had this in my head for so long, getting it down on a page has been the whole wonderful, exciting and exhausting thing. i could sing forever about the moon. thank you to the most wonderful, and amazing @swiftispunk who i threw this at last night and made me feel like i am a goddess of the moon.

Joel had learnt early on that you liked the night.

You’d handed it to him in puzzle pieces—flecks of information that he’d eventually be able to make a portrait out of. First, you’d handed him a story, then a statement and then a feeling.

The only times you didn’t like the night was when it was silent.

No wind in the trees, each branch crunching sounding for miles. You didn’t tell him with your words, but rather your body—frame closer, practically against him.

When he’d seen the abandoned train yard coming into view, he’d already considered it. The night had been closing in, the last embers of daylight casting shadows larger shadows across the tall, wiry grass.

“Ever stayed in a train?”

“Can’t say I have.”

He wonders a lot about the things you haven’t done. If you had a list of things you had hoped to tick off from a list before the world went to shit. Whether you had made a new one when you woke up one day and realised it was kill or be killed.

In another life, he wonders if you’d have been a nurse, a doctor, a baker or a typist—because there’s something about your hands. A soothingness about them wasted on holding a gun or slitting a hole in a person from jaw to pelvis. It’s something which passes over you more when the sun goes down. The sharpness in you fading, as though you truly become the thing you were always supposed to be when shrouded in night and the moon comes out to greet you.

He supposes the night is the constant. The unchanged force that arrived and vanished each day—a fixed point, a welcomed relief. Things don’t appear any more threatening in the dark, no more than the world was before.

Yet, Joel finds that you become a thing of unnatural order, all ethereal as the moonlight kisses your curves. It highlights the lines that bend, and illuminates the sheen which coats your skin as you stare back at him in gratitude, as though the way he makes you feel good can make up for all you were robbed of. He hopes to, not by being the thing you lie next to, but the thing which keeps you safe. A protector, a wall of muscle, bone and flesh that would rip if it meant keeping you whole.

It wouldn’t even matter if it were day or night.

Before it all happened, he’d never have considered that the night was more alive than the day. But he’d witnessed how it was. How the darkness provided by the sky was a gift, the moon licking shadows that added an illusion of safety, one he had used to his advantage.

Your words coaxing him, whispered, all hushed, we can take them—won’t even see us coming. You had been right. Staring up at the sky as you caught your breath, stars inside your eyes and a soul full of darkness.

As he glances over, you’re doing it now.

Peering up through the open hatch of the train roof, cross-legged, dragging his jacket further around your body as you stare, and stare, and stare.

Transfixed, lost. Kidnapped by memories, most likely, ones he won’t rip you from just yet.

He wonders if you had ever wished on them, ever stared up at them with hopefulness swimming in your eyes—their twinkle swirling in the pools of your gaze. Joel wonders whether you’d pleaded for something so hard under the night sky that your nails cut into your palms, only for everything to be robbed from you all the same. Had you ever seen a shooting star, and had you prayed on it for a future that included a white dress or a picket fence?

“Don’t they look so pretty, Joel?”

It falls from you like a whisper, almost innocent—far removed from the killer he knows you can be. From the gutless, powerful soul he sees rip through people when they make you spill crimson and try to take what isn’t theirs.

It’s almost easy, he thinks, to tell you that there’s something prettier next to him. Someone who could rival the prettiest of nights and the most gorgeous of days. Something that could have been fragile, but instead is strong, chaos imagined, all wrapped inside eyes he sees when he dreams.

Head tilting, you meet his gaze, and it’s too much—too strong. It's intoxicating. Feeling drunk off it—that feeling of normalcy you make him want.

“You ever had your cock sucked under the stars?”

You know he has.

Know that under leafless branches and an almost full moon you’d taken him in your mouth. All warm, welcoming—his fingers knotted on the back of your head, biting back each hiss, each grunt as he felt teardrops on the crease of his thighs and hips.

It doesn’t matter what his answer is, you’re already facing him, knees digging into the train floor. Your fingers already working his belt—a glimmer in your eye that has him half-hard already.

Because if lust had a look, he swears it would be you.

That look in your eyes always does something to him. It’s more than just being alive, it’s a glint, a spark of something that he swears would have had rows of people to their knees. Right now, it’s all for him. Only his.

A possessiveness rings through him at the thought; rising up in him when he lingers on it, that he has this with you—has this unlabelled thing where he sees all the shards of you, has met each part which makes you whole.

“I want you to try not touching,” you say, tongue dragging across your bottom lip, mouth close to his.

He wants to taste your request. Breathe it in. Have it merge with his insides, all because of the look that accompanies it. One that makes his jaw tighten, almost tick.

“You think you can do it, Miller? Think you can refrain from touching me until I say so.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Sure.”

The latter catches on his teeth as the cool air brushes over his weeping cock once you free him from his clothing. Your head tilting, holding his stare as you lick a stripe up your palm, before wrapping it around him, pumping him. Tightening your fingers, murmuring about how hard he is for you, how thick he feels in your hand.

“We’ll see,” you smirk, pausing your ministrations, and lowering your head. "Fuck, your cock is perfect, Miller."

A retort brewed, ready to fire, shoot, land. Then, your mouth wraps around him.

Just the tip at first, pausing, all tentative. Your lashes close to your brows as you stare up at him—the moon painting you in a light which he swears he never thought possible. Because it only highlights the appetite you have for him, the starvation to take more of him.

It makes his fingers twitch at his side. Forces his thighs to tense under the need to grasp the back of your head. He refrains, even if it’s a battle he’s prepared to lose. In time.

For now, he wants more of this. Enjoy more of you licking the head of his cock, from humming around him, testing yourself as you try to take more of him, and more, and more—

A groan vibrates around him, making his eyes flutter closed. The battle having appeared sooner, slammed into him as you took more of him. Moaning sweetly around him, tongue swirling around the head when you come up before the tip hits the back of your throat all over again.

Joel doesn’t think of consequences, he just thinks of the need to feel himself in your throat. Letting his fingers move, slide around, brushing up your neck as you take as much of him as you can, mouth so stuffed—

“Hands, Miller.”

He groans, your tongue sliding up the base of him, lips hovering at the head before you trace your lips with him—those perfect, fucking lips—wiping him over you, smearing him.

“I’ll tie your hands down.”

His cock twitches, and you must notice from the way your brow arches, lifting up from him, bottom lip smothered in spit.

Joel finds most of the time, you have heavenly eyes and a hellish smile. A thing which shouldn’t remain, should have been stolen, ripped from you. Right now, you’re nothing but wickedness and darkness.

“Oh, Miller,” you say, voice lower, his name falling like silk. “Do you want me to tie you down? Stop you from touching me.”

He does.

A thing he doesn’t dare deny. His own eyes having caught sight of some frayed rope earlier, pointing it out, instructing—watching in awe as you move swiftly, boots hammering against the train floor, thudding and thudding until you’re on your knees either side of his, holding in both palms.

“Lie down.”

Your instruction carries weight, your body shifting as he lies down, your body crawling up him.

“Do it like—”

“You showed me?” you smirk. “I know how to keep you down, Miller.”

You lean back onto your knees, jean-covered cunt on his chest. Fuck what he’d do to move his hands from waiting for the circles of the knot you’re going to make—and pull you down to his mouth. Lets his breath puff warm air into the worn fabric, forcing it against your likely soaked core. Watch your lashes flutter as you try to make your identical loops, and see if you can think of overlapping them—whether you even make the knot, or let it fall to the wayside as you plead for his mouth, his tongue, his fucking teeth, before he manages to wriggle your clothing down your thighs.

He doesn’t find out, because he doesn’t move. Shadows disguise your expression, all except your smirk as you slide his wrists through the old rope—the frays tickling, brushing over his skin and hair, before with a pull, you tighten it—applying traction.

“Above your head,” you instruct.

You hinge at the hips, falling into the line of the moonlight. And, there’s a little gruffness to your voice, matching the pools of lust currently trying to swallow him whole—readying themselves to consume him, devour him. He doesn’t mind. He never fucking does.

Joel would willingly die in your eyes if he could—in the pair which sees him, all of him. Not afraid of the way he’s worn, the grief he carries, and the array of stories left in scars.

Best looking man I’ve ever killed for.

Only man you’ve killed for.

Fine. Best looking man I’ve laid my eyes on.

He’d succumb to you if you asked. More so, when you slide back down. The seam of your jeans brushing down his cock—the friction pleasant, warranted, needed.

He’s about to ask you to remove them. To bring yourself back up, allow him a taste, something to tide him over, reward you. He’d maybe even beg.

But, he swears your mouth is heaven. That he must have died mere moments ago. Each scrape of your teeth makes him hiss; each hollowing of your cheek makes him want to coat your tongue in his release. His fingers knot around the rope which binds him, hearing it trying to snap under the weight of his own frustration.

It cutting, grazing into flesh, especially as you take so much of him—further than you did before. Barely two fingers worth of him not down your throat, your eyes staring at him, holding his gaze, almost commanding it.

He pulls instinctually, wanting to grab the back of your head, hold you, stroke your neck, cheek—

But, then he ruts his hips into your mouth. Forcing a gag, a cough to arise from your perfect mouth.

“Careful,” he warns, as if it wasn't his doing. His eyes spot them, little streaks of tears which stain your cheeks, all quickly, tumbling and falling to his thighs. “Y’good for me. Fuckin’ perfect, in fact. But, be careful.”

Your tongue licks up the length of him, balls tightening as you graze your teeth over the underside—before he’s enveloped by you again, all warm, inviting, and then your throat squeezes around him.

He’s falling into it, the pool of pleasure—swimming it, bathed to the neck in it under stars and an almost full moon.

He’s sure your mouth is the meaning behind paradise and torture—both perfect and vicious—and he groans, at it. At the way, you swallow around him.

And he can’t take it.

Can’t handle it—

Wants nothing more than to come down your throat and make you taste him until morning.

Cause this is different than last time, and not because it's not a trunk his back is against. But, rather, because you're moon-soaked, kissed by the night. You're a thing he swears glows in the dark, leads a man to shore from choppy waters or could force a man to walk off a cliff.

You're pretty.

It's why he also wants to bury his cock inside you. Wants to feel you squeeze him, grasp for him, whine for him. You make him want, make him desire to possess you. Even if he'll never try to cage you, never tie you down, the thought, the wish, the desire is there. Just the same as how he wants to have you on top of him, under him, even bent over for him. Anything. Everything. All of it, all of you, all—

Mouth lifting off, your eyes glimmer, something there, growing behind your eyes. Spit tying you to him, a bead beginning at the tip of his leaking cock and ending at your swollen, puffed bottom lip.

Then you sneer. Devilishly, all fucking cunningly. “What did you think earlier, Miller?”

Hand taking him, wrapping it around as it moves in fluid motions. Grip how he likes it, a teasing speed that leaves him hovering there, so close to seeing a galaxy of his own and covering your face in his gratitude.

“Miller,” you mutter. "What, did you, think earlier?"

His throat goes dry, bone dry. Like those times when he hadn’t drunk for hours. And he pulls at the rope, wishing to tear himself free and silence your questioning by pushing you down, cheek to the side, sliding his cock inside you until you’re drunk on him, unable to think, ask.

He can feel his skin bruising, marks lacerating against flesh as he grunts at your knot. One he taught you, made you practice—something he knows you must remember from the wink you suddenly shoot him. And he knows from the smirk that cuts across your beautiful face, that the only way he’s going to get any release—is by telling you. Spilling the thing which should die in his throat, blacken, melt down into other things he’ll maybe one day tell you.

“If you want to come—“

Jaw gritting, he swears he could grind his teeth to dust.

Your hand remains poised, but not moving. His name leaves like a spell, but he knows it's draped in poison. Can tell from how it contaminates the air and makes him curse under its potency.

"Joel."

“Fine. I thought—thought y’prettier than the stars. Prettiest—fuck—” Your head dips, sliding the tip of your tongue along his slit, “—thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lifting up from him, bottom lip sliding across your upper lip—painting that in a mixture of his pre-come and your spit too—you slowly smile. “Wasn’t so hard now was it?”

Gritting his teeth, your breath ghosting over his mouth, eyes locked on him. Burying something light, warm, fucking lovely in his soul.

“Cut. Me. Free.”

Tilting your head, he sees your brow lift.

“Now.”

You blink, a thousand universes swirling in your eyes before you move for your knife. “Now?”

“Fuckin’ now, baby.”

You don't blink at the name, you just press the blade against his skin, so close to veins. Yet, he trusts you. More than he thought he would another person, another soul that wasn’t bound to his by blood.

Each slice of the blade against the rope cut through the air, his strangled breaths fading, even as his cock twitched, pleading for release. His eyes just remained on you—the maths of how he’d move you already calculated—watching the vein in your neck, the way spidery shadows cast on your face from your tear-stained lashes.

He felt the rope go slack before your knife stopped, moving in a flash, knife clattering as he flipped you onto your back. Hovering above, likely lit up by the stars and the moon—leering down on you, watching your chest rise and fall.

“So, you think I’m pretty?”

He growls, the button popped on your jeans before he rips them down as much as he can, moving enough to let you kick yourself free, before he plunges his tongue in your open mouth. Tasting, taking, robbing you of the words that you just spoke, the ones which made you cocky. Even if they were true.

But, he wasn’t good—was an animal, a thing carved from grief and the end of days. But then, you were in your own right too. Something that gnashed, scratched, and buried the softer parts of you deep under layers that had taken him months to unearth. To even find, locate.

The animal in you is what made him want to devour, but it was the softness that made him stand in front of you when branches crunched. It was the latter that made him want to pin you down against stiff surfaces and have you feel good, feel adored.

Taking his cock in hand, he drags the head against your soaked folds. Your slick coating him, sliding up and down, watching you, studying you—a sight full of stars, twinkling, pleading. Nails digging into his hips, an order, a demand.

In one thrust, he slides deep into you. Makes you his, like he does whenever you ask him to, when he can, each chance he can get. Never tiring of it, of you.

A thing he could say, fill your pretty little head with it and then fuck it outta you.

“Thinking about how much you like me, Miller?” you whisper, fingers moving up to scratch at his curls, to wrap them around your fingers. “Or, is it more than like, is that what it is?”

A tug, a swallowed groan. His mouth is on yours again—different than before.

A change, a thing the two of you never used to do, but one you do more frequently. Another thing he doesn’t hate. The change happened, and he realised he didn’t want to go back to the time before it. Not when your tongue plunged in his mouth feels good. When you lick at the back of his teeth, flooding his mouth with the taste of salt and remnants of the canned food from earlier.

“Thinking about how y’the most frustrating thing I’ve ever had under me.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

Buried to the hilt, fingers clasped around the space just above your collarbone, he stares into your eyes—wondering if the stars are ever jealous they never get to live in them.

No, he growls.

Your mouth falling open, a moan there, building on your tongue as he hits that spot—knows it, can tell from the way you lightly gasped. It is further evidenced by the way you grasp his hips, almost pinching when he drops onto his forearm above your head, freeing a hand.

“I do like fuckin’ y’under the stars.”

What began as a narrowing of your eyes, ended with a widening. The way it plays out could make him surrender to you every time, render him useless, even heal a shard of him that he thought was long since ruined.

Then, your mouth drops open, a moan emerging—rearing its head in an almost whine-filled cry, as he sticks a finger in, rolling it over your tongue, coating the pad of him in your spit before he slides his hand between your bodies.

And he knows you won’t last long. Not from the way you're clamping down, from the sounds you make—all beautiful, each rich, and fucking sweet. It’s why he drops his voice low, mouth to your ear, grunting your name, that you’re perfect, prettier than a sky full of stars—all the while drawing quick circles on your bundle of nerves, his hips maintaining a constant speed.

“Close, m’close,” you cry out, back arched into him, fingers finding refuge in his hair, face pinned by your forearms.

I know, he thinks, feeling you reach your pinnacle, hovering, hanging, before he delivers one quick thrust and you’re hurtling, spasming. Your body twists as your walls clench around him, coming on his cock, unravelling entirely as he picks up his speed, as he removes his hand from between you for leverage as he fucks into you. Just a few more, knees throbbing even through the pleasure, before his hips stutter, and he’s spilling inside of you, your name cutting into the air, scratching into it, marking it with each letter that makes it up.

Even before he collapses beside you, before breaths are caught, and your head finds that spot on his shoulder, that it’s coming. A look or your tone, that hint of gentleness you otherwise keep bottled up.

So he waits. Listen to the way your heart calms in your chest and your head feels heavy on his bone.

“Your secret is safe with me, Miller,” you whisper, not turning to look at him, just staring through the open hole of the train. “I won’t tell a soul you have a heart.”

Snorting, he swallows. “No one would believe ya if y’did.”

You hum, letting out a gentle breath.

And he just swallows the good he had almost whispered. Because if no one knows, it’s a thing people won’t try to take. And he can’t let you lose another thing, not when he’s sure the whole part of what remains of his heart, belongs to you.

an: hope you liked this. i am a whore for the moon and the stars.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Have you seen the halfa cass post that's been floating around? I'd love to see your take on that

I'm going to assume you mean the au made by @phandomhyperfixationblog so I'll write about that but if I am wrong please let me know in another ask or message.

Cass was sent to Amity Park to investigate its residents' disappearance. Ghost towns in the USA were fairly common, often after they were abandoned, the earth would reclaim the land and would be left untouched for years to come until a lucky urban exploder discovered it again.

What wasn't uncommon was that everything was left behind when the town was abandoned. Cass walks down three more streets, eyes taking in everything around her. Although the lawns were vastly overgrown and the houses left to the elements, there weren't a lot of open spaces.

Empty cars were parked perfectly along the road or in a lot, chairs and tables on porches were left out, children's toys laid in driveways, and after squinting through a few windows, she could see fully furnished households- some even had a slight mess as if the owners hadn't gotten around to their household chores yet.

One house even had a dinner table set up. The meal was rotten and smelled, but she could tell it was a family dinner that was interrupted mid-way.

Yes, everything was covered in dust, as if years had gone by since someone was last here, but otherwise, it looked like a thriving community had been here only a few days ago.

Even the stores were fully stoked, aisled upon aisled of merchandise left untouched for who knows how long. Restuantants were similar, rotten food aside, everything was open and set up as like a normal bussniess hour.

Overall, it didn't seem like the residents willingly abandoned this place. They left literally everything behind. Nothing showed looting either, which indicated how uncommonly outsiders came here.

The fact Cass was investigating Amity Park at all was because she was doing a favor for Raven. The girls didn't talk much, but it was the least she could do as the magic-user had helped her with a fight in Hong Kong a few days ago.

Raven claimed that an abnormal energy pulse came from the town. It wasn't wrong; some places just had more natural energy to them, but she had always wondered what the cause was.

It is a low-level mystery that she put off exploring due to all other priorities, but about a week ago, Raven sensed another pulse-this one reeking of death- and had asked Cass to check it out while she went on a space mission with the rest of the Titans.

She was supposed to take picutes, do some scenes and get some readings. Cass was not expecting to find literally no one for miles.

Cass slowly made her way down streets, breaking into houses and stores, looking for clues. She found no signs of a struggle but that may be due to the time frame of when this happened.

It wasn't until she got to Fenton Works that she managed that she could figure out some parts of the puzzle. The building itself was a challenge to get into. It was rigged to the teeth with weapons and security measures.

Some were old and rusted, but a majority quickly powered up to shoot at her as she tried to get past. Ducking and weaving through the blast she felt all her muscles burn from the rapid dodge she was doing.

Through years of training, she turned a handstand into a run and then a leap to crash through the front window, and the weapons outside halted as soon as she rolled to a stop in what appeared to be a cozy living room.

Weary, she watched as the gun blasters slowly retreated back into the slight holes along the roof, the fake pathway, and the gnome. Once done the world fell silent again. It's now that Cass startles.

She hadn't noticed Amity Park's silence until it was broken. She hadn't heard birds or the wind blowing through the leaves as she walked. Something was terribly wrong in this place.

Maybe she can find out what it was in Fenton Works.

She began her search by examining the walls. They were lined with family photos- a family of father, mother, and what she assumes are the children of both based on facial features, one girl and one boy. There are art pieces every so often- primarily abstract. The furniture is nothing expensive- coming from a generic furniture store. The kitchen smells rotten food- like most houses- but there is a stack of books on the table.

Cass peers down at them, noticing that they all revolve around a psychology of some sort. An open book is lying next to a notebook filled with notes for teenage development. A pencil is even left over the last unfinished sentence.

Danny's need for acceptance may be due to living in my shadow. I should show him more support.

Cass moves upstairs after confirming there is nothing else of value. There, he finds three rooms- a master bedroom obviously belonging to the parents, a slightly larger room belonging to the girl, and the smallest bedroom belonging to the boy.

Cass can confirm that the girl was tidier than the boy but while her room seemed less personal than the boy's. While the boy has far more personal touches to his belongings, nothing seems to be in order or so driven.

The parents' room was covered with either machinery that could be weapons or images of their children. Whoever they are- or were they loved the two deeply.

In the master bathroom, Cass found that the couple habitually wrote sticky notes with their to-do lists taped on the bathroom mirror's corner. She could tell the differences in handwriting and word choice- the mother wrote explanations while the father did short annotations.

Clean the beakers in lab zone 2. They are releasing gasses, so they must be disposed of properly.

Jazzy-pants slam poetry night. Nov 19th. 6pm.

Danny's sleep study. Dec 10th. Teachers said he's been falling asleep in class too often. It might be Narcolospy!

Dinner Date with Maddie. Nov 22. Classical music reservation.

Cass taps her chin. This happened before December but what year and where did everyone go?

She looks down at the sticky notes again, noticing that many speak about a "lab" downstairs. Seeing as she did not find a lab on the ground level, that only left a lower one.

Leaving the bedroom, she makes her way down to the basement, where she does, in fact, find a large lab. There is a clutter of tools for the eye to see, all surrounding what looks like everyday household items and weapons.

Cass's lips thin as she takes in the strangely shaped guns, staffs, and blades. A weapon maifator? But why here? She tried the computers she scattered about, but none worked. She didn't think so, seeing as the electricity had been shut down across the city, but she had hoped.

Thankfully, this family seemed to believe in paper and pencils because she could find multiple writings throughout the lab. It's mathematical, primarily formulas, a half-baked thesis of "ecto-being" behavior, and notes on "ecto-beings." portal.

A portal that is sitting at the far right of the lab. Cass walks around the perimeter checking to see if it has any traps, but finds none. Then she walks over to the controllers testing the power on it.

She pressed the on button waits forty seconds to confirm that it was not active before she entered the portal. It resembles an early design of the zeta tubes. Maybe the family here were trying to develop teleporting technology-

"GET OUT OF THERE!" Someone shouts. Cass jumps a good foot in the air, swinging around with her fists raised for battle. She hadn't heard him! Hadn't sensed him at all!

It's been long since anyone has gotten the drop on her. She is just grateful she is wearing a mask- not her batgirl or Orphan gear but rather a borrowed ninja outfit Damian had granted her- since it means her identity is protected from the glowing man at the stairway's base.

Wait, glowing?

She opens her mouth to demand to know who he is when the portal powers on. She only had a moment to bite back a swear before her world exploded in pain.

Cass can hear herself scream, but it's too far away from the agony of electricity being poured into her body. She is being ripped apart by it, pushed and molded, and put back together again, only to start the process repeatedly.

It feels like ages before she can't handle it anymore- again, it's been years since that last happened- before the world fades away and she falls into blissful slumber

She has smoke-grey hair and glowing opal-white eyes when she wakes hours later.

The man is leaning over her with snow-white hair and glowing green eyes, looking worried as Cass finds that her body can no longer stay solid. It seemed that she had died and now had the body of a ghost.

She knows who makes this.

"Hello, Danny," She says, pushing through the pain of her death. Oh gods, how will Bruce react when he learns about her stupid error. She doesn't want to think about it, so she pushes it away to give the startled man an empty smile. She had to at least figure out the mystery so that her death can not be in vain."I have some questions about Amity Park."

[nkogneatho]

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄

°🖇᭡ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

—cw: fem!reader, mention of childhood trauma, female masturbation, fingering, cum slurping, clit slapping, edging, nicknames (princess), reader cries from the edging.

—a/n: i was supposed to post this two days ago but tumblr took away my access. but no one can stop me and i am back so i hope you enjoy. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOYFIE. please stay tuned for other fics in the mlist.

In a city like Tokyo, the setting sun arrives with a bustling crowd of people filling the streets. Some for food. Some for a stroll. Many traveling back home from their office. Although you will always catch drunkards putting up a fight, something that happens almost everyday. The whole place swamped, and the noise is almost suffocating.

You disliked the evenings. Someone who grew up between constant quarrels, the yelling triggered the worst fears in you. This is why your husband bought a penthouse in the most peaceful place of Tokyo. On the outskirts of the city, where evenings brought silence. Only gusts of summer wind and the night, crickets and cicadas chirping. But this evening, the cicadas could be barely heard, overpowered by your whimpers.

"Toru," you cried. Your limbs were splayed out on the bed with the white haired man watching. Amusement masked his face.

"C'mon, princess. i know you can do it." His voice is deep yet so sweet. He usually talks in a higher pitch with others, a part of his personality perhaps that comes with his sarcastic attitude. But with you? It's much more gentle. Much lower until it pulls you down with itself. Until you forget that there's anyone else in this world.

"Toru, please. ah! c-can't reach. hel—help me." your managed to speak between hiccups. Although, it didn't seem like your husband was done playing with you. Your fingers pumping your hole, but couldn't reach where you wanted them to.

The mattress dipped a little when he settled on the edge of the bed. He watched your cunt getting played from a better angle now. It was so embarrassing to have him gaze at the most sacred part of you like he's a lustful notorious god and you were the source of his usual entertainment. Like you were the human he eanted to toy with to give humanity another lesson. The long fingers you were whimpering about drew rivers as they crawled up from your feet to your inner thighs, pussy still crying for his touch.

"I'll help you a little since you're cries are so beautiful, sweetheart."

He seized the white lace hanging low from your vanity, and started brushing it against your skin. You squirmed in the anticipation. The lace was soon held at each end by his fingers and placed on top of your wet slick. He started pulling them alternatively to create friction. The satin touch on your clit made it throb and you whined, grinding against the soft, silky fabric. Soon, he didn't even have to move the lace, you were helping yourself.

"mhm...mhmm fuck...need more, toru," you moaned. Satoru took the lace of your clit, depriving you of the sweet release.

"Look at this, princess. You're so wet, your juices dripped down from the ribbon to my hand." You glanced and it was true. The white satin was damp grey now with trails of wetness on his fingers.

Satoru discarded the lace and sat in front of your pussy. He unbuckled his belt but didn't pull his pants down. Guess we was just getting comfortable for what he was about to do. He bent until he could clearly see your hole pushing out your juices, almost like it was crying.

"Look at her crying for attention, princess. She's so much like you." You faced away from him. You were not sure how to look him in the eye after what he just said. He chuckled because he found you cute.

Satoru turned your face back to him and you watched as he suckled on his finger, pulling them out and spitting on it. His another hand moved away from your cheeks and focused on your pussy as it parted the lips. Toru blew cold air that kissed your wetness, teasing you. He pushed his saliva wet digits in you and you finally moaned in satisfaction.

"ah! fuck—finally."

Because he knew he reached parts of you, you never can. He fingers you open like a tangerine. The bed of his fingertips rubbing the thousand nerves in you, just like the tiny vesicles of the fruit. His long fingers stroke your velvety walls like bruising the skin of a tangerine. He pushes it in and out until you're completely juiced. Until the bed is citrus, and his fingers sweet. Until the fruit is nothing but empty pulp because he was thirsty.

You yelped and cried when he finally gave you the pleasure of cumming down his fingers. Your body jerked because he doesn't pull out. He slapped your clit for more and you couldn't believe for the first time another orgasm plagued you when the previous wasn't even finished.

"fu—aghh! fuck. please...holy shit! nghm," you sobbed.

"Didn't know you could do that, princess." He kissed your forehead before going down. He slurped all your cum, yet you were still very much wet. "Let's try that again, but this time do that on my tongue, pretty. You will, right?"

Yes you did.

You were just like a tangerine. Juicy and sweet. And he was a thirsty man.

tagging: @elusivemoon @sachiyoh @get0sfav @greycaelum @dianagracesworld @ammcg0119 @fleur-bbyy @jexx233 @katsuslover @chiyoso @driaswrld @a1sh1teruu @rizzmin @sugumimi @happymangospot @tenshi-cho @yourlocalmoon-lover @nothingfuninthislife @charbunxxi @idkks4m @02yunominami

[saintslewis]

❝ 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒 ❞

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!reader

summary: when he comes back from arguably most demanding races of the season, he truly wants to be cuddled up with his girlfriend especially when they haven't seen each other in two weeks.

warnings: established relationship!, mild smut (18+ MDNI), cussing. the usual. typos.

wc: 2.6k

requested: yes | no ~ this lovely request right here!

saint team radio: i wanna scream, this was supposed to be out in SEPTEMBER!!! but now it’s here 🤭. lil one shot before releasing “Break my Soul” and i hope you guys enjoy this one. plus i’m getting used to writing smut now 😧 anyways bye! love ya!

taglist: @non-stop-imagines @lorarri @thisismeracing @httpsserene @mauvecherie-writes @yeea-nah @queenshikongo3 @cherry2stems @planetmimi @alika-4466 @arshiyuh (lmk if you wanna be tagged!)

pls like, comment and reblog! 🫶🏽 (i’m watching you 🤨)

-

"I know what you are." You gasped as you watched Bella confront Edward in the forest. The morning sun was shining its rays through the large windows and sliding doors of the large house. The couch was slowly sinking you into it, the packet of cookies from your favourite bakery nestled next to your comfortable figure.

Understandably, it was quite early in the morning, 9 am to be precise, to be watching Twilight and munching on cookies but to be fair, Roscoe had woken you up for early morning snuggles. Deciding to check the time on your phone, you became distracted by your wallpaper of Lewis with you next to him with the green mountains of Bali right behind you both, flowers behind your ear to celebrate your birthday.

You truly missed him a lot, these past two weeks felt as if they dragged on and on the longer you waited to see him. Only being able to see him on your phone screen and tv, his fashion becoming a staple for you to follow almost every week. When his face appeared on screen for a post race interview, you would find yourself admiring him and completely closing off to whatever he was saying into the mics. Even seeing his car drive around gave you butterflies, just hearing his name would make you stop in your tracks every single time.

Lewis' face quickly invaded your mind, no longer focusing on the movie before you. Although you had tried to distract yourself with giving yourself tasks to do along with completing some work you probably missed, doing those things were just always better with your boyfriend around. Physically being on each other's space was something you needed desperately, a true connection when realising that you both had the love language of physical touch.

During these two week, you would resist the urge to touch yourself in thought of Lewis, deeming him to be the only one who could find your sweet spots so much better than you could. Embarrassingly enough, you had resorted to watching fan edits of him just for you to feel something. All you did was like a single video on your feed then you fell into the rabbit hole of his fans being extremely talented and feeling the way you felt but you would sleep better knowing that you had him all to yourself at the end of the day.

Snapping you out of your daily daydream about your boyfriend, your phone buzzed with a notification from the front gate of the house to say that a car has entered the driveway and you immediately jumped up in excitement, alerting Roscoe. "Come on boy, Dads is home." You smiled to the energetic dog who was eagerly waiting for you to put your slides on.

Opening the front door wide enough, Roscoe ran right past you to greet Lewis as the man was taking his luggage out of the trunk, giving his affection to his dog before standing up straight (with a bit of caution) to look at you standing just a few feet away. He studied you from head to toe, the Nike pro shorts were barely visible underneath the +44 sweater that you helped design. Your braids were fresh, nails done and from what he saw, a small but new tattoo on your hand and he swore his stomach flipped at the sight of you.

"Hey baby!" You expressed as you threw your arms around his neck, his head buried itself into your neck and your scent filled up his nostrils. "Hi." The tired voice vibrated through your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His large hands were resting on your lower back moving ever so slowly, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. Moving your heads back, you gave him a sweet peck as he looked into your eyes afterwards. Studying his face a little, his eyes were a little droopy and his face wasn't as bright as you saw it on facetime hours ago. Letting go of the hug, you moved to help him with his suitcases but noticed that he seemed to walk a little funny as he walked into the house.

Finding him in the kitchen drinking a glass of water, you chose to lean back into the counter next to him. "Knowing you, I can tell you didn't eat so how about you go shower and i'll make breakfast?"  You suggested and all the man could do was smile and lean in to kiss you, tasting your strawberry chapstick before going upstairs with his hand on his back.

-

A hearty breakfast and him talking about how the race went in terms of strategy then a few discussions of random stuff, you both opted for chilling on the couch to catch up on a bit of TV. Lunch was ordered and you two spent the afternoon just being in each other's presence. You then decided to showcase the clothes you had bought during the two weeks he had been gone, each dress and skirt getting shorter than the last with his exhaustion preventing him from wanting to take you right then and there.

Changing back into the original outfit you had on, he quickly changed into his gym wear to work out in the home gym he had built in before you had moved in. "Will you be okay to workout, Lew?" You asked, filling the glass with small heart shaped ice cubes, ironically matching the tennis bracelet you were wearing. "I'm fine sweetie, I promise." He muttered as his eyes trailed down to your chest, the +44 sweater long gone as the day became hotter. "Eyes up here, babe." You giggled as he didn't even seem to hear you say anything.

"What?" He snapped out of it, making you laugh a little harder. "Go do your workout stuff, you dork. When you come back, we can do some skin care." You smiled as he held your hips with his grip tightened. "I can think of something else-"

"Lewis, I'm gonna bite you. Go." You narrowed your eyes at the man who walked away giggling as if he heard the funniest joke.

Nighttime was slowly approaching and dinner was already prepared, finding pesto really easy to make. Lewis was still in the home gym, your phone buzzing with instagram telling you that he posted on his story. Clicking on it, you saw how your boyfriend took a full body mirror picture with his shirt completely off and he looked a bit breathless. The lights glistened on his abs and tattoos, accentuating his tan even more. The v line was showing as his shorts sat quite low on his waist and you were left speechless, gripping the blanket so much that you could barely feel your hand anymore. Rubbing your thighs together, you tried to relax your thoughts by reminding yourself that he still has what seemed like an injury on his back.

But to be fair, nothing could stop him, not even an injury.

You tried distracting yourself from the instagram story by playing some music and doing some online shopping. Hearing his heavy footsteps enter the room, his sweaty self looked at you with a look you knew all too well but you decided to not do the deed tonight because you thought he needed to be well rested for this.

"You gonna go shower?" You stopped what you were doing and faced him with crossed arm with a little smile on your face. He came a bit closer and you backed up. "Lew, get away. You're sweaty." Your cheeks started to hurt from the smiling and all he did was open his arms as he came closer to you. "Lewis, I'm so serious. Babe wai-" You didn't even finish your sentence before you bolted, heading up to your shared bedroom and he chased after you with both your giggles filling the air.

"Baby, stop moving. I can't put on the under eye mask." You pouted, holding the cold cucumber scented applicator in your hand. "It's just cold." He muttered, holding the back of your legs as you stood between his legs. "C'mon gramps, it'll take like 5 minutes then you'll forget it's there." Knowing how he'd react to the nickname, you received the nastiest side eye you've gotten from him. Doubling down in laughter, you held onto the bathroom sink counter for dear life as you continued to laugh with him.

As the laughter died down, you fixed your braids into a bun and put your hand out for him to give up his hair tie that he has had on the whole day. "I like your earrings, love. When'd you get them?" He asked, now standing behind you as you made eye contact in the mirror. His eyes still had the same look as when he came out of the gym. "Remember that one bracelet you brought back from Milan last month? They opened a store in Central london so I think it was Thursday." You nodded as you told him, removing both your under eye masks to then fully wash and moisturise your faces.

Lewis opted to watch you complete your routine as you did like to take your time with it, the scented candles creating the perfect atmosphere. His left hand came around your waist, his other hand holding onto your hip and his head dropping into your neck with small butterfly-like kisses peppering your skin. You stopped everything you were doing to feel exactly what Lewis was doing to you, his large hands lowering down your body with each kiss.

"Lew, baby. You need to rest." You whispered, unable to speak from his soft kisses. "Missed you so much, just wanna feel you.” He whined into your neck. As he picked up his head to kiss even further, you already turned your head to look at him, your face filled with worry.

“Can you not make that face?” You slightly jutted your lip out, his face sending a completely different message. “Is it working?”

“No.” You tried your best to hide the smile from your face, your boyfriend’s face dropping at the answer. Backing away from his embrace, you walked into the bedroom, fully aware that he was following right after you.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you watched as Lewis stood in front of you then locked eyes with you. “Love, can I at least eat you out?” His whiny voice sounded out and you were fully taken by surprise. You had yet to experience this side of him in the bedroom but if it meant hearing that voice all over again, you were all in.

Not even waiting for your words, the man dropped down onto his knees, holding your thighs as balance as he maintained the eye contact with you. “Please, please baby. I’ll be so good, I promise. Won’t tease you, I’m starving. Just wanna taste you.” He rambles, his eyes slightly closed as his voice drops the closer his face gets to your thighs.

You couldn’t believe what was actually happening, so much so that it took you a few seconds to even think of a response. His chocolate eyes looked up at you with such anticipation, eagerly waiting for you to say something, anything. All you could do was nod and within seconds, he began kissing up your thighs, silently thanking the universe for bringing the two of you together.

Between her slight panting, you remembered that his back was in pain from earlier in the day, giving you an idea. “Lew.” You called out, his head rising to stare at you once more. “Lie on your back, don’t need you to hurt it more than it already is.” You said, slowly guiding him to stand up with you then push him down onto the bed by his chest. He huffed out a slight chuckle at your eagerness.

Once the clothes were off, you crawled up to straddle him but catching him by surprise, your lower body was closer to his face than he thought. Your legs were on each side of his head, your dripping core was hovering right above his mouth, he could’ve sworn he was in heaven. Gently holding onto his braids, you lowered yourself slightly yet not fully sitting, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

“Y/n baby. Sit on my face, please.” Lewis groaned from underneath you, his breath hitting your core making you slightly shiver. His large hands creeped up onto your ass, bringing you down onto his face with a grip. Once you had gotten used to him devouring you like a touch starved man, you eventually found your rhythm and began moving in perfect harmony with his tongue, slightly pulling his braids when you felt the all too familiar knot into your stomach .

Your orgasm ripped through you, your moans bouncing off the walls of your shared bedroom. When wanting to lift yourself off of him, he continued to lick and suck on your sensitive clit, overstimulating you quite a bit. Your moans grew into whimpers and that’s when Lewis knew that you were beginning to feel tired, your body slightly shaking from the intense sensation of your release.

Now having a bit more energy, you actually lifted yourself up from his mouth and wanted to go down on him as you craved to have something that would give him the same sensation that he gave you. Before you could even reach his hard on, he held onto one of your hands. Kissing your palm, he spoke up. “Can you please just fuck me? I need to feel you around me, sweetie.” Lewis asked, the same look from before wooing you so easily.

You continued making your way down on him until he suddenly flipped the both of you. “Lew! Warn a girl next time!” You wanted to roll your eyes at him but he just smiled and leaned down to give you a breathtaking kiss, feeling butterflies in your stomach once more.

“I’ve got you, baby. Just let me make you feel good.” He smirked, holding your legs to go around his waist. Once entering you, it truly felt like this should go on forever, have this night replay in your mind like a broken record. His hips snapping against yours would bring you back to reality, seeing stars once the familiar knot returned to taunt you. With the way he was pounding into you, you would’ve never thought he had back pain the whole time.

You screamed upon your 4th release, your body flopping against the sheets as you tried to catch your breath. Lewis emerged from the bathroom with a warm and slightly wet towel to gently wipe your pussy, you sucked in a breath as your sensitive clit felt the material against you.

Once fully done with aftercare for you and himself, you looked up at the man as you layed on your front to look at him laying next to you. “I truly love you, Y/n. Couldn’t thank the stars enough for you.” He expressed, the look in his eyes sending a deeper message into your soul.

“I love you so much, Lewis.” You responded and you could feel the love radiating off of each other.

This was love and you could forever drown in this feeling with Lewis right by your side.

[pomefioredove]

Imagine instead of rook voted for rsa, the reader did. Who is in a relationship with Vil.

Angst:333

ANON ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME /light hearted

summary: betrayal of the highest order type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: established relationship, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, ANGST, hurt w no comfort

"I can't even look at you right now,"

The words hurt.

They burn coming out of his mouth, and they sting your skin when they hit you. You'd never heard a sentence with barbs before.

A part of you was hoping that he would shout. Chastise you, drag you off stage and scold you until his perfect throat was raw.

Instead, he had just... stared.

Vil stared at you after the loss. He stared when you admitted being the cause of it. He stared all the way back to the dorm, where he promptly holed himself up in his room, refusing to speak with anyone.

After an hour and a half of Rook and Epel begging for him to say something to them, he demands you.

And that brings you here.

"I am so... utterly... disappointed," he says. He's not wearing any makeup. His face is puffy and red.

You don't want to dwell on being the cause of that.

"I simply won't allow myself to beg for an answer. You have now to explain yourself, and then I don't want to see you."

You're quiet for a moment. There's really nothing you can say, but he's demanded an answer, and it's the least you can give him.

"I didn't think it would matter,"

His eyes sharpen. "Pathetic. That's the best you could come up with?"

"I was told to be fair-"

"There is no fair," he says, crossing his arms as if putting a barrier between the two of you. "There is no equality. I am your boyfriend. And more than that, you saw how hard everyone worked. How could you-"

His voice catches on that last word, and he stops himself. He takes a long, deep breath, and runs a hand through his hair. It seems more undone than usual.

"For him, of all people. Rook... I understand. Rook would chase the light from a laser pointer if it was pretty enough. But you...?"

Vil falls silent again, turning to face the door. His eyes, though narrow and sharp and uninviting, are glimmering with tears. You feel dizzy.

"Vil..."

He holds up a hand, silencing you. "That's enough. I suppose it's my own fault. I deluded myself into thinking I knew you better than that,"

Is there anything you can really say? Do? Or is this just broken beyond repair?

What is he thinking right now?

"I'm sorry,"

He's quiet.

"I know. But that doesn't fix anything,"

You're both quiet.

You hate seeing him like this. His face contorted into something meant to imitate anger, his body language closed off, but something in his eyes begging for you.

For you to what, you can't imagine. No apology could save this.

The silence passes you both by, although it offers no comfort. He clears his throat.

"I think you should leave. I need some time to think. I suggest the same for you,"