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eldritch-spouse · 1 year

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[The results of the poll came in, thenk you for voting! :]. Fem reader. You live in a house for this one. Sorry for the wait, it got longer than anticipated (4.7k).]

TW: Dubious consent (reader is somewhat scared); Altered states of mind; Heat/Rut.

It's the fifth time you've been dumped into this rat's nest today.

Breg is in heat, or rather, the earlier days of such.

You knew trouble was coming when you found the breeder laying on the kitchen tiles this morning, an overheated and overly sweaty body trying desperately to cool itself on freezing ceramic. He had panted like a dog under the blaze of a Summer evening and barely noticed your presence before excusing himself to make undignified noises in the bathroom. Showering, arguing with himself, jerking off? You didn't know, and you didn't care- You just wanted to eat something before any of this madness really kickstarted.

As you shoved toast in your mouth, slowly but definitely not calmly, you got to see the monster stress himself out, walking between rooms with various items in hand. It was almost funny, if you didn't know exactly what was coming. When his rut starts, Breg always behaves like a bear who forgot to stock food before hibernating. Oh but he didn't forget anything, the cabinets are full, and he learned to buy instant meals for you after the first couple of heats where you tried to explain to his fried brain that you can't just eat dead animals he plops in front of you. Nonetheless, you got to see him strip the couch of its cushions, struggle with dragging your mattress into a corner, fetching all the spare sheets, coats, towels and blankets he could find- For fuck's sake, he ripped the curtains off this time.

All to make a padded, crowded mess of your bedroom. It's always the bedroom with him, it smells like the two of you, so it does make sense, you bitterly suppose... You'd rather this than the uncomfortable bathroom.

You barely got to finish your coffee before a clammy, darkened hand had grasped your arm and you were not so gently tugged into the bedroom, to "evaluate" the mess your eccentric (putting it criminally lightly) boyfriend had made. Having gone through the motions of this charade more than once, you already knew the correct steps to make sure everything went well. Turning towards the muddled breeder, you kissed him and complimented his skills, calling the crime against your sanity he had just committed beautiful before physically stepping into it and sitting down.

Predictably, Breg let out an elated trill from deep within his throat and forced you to lie down, tangling you in a mess of warm fabrics before slotting himself above you protectively. Heavy as he is, the monster's weight was crushing, although you managed to nudge him aside when he dozed off above you. In this phase of his rut, you're not really sure if he's going to try to fuck you or just hold you and fall asleep, so there's some leeway to roam if you're sneaky about it.

It was when you were trapped under the monster's cocoon, sweating yourself into an early grave, that the doorbell rang and you realized something horrific.

You have a package outside.

God fucking damn it.

You were usually so careful with timing things perfectly, having the days where Breg was likely to start a heat jotted down in bright red ink on your calendar so that you'd never make plans for those days. You went as far as to orient a lot of your work life around his cycle, which is annoying, but at the very least possible. To think you were stupid enough to order something and not even care to check the estimated delivery date is pathetic. Maybe you did see it- But it didn't click in your brain what those days were.

Well shit, you had thought at the time, I can't just let it sit there.

And you were right. It was an expensive purchase. Brand new equipment, high-value tech for one of your favorite hobbies. It had been a costly sacrifice, and the specs were a rare find. The package itself isn't small enough to pass by unnoticed, you know one of your scummy neighbors can see if it they look twice at your doorstep. It could be stolen! It will be, if you don't fetch it eventually.

You had tried to stay still, knowing the monster in heat wouldn't take kindly to any perceived "escape attempts", but it was nerve-wracking. You're sure that package will be taken away if you don't get it fast. You can't lose it, can't lose all that money, that effort.

Your first attempt was a blunder, having moved too fast and woken Breg before you could even make it out the bedroom. By the second, you simply got unlucky and he woke by himself, fetching you back in a panic. On the third, you could spot signs of irritation, having been tossed to the nest none too gently and snarled at, fondled and groped and ground at until he had successfully put a gross mark on you. You'll admit the fourth incident was more of an attempt to get his musk off you than a dash for the package, but it got you barked at nonetheless, caught by the living room while Breg tried to slur out warnings, shaking you, hand around your neck while you were lead back into the bedroom. You know you hit a nerve with the fifth because his face disfigured for a moment.

But you can't give up.

This is too important to you. He can't understand it, but you need that fucking thing inside your home.

That's why you're up again, having weaseled out of his clumsy trap of coats. It's impressive he was coherent enough to use the sleeves to tie knots around you, but that's about where his expertise ends in this precarious state. You've played it safer this time, letting the breeder calm down, letting him tongue-bathe you -Gross- Feed you, let him fuck your thighs even. All just so his hormonal brain can forget you even tried to step out the nest. He's sleeping soundly, but you go through the effort of putting a shirt you recently wore next to the monster, hopefully to keep him lulled.

Breg shifts in his sleep, picking up on the scent and making weird murmurs before clutching at the fabric- As if it were you there. Almost cute, if not for the fact that you're really stressed.

Instead of walking across the house, you crawl, slow and measured to make sure not even the sound of your breathing could rise Breg. There's furniture askew, remotes and decorations on the floor from the previous times he fetched you in a hurry. Although you do your best to muffle your nerves, your arms shake with anxiety. Anything could make him stir awake, you can't ever run away from him, he could hurt you.

Perhaps it's because you're sheltered, or maybe you have too much faith in the breeder, you could just be stupid- But you weigh those odds against the pain of losing your expensive purchase and, in the end, decided you'd sooner twist an ankle than let it get stolen by a filthy porch pirate.

Reaching the front door is a milestone you smile brightly at. The problem comes when you glance at the keys. They'll jingle if you're not careful, the front door thankfully never creaks, but you know for a fact it makes a distinct click when it unlocks. Kneeling, arm outstretched, fingertips almost grazing the keys, you hesitate.

Should you...?

Maybe you should head back. Pretend you never left, snuggle up to him and just give it up for today. But then, this is only just the beginning, his instincts are only going to get worse from here on out. If you can't reach the package today, then it's pointless to even try your luck the following days! Right, this is no time to falter, you need to get it now.

With newfound resolve, an inkling of it at least, you hold the keys with both hands. One to make sure the others don't clink and clank, the other doing the actual turning. Slow like molasses, calculated, even the way you inhale and exhale is measured. On the last turn, you apply pressure and keep the grip on the key as firm as you can, trying to nudge the lock open gently enough to avoid that telltale click. Sucess! Soundlessly, you feel the door move, fully unlocked.

Yes!

The hardest part is over. Removing the keys from the door, you take great care when depositing them on the carpet. Specifically the carpet, to muffle any sort of faint jingling.

The weather outside is nice, but you're too preoccupied to consider something as simple as that. No, your eyes are locked onto your prize. There, only a couple of feet away, your package! Untouched, neatly arranged, perfectly fine as it should be. You nearly cry in relief, crawling outside, beyond caring if any of your neighbors see you like this- A disheveled, stinky mess wearing only a top and casual shorts on all fours.

When your hands wrap around the cardboard, it feels as if all is well in the world. You made it. You secured your purchase. You don't have to worry about anything else anymore, you can just head inside and-

VROOM

A car zooms past the street. You hear it before you see it pass. At first, you don't even think about it. After all, what could be meaningful about a stranger driving by in a hurry, right?

And then you realize your "boyfriend" is in a hypersensitive state with notoriously augmented hearing.

Ah.

Once more, you hear it before you see it.

A jarring thump thump thump THUMP. And a shiver crawls up your spine hard enough to make you freeze. Oh God. Clutching the stupid cardboard box like a lifeline, you glance upwards, towards the doorway, seeing none other than who you dread the most right now. Breg.

He's positively fuming. You're surprised there isn't literal steam coming off his body. Hunched, tense, but it's not the size of him that scares you. It's his face. His distorted, stretched out maw- Fully extended, gums visible, pushing those horrid teeth outward as he drools on the ground. You know, in spite of his lack of visible eyes, that Breg is glaring daggers at you, specifically.

A steady hissing fills your ears and you know it's over. You know you fucked up- Not directly, but you did. Because you left the door wide open and didn't account for the noise. You're a fool. The first thing your instincts tell you to do is rise and prepare to sprint, but the moment you sit straighter, Breg releases a chilling snarl, so you opt to fold further into yourself and remain utterly catatonic. Can he understand you still, through the haze of hormones? Would he grasp it if you apologized? Should you speak at all?

The choice is made for you.

You close your eyes the moment the ground shakes with his sprinting, choking on the collar of your shirt as you're physically dragged by it and picked up by the breeder. Where before Breg's hold had been more protective than anything, it's now oppressive, squeezing you to his chest, claws denting your meat. The proximity allows you to feel the bizarre bumps on his raised skin, frigid, yet coated by steaming sweat drops. You don't open your eyes until you're airborne for a very short period, falling face-first on the musk-heavy nest.

Breg slams the door to the bedroom shut and pants harshly, landing a fist to the wall several times. Each pound makes you jump and tense, huddling into yourself with tears in your eyes. Oh God what if he's had enough? What if he does that to you?! He makes an ambiguous roar and seems to slam his own head on the wall, but it doesn't crack or chip the infrastructure like his hand did.

You wonder if he's giving himself a concussion on purpose, for your sake.

" B-Breg? " Scared, gawking eyes plead with the breeder stationed at the wall. You note the attempts he makes at steadying his breathing, fruitless, as his chest continues to heave dramatically. What the fuck is happening anymore.

" Whah... "

Oh. He's trying to speak. Usually, he can still do it in the first day or so, this looks like it's an especially intense rut, because of course it is. That's just your amazing luck shining through. You wait patiently for the monster to come up with something in between his slurring mumbles.

" What isss wrong with you?! "

" H- Huh? " His words and voice are distorted by the shape of his extended jaw, shifting his mouth and tongue to make the proper sounds of the language you both speak becomes a challenge.

" WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! " Breg bellows, turning around to face you properly. You resist the urge to crawl under the the mess of sheets and clothes.

" I- I just wanted to get the package. " You try, voice light and tone pleading, searching his face for any sort of recognition -A miracle epiphany that doesn't seem to be surfacing any moment soon- and finding nothing but growing confusion. Irritation.

" NO! " He shrieks, gesturing wildly as if you're the one missing an obvious point. " OUTSIDE. "

" Don't- Don't scream at me... "

He rolls his head, looking away, then back. " Outside- " He hisses, quieter at least. " Don't. Go. Out. "

It would just take one second. One second to get that box in and it would be over. Is it really that big of a sin? Breg starts moving upsettingly fast towards you, when an arm shoots out, you do what you usually have to when he's deep into his rut. Belly up, hands back, legs spread and neck bared. Good ol' trusty "please don't kill me".

It works.

The breeder's motions halt altogether and he seems to stare at you vapidly for a couple of static seconds. His jaw retracts a chunk, but his maw is still stretched, still that haunting grin. Good, he's distracted.

" ... You know you can't... Go outside. " He drools, to which you nod frantically. " Here is safe... Here is... "

You get to see the exact moment when hormones kill off just about any higher thought process in Breg. The monster shakes his head and crawls atop you, looking mildly bothered by the amount of clothes on your figure before lifting the hem of your shirt and burying his head underneath. Surprised, you can only giggle incredulously, feeling his humid hot breath fanning your stomach and chest. The breeder replies with an instinctual chirp and his breathing finally begins slowing down.

There, you think while slowly stroking his gross back, he's going to settle down, maybe hump a little and then fall asleep. Fool.

The monster stirs after a couple of comfortable moments, muttering something incoherent. He stands much too quickly and begins tugging you up as well, expression creased with what you think might be worry.

" What- What are you doing? " His grip on your wrist is uncomfortable when he starts walking out of the bedroom.

He spends his entire ruts making sure you stay in this room, now he's pulling you out? Geez, how many brain cells did he fry this time?

He only starts speaking after you tap him a couple of times. " Need to move! " He hisses, like you're particularly dumb. " ... Another cave. "

Cave...? Oh, the house. Yes.

You try to stand your ground, but given he's holding onto such a delicate part of you, it's not a good idea to pull. If he dislocates or fractures your wrist while in heat, there's no telling when you'd be able to reach a hospital- You can't risk that damage.

" But what's wrong with this one? " Really, you don't see what's wrong about the house for him to be fussing. You only have a couple of night lights on, the place is warm, there's food, he made his nest, what's missing? Is he getting pickier for no reason now?

" Not safe enough! " You're led to the living room while Breg has his weird freak out fit, glancing at the front door.

He must have shut it as he dragged you in, at least that. Unfortunately, your delivery remains outside. Though, in hindsight, if anyone saw that little stunt between you and the irate breeder, there's a pretty good chance they won't be ballsy enough to come fetch it. You certainly wouldn't be.

When it seems the rutting monster is determined to actually go outside, you start offering minimal resistance. Anything could happen with Breg in that state out and about, he could maim someone, he could force you to God knows where, he could fuck you in the streets openly- The scandal would follow you forever. A thousand yard stare settles on your face.

" B- But I think it is? " You have no cards to play with when dealing with a monster in rut. How can you logically counter his points when he's not thinking logically at all?

" NO. " Finally, he releases your wrist, now pacing restlessly, claws dragging over his own arms. He's clearly distressed and angered, but you don't know how to calm him without seemingly making it worse.

" YOU'LL RUN. " The breeder pauses to snarl pointedly in your direction, returning to barely coherent mumbling and frantic pacing shortly after.

Ah. So that's why he thinks it's not safe. Granted, you know damn well you put yourself in this spot. Now you'll have to weasel out of it.

" I- I won't. " Your shaky, tiny voice is extremely convincing, surely. " I p-promise! It- It's alright. "

Breg stops clawing at his arms, mumbling halted, his pacing ends with the monster right in front of you. His looming, tense figure has you fixed on the spot like an ant. Part of you wants to start bawling for help, another desperately wishes to reach out and soothe him.

" You- You liar... " He seethes, glancing between you and the door as you sweat bullets. " You WILL run! I know you will! YOU'LL LEAVE ME- "

His volume startles you again, beneath the anger he's showing, beneath those drooling teeth waaay too close to your face, there's genuine panic in his tone. Almost wheezing for a second. You're momentarily reminded that it's not just you who's at peril here. When Breg gets really aggravated, the way his metabolism kicks up several notches has consequences for him as well. This isn't good for anyone, and in your blindsided excitement about your purchase, you completely forgot that your failed attempts have only been stressing his already overloaded organism out more. Suddenly, a wave of guilt crushes your spirit.

There's not much time to wallow in it, because you're being grabbed. The lack of reaction must have upset the breeder, who's darkened arms clutch your own. " YOU'LL LEAVE. I can't let you leave- Can't let you go- Mates can't escape- YOU NEED ME. " Each rise in intensity has him jostling you back and forth.

Ooh boy, this is not looking good.

You consider opening your mouth to say something, try to appease him by whatever means necessary, but given all of your attempts have failed so far, what's the use? There's got to be another way...

...

"You need me"... Hm, maybe it's not so hopeless.

Keeping your gaze focused on the breeder, you know trying to slip away from his grasp is useless, but your intent is to reach down enough to grasp the hem of your shorts, quietly shimmying the cloth down. At first, the breeder doesn't realize why you're squirming, growling in warning at your perceived attitude, until he has the wit to glance towards the movement, watching you drop the fabric to your ankles and step out of it. His gaze is wholly fixated on your pussylips, a string of drool oozing from the side of his face to the floor. This secret smirk spreads on your face at the state you have him in, feeling mildly flattered even if you know how volatile he is right now.

In an effort to distract the male just a bit more, you part your legs a little, hearing him very clearly snort grossly, inhaling. His grip lessens ever so slightly, and you take advantage of it to start edging your now tattered shirt off. He barely twitches when his arms drop, squatting on the ground like some frog as he edges closer to your pussy, about to stuff his face on it most likely. His members steadily poke out that engorged slit, already soaked in their own precum, more than ready for anything.

Summoning all the bravery you have to stick to your possibly not very bright plan, you tense on the spot, allowing him but one second of calm, before hauling ass. Your goal is not the outside, not at all, you're actually sprinting the way you came from, teeth grit with nerves.

Predictably, it's a very short dash, Breg darted after you not even a second later, hot on your tail enough to physically crash against you on the way inside the bedroom and effectively throwing you onto the nest. You're getting really tired of landing face-down on this thing... But it's exactly what you wanted. Because when the breeder looms over you, hips instinctively slotted against yours, his hand keeping your head still, you get to turn things on their head before he can bark at you.

Quickly, you bump your bare ass against his cocks, making sure to grind and sway like you're the one in heat. You can feel the startling temperature of them on your skin, spreading their slick and his scent on you in a way that makes shivers ripple through you. The movement apparently startles Breg's already muddled brain into stillness again, you can tell he's probably very confused, ping-ponging between irritation and delight.

" Hah, guess you caught me again... " You bullshit, arching your spine beneath the monster as much as you can and bumping harder against him. Breg shudders. " So, will you do something about it this time, or do I have to keep running until my mate fucks me hard? "

Please buy it please buy it holy shit-

There's a chuff above you, you're positive he understood the words perfectly when he makes an excited crooning trill that tapers off into a chirp. He pushes his dicks onto you in response and you know it worked flawlessly the moment he dips to lick from your neck upwards. Good, this is good. Not optimal, but better than getting tossed outside.

The key to making him forget about your stunts is to convince the breeder it was all a sort of "challenge", and to do such, you'll have to keep up this attitude. Sloppy rutting turns into pushing yourself onto him when Breg poorly lines one of his dribbling cocks against your pussy. Having been through this song and dance before, you don't let him get any ideas regarding his twin length, awkwardly reaching beneath you to grasp and gently stroke at whatever parts you could reach.

He's thrilled, but your taste of control is short-lived as soon as he can sheathe himself inside you. It's a stretch, lord knows it always is with him, but he's excited this time, ramming himself. If he wasn't leaking lubrication like a broken faucet, you probably would have gotten hurt. As is, you only scream in surprise, fisting the sheets and ripped curtains beneath you. He moans, low and loud, a cry of pure animal relief. And, perhaps to your chagrin, fulfills your request.

" Hhrk-! "

Not a single second of mercy is spared your way. Breg doesn't care to build you up, his goal is one thing and one thing only, to fuck his cocktease of a mate full of his hatchlings, a fruitless effort. Not that it's ever stopped him from trying, you often get the feeling he desperately thinks he can will a pregnancy into existence, even outside of heat.

The monster on top of you is fast and ruthless, all self-serving thrusts kissing deep into your cunt while his spare cock twitches and occasionally slaps against your mound. It's a far cry from how he usually behaves, obviously, but the novelty of getting the breath quite literally fucked out of you never seems to wear off. Thighs shaking, you can't muster the composure to buck against him very aptly, body wracked with intense waves of pleasurable heat every time the somewhat more pronounced ridges of his fattened girth drag on that spot -Oh, that little spot- That has you sobbing soundlessly. In reality, Breg isn't making any efforts to offer you much, if any, pleasure, but it'd be impossible not to brush against something nice every now and then with this pace. Being used like a favored, dirty little cocksock, all you can do is grit your teeth and try not to drool as much as the monster making a puddle of your neck and hair.

Apparently, Breg begins to get annoyed by the way you'll bounce forward a little too far for his tastes, rumbling. It's really not your fault there's so much horsepower behind those legs, but you'll admit you don't like getting delicious friction disrupted too much either. The monster readjusts, an arm snakes beneath to grab your neck, grip firm but not squeezing, the other captures your right hand under his, your thighs are nudged closer together to trap his unattended dick and finally- Bold teeth latch onto the skin on the back of your neck.

He's done this before, in controlled settings however. You don't think it's a particularly good idea to let Breg's currently sharpened teeth around your neck for long periods of time, so really, the faster he cums, the less danger you're in. It's difficult to think about much of anything when the rutting breeder's pace resumes, this time not as deep but fast enough to make your vision blur, the smack of skin on skin and frantic shared panting putting you in a trance. God, he fucking stinks like this, you can't escape the smell, ever, it's on you now. He growls and occasionally clips out short moans in response to your helpless flexing around his wet cock, surprising you with another chirp.

Ah, precisely. There's something you can use!

Knowing full well you've never been good at it, you cough to clear your throat before attempting, quite poorly, to imitate the sound. You do it twice for good measure, immediately rewarded with an enthusiastic, hard grind that lifts you ever so slightly off the nest while Breg makes a keening sound that melts into a more complex trill. Your eyes roll and you feel yourself cumming hard around him, grunting at the sudden pleasure. Fuck, how do you make that one? He clearly loves it, you have to at least try. Drunk on the afterglow of your orgasm, you let out a series of vaguely similar whistling clicks, not really sure what you're transmitting to the breeder, or caring really.

The monster's hold of your neck tightens enough to make you wince, though the vibrations of his muffled moaning are shamefully arousing as his next series of hard pounds nearly jostle the few contents of your stomach. You know he's cumming when claws dart to hold your hips perfectly still and his head drops on yours, braying out a shameless noise that devolves into harsh puffing and gasping. Naturally, the cock nestled between your now sticky thighs coats your front and the sheets in a stupid amount of pearly cum, making you whine at the feeling while your womb tries to accommodate as much of the other's load as possible- What it inevitably fails to hold having no choice but to ooze and squeeze out, dripping to your front as well.

Long moments pass, though the shaking of your legs only grows, causing Breg to flip you both on your sides before he ends up crushing you. it's gross, you're laying on a small pool of warm seed while he plugs you happily, glancing up to see him smile happily at you through the haze of hormones. Contented and calm, the ideal state. You don't struggle or react much when the male predictably reaches to start tongue-bathing your upper body, merely grimacing at the scent of excess saliva.

Just to make sure things are even and smoothed out between you, you turn slightly, placing a peck on that long neck and chastely licking him back. There's no way you're going to groom him in this gross state, but it appears to be rewarding enough, his tail swatting around violently.

" ... Angel. " He mumbles, head nuzzling yours lazily. " My angel... "

Crisis averted.

#Bregory #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #terato #terat0philliac #monsterfucker #not sfw #minors dni

2K notes · View notes

lovedrruunk · 26 days

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‘General Venture dating headcanons!

Authors note; literally wrote all of this during my genocide and holocaust studies class.… I’m going to hell…Also guys idk whether to use “y/n” or not like I can’t help but cringe… is it corny or no gah idk ALSO AUGHHH IM SUCH A LIAR im literally so behind on all my assignments!!!! And I still have requests to do whatever whatever enjoy!!!

They’re very secure as a person (and they trust you lots!) so I don’t think they’d get easily jealous but when they are they're sneaky with it, they’d be the type to like sabotage lolol

“Do you think I have a chance?”

“Oh with (____) ? Yea sure but just so y’know they were only recently discharged from the psyche ward…”

“Oh…”

“Yea… doctors said they’d never be the same ..… poor thing…..

( ＾◡＾)”

They’re actually just the sweetest most understanding s/o ever like genuinely let them know all your of worries, share all your burdens, they happily will!!

Will DIE if they ever made you upset. Like would start genuinely tweaking and going crazy. Will buy every gift and write so many letters apologizing for whatever they’d done until you’re happy again

Even worse if they make you mad like omg ESPECIALLY IF UR GIVING THEM THE SILENT TREATMENT

do be expecting them outside your window with a boombox on their head playing some old romantic Spanish saop opera song

They seem like the type who can’t cook for shit (I’m projecting here) BUT they will try just for you! They’ll attempt to cook your favorite foods… please lie to them!!

Absolutely loves to spoil / do things for you but if you do the same they freak out, lots of ‘You shouldn’t have!’s and ‘Shuckssss teehehehe’

Of COURSEEE gifts you lots of pretty rocks!!! Constantly. Your house might have a random rock in every corner but hey what can you do? what’s that? Refuse to take it? Yea if you want them to die!!!! You might as well have just ripped their heart out! just say you hate them and never wanna see them ever again!!!

Speaking of… lots of dramatics. However they’re smart enough to know when to stop so it’s not to the point of being annoying or anything! They can’t help but be playful, it’s in their blood

Not only are they a terrible cook but they're a terrible driver as well, there's definitely a hidden drawer filled with all their tickets... somebody get them off the damn road!

Treats the drill like a pet lol, y'know those jokes about pitbulls named princess? That's for sure what's going on here. Yea it's a dangerously massive drill meant to effortlessly barrow through solid ground but it's also their little meowmeow so?? Their admiral turbo meowington? If you suggest they wash it from all the dirt and grime they'll pout and say something stupid like; "but but flufflestiltskin hates the bath"

That's all I can think of right now but I'm sure there's more cooking in the back of my head!! Hope you like it, this was rlly fun lolol (IM SO IN LOVE WITH THEM SOMEONE SEDATE ME.)

#venture overwatch #venture x reader #overwatch x reader

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wileys-russo · 9 months

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a date to remember II m.earps x reader

kinda love this, kinda hate this? but there is an appaling lack of love and fics for my girl mearps, shes fit as fk and i will take no slander

a date to remember II m.earps

4.17K words

mary's eyes slowly fluttered open as the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted around the bedroom. with a stretch and a grunt the woman swung herself out of bed, quickly noticing you were no longer soundly asleep beside her, your side of the bed cold where your body had once laid entangled with her own.

stepping into her slippers the brunette quietly padded downstairs, blinking tiredly and wrapping her arms around herself at the chilly autumn morning. she wasn't sure what the time actually was but it had to be early given the bitter frost speckled across the windows of her manchester flat.

her nose guiding her she made a beeline right for the kitchen, craving a coffee to try and kick start her out of her half asleep state. rounding the corner the keeper paused in the doorway of the kitchen, admiring for a moment as you stood at the stove facing away from her.

her last name stretched across your shoulder blades you'd as usual worn an old jersey of hers to bed, the sleeves a few inches too long you'd now rolled them up to your elbows, always careful not to damage your girlfriends kits when she let you wear them when you stole them.

seeing you wearing her last name had always done something to mary even when the two of you were only friends and you'd come to her games to cheer her on, cheekily buying an earps jersey before the game without telling her.

she was both flattered and impressed at the sneaky surprise as she'd spotted you sat with the rest of her friends and family, and for mary that was the beginning of where she'd had the abrupt realization that she didn't care for you as simply just a friend.

but fast forward to now seeing you wander around the kitchen with earps spread proudly across your back only made her mind drift to the ring that sat hidden in her kit bag, the one place she knew you'd never go snooping, forever claiming it smelled like damp gloves and sweat you steered well clear, making it the ideal hiding spot.

alessia had gone with her to help to pick the ring out weeks ago, rachel and millie assisted via facetime, and ever since it had felt like everyone had been pestering mary insistently about when she was going to actually use the ring.

there wasn't a single doubt in mary's mind that she wanted you as her wife, that wasn't the cause for her hesitation by any means. entering her thirties now she knew she wanted to settle down and having been head over heels in love with you for years she knew you were her one.

so it wasn't and wouldn't ever be doubt or cold feet which held her up from popping the question.

what it was, was having seen for almost the entirety of knowing you just how much of a hopeless romantic sap you were, forever swooning over love stories in books and movies, rambling wildly about boom boxes and love letters and john hughes films.

it meant mary wanted you to get your fairy tale ending and for the moment she asked you to be hers forever to be perfect, and so far she unfortunately hadn't been able to seek that out.

"good morning my love." mary was quick to attach herself to you, cold hands creeping up your top craving your body heat as you squealed at the icy invasion. "god your hands are freezing, go put some gloves on or something!" you teased with a smile, turning in her hold and pressing a gentle kiss to the taller woman's lips, murmuring good morning as you pulled away.

"oh she's got goal keeping jokes about gloves how original!" the english keeper rolled her eyes sarcastically with a slow clap before grabbing at you again and fondly leaving sloppy kisses all over your face, you playfully pushing her off with a laugh as she stepped away to make herself a coffee.

"what's cookin good lookin?" the woman asked with a grin, sipping on the hot beverage with a sigh of pleasure already feeling herself begin to wake more as the caffeine started to pump through her veins.

"well I'm having french toast...don't know what you're having." you shrugged, the hints of a cheeky smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as mary hummed and inched closer, backing you into the counter as she placed her hands either side of you, trapping your body against hers.

"so we want to play the mine and yours game, do we?" the keeper tutted as you innocently shrugged. "well if you want to be like that then this is mine, should I take it off you?" mary tugged teasingly at the jersey covering your top half with a smug smile.

"have i ever been one to complain when you've taken my clothes off?" you quipped back smoothly, mary raising an eyebrow somewhat impressed at the quick response. "if you want to be like that then these are mine, shall i take them off?" you mocked, a single finger tracing teasingly along the inside of the waistband of the nike tracksuit pants she wore which did technically belong to you.

"have i ever been one to complain when i've got no pants on round you?" mary grinned leaning in closer, her breath hitching as you teasingly dipped your hand a little lower into her tracksuit bottoms.

"yes well it was kind of stupid of you to even bother wearing them in the first place." you grinned as she dipped down to kiss you, though no sooner had she captured your lips in hers was the smell of coffee replaced with the smell of something burning.

"shit my toast!" you realized and shoved her off, darting back towards the stove and moving the pan away, staring sadly down at your now blackened breakfast. "would it help if i said i actually wasn't in the mood for french toast?" mary tried as her eyes met yours over the top of her coffee mug, the woman sipping on the last dregs of her coffee and sending you a guilty smile.

"this happens all the time mary you're the worst distraction! get out of my kitchen." you ordered sternly, a wooden spoon poking your girlfriend firmly in the chest in warning as she attempted to step forward and wrap you in a hug. "hey! that's gonna bruise." the keeper pouted rubbing at her sternum as you rolled your eyes, shooing her away and grabbing the ingredients out to make a new batch.

"mary you're gonna be late if you don't shift it like right now!" you shouted out in warning, sighing and tapping your foot impatiently, head thudding softly against the front door as you twirled the keys in your hand.

"you know if i didn't know any better i'd think you were rushing me out of here so you get the place all to yourself." your girlfriend finally appeared, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

"yeah i am, cause my other girlfriends coming over for dinner." you grinned, grabbing your girlfriends suitcase for her as she slung her kit bag over her free shoulder. "watch it, cheeky." the taller woman pulled you into a searing kiss before you ran her through her usual checklist, mary confirming she had everything as you both stepped outside.

"you wish!" mary snatched the keys from your hands after she'd loaded her bags into the back, the two of you headed off to st georges park so you could drop her off for camp for the euros.

"wasn't the entire point of this for me to drop you off? why can't i drive i'll be driving home anyway!" you reached for the keys as the taller woman held them easily out of your reach, something which infuriated you to no end. your girlfriend was forever finding it funny to put things away just out of your reach and watch you struggle, giving you no choice but to play right into her ego and have to ask her to get them for you.

"i'm gonna miss you so much baby, but i'll make sure you're well taken care of." mary murmured with a soft smile and your frown melted away. until you realised she was talking to her car and you punched her in the arm with an annoyed huff only causing her smile to widen, going as far as to cheekily tap you on the bum as you booked it around her to the passenger door.

"acting as if you aren't a self confessed passenger princess baby. now stop frowning or you'll get wrinkles." mary teased, leaning over the console to press a few kisses to your cheek as you rolled your eyes, biting your lip to stop the smile which was fighting hard to consume your face.

"can you text tooney and less for me please? tell them we'll be there in ten." mary asked, slinging an arm across the back of your chair and turning to watch over her shoulder as she reversed out of the driveway, a simple action you found wildly attractive.

moments later after much bickering back and forth and a few games of luggage tetris to fit everything in, you'd picked up the two younger girls and the four of you were headed off toward st georges park. "what are you gonna do without us now? you'll be bored out of your mind." ella grinned, leaning forward and draping her arms around you, poking at your cheeks as you smacked her hands away.

"i'm going to catch up on sleep and every single show and movie i missed out on seeing from spending all my free time babysitting the two of you!" you shot back with a smirk, the blonde and brunette gasping at the accusation as mary let out a loud belt of laughter.

"babysitting?!" alessia scoffed, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. "yes i feel like a mother of two at twenty eight, i will miss my little babies, off to their first home euros!" you cried dramatically, wiping away some fake tears as ella leant forward again and sharply pinched you for the comment.

"ow tooney!" you stretched back and tried to slap her as alessia blocked the shot, the two of them teaming up against you, ella flicking repeatedly at your ear and squeezing your cheeks with mocking words as alessia held your hands in hers, rendering you unable to defend yourself.

"oi cut it out you three, act your ages!" mary yelled sternly over your combined chattering, alessia letting you go as you quickly slapped at her leg with a loud crack and darted back into your seat before she could grab you again, flipping ella off who returned the gesture with a grin.

"i'm the one who babysits!" mary grumbled to herself as you smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek and murmur how much you loved her in her ear, ella and alessia gagging in the back at your words.

some sing alongs and genuine goodbyes later you were scooped up into a joint bear hug by the younger girls who admittedly you did look at like your own, the two frequently coming to yourself and mary for advice about everything and anything.

promising you'd see them soon and shooing them off you turned toward your girlfriend who was leant against her car, arms crossed and sunglasses on, patiently awaiting your attention. "i love you." you smiled as you wrapped your arms around her, glancing around to make sure there weren't any cameras on the two of you and craning your neck so your lips met with hers.

the two of you were out to the public, mary having thrown herself at you for many victorious kisses after matches won and you were forever dragged against your will into her tiktoks, but neither of you were overly fussed about having the more intimate moments of your relationship broadcast on a huge public platform like the lionesses social media.

you'd both already said your proper goodbyes last night over a very lovely dinner together, with tears shed between tender kisses and sweet words of affirmation afterwards as you lay wrapped up together in the comfort of your bedroom.

mary leaving for camp wasn't anything new, and you would be at every single match with her family cheering for her loudly and proudly, so it wasn't really a moment that needed a goodbye, more of a see you soon.

"you're the best in the business baby, don't you dare ever doubt it." your hands landed on the brunettes cheeks, thumbs gently tracing the curve of her lips as she nodded, sweetly kissing the pad of your finger. "how could i with you in my corner forever reminding me? i'd be lost without you." mary smiled, swallowing back the tears which threatened to fall.

the keeper was always overcome with emotions when she thought back to the countless nights you'd spent sat on the floor with her as she'd cried her heart out, yelling about how she was going to quit because she was spent, having thought she'd gave football her all and just not been good enough.

as much as you assured her it wasn't the case she knew she owed you a great debt, she could hardly be the most reasonable or kind person when in that sort of head space, having lashed out and taken her emotions out on you when under pressure more times than she could count. but having known her long before anything turned romantic you knew exactly the response she needed from you each time. you were the anchor of mary's life, forever a steady point to call home she knew would keep her grounded for the rest of her life.

which is exactly the reason she knew she wanted to marry you, heart yearning for nothing more than to be there for you even half as much as you were there for her, she loved you with every fiber of her being and planned to spend the rest of your shared life together making sure you felt it.

"go away before you make me cry, we promised we wouldn't!" you wiped away a stray tear after she'd whispered into your hair how much you meant to her, stealing one last kiss and snatching the keys from her grasp, playfully shoving her taller form away.

"i'll see you at old trafford." you smiled softly, blowing her a kiss and sliding into the drivers seat of her car, flipping her off as she yelled out to drive carefully. knowing her well enough to know she wouldn't move until you'd driven out of sight you wound down the window and revved the car, only doing it again to drown her out as she told you off, winking with a grin at her look of displeasure at your antics.

and true to her word with another i love you and an air kiss, she stood watching until you'd booked it out around the corner of the driveway, disappearing from sight.

"they did it, they really did it." marys mum julie pulled you into a tight hug, whispering in disbelief as the crowd roared, the whistle having sounded to announce englands win over germany.

they'd done it, they'd won the euros.

your girlfriend was a champion of europe and you thought your body might explode with pride, having been on the edge of your seat with every minute passed, the girls putting in the work and the love of your life the unbeatable brick wall you knew she would be.

marys eyes met yours and she beamed, waving her gloved hands at you as you mouthed how much you loved her, signing out MVP with your fingers causing her grin to widen, Leah shoving her and making a few teasing comments in her ear where she watched on beside her.

having been given their medals and lifting the trophy, a few power slides through confetti and crashed interviews later, mary found herself finally alone with her team, dancing around the solitude of the change rooms as her ears rang with the thundering boom of their chants of victory.

slipping her gloves into her bag so she was able to hold her drink a little easier, marys eyes dropped to see the small velvet box tucked into her slides. grabbing it and sitting down on the bench she ran her fingers over your initials she'd had placed atop the box, a million thoughts racing through her head, only snapped back into reality as a hand landed on her shoulder.

"you alright mate?" leah asked, slightly concerned for her friend who seemed to have mentally checked out of their celebrations. "i think its time." mary answered, opening her hand and showing the box clasped tightly in her grasp as leahs eyes widened. "yeah?" the captain squeezed her shoulders tighter as mary nodded, every single shred of doubt disappearing as your face beaming with pride flashed through her mind.

"yeah, its time."

with a nod mary was quick to stand, sprinting out of the change rooms and ignoring her team mates confused calls after her, dodging and weaving through staff and family members who littered the tunnel, sending appreciative smiles to the compliments thrown her way but not stopping.

only as her feet hit the pitch did eventually her eyes find you, sat down on the edge of the barrier beside her brother and laughing at something ella's dad had said, quite close with all of the families of her united team mates.

she heard someone behind her call for her attention but she had other priorities right now as she made a beeline for you, only stopping to hug her family, unable to deny them her attention as her mum wrapped her in a tight hug.

whispering in her ear what she was about to do julie's head snapped back and she looked at her daughter first in shock, then her features softened and her eyes welled up with tears of joy, nodding wordlessly and stepping away, grabbing at mary's father and brother to stop them interrupting.

"mary!" you laughed as your girlfriend was quick to take your hand, uttering a hasty apology to those who had you engaged in conversation and tugging you away, ignoring your protests as she dragged you down the tunnel, only letting go of your hand once she'd pulled you into the kit room.

"okay i love you and i am so so fucking proud of you, but i don't think victory sex in a closet is really-" you started as mary rolled her eyes, cutting you off with a quick kiss and placing a finger to your lips, silencing you.

you opened your mouth to continue once she'd stepped back but your throat dried up and the words died as the keeper got down on one knee, eyes widening you froze, feet rooted in place as mary took a deep breath.

"my love. i cannot even begin to express how much you mean to me, or even imagine how to put into words how much you've changed my life. not only do you make me a better person every single day, but you make me want to be a better person, for you, because you only deserve the best. i wouldn't be here today without you, without you picking me up off the kitchen floor and wiping my tears, assuring me over and over that i wasn't done and that i couldn't give up yet." mary paused and looked up to the roof, swallowing her tears and clearing her throat as your hands moved to your face, covering your mouth in shock.

"you give me purpose and drive and motivation to want to do better, because you believed in me that i could be better and have spent every moment since making sure i know i am better. there isn't a single moment in life when i'm with you that i wish i was anywhere else, every second spent by your side or in your thoughts is a blessing and i promise to never ever take you, your love and your unwavering support for granted. i am far from perfect but as both a friend and a partner you've never expected me to be. you're the grounding point in my life and i know that with you in my corner i'll never need to feel lost again." mary paused again to pull the small velvet box from her sock as you choked back a combined sob and a laugh at the hiding place, wondering how you'd not noticed it before.

"there's so much more i could say about how much i love and adore you and all of the little things that make you you, but if you do me the honour of saying yes then i vow to spend the rest of our lives making sure you feel it. so, will you marry me?" mary finished, stomach knotted tightly with nerves the keeper felt both like she could pass out or throw up at any given time, the adrenaline of her spontaneous decision now starting to wear off as reality set in.

"are you sure you want to ask me today? today should be about you and your achievements, because i know you're fucking brilliant but you deserve a day to yourself and for yourself that commemorates that." you bit down on your lip and mary's heart practically burst out of her chest that of all the concerns you could have right now it was simply that she felt assured and celebrated.

"i've never been more sure of anything. i'll already remember today for the rest of my life and i want nothing more than to share that with you, if you'll let me." mary promised with a firm nod, popping open the box as your eyes somehow widened more at the ring, it was perfect.

"yes." you agreed instantly, mary looking at you both in shock and admiration. "yes?" she asked to confirm and you nodded, practically tackling her onto the ground in a hug. "yes!" you laughed, tears now streaming down both of your faces as your lips met hers, the kiss nothing short of euphoric as with shaky hands mary slid the ring onto your finger.

"oh my god mary!" you scrambled to grip onto the back of her jersey as she practically threw you over her shoulder, barreling out of the kit room and charging into the change rooms, leah cutting off the music as soon as she spotted her.

"SHE SAID YES!" mary boomed with a cheer, her team mates swarming the two of you as you held up your hand, eyes still welling up with tears as congratulations poured down on you. "oh god thats lovely, what good taste in rings you've got mary!" rachel teased as millie grabbed your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"is this why you were making me try your rings on!?" you smacked at alessias shoulder with a laugh as mary finally let you down, pulled to the floor and dog piled on by half her team as the younger blonde yanked you into a very tight hug.

"yeah tooney and i really didn't think that would work but you didn't question it." alessia grinned and you didn't have a moment to respond before a body barreled into you, ella taking you down to the ground in a tight hug as mary was quick to push her team mates off, checking if you were okay and breathing a small sigh of relief when you let out a laugh and shoved her off you.

after many more congratulations you left the team to continue to celebrate their win not wanting to take away from a moment they had well and truly earned. stepping around the back to the bathrooms where no one was, pausing for a moment and sinking down against the wall, eyes scrunched tightly closed.

taking a deep breath you looked down to the ring on your hand, covering your mouth again in shock as you let out a strangled sound which was half laugh half sob, your now fiance rounding the corner in a desperate search to find you.

"there you are, thought you got cold feet and ran off." she teased, dropping down beside you and grabbing your ring clad hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the warm skin as you swooned. "it's no boom box on a lawn mower in the rain like a john huges film, but i promise i'll spend the rest of my life loving you like you deserve." mary whispered in promise and you nodded firmly, too choked up to get your words out.

and true to her word, she did exactly that.

#woso x reader #woso #alessia russo #woso fanfics #woso imagine #engwnt #woso blurbs #fic recs #mary earps #mary earps x reader #woso community #ella toone

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c0ntraversial-h0rr0r-c0ntent · 2 months

Text

A Lace Surprise [Bo Sinclair x female reader] | NSFW

You buy some lingerie and Bo fucks you in it. 1.7k [daddy kink, lingerie (getting ruined), penetration, Bo being a lil toxic and possessive, huuuge dick]

“What’s that baby girl?”

God fucking damnit. You freeze. He wasn’t supposed to be home for at least another hour.

“I thought you were working.”

“Oh,” His brow furrows and he steps towards you. You try to back up but hit the door—shit, there’s to go. “I’m sorry baby, am I not allowed to come home early? To my fuckin’ house?”

“No I just,”

“I just wanted to come home early and see my girl and now,” His eyes narrow. “I have to deal with you bein’ sneaky. What’s in the fucking bag?”

“It’s,” He snatches it out of your hand before you explain. He reaches in and pulls out the first piece, one of the satin stockings.

“Aw princess, why didn’t you just tell me you had a little present for me?”

He pulls the other stocking out, then holds up the lace underwear.

“Good choices baby.” He purrs. Then the garter belts. That was the real present—Bo loves the way his fingers dig into your thighs and you’ve always wondered if he’d feel the same way about watching something else press into them. The fact that they were leather didn’t hurt either.

He doesn’t say anything, just puts his hands on your shoulders and brings you away from the wall. He hands you the bag, then brings an arm behind your knees and one behind your shoulders and suddenly you’re in the air.

Bo loves carrying you around. You suspect it’s because of his control issues but you’re definitely not complaining. The first time he had gone to pick you up you were taken aback—“are you sure you can carry me?” He had just rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Don’t act like you don’t hide at the window and watch me work out, because I know you do, so I think you know damn well that I can do whatever I please with you.”

He carries him to your shared bedroom and drops you on the bed. “Take all that off.” He says, motioning to your clothes.

As you strip, Bo takes off his jumpsuit, tossing it to the floor. He leaves his boxers on but just seeing the lingerie has got him chubbing.

“Stand up.”

You stand and he sits down, legs spread. He pulls you in by the hips so that you’re standing between them, then slides your underwear down. He puts his hand behind your knee, bringing it up enough to slip your panties off.

He brings them to his face.

“Now honey I know what your undies smell like at the end of the day, this isn’t my baby girl running errands, this smells like someone’s been soaking wet for a while. Is that right baby?”

You nod. He raises his eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes daddy.”

“That’s right.” He swipes two fingers through your lips, purposefully grazing your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “She gets so wet for me, doesn’t she?”

He picks the bag up from where you had set it on the floor and pulls out your new underwear, see-through lace with straps to hug your hips. Low rise because everything you wear around him is, he fucking loves it.

“Step into it.” He holds them out for you to step into and then slides them up your legs, palm pushing against your crotch to secure them. You can’t help but whimper.

He grabs your ass with his other hand, fingers digging into you through the lace. “Go on sugar, grind against my hand.”

He holds eye contact as you slowly roll your hips. “That’s it, doll. Doing so good for me.”

You watch the buldge in his boxers grow, his cock straining to get out, while you rub yourself against his hand. You let out a trembled moan.

“Alright that’s enough.” He takes his hand away and fishes the garter belts out of the bag. He slides the left and then the right carefully up your legs, raising them high on each thigh.

He traces the sides of your thighs where you spill out of your stockings.

“So gorgeous.” He presses his face in between your thighs, pressing a kiss to the left then the right, just above where the garter presses into your skin.

He looks up at you and motions to your bra. “And take that off.”

It’s so vulnerable, taking off your bra while he dresses you up like his doll.

“Bein’ so good for me, such a good girl.”

He rolls the stockings up and clips them, then pulls the left side up a bit so they’re perfectly symmetrical. He nudges your hips, gently turning you around. He kisses through your lace.

“This is one hell of a present honey.”

“Do you want me to,”

“Bend over.”

You hear him rustling, taking himself out of his boxers with one hand, the other wrapped around your thigh, thumb stroking the back of your stocking.

“I’m gonna ask you a question and I need you to tell me the truth.”

You nod.

“Now when you went and picked this up you were thinking about I what I was gonna do to you in it, isn’t that right? Words, Princess.

“Yes daddy.”

“Were you thinking about me fuckin’ you, you thinkin’ about getting fucked so hard that I bruise up your insides? Or did you want it real gentle?”

“Gentle.” You whisper.

“I’m gonna ask you to do something and it’s gonna hurt, alright? But I’m asking because I know you can take it.”

You nod and he pulls your underwear to the side and chuckles. “She’s so pretty, isn’t she?” He presses a kiss over your open, soaking wet hole.

“I need you to sit down on my lap, okay baby? All the way down, can you do that for me?”

You slowly bring your hips down, one hand still holding your panties to the side, the other on your hip guiding you down

He helps like the two of you up just right and then you feel it—even taking just the tip feels like it’s going to split you open.

“Fuck, you’re doin’ so good honey, why don’t we keep it like this for a minute, let your body get used to it.”

It’s too much. Even when he’s fingers you it’s too much but this, this is so intense—he’s so thick.

“How’s that feelin’?”

“It’s a lot daddy.” You whimper.

“Just grind on my tip, you’re doing so good.” He soothes.

You lift your hips a few times, getting used to it spearing in and out of you. The head is always the trickiest to fit inside. You lower yourself down an inch and then repeat, fucking the inch in and out, letting your body open up.

“I’m ready for it daddy, it’s just scary,” you babble. “Want you to do it.”

“Aw is daddy’s dick scary?” He croons. “That’s alright. Deep breath baby.” He grabs both hips and brings you down, fucking his entire length inside.

“Oh,” You squeal. “Fuck.”

“Lay back on me, honey.” He grabs a few pillows from the head of the bed to put behind his back. He leans against them and pulls you to him, your back against his chest. He spreads your legs to hook over his.

He wraps his left arm around your chest and puts his right hand in between your thighs.

“How are you feeling baby, gotta use your words.”

“I’m so full.” You whine. He grabs your hand and intertwines it with his, then bringing them back down between your legs.

“You are. Feel that?” He leads your hand to his balls. “That’s my entire cock inside you. You’re taking all of it, such a good girl.”

It doesn’t hurt when he’s still, especially when you squeeze down on him—not hurt, more sore. It’s when he bucks his hips that you get that jolt of pain.

“Fuck, daddy.” Your voice is shaky.

“I know baby, it hurts when I’m right up against your cervix but you’re doing so good.”

He moves two fingers to your clit over the lace and fucks up into you, and when your hips move with him, his clothed fingers give you the friction you need.

You begin to slide yourself up and down on him, chasing the feeling of his fingers.

“Hurts so good daddy.”

“That’s my girl.”

The pain mixes with his pleasure and every thrust leaves you sore and aching and needing more.

“Can I cum daddy?”

“Course you can.”

You sink down as far as you can, taking every inch and pushing yourself against Bo’s hand. You move your hips back and forth, no rhythm, just the feeling of his fingers on your clit and the throbbing of his cock deep inside you.

“Fuck daddy, right there.”

You’re sure you look desperate, grinding on his cock like that, hair flying everywhere and filling the room with wet squelching noises, but you don’t care. It’s too good to care.

You squeeze down on him when you cum, gripping him tight inside you. To his credit, he really could have cum right there right then, but he had other plans and, with everything in him, restrained himself.

Once you’ve slowed down you lay back against him. His cock is still hurried is die you hit you’re too tired to try to shift it out.

He doesn’t ask anymore. He knows your mind is still floaty and fucked out. He just acts.

He lifts you off his cock and sets you down on the bed, then, with a gentle nudge to your shoulders, turns you over.

He straddles you and rests his cock between your ass cheeks, balls resting heavy on your upper thighs.

“That’s it honey, you lay there and fuckin’ take it. You let daddy cum on your pretty new panties.”

He slips his cock underneath them and presses himself against you, between your cheeks. Then you feel it, shooting out and hitting the lace then dripping into your skin.

“That’s my good girl,” He shouts. “Good girl taking daddy’s load on her ass.”

Once he’s finished he rolls you over again, knowing you’re too weak to do it yourself. He lays next to you, on his side, one arm draped over you and the other under your neck.

“Did so good for me.” He presses a kiss to your cheek.

“You messed up my panties.”

“Don’t you worry baby, I’ll buy you more. Daddy will buy you whatever you want.”

#house of wax #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #slasher x you #slasher fucker #slasher fanfiction

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ghost-proofbaby · 6 months

Text

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FIVE: HOLY GROUND

I LEFT A NOTE ON THE DOOR WITH THE JOKE WE MADE, AND THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY. AND DARLING, IT WAS GOOD NEVER LOOKING DOWN.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 8K+

☆ A/N: trying something new in the formating here amongst the chapter - please bear with me <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Oh, how you realize you’ll come to regret that taunt.

The first week of working on organizing Corroded Coffin’s single release party is easy enough. Most of the communication is restricted to Matt and vendors, beginning the process of assessing venues as you start your list of all that will be needed for the party. An actual location, an open bar, entire stage crews. Matt is able to provide a few connections here and there, people in the live music industry that owe him a favor as he had so kindly put it. You had your spreadsheet of contacts that was growing with each passing day, you had several venues that looked as though they would work well for the occasion — the only thing you had yet to do was go over options with the band or properly reach out for their list of requirements for their night of celebration.

You had tried to be sneaky about it. Get around asking for any of their emails, continue living comfortably in the radio silence of not hearing from Eddie. And then you’d made the fatal mistake of asking Matt if he could gather the list of things the boys may want.

And of course, as any sane person would do, he had only forwarded the email to all of the boys’ professional emails and replied: I’ve CC’d our rockstars. I’ve instructed them to personally send you any requests they may have.

Fuck.

Eddie’s email sat at the lead of the list of CC’d emails, almost teasing you as it stared back at you from your laptop screen. A full week, you had avoided this. Even if he could have gotten your email from Matt, he hadn’t, and like a fool, you’d assumed that meant you were in the clear.

So much for that.

You compose and erase multiple emails until you decide that if the boys want to reach out, they can. There was no need for you to make first contact; they now had your email, a bait set for them to initiate a conversation by sending you their lists. If Eddie wanted to reach out to you, he had the perfect excuse to do so.

For a few hours, you don’t hear anything, and instead of sighing in relief, it only puts you further on edge. You want him to just get it over with. To send you an email, preferably an impersonal list that allows you to continue your job. No relations, no interferences. You didn’t know it, but the Universe was already laughing in your face.

The first email from any of the boys comes from Jeff.

A simple list, just as you’d requested. There was nothing outrageous; he’d recommended an open bar, asked for a specific brand of whiskey if possible, and thanked you for all you were doing. Simple, kind, appreciative. Jeff, it seemed, had stayed as humble as you remembered him.

The next email came from Gareth. Less simple, but still just as expected.

Nerds (the CANDY) of any kind. That vodka infused whipped cream (does it even get you drunk?), the softest robe money can buy. Actually, can I get matching house shoes with that robe? Can we also have some cigars in the dressing room? (We are getting a dressing room… right?)

You’re so busy snorting at his requests, rolling your eyes but also losing yourself in the warmth to know he also hadn’t changed much, you don’t see the next email come through.

It was comforting. You knew Eddie had changed — more than you could ever wrap your head around — but these boys you once knew seemed to still be connected to their roots. You read the requests and recall the times you’d spent in Gareth’s hot garage over the summer, sitting on warm concrete as you cheered overly excited, even occasionally standing up to jokingly mosh to their rehearsals. Sweltering summer nights between friends and beers that lost their chill far too quickly, laughter that echoed down the driveway and out into the empty streets of Hawkins. Nostalgia burns away at you, sitting restlessly in your chest as you let yourself simmer in it for the first time since…. since moving to New York, really. Even in that first year, life had moved so quickly, you and Eddie never took the time to ruminate in your past too often. If you did, it had caught you off guard, always fleeting to make room for the next uncertain experience.

You two had been so busy running away from your hometown, you’d never stopped to consider what you had given up in the process.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, and you swear you can still taste the shitty Miller Lite, the only brand that seemed to occupy the Emerson’s fridge, on your tongue as you exit the email and scribble on the notepad before you. Even if Gareth had been joking around with some of his requests, you’d take them seriously — besides, the mental image of Gareth in a plush robe and fluffy slippers to match made you laugh. You were thinking about your past, and for once, you were laughing. This part wasn’t a stain, wasn’t something you had scrubbed away at in a haste to make it fade from your ledger. This was the part you should have been lingering on.

And linger you did until you glanced up to find the next unread email.

Eddie.

[email protected]. You could fool yourself, tell yourself that email is from anyone else, but you know it isn’t. It isn’t even the email that had been CC’d. It’s his personal email.

Your mouse hovers over the highlighted and unopened message, heart dropping with each passing second. There’s a small preview of his message, but your vision blurs just enough that you can’t make out the small words.

Is this how you were always doomed to live out the rest of your days? To freeze, to panic, to malfunction at every slightest thing that has to do with the man you left to begin with? Would he always pull such visceral reactions from you?

In an act of bravery, you press the tip of your finger against the smooth mouse pad, a muted click that doesn’t reach your ears signaling the official opening of the email. All of your hopes are shattered as you realize it’s clearly too short to be a list similar to the other boys, a simple response that you could acknowledge and move on from.

No, he sends something that specifically calls for you to play with him. To reply and interact, to give him what he wants. To talk.

Two fucking words. Two loaded, vexing, provocative words that call to you with the titillating grin you imagine he wore as he typed them.

Your fingers work faster than your brain, slamming away at the keys hurriedly without thought as you type your least professional email to date.

The bottom of the email is automatically signed off with your work signature, including your direct personal line. If you had half the mind, you would have erased that bit of information to keep it from Eddie. It even has your actual signature, a mature one that differs from how you used to scrawl your name atop of schoolwork in high school, that you had scanned into your computer after having gone through the painful process of rewriting it what must have been a thousand times. No one had let you in on the fact that most other corporate monsters and coworkers just used one of the sloping fonts available to them. No one had shown you the ropes – you’d just assumed that it was the normal, to go so above and beyond.

Another brick in the foundation you’d built for yourself, separate from Eddie. Another attempt to change from the girl he’d once loved.

You’re shocked when a reply comes very quickly. You hadn’t even clicked out of the thread before it entered your inbox.

You try to channel fury, years of irritation and calluses you’d built up against him. But your chest has been weakened by that brief moment of nostalgia that Jeff and Gareth had triggered, and it’s a fruitless battle when he sends another message rapidly. He’s treating it like casual texting rather than stiff business interactions.

Your entire body flushes, a shock to your system coming that brings you out of the allusive hypnosis easily.

My emails are monitored. They’re going to see that we know each other. I’m going to get fucking fired.

You steady your breathing and try to stave off the anxiety. It’ll be fine; Lydia has no reason to comb through your emails at this time. Nothing said would trigger any bells or whistles to cause concern. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It has to be.

You wish you had it in you to see red. He had an incomprehensible amount of nerve to be asking for your personal email all because he refused to use his professional email.

Soft. You’d worked on becoming a hardened version of your old self for two years, and all hard work was quickly going down the drain as you remained too soft for him. It was easy, too. All the rough edges had melted so discreetly somewhere amongst the in between.

You think he’s dropped the topic of your personal email, but you should know better. Not even mere seconds after you receive the first email, brimming with nonchalance and a teasing tone that has no room between the two of you, another message comes through.

Good to see he’s still annoying and persistent as ever, I suppose.

He’s all bark, no bite. That’s what you convince yourself. There’s no way he could find your personal email, a plethora of power and connections at his fingertips or not. Even if he could, it would take him ages and more effort than it would be worth.

All bark. No bite.

You hadn’t realized just how quick and consistent his replies had maintained until you’re met with silence. You wait impatiently, biting at your fingernails as you await for another one of his responses. The more the time passes, the excessive minutes piling up in the quiet midday hum of your midtown apartment, the more noticeable Eddie’s online silence becomes.

No, you think suddenly and strongly. No, I am not doing this.

You refuse to sit around like this and succumb so easily. All your half-healed scars thrum with aches deep-rooted within the skin you’ve grown over the last two years, screaming out in phantom pains with a reminder of what happened to you the last time you’d let yourself sit around and wait on the boy on the end of the line. Every lonely night, every tear shed, every beat of your bleeding heart — you cannot be doing this again, and not so soon.

Quickly, you click out of your email tab and back onto the list of vendors you needed to contact for the bar commodities. Distract, distract, distract. You comb through your list. Some vendors seemed to hold more potential than others, more attainable in the grand scheme of it all. For the first time ever in your very short career of event planning, budget wasn’t the issue.

Eddie’s reputation was.

But you’re not thinking about Eddie. No, your focus was anywhere but him right now. You weren’t thinking about him, or his new cologne, or his new rings, or his new life-

Just as you pick up your cell phone to start your calls down the list, a notification pings.

Only seven minutes had passed. Seven minutes, and your phone is suddenly alight with a small but terrifying notification from your personal email.

New email from [email protected]!

Oh, fuck.

Your thumb hesitates over the tiny banner before you release the breath you were sure you’d been holding the entire seven minutes. It shouldn’t have taken him such little time. You expected it to realistically take him a few hours, all your anxious waiting aside.

There had been only one fatal flaw in your taunting — well, technically there were several becoming more apparent as the seconds ticked by, but only one so glaringly obvious. Your personal email address. You had forgotten.

You hadn’t changed it since high school, since moving to New York, since meeting and since leaving Eddie.

[email protected].

The stupid inside joke haunts you.

“Why does your email even matter?” Eddie huffed from where he was sprawled out on your bed, tossing around some bouncy ball he’d acquired a few nights before during dinner at a local pizza joint, “No one even uses email anymore.”

He tossed the ball of rubber into the air once more, a blur of the rainbow swirl pattern whirring too close to your ceiling for comfort. Your focus waned from your laptop for just a moment as you suddenly shot out a hand, attempting to intercept the ball.

No use. Eddie used one hand to swat yours away, the other happily capturing the toy in his palm with a muted thud.

“Nuh, uh, uh,” he drawled as he looked at you with his boyish grin, eyes sparkling as his fingers closed loosely around his prize, “If you wanted one so badly the other night, you should have also coughed up a quarter.”

You snorted, “Are you really proud of that? You spent a whole twenty five cents on a hunk of rubber, Rockstar.”

“A hunk of rubber you’re now trying to steal from me.”

“I’m not trying to steal it,” you scowled, “I’m trying to focus here. Emails are important, despite your pessimism. Something my English teacher said about professionalism.”

“You’re really going to listen to that dinosaur? The old O’Donnel-saurus?” Eddie mused, chuckling beneath his breath at his own joke.

You refused to crack a smile in return, or show any recognition at the awful joke, but your chest still warmed. The smoke of your affection for the boy in front of you unfurled, thick enough to choke you up a few extra seconds but thin enough to not suffocate. Never suffocate — it was a time in which you could never imagine your love for Eddie Munson being your downfall. It was a wispy and adaptable type of adoration, just like the smoke that flows off of the end of the incense you’d taken to burning in your room lately in lieu of candles.

“It’d do you well to also come up with a professional sounding email, you know,” you hummed. You were mere seconds away from shoving your laptop away and joining Eddie in his relaxed position, maybe even laying your head on his chest or shoulder and bringing up the idea of a late afternoon nap you knew he’d never turn down, “Can’t go around emailing important people when you’re a rockstar with your Dungeons & Dragons nickname.”

“One,” he held up a stern finger, “Like I said — I don’t use email. And two, I’m very happy with my email, sweetheart. I’ll probably email the damn President with that name. Life’s too short and we’re too young to get a stick up our ass about shit like that.”

You reached out and wrapped your palm around his finger, tugging it down. Unlike with the ball, he let you capture him in your grasp, “I don’t have a stick up my ass about it.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then make it something funny,” he wiggled his brows, “Make your email something stupid and live a little.”

“A little?” you scoffed, “I think I live plenty for the both of us. You’ve put me through at least three lifetimes worth of stress before I’ve hit twenty. I probably have grey hairs already.”

Your hand curled around his pointer finger drops to your thigh, but doesn’t release him. The touch remained, ever constant, now more for comfort rather than defiance. And he let you continue to hold him, as if your touch was a luxury he was indulging in just as much as you were his.

“Wanna check?” he taunted. He lifted up off his back for a microsecond, tugging your arm with his before the roll of your eyes had him falling back flat once more.

It was a losing battle, arguing with Eddie.

Your conjoined hands settled back atop your thigh as you sighed. Maybe Eddie had been right, and you were stressing out too much about this. He was right; you were young, and having a dumb email was a right of passage. Something to giggle at in your maturity when you’d provide it later down the road, a flash of your youth to keep close.

Fuck professionalism, or whatever high horse O’Donnel had been on.

“Fine,” you huffed, “What do you suggest?”

“… To check for grey hairs?”

“For my email, you idiot.”

A bit more back and forth, a bit too raunchy of ideas that passed Eddie’s lips only to be rejected quickly with rough shakes of your head. His finger remained locked in your palm, at some point his knuckle wiggling between suggestions to stroke at your skin.

“Sweetheart, you’re being too picky,” Eddie finally whined as you shot down yet another one of his ideas, “At this point, just make it something related to the band. You’ll probably be Corroded Coffin’s manager when we make it big, anyways.”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” you murmured, even if you enjoyed the thought. You already had started to get a hang of wrangling the boys in your small town for menial tasks and day-to-day activities. But on a wider, professional scale? You could already feel the headache pressing into your temples. If they ever offered you the proposition, you wouldn’t have said no, but you certainly would have complained to no end. And definitely got grey hairs.

“Sweetheart.”

The repetition of the nickname froze you. Your eyebrows furrowed as the wheels in your brain turned and you looked down at your boy, the formulation of an idea that was combining both of Eddie’s suggestions suddenly.

“Why do you call me sweetheart?”

Eddie was taken back by your question, face crumpling with confusion, “What?”

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” you repeated yourself as you finally let go of his finger and twisted to face him fully, laptop momentarily forgotten as your legs folded beneath you and pressed into your worn mattress, “Like, I call you Rockstar because I know you’ll be a rockstar someday. Already are technically, to me, but don’t let that go to your head,” you explained, smiling shyly as Eddie narrowed his eyes and shined his dimples at you, “So why do you call me sweetheart?”

He hardly had to think about it, although his answer came out as more of a question, “Because you’re my sweetheart?”

“That’s all?”

“Is this a trick question?”

You nearly cackled at his hesitation, “It isn’t, I swear. Just… humor me.”

This time, he took his time to carefully deliberate his answer, “Well, I guess because it just fits,” he paused, wide eyes catching yours as you lifted your brows in question, “You know? Cause you’re sweet like sugar, and you’ve got a heart of gold,” he grabbed up the hand that once held him and drew it into his lips, peppering kisses across your knuckles and fingertips, fighting a grin as he groveled, “There. Is that romantic enough to humor you?”

“Almost.”

You pulled your hand away despite the fact that you wanted to let him continue his display of affection. You would have laid around all day, letting Eddie Munson shower you in all the affection he had to give. But you really needed to create this email.

And now, you had the perfect name.

CORRODEDSUGAR.

You created the account quickly. Set everything up with ease before you proudly turned your screen to Eddie.

“Corroded sugar?” he read outloud in a murmur as a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, “Cute. But also, very metal. Very badass. I approve, Sugar.”

A new nickname was born that day, to haunt you and taunt you at every corner. In soft mornings when he woke before you, his voice softly cooing ‘wake up, Sugar’ as he’d brush his nose along your jaw and attempt to awaken you with needy nuzzling. Amidst heated and passionate arguments had all in good fun while out with friends, where he knew you were right but the closest he’d come to admitting it would simply be ‘whatever you say, Sugar!’. He’d even once weaponized it against you during sacred moments, where his lips worshiped you as they trailed leisurely down the skin of your torso until he’d settled between your thighs, humming as he wrapped ringed fingers around your hips and whispered nothing more than the nickname. ‘Sugar’. He had sighed as if he were a starving man, and you were the plate of sweetness that would bring him back to life.

Sugar. A prayer, a promise, a reminder.

You couldn’t remember the last time he’d called you that. Until now.

When you’d tried to reset, rebuild, remake yourself, it had been hard to figure out a new email address. Amongst all the changes and all the decisions to be made, choosing a new email just felt overwhelming. And you’d been foolish, clung to one last relic of your past like an estranged child fisting a blanket to sleep.

The seven minutes suddenly makes crystal clear sense.

Whether it had really been Eddie’s rockstar connections from his fame, or simply recalling a far away memory, you hadn’t made yourself a very hard person to find. And you never considered that your laziness would have a consequence like this.

You don’t know what else to say. Your mind keeps reading over that silly five letter word, the bold lettering jumping off the page at you. All recollections of every time he’d ever called you that slip into the forefront of your brain, slapping away any concentrated thought.

You’d had dreams of him calling you that again. A mixture of memories and fantasies that would wake you up in the months following your departure. Compared to the other dreams you’d had amongst those, they had been a sweet reprieve. Not a nightmare of Eddie with his lips pressed to another, or mournful dreams where you reached out to him only for him to become intangible smoke where your hand should have connected with his torso. They were one of your only dreams you had awoken from without immediate tears.

They were the type of dreams where you’d awake, and for just a moment, you’d forgotten all that had happened. They’d twist you up in a blissful blanket of delusion that he was still yours, that you were still laying in a shared bed in that small apartment, that there was still a calendar on the wall with the date of his return marked with a scarlet heart.

The tears would come later. Once the dreamy fog cleared, and your eyes opened up to see the unfamiliar space you had taken to calling home instead.

The two of you should be discussing the release party. He should be handing over a list of requests and you should be adding them to the same page that you’d copied down Gareth’s.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

Talking, like nothing happened. Having a playful conversation over email that reeked of the same make-believe that had clung to your dreams of Sugar.

He won’t break the illusion, so you do.

Messaging him from this contact only reminds you of all that could have been. All the joking conversations back in Hawkins of your involvement with the band once they inevitably blew up, all the late nights where you’d been privy to a private show as he hunched over his guitar and hummed out melodies to new songs, all the bruises those once familiar hands had left and then caressed in the afterglow.

For just a moment, you miss it all.

For only a second, you wish he wore the same cologne and you wish you still signed your name as you had when you first met him. You wish for days of instability and the solid touch of his shoulders beneath your palms as you convince him to take a leap of faith on himself and the band. Dancing in a small apartment, falling asleep on the phone while he was a world away, quiet confessions of love to soothe the wound that distance made grow larger — for just a moment, you want it all back. Even the pain. Even the hurt you’d been burying alive for years.

Silence. Once again, he’s left you with static lines as the minutes pass and no new message is received.

You think you liked it better when he was being inappropriately playful.

At least then, he was saying something. Now, as he says nothing, you have to resort back to doing your job. You bring up a knee to rest your chin on as you adjust in your home office chair, clicking over to tabs of information on a physically small but well-known venue that had several different capacity options. Ranging from a small room that could hardly fit twenty five people to a rooftop set up with the ability to entertain several hundred people. Something about it had felt very Eddie to you; reclusive, with opportunity for an afterparty. Some odd mixture of who you once knew and who you’d seen flashes of through headlines and brief encounters. You hadn’t been given many guidelines from Matt to go off of, and when you’d questioned capacity size, he’d only brushed it off.

Just something smaller than the venues they play on tour.

Would Eddie even want this small of a venue? Looking over the venue’s website, you catch sight of the approximate occupancy limit for the “largest” stage room — 750 standing. What was Corroded Coffin’s new normal? Once upon a time, you were amongst a crowd that couldn’t even break double digits. But now, a show like this might sell out for them in five minutes flat. Hell, they could probably even sell out a thousand person capacity room.

A ding sounds to signify a new email.

For a second, you’re nonsensically relieved when you see it’s from Eddie. You find yourself blindly hopeful for a continuation of banter, another message solely trying to get on your nerves – something to satiate that stubborn need to slip back into old habits, even if for only just today.

It’s not. It’s a stale list of requests. Sent to your work email, this time.

No sight of his playfulness between the words. No beckoning of him taunting you, teasing you, whispering for you to just give in and play pretend with him one last time.

It’s probably for the best.

—

Have Mondays always been this hectic?

Week two of working on Corroded Coffin’s album release was starting off very differently from the first week. It seemed every corner you turned, you were faced with a new challenge that only made the headache behind your temples pound more relentlessly. Denial from venues, cold calls being forwarded to voicemail when you’d reach out to vendors, and Matt being impossibly busy with the band to get back to any of your emails in a timely manner.

If you had to hear one more venue representative turn down your business proposition with a “Sorry, but we’ve heard about Eddie’s reputation…”, you might make a detour to go jump off the Empire State Building.

Had he really been that awful to venue properties?

“You look stressed,” Romina notes when you hang up on your third unsuccessful call of the day, slamming the phone down more violently than you should.

“Who, me?” you bitterly reply, looking over your shoulder to where she leans in her chair, turned entirely from her desk to watch you with gentle amusement, “Never. I have never been stressed a day in my life.”

She quirks an eyebrow, “And before this new secret project of yours, I would have agreed.”

“Every venue is shooting me down.”

“It happens,” you yearn to feel the nonchalance that flows through the shrug of her shoulders, as if she’s now the one without a worry in the world, “Are they giving reasons?”

You open your mouth, but your tongue stops short. Because yes, they were each giving the same resounding, completely valid reason. But to admit this is to inform Romina what your secret project really is – something that a certain NDA strictly prohibits for the time being.

“Conflict of schedules,” you tightly lie as your glare diverts to your computer screen, still open on a mostly empty inbox.

Eddie hadn’t emailed you since last week.

Somewhere amongst your frustration, there was a sore disappointment lying in patient wait. You have not a single doubt that once the storm of the task at hand passes, once you finally secure a venue, that you’ll be forced to deal with it. But for now, a boy not emailing you after being so insistent for your personal contact was the least of your worries.

Romina’s voice draws you back in, “Really? How far out are you trying to book for?”

“Three months.”

The squeak of her chair pauses abruptly. Your eyes shift and you catch the way all her mindless swaying has ceased, mouth flat with eyes widened in disbelief.

“Three months?”

“What?” you finally spin your chair to face her, playing off nonchalance. You know why she’s reacting so dramatically, “Should I not be booking that far in advan-”

“I- No, no. You absolutely should be. It should actually be making it easier to book,” she leans forward in her seat, squinting at you, “Is that really the only reason they’re giving?”

You get it. Because she’s right; giving such fair notice should be making your job easier. But you can’t defend yourself and explain how the client you’re representing is the real issue.

“Yeah,” you force a forlorn sigh.

“Jesus,” she whistles out, “Well, that’s just… Fuck. I’m sorry, babe. That’s rough. What types of venues are you even trying for? Wait - didn’t you say you were arranging for a grand opening of a bakery? Wouldn’t they already have their shop set up-”

“Hello ladies.”

Thank fucking God for Lydia.

“Lydia!” you sit up just a little bit straighter, nearly leaping out of your seat with relief as your boss approaches. You knew exactly where Romina’s train of thought was heading, and you wouldn’t have been able to come up with a single pitiful excuse to keep up with your little white lie, “How are you today?”

Romina is still perched in her chair with a confused look, but Lydia doesn’t even glance her way, looking just as concerned as she looks down at you, “I’m… fine. There’s a client for you in the conference room.”

Straight to the point. Except, you didn’t have a meeting scheduled today.

“A client?” you echo, shrinking down a bit. You only have one client, technically, at this moment, “I didn’t have anything on my calendar.”

“Apparently, they were just on this side of town. Said you’d left a few voicemails and he thought it’d be easier to just pop in to discuss things.”

It had to be Matt. He must have gotten one of your frantic voicemails you’d left over the weekend, the ones you’d instantly regretted and worried had lacked in professionalism.

It has to be Matt.

“Oh,” Romina’s eyes are burning holes in the back of your chair as you fumble to lock your computer screen, scrambling to gather anything you might need. The notebook you’d been using to keep track of the entire ordeal crinkles slightly in your grip, “Yeah, of course, that- I’ll go straight there. Are they in one of the smaller conference rooms or the-”

“The main one,” Lydia interrupts you, and her tone makes you pause.

She sounds as if Matt’s arrival is the largest inconvenience she had experienced in the last month.

Why would Matt popping in to talk to me be such a big deal?

She’s clearly not in the mood for questions, so you only nod as you stand up, “Got it.”

And then she’s gone. No interest in joining you, or to question what could be going wrong. No sign of involvement like the day you’d originally met with the band and Matt to sign all documentation.

Your gut twists in knots that not even boy scout’s have discovered yet.

And they only worsen when Romina calls after your retreating figure, “Good luck with your baker!”

You’re kind of fucked. It’s clear she’s no longer buying into your lie of your client, and the thought of facing her after Matt is nausea-inducing. What if you just came clean? Would they sue you for telling Romina? Would Romina tell anyone else if you confided in her? Your thoughts race with question after question as you quickly make your way through the maze of cubicles, taking lefts and rights far too fast as you worry about making Matt wait much longer.

It was just stupid. Because amongst the questions, one rings out that’s insane enough to make the rest of them actually sound reasonable.

If you did manage to fuck this up in any way, would Eddie protect you?

Whether it be because you couldn’t complete the task at hand that was beginning to look impossible, or if it was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, would he defend you?

You’d figured you’d lost his servitude and protection long ago, back when you’d first left that apartment and ignored every attempt at contact. But if it came down to it, would he offer you one last privilege of his defense? Probably not. Which — fair enough. You hadn’t done anything in the last week to have already earned that back. You hadn’t wanted to earn that privilege back, either. No matter how badly you found yourself wanting a new email from him in your inbox, there was a clear line in the sand drawn by your own stick, and you had to stay to your side of it.

You were a big girl. You could handle it.

Just as you finally approach the conference room, eyes trained to the ground and brows tightly furrowed in careful consideration (definitely not frustration, because the thought of Eddie surely couldn’t frustrate you), you make a fatal mistake. It’s a small detail you’d never paid much mind to prior — a stain on the carpet just outside the doorway, subtle yet large once the shadowy shifting of the carpet’s color caught your eyes. You’re so busy letting your eyes trail the perimeter of it, trying to focus on the threaded shades rather than the shade of Eddie’s dark eyes in the hallway the week before, that you aren’t prepared when the toe of your shoe catches against the said carpet.

You should have ate shit, to put it plainly.

One quick fumble, and you’re flying forward, hardly thinking as you throw out your hands to brace for impact. Foolish, considering the fall would have left you with severely aching wrists, or a bruised face. But it never arrives.

Large hands suddenly appear to grab you, catching you halfway through the sudden fall, and the unfamiliar cologne that’s plagued your waking thoughts for a week now overtakes your senses.

You thought it was Matt waiting for you.

“Woah!” his voice echoes easily in the empty hallway, “Shit, are you okay?”

You swore it was Matt waiting for you.

“Fine,” you strangle out, pulling away from that touch as quickly as possible. Like he’s burned you. Like those hands that once knew you all too well held your entire demise in their palms.

And they might.

It wasn’t Matt waiting for you.

Eddie doesn’t seem shocked by your retreat, only watching with a blank face as you regain your balance on your own and avoid eye contact. He looks nice – a leather jacket too shiny to be the one he wore when you wore together, a faded band t-shirt beneath you can’t fully see the logo of but know was bought that distressed just for looks due to the familiar unfamiliarity that has begun to cloud around the man you once knew, heavy boots planted right on the stain in the carpet that had distracted you.

“What did you even trip on?” he finally questions, looking curiously behind you as he retraces your path, “Was it-”

“Air,” you cut him off, “Save me the embarrassment, but I tripped on air.”

If you had half a mind, you would have interrupted with something more useful. Maybe demanded to know why he was here in your office. Questioned his intentions of showing up unannounced. Asked why he never emailed again.

Okay, maybe not that last one.

He lets out a short chuckle, more a breath than anything else as his face finally cracks and he almost grins, “I see. To be fair, it’s an easy thing to trip on. Very hard to see. Almost as if it’s invisible.”

He gauges your reaction, but you don’t let yourself so much as smile at his awkward attempt at a joke.

You can’t. You can’t casually joke with him, you can’t laugh and pretend like there isn’t an elephant sitting on your chest every time you occupy the same space as him. There’s no magic eraser to everything between you two; no amount of emails, no amount of bad jokes that can vanish all that has transpired. Your past and the carpet, it seems, have something in common.

Never thought you’d say that about the ugly threads you only look at to disassociate during particularly long days.

“What are you doing here?” you finally whisper out the right question, and internally cringe as your mouth keeps moving only to tack on a completely unnecessary addition of, “I didn’t receive any emails about a meeting-”

“Matt sent me,” Eddie shrugs. You watch the way the leather creases and fits his wide shoulders, catch yourself studying to see if there’s any new muscle beneath the layers to further estrange you further from him, “He’s been stuck in meetings for the album and single, and said you’d left him a few voice mails so… I’m the rescue team, I guess.”

You finally look him in his eyes, jaw dropping ever so slightly, “You?”

“What about me?”

“You’re my ‘rescue team’?” the words are bitter on your tongue, his presence anything but a relief of rescue, “No offense, but how can you possibly help me?”

And then he smiles. And, oh Lord, you’ve forgotten how nice of a smile he has. It’s painful – a sharp reminder of the past that you just can’t shake. He’s an old photograph that never quite burns, a stain on your favorite article of clothing you’ll never wear again. For a moment, it doesn’t matter how many parts of him he’s replaced, how many pieces of him have been turned over brand new and unfamiliar, because he looks just like the boy you left behind. A relic you can mourn for once you return to your apartment all alone. A whisper you’ll exchange with your children about someday, as you tell them all about the boy who changed you for the worse.

“You’d be surprised,” he muses, reaching a hand up to drag over a chin shadowed over in faint facial hair, “Apparently, once you make it big, you have to learn about more things than just how to play an A chord on a guitar or sing in tune. Business, for example. That’s what you’ve been struggling with, yeah? The business aspect of it all?”

You kind of want to walk away from him. To go and eat shit in a different hallway, on your way to tell Lydia you can’t do this anymore.

“I’m not struggling,” you snap.

He’s quick to lift his hands in surrender, “Don’t shoot the messenger. Those were Matt’s words, not mine.”

“Yeah, well, tell Matt I’m fine,” you huff indignantly, “I’m a professional who can handle myself. I can figure this out on my own.”

You’re turning your back to him, ready to storm off dramatically for your own sanity, when he clears his throat.

You pause. You don’t turn to look, but you halt mid-step.

“Humor me, for a second,” he begins, “What exactly are you fully capable of figuring out on your own?”

“The planning,” you state the obvious, staring at an odd piece of art on the office wall to your left. Not quite turning your head to him, but angling so your voice carries.

“Yeah, no shit,” his words spark a little more anger, a little more rage, “I mean what part of the planning? You’ve left Matt at least two voicemails. Probably more, if he’s resorted to sending me.”

More like five. Possibly seven, but you’d indulged in more wine than would be wise to admitting this weekend after receiving your third venue rejection.

“Maybe he just got tired of babysitting you. Decided to make you someone else’s problem.”

“Maybe,” Eddie hums, and you can hear his slow footsteps as he slowly walks to block your vision of the abstract artwork. Your gaze is cut off from the silvery lines splattered across a black background and forced upon brown eyes that are more lively than you remember from the previous week, “But I already made the trip all the way down here. Might as well make myself useful to you.”

He’s still wearing that smile. The one that belongs captured in a polaroid at the back of your closet. The one frozen in a time that was so much simpler than this.

The kind that leaves a mark – a stain.

“You want to make yourself useful to me?” you narrow your eyes, straighten your shoulders, prepare for battle, “Then leave. That is the most useful thing you can do for me right now – walk out of this building, and leave me to figure this out without being a pest.”

Your words should hurt him, but they only seem to fuel him. It’s the exact same reaction you’d imagined on the other side of all the emails. A pep to his step and a perk in his posture that elicits unhinged annoyance from deep within you.

“No can do,” he smirks, “Sorry, I’m on Matt’s orders to not leave until we figure this out. Together.”

You don’t care how nice Matt is – you decidedly hate him at this moment.

“Eddie,” you don’t notice the way his chest catches when you say his name, even in your defiant tone, “I am telling you right now, there is nothing you can do to help.”

And then he takes you off guard, breathing still not quite steady as he breathes out, “Let’s go get coffee.”

“I already told you, I have no interest in getting coffee or lunch with yo-”

“Not like that,” he waves off, finally slipping back into his casual demeanor, “Just- throw me a bone here, Sugar. We don’t even have to talk. You can bring your laptop and phone, focus on work and pretend I don’t exist the entire time. But I have to stick around long enough to get Matt off my ass, and you clearly have been stuck in this stuffy ass building for too long.”

Sugar.

Your breath catches at the nickname, just as his had when you said his name.

Shakily, you exhale, “No, I-”

“Funny thing,” he shoves both hands in the pockets of his jeans. Well-fitted, fairly new. No signs of distress like he preferred in his youth. Just starch black that clings to skin you once knew, “I’m not asking. Technically, I’m your boss. And as your boss, I’m instructing you to join me for nothing more than a free coffee and change of scenery. Like I said, it’ll be as if I’m not even there. I’ll keep my mouth shut the entire time – strictly business.”

You nearly slip up and inform him that it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t talk – if he’s near you, your body always seems to know. Your body, your senses, your soul. Any time he occupies the same room as you, his vicinity lights something in you impossible to ignore. It had been that way since the first day you met him. And would probably continue to be that way until the day you were buried six feet under.

Even in death, his soul would probably haunt yours. You would never know another day of peace since meeting Eddie Munson.

“You’re not my boss,” you argue, crossing your arms, “You’re my client. Lydia is my boss.”

“And would Lydia appreciate you arguing with a client like this?”

“What do you want from me?”

The question falls from your lips with unexpected weight and exasperation.

Your arms fall down from your chest just as quickly as they’d risen, the two of you encased in silence as you both realize the implication behind the question. It’s about more than just the coffee, more than just his impromptu visit to your work. It’s the heaviest question you could have asked at this moment; and one that neither of you were ready to hear the answer to quite yet.

There’s a million unsaid words swirling behind whiskey irises. A hundred and one conversations never had, a thousand and one battles never witnessed on both ends of this war. Something in them whispers you might not be the only one haunted.

Maybe, just maybe, his soul will only haunt yours for as long as yours haunts his. A haunted house, a ghastly gallery. Two ghosts always meant to hang up parallel to each other in crooked frames, in an empty hallway.

“Just a coffee,” he whispers, and something in you cracks quietly, “Just one cup of coffee, for now.”

With all things considered, it’s not asking that much of you.

You don’t have any fight left in you. Whether he’s here, whether he’s a world away, you’re still destined to be stuck across from him in the damn hallway. Always staring, always drawn. There might not be a single corner of this world far enough away to break whatever thread ties you to the man before you, whether you still know him or not.

After a pregnant pause, you sigh, “Let me grab my purse.”

With all things considered, he probably should be asking more of you.

But you’re grateful he isn’t as you retreat and do exactly as promised, not looking Romina in her eyes before you begin your doomsday march for just one cup of coffee.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

join my taglist!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #rockstar!eddie munson #maroon #ghost's writing #ghost's stories #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #i don't know how i feel about the email things i did but #i put too much effort into them to give up now waaah #was originally going to include the coffee date but that would have made it like 12k words lol

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gurugirl · 4 months

Note

Sneaky for part 3 of unicorn? I'm so excited guru you don't understand!

I'm so glad you're excited!!! I'm just over 4800 words into part 3 now. I'll give you a little something below the cut :) Thank you!!

I would give you guys more but there's so much going on in this part that some bits would just give too much away. Also this is raw from my drafts and not edited or proofread so the final version might look a little different. xoxo

Part 1 | Part 2

Jax bought the first pitcher as the rest of you claimed a nice table close to the dart boards at the back of the bar. It was a Friday night so the place got packed not long after you’d arrived.

You lost badly at the first game of darts which meant the next pitcher of beer was on you. You frowned exaggeratedly at the rule that the loser buys the beer, but the truth was that you were feeling amazing. It was nice to not be sitting at home thinking about things that you shouldn’t be. The distraction was welcome. Being out with friends was refreshing.

Waving at the bartender you placed the empty pitcher down and dug into your front pocket for some cash to pay your turn. But a sudden feeling came over you. Like you were being watched. Or noticed at least. You casually looked to your right and then to your left but you saw no one looking at you. And no one looked familiar.

“Another pitcher of beer?” The guy asked, bringing your attention back to him.

“Oh! Yes, please.”

With that strange feeling crawling its way up your spine you turned slowly and looked back at your friends and then to the table next to the window.

You jolted and felt your scalp prick and fingertips sizzle when you made eye contact with him. Harry. He was seated at a high-top table. He appeared to be alone.

He lifted a hand in greeting before bringing it back down to grasp his pint and looked out the window.

You hadn’t even become unfrozen from the shock of seeing him by the time the bartender was back with your pitcher. You settled up with him and looked back to where Harry was seated. He didn’t look back at you. You wondered how long he’d been there. Had he seen you before you walked up to the bar?

“Hey, here’s the pitcher,” you placed it at the center of the table. “I’m gonna sit this game out. Someone I know is here and I’m gonna go say hi.”

After refilling your glass you hesitantly made your way to Harry. The least you could do was say hi. You had wondered about him all this time and had been tempted to text him a time or two but never felt it was right.

“Hi.” You stood next to his table, at a safe distance in case he wasn’t interested in talking.

He pulled his gaze away from whatever he was looking at outside to you, “Hi, Y/n.”

“I was, uh, surprised to see you. I don’t want to bother you. I just–“

“Sit if you want,” he gestured at the other stool. So obviously you did, placing your glass on the table and keeping your eyes on him.

Harry took a sip of his beer and his eyes were as deep and full of warmth as ever.

“How have you been?” You asked. You didn’t really know what to say to him. Which was silly when you thought about it.

“Things are complicated at home. But I’m okay. How are you?”

You shrugged as you took a drink from your glass, “Good. School’s been good. Here for a night without worrying about homework and quizzes. Just needed a night out with some friends.”

He nodded and leaned forward, resting his forearms onto the lacquered wooden tabletop, caging in his beer, “I’ve wanted to text you to see how you were doing but figured you wouldn’t want to hear from me again after what happened.”

You pinched your brows together and shook your head, “That’s not… I wish you would have. I wanted to text you a few times too. Just to check-in. I’ve missed you guys.”

“The boys really miss you. They talk about you still. I mean…” he rotated his arm so his palm was face up in a passive gesture, “it hasn’t been that long since– well, anyway.”

You smiled, “I miss them a lot. Hey, did Warner ever finish learning that song on the piano you were teaching him? He was doing so well learning the parts. I kind of hoped to hear him complete it but then…” you didn’t dare finish that sentence.

Harry grinned. It was the first genuine smile you’d seen from him since you approached him.

“Yeah. He’s pretty much got it down now. I’m really proud of him. He’s gonna be starting guitar and singing lessons soon. He wants to learn to start a band with some friends so I encouraged him to take some lessons.”

“Takes after his father. Musically talented.” You gleamed at Harry.

Harry gulped the lump down his throat. He had really missed you around. But he’d been quite caught up in the aftermath of that night with Kit ever since. That night had changed everything.

“Ahh, I just dabble. Warner has real natural talent.”

You couldn’t be sure but you thought the apples of his cheeks were turning a shade pinker than they had been.

“I’ve heard you play the piano and sing. I’d say you have plenty of natural talent, Harry.”

You meant it too. He had a beautiful voice full of dark timbre and vibrant airy notes. And of course, he was so confident when he sang that if he had told you he made an album and played for audiences in sold-out venues you would have believed it.

“That’s nice to hear. Thank you, Y/n,” you watched a dimple slowly work its way deeper into his cheek as his smile widened. It was nice to see him smile.

You both sat quietly for a bit looking out the window at the dark street as cars drove by, headlamps beaming over the dark asphalt. You wondered if you should press him more about how he really was. You could tell something was off. He wasn’t as happy as he normally was. And when he told you things were complicated at home you figured it had something to do with Kit.

Tags (for The Unicorn): @littlenatilda @harryspirate @itsmytimetoodream @princessaxoo @summertime-pills @egirlshit @chesthairrry @idontknowbi @f1n3l1n3 @tpwk-sophie @justtilly @fictionalmensblog @harrrystyles5 @gem1712

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rinstaro · 11 months

Note

Bestie, that piece about Wild in Barbarian Armor was hot as shit 🔥🌟

Could I request a piece for Time? I like a bit of semi-public sex and got thinking…what if the chain and s/o are in a town and perhaps a worker at the inn they’re staying in has taken an interest in Time and s/o does. not. like that. So they rile Time up until he fucks them in the open and the worker walks in on them and s/o gets to look on in pride because Time is fucking *them* and not anyone else?

You’re the best!

-👻

i love jealous reader !!!! and thank you ghost <33 you’re too sweet

cw: pretty short!! full nelson cause i really really really want time to put me in a full nelson, slight degrading, humiliation, exhibitionism, time is loaded!!!! reader has a vagina and no pronouns. not proofread at all i literally typed this out in the car

minors do not interact.

to say you were pissed was an understatement.

who did this little punk think they were? was it not obvious that the gorgeous hunk of a man next to you was your husband?

the two of you had walked into the small shop just to browse a little. at least, that’s what your intention was. time was absolutely going to buy you everything you glanced at, whether you wanted him to or not. you were his spoiled little brat and he’d treat you like so.

“this will look lovely on you, won’t it, dear? it’s only 700 rupees—“

“oh my gosh, i told you it’s fine—“

“hello, sir!”

only, the cashier didn’t seem to quite care for what you were wearing. instead, they took the opportunity to show time everything that they thought your husband would look good in. every time he’d go to pick out something for you, there they were, telling him that this piece of clothing over here would look great on him.

“beloved, don’t you like this dress? the color fits you well—“

“if you’d look at this button up over here sir, i think it’d be a great fit! it’ll really bring out your eyes!”

you were so. over it.

finally, time had picked out enough clothes for you where he felt satisfied. by this point, you’d devised a sneaky plan to quell your own jealousy. when the annoying little clerk went behind the counter, you called time by his name, which you’d only do when you two were alone.

“link. i think you should try on this shirt, yeah? come with me.” he immediately quirked an eyebrow, wondering what you were up to. he let you drag him into the single fitting room, anticipating your every move.

once the door was closed, you sat the clothes down on the tiny bench inside. you then turned to the mirror and gave him a sneaky little smirk. “you said these pants would fit well, huh? why don’t you help me try em on?”

your lover gave you a pointed look. though, you were awfully hard for him to resist. he couldn’t help placing a hand on your hip. “you’re doing this now? after i spoil you rotten you still want more…” you only giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“just look at you. can you blame me? you really gonna neglect me like that?” his hands trailed down to your ass, giving it a good squeeze. “little brat.”

shorty after his “scolding” he’s sitting on the bench with you in his lap. you grind on his lap relentlessly while he kisses the daylights out of you. he held the back of your neck with one hand and your thigh with the other. he wouldn’t admit it, but his hips were desperately bucking into yours too.

your hands find his hair and tug, which is his last straw. he grabs your waist, moving you into position. “enough of that. i’ll give you what you want but you’d better not make a sound.”

you thought he’d have you ride him, but oh no. his arms are hooked up under your legs and he literally rips your pants apart. “it’s fine,” he insists, “you can just wear the new ones out.”

he wastes no time pushing into your wet cunt. you moan pathetically, to which he growls. “quiet, or you won’t be cumming til we reach the next village.”

your eyes widened, your moans becoming soft little whimpers. you were biting your lip so hard you thought it’d bleed. but nothing could quiet the slap of his hips against yours. as much as he claimed you were spoiled, he wanted you just as badly. it was easy to tell just by how relentless his thrusts were.

time was so caught up in fucking you to put you in your place, he didn’t hear the clerk step in. his forehead was against your back, his teeth clenched as he hissed to quiet his own moans.

“sir? did you need—“ of course, this little fucker was looking for your husband in the dressing room. once they saw you two, they gasped, making direct eye contact with you. despite your embarrassment of being caught in such a lewd position, you held it. you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. they scrambled out of the room as fast as they could without another word.

when the two of you checked out, the clerk didn’t make eye contact with either of you. time handed over a ridiculous amount of rupees, your arms full of clothes he bought solely for you. he once it was paid for, he took all of the bags out of your arms. he kissed your cheek sweetly, smiling. “let me, darling.”

you smiled a bright and happy “thank you!” before leaving, giving them a nasty smirk that said “i win”.

and your husband was none the wiser.

#this is bad i don’t like it #kores.blurbs #kore.writes #link smut #link x reader #link x reader smut #loz x reader smut #loz smut #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda smut #legend of zelda x reader smut #ghost.anon

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

Text

The Arcana HCs: How the M6 like to fluster you

The very late sequel to this post:

How MC likes to fluster the M6

Julian

When I tell you this man is SHAMELESS

Does he fluster easily? Yes. However, being horny on main is his default mode. His own flusteredness will not stop him

Grand, romantic displays of affection. He will write an entire play to perform in the community theatre just to proclaim his love for you from on stage

Any chance to sing a romantic duet, he's pulling you with him. It doesn't matter if it's in public. It doesn't matter if you have the singing voice of an angry hippopotamus

Oh no, he bit his tongue while the two of you were snacking at the food stalls in the market place! Kiss it better?

Oh no, he's getting heartburn from all the street food! Here, help him open his shirt so you can check his chest

Physically incapable of passing a flower seller without buying you one

And then presenting it with the most dramatic flourish and flowery speech he can come up with in the moment

So many suggestive nicknames. So. Many.

Asra

What a tease this sly magician is

They've memorized every single one of your weaknesses, and they love to exploit them

Sensitive scalp? He'll chat with a friend, arm around your shoulders as his trimmed nails drag their way up the back of your head

Holding your hand becomes feather light touches of their fingertips swirling around your palm and inner wrist

He's leaning in to whisper something in your ear, and oh! There's a gentle kiss being pressed to the pulse point below it just before he turns back to what he was doing

Locking their ankles with yours under the table when you're seated across from them

Sneaky compliments. The kind that you wouldn't pick up on if you didn't know that teasing, lazily cat-like face he makes so well

Speaking of facial expressions - they will fix you with the most dreamy, adoring, seductive face for minutes on end. In any and every situation

Regularly uses your bond to let you know exactly how you make him feel

Nadia

Oh, she loooves to see you blush

Very forward in her advances. If she sees you talking to someone, she'll take your hand and press kisses to each fingertip until your breath hitches

Which will make you pause in conversation, which is her opening to steal your attention

Loves feeding you. At dinner parties, offering you a forkful from her plate or sip from her glass and savoring the indirect kiss

In more casual settings, holding pieces of fruit and cheese against your lips so she can brush her knuckles across them

Constantly helping you fix your clothes, jewelry, or hair as an excuse to touch you

Heaping you with detailed and genuine praise in every setting. She can go on and on about your strengths for hours

Will happily trace your facial features with her fingertips while you talk to her

"What am I doing? Oh nothing, just admiring the realms' most exquisite work of living art."

She adores you. And as previously stated, she adores your blush

Muriel

It took a while for him to think of trying, to be honest. Usually you're the one flustering him by simply showing affection

That is, until he caught sight of you blushing as he changed his shirt one evening and thought it wasn't a bad look on you

He didn't like his body before, but if showing a little skin and muscle is all it takes to make you flush, it's an easy sacrifice

Would NEVER attempt any of the following tactics in public, for the woods only:

Removing his shirt for dirty tasks, such as wood chopping, boulder lifting, and (on one occasion) uprooting a small infected tree stump with his bare hands

Carrying you like you weigh nothing whenever you say you're tired

If you're cold, very shyly pulling you into his lap and wrapping you up in his arms and cloak

You liked that flower? He's planting a row of them outside the window

He loves you so much, he will even hold your hand in public if it makes you smile

Portia

Most of the time she flusters you it's not on purpose. She won't realize until you're already blushing and fumbling

Which, let's be clear, she does appreciate

Portia is a force of nature who puts everything she is into loving and supporting and adoring her partner

She will defend your honor and proclaim all your accomplishments with 0 hesitation

She also loves to read. She likes reading mysteries, but you'll also find that she likes reading spicier stories as well

She likes bringing said stories home and reading them out loud to you

She likes using them as inspiration for when she's on a trip without you and wants to send you a particularly raunchy love letter

She likes convincing you to reenact said stories and love letters with her

And she REALLY likes making subtle references to them in conversation at a friend's house, just to watch the heat travel up your face to your ears

You're her favorite character to dream about

Lucio

He likes making you blush. It's a fantastic ego boost and it suits you

But planning ahead isn't his strong suit. If he manages to fluster you, it's because he saw an opportunity, and he seized it

So. Many. Dirty. Jokes.

At first it might feel like it's in poor taste. It's not the most romantic way to woo someone

However, there is a reason he threw the best parties. When it comes to fun, exciting, and pleasurable things, he is creative

You are going to hear innuendos that should not make as much sense as they do

You are going to hear references and suggestions that will make you stop and wonder, "how would that even work?"

And figuring out the answers to that question will make you flush every time

It doesn't help that he's a generally handsy person. He will take advantage of any and every excuse for physical contact in public

Will make an inappropriate noise every time you skewer something to grill it over the campfire. It's his signature joke

#arcana brainrot #the arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fluff #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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justmystical · 1 month

Text

The Forgotten-7

Pairing: Lucifer x Butterfly!fem!reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel x Star Vs the forces of evil

Warnings: Takes place before Hazbin Hotel, Alternative Universe

Navigation

You were still banned from training until further notice, at least that's what Glossaryck said to you as you almost set him on fire again.

You're still unfocused on a lot of things after what happened a few days ago, especially the announcement of Eclipsa's pregnancy.

You were currently having tea with your sister, you stared at her trying to figure out something and Eclipsa noticed this.

"okay n/n,you know is rude to stare..."she said and she drank her tea.

"I've been trying to figure out how'd you became pregnant?"

"i beg your pardon?!?"

"like how did you and Shastacan have a baby?"Eclipsa almost gagged at your question, just like you she didn't like Shastacan...

"that's not something to say in public dear n/n"she doesn't really want to talk about it...

"what's wrong with?all I'm saying how can you have a baby when you don't love him?and how can you be pregnant when i have never seen you kiss him before?"you asked more questions and Eclipsa realize something but she doesn't wanna assume.

"love?kiss? Please elaborate n/n..."

"how can you make a baby with someone you don't even show your and affection too?or wait maybe you kiss Shastacan in private?"just the thought of that makes your skin crawl.

"wait...n/n how do you think babies are made?"

"... they're made from two people inlove, right?"

"such as?"

"like how Mother and Father show affection by kissing?"

"oh my stars"with what you said Eclipsa confirmed that you know nothing...her innocent little sister.

"what?"you asked confused.

"it's more than Kissing n/n..."Eclipsa blush as she remembered something.

"what is it?"you innocent question made her blushed even more.

"Eclipse are you okay?!?"you asked genuinely concerned as she turned redder by the minute.

"yeah im fine... let's not talk about that n/n..."Eclipsa doesn't really wanna have the talk with you...

"let's not talk about that.... let's change the subject, how's your magic lessons been doing?"

"let's sayyyyyyy, it's been a disaster..."you slumped on the chair and your sister hummed.

"how come?" She placed her tea down and looked at you.

"i almost set Glossaryck on fire..."

"oh dear"

"he said I'm unfocused lately and i should be given a break..."

"hmm,i did noticed...you change lately...wanna talk about it?"She asked genuinely concerned, a few weeks ago you were really down about something, you don't come out of your unless you were going to eat.

She only got you out of your because she begged you to her for some tea time...

Eclipsa knows you,you were an adventurer.You like going to different dimensions but she doesn't tell you she knows. however she doesn't spy on you,she respects privacy,she only found out when you thought you were sneaky...

So what changed?

"is it about someone?"as Eclipsa asked ,you flinched.

Ah,so it's about someone....

"i don't wanna talk about it..."you didn't want to about it to Eclipsa, it's gonna be a secret until you die. You didn't know how Eclipsa will react if she finds out accidentally befriended one of the creatures your mother warned you about.

"if it's about love i can help-"you cut her off

"it's not about love and he just a friend"Eclipsa is now confused

"then why are you upset?"

"I just found out something about him that isn't good..."

"like what?"

"umm, it's nothing to worry about Eclipse..."you had to lie you didn't really want to reveal the real reason.

Eclipsa didn't buy it , she knows your lying. It can't be a valid reason for you be holed up in room for this,but she didn't push it. You'll tell her when your ready.

"so i heard there's gonna be a banquet for the little fella in there"it was your turn to change the subject,you pointed at Eclipsa's stomach.

"yeah Shastacan and The Magic High Commission thought it would be great to announce it to the public that the heir will arrive in a few months" Eclipsa explained and rubbed her still flat stomach.

"I can't believe I'm gonna be an aunt..."you said with a weak smile.

"yeah..."

"hey n/n ,i have an Idea what if we go somewhere else just you and me? Sister bonding time?"Eclipsa asked, she wanted to spend time with you before the preparation of the Banquet. Also maybe to make you happy.

You thought for a moment...

"tell me where you get your own supply of snookers and maybe we have a deal"

"come on pleaseeee"Eclipsa gave you the saddest eyes of all of Mewni,you can't say no but...

It's Eclipsa's request...

"deal"

"okay where are we heading?"you asked you smiling sister.

"oh i always wanted to go to the Earth Dimension!"

...great...

You were on guard to Protect your sister and your unborn niece or nephew, you didn't want them to get hurt . You also had earthly disguises to look more human and have Keekee on guard.

Especially when you found that some of them can go to the human realm.

"it's quite like Mewni, don't you think n/n?" Eclipsa pointed out and you hummed in response.

You two roam the whole village and bought some food....

You were getting deja vu...

"why do you have an obsession with every duck theme products?"you questioned Lucifer as he was carrying two bags filled with Duck themed merchandise.

"you don't understand happiness"he pouted

You smiled at the Memory...

No!

You shook your head , trying to remove him from your mind.

He's a Demon n/n...

"oooh!n/n look they have Lanterns for sale!"Eclipsa tugged your arm to the stall.

You were with Lucifer watching the Lanterns float away

What's is up with me?

You gradually bought two as for Eclipsa's request.

You tried to take take the Lanterns but Eclipsa insisted on carrying them , there's no point in arguing with when we made her mind."it's just like old times ?" She asked you with a huge smile.

You nodded and gave a weak smile,you miss just having you and your bond together. No guards no Shastacan...

You enjoyed the rest of the day Bonding with your sister. But eventually it's time to go back...

"it's time to go home, I wished we could've stayed a little longer"she pouted.

"yeah..."you were about to open a portal but you noticed something...

"where's Keekee?"you suddenly said in a panic and Eclipsa noticed....

"yeah...wait where is she ?"

"she wandered off again!that cat is gonna give me a he-" you were out off by some meowing.

"Keekee!"you suddenly went to noise,you saw her coming out for a bush.

"guess she went to go potty"Eclipsa shrugged.

You hugged you Feline companion"why do you always wandered off when we are in a different dimensions?"you whispered for only you and Keekee can hear.

Keekee just rubbed her head on you and you couldn't stay mad...

You, Eclipsa and Keekee walked in the portal and got home .

Oddly enough, Keekee has a familiar scent lingering in her fur?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar #x reader #hazbin hotel keekee #star vs the forces of evil #eclipsa butterfly

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sterekbros · 5 months

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12.1K | Fluff | Soulmates | Meet-Cute | Getting Together

a glimpse of you and me (12129 words) by Winchesterek Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Summary: “You write about soulmates?” Derek asked, sounding curious as he leaned in. “I didn't know there was a market for children’s books about that.” “Yeah, it’s starting to pick up traction the last few years. I know there weren't many books like this when I was a kid, but maybe things would’ve been different if there had been.” Stiles shrugged. Then he paused, wetting his lips as he tried to control his breathing. “Do…you believe in soulmates?”

A gift to @evanesdust for the Fall 2023 @sterek-exchange And @sterekweekly Turkey

~*~*~

It was move-in day. A day that Stiles was dreading because he didn't want to move their whole life into their new home on his own. Then again, that was why moving companies existed. And he’d made enough on his last published book that he could afford movers along with what he’d saved to buy their first home.

He was so proud of it and hoped that his daughter would love it just as much as he did, despite having to leave her friends when they moved back to his hometown, Beacon Hills. It had been a while since he’d been here, since High School really. He hadn’t been back for more than holiday visits and to bring Hazel to see her grandparents.

But now they’d be able to spend more time together as a family because he was back in his hometown rather than halfway across the country.

“Hazel!” Stiles shouted, looking around for his daughter as he picked up a box.

“Yes, daddy?!” She shouted back, coming into view. Where had she’d disappeared to for all of a minute? Stiles had no idea. She was fast and sneaky. He was always worried that she would get lost. It was one of his biggest fears.

“What were you doing?” He asked, hefting the box into his arms and looking down at her.

“Oh. I was looking around the yard.” She held up a dandelion. “And I picked you a flower!”

Stiles smiled, always fascinated by what the mind of a seven-year-old was entertained by. Then again, dandelion flowers turned into puffy weeds that made Stiles sneeze, so he was happy for her to pick them from the yard so he could eventually throw them away when they dried out on the kitchen counter.

“Let’s go inside so we can check out your room,” Stiles suggested, motioning with his head.

“Okay!” Hazel replied cheerily and then skipped toward the house.

“I get to pick any room?” She asked, voice tinny. He trailed after her, thanking her when she stepped inside and opened the door for him, but then she dropped it on his face so he struggled to open the screen door and get inside the house at the same time.

Then again, she was seven. She had the attention span of a bee.

Stiles put the box down once he was inside and closed the door behind him, looking around. It was a two-story home with a modest living room and a nice open-concept kitchen that overlooked the backyard where he would be able to see Hazel playing while he cooked.

And it had three baths. Not that Stiles thought they’d ever use three baths and the four rooms in the house, but maybe someday if he had more kids he’d put them to good use. Right now, Hazel was enough to give him a run for his money.

She was up the stairs before Stiles could answer her, no doubt already running to each room to look at them and choose the largest one. He was going to have to break her heart that the master bedroom wasn't going to be hers.

He found her in the largest secondary bedroom, looking out the window and into the front yard. He tapped on the door jam with his knuckle to alert her he was there before he asked, “Is this the one, pumpkin?”

“I think so.” She didn't look at him, too focused on whatever had caught her attention outside. “Daddy, who is that?”

Stiles walked up behind her and looked out the window, searching for what she was looking at. His eyes landed on a man in the driveway of the house next to theirs, working on what looked like a motorcycle.

“It looks like that’s probably our neighbor next door. And he’s doing something with a motorcycle…” Stiles couldn’t help but stare a little too long because the guy was traditionally attractive and the shirt he was wearing didn't leave much to the imagination with how it stuck to his body from what Stiles could imagine was from his sweat.

“Can we go see him?” Hazel asked, looking up at him with bright, curious eyes.

“Not today, sweetheart. We need to finish unpacking boxes and eat lunch. And we should get all of your stuff ready in your room so you can sleep in here,” Stiles replied, running his hand over the top of her head.

“Is Mommy coming over later?” She asked, her red hair shining in the sunlight that trickled through the window.

“Maybe. I’ll call her and ask to see if she’s busy. You know your mommy works a lot, but she loves you.” That seemed to tide Hazel over as she nodded and looked out the window again, leaving Stiles to shake his head.

They’d explained to her early on as best they could that mommies and daddies weren’t always together, especially since his best friend Lydia had done him a solid and was the surrogate for the child Stiles had always wanted. She’d even donated one of her eggs to him because she said her genetics were superior and needed to be passed on. He always got a laugh out of that, but he didn't think she was kidding when she’d said it.

So, Lydia took Hazel on weekends when she could and they chatted all the time on FaceTime. They had family dinners when Lydia was in town and Hazel didn't seem any worse for it. It worked for them. Stiles had Hazel full time and he was perfectly fine with that because he was the one that wanted her and practically begged Lydia to give her to him.

He owed her more than he ever could repay her for the little girl in front of him now. He also cursed her name half the time too when Hazel was too smart for her own good and left Stiles often confused about what to tell her. She was quick and her wit was sharp. Stiles didn't want to think about what she might be like when she was a teenager.

“Come on, pumpkin. Let’s go get some of your boxes from downstairs while the moving men unload the rest of our stuff from the truck,” Stiles said, running his hand over the top of her head.

“Okay, daddy. Then I can unpack!” She smiled up at him and then turned around and hurried off downstairs. He could hear her trampling the whole way down. That was going to be something Stiles had to get used to.

They busied themselves moving the smallest boxes into Hazel’s room while the moving company finished unpacking the truck and dispersing the boxes to the correct rooms. Stiles left Hazel in her room to unpack her boxes while we headed downstairs to make lunch. Two sandwiches later, one without the crusts and with extra pickles, the other being Stiles’ which he would say is a normal sandwich, and Stiles was ready for a break.

“Hazel! Lunch is ready!” Stiles waited and listened, but didn't hear little feat trampling down the stairs. “Hazel?”

Stiles frowned and went upstairs to check on Hazel, not finding her there.

Oh, god.

They hadn't even been at their new home for twenty-four hours and Stiles had already lost his daughter. Inside their house.

He hadn't heard Hazel sneak by, so Stiles checked all the rooms, the bathrooms and anywhere else he could think of before heading outside to check the backyard. He didn't find her there so he hurried outside to check the front yard. The moving company had already packed up and left.

And the only thing in the driveway was Stiles’ blue Jeep.

Stiles sighed in relief when he heard Hazel's tinny, high-pitched voice nearby.

He followed it, finding Hazel standing in the driveway next door with their hot motorcycle-owning neighbor. Stiles was going to regret this, especially if he fell all over himself talking to him.

“Hazel,” Stiles said, walking toward them. “I was worried when I couldn't find you.”

Hazel looked up at Stiles with her bright eyes, red curls tumbling down her shoulders. “Sorry, daddy. I wanted to talk to Mr. Derek!”

When Stiles’ gaze returned to Mr. Derek, he was surprised to see an almost blinding smile that made his eyes sparkle like a kaleidoscope. Damnit. This wasn't good for Stiles. At all.

“Uh, hi. I’m sorry my daughter was bothering you…while you’re working on your motorcycle.” Stiles kicked himself internally.

“No, no. It’s completely fine. I needed a break anyway.” Derek cleaned his hands with a rag, stained with oil.

“I’m Derek Hale,” he added, reaching his partially dirty hand out in offering to Stiles. Stiles took it, giving Derek a firm shake, and tried not to drool on him before releasing Derek’s hand. “Hazel was telling me that you two are my new neighbors.”

Obviously, Derek couldn't have missed the moving truck, but Stiles liked how he entertained his daughter and their conversation. “Oh, yeah. I used to live in Beacon Hills growing up and I’ve been away for a while, but I thought it was time to move back home.”

Derek nodded, still smiling as his gaze glanced over Stiles. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood—-”

Oh. Right. Stiles hadn't given Derek his name. “Stiles. Stilinski.”

Derek’s face looked thoughtful as he asked, “As in Sheriff Stilinski?”

“That’s the one.” Stiles chuckled. “He really should retire, but I think he’d be bored if he wasn't working. He likes to keep busy, even when he takes time off.”

Derek laughed and god, Stiles wanted to see more of that.

“I can understand that,” Derek replied, tossing the rag onto a toolbox next to his motorcycle. “I try to keep busy, but it’s easy to do when I’m at the firehouse most of the time.”

Stiles smoothed his hand over Hazel’s hair as she leaned into him, knowing that her big ears were taking in everything that Derek was saying. “Firehouse? So you’re a firefighter?”

“Yeah. I wanted to be one as a kid. I guess I grew up and managed to follow my dreams.” Derek chuckled again and met Stiles’ eyes.

For some reason, Stiles hadn't expected that. “Wow. That must be exciting.”

“It’s…interesting, for sure. I can say that the job is never boring.” Derek leaned over and closed the toolbox, which Stiles took advantage of and checked out Derek’s ass, which was very toned and unfair. Probably because of how much he worked out due to being a fireman.

“Well, we should let you finish up here and get back to our place. I made lunch,” Stiles replied, looking down at Hazel. And she was far too fascinated with Derek already. He was sure she was thinking up a thousand questions to ask him about being a fireman the second she got the chance.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to keep you,” Derek replied as he straightened and turned to them. He reached his hand down to Hazel and said, “It was nice meeting you, Miss Hazel. I’m sure we’ll see each other another time.”

“We will!” Hazel confirmed as she shook Derek’s hand. Stiles chuckled.

“Come on pumpkin, before your sandwich is soggy.” Stiles scooped Hazel into his arms and perched her on his hip, his eyes casting back to Derek, who was smiling at him still.

“It was nice meeting you, Stiles. Welcome to the neighborhood.” Derek’s eyes were downright sinful and Stiles had to calm himself as warmth spread through him at Derek’s look. He wasn't even sure if Derek liked dudes.

“Thank you. It was nice meeting you too… I’m sure we’ll see you around.”

“You can bet on it,” Derek replied and picked up his toolbox, then headed off toward his open garage.

He really needed to get his thoughts under control or they’d never make it through lunch. He jiggled Hazel and she giggled before they headed off back to their house.

Stiles had a really good feeling about being home again. Like it was all going to work out perfectly.

Chapter 2

Stiles heard all too familiar giggles from the aisle over and he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he and Derek started dating, but it seemed just like it was yesterday.

He grabbed a couple of boxes of stuffing and put them into his basket, followed by two cans of cranberry sauce and a can of mushroom soup so they could make turkey gravy.

Stiles loved the holidays, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas. His Dad would be coming over, along with Derek’s family and they were going to have the biggest Thanksgiving dinner that Stiles had had since he was around 7 years old. He wished that his mom could be here, too. Stiles thought she would love Derek as much as he did.

He walked down the aisle and turned the corner, seeing Derek carrying Hazel under one arm like she was a bag of potatoes while she wiggled around and laughed. Stiles wasn't surprised. She often thought playing games in stores was the funnest thing. Stiles, on the other hand, was always afraid that he’d lose her. And god, he would never forgive himself.

Then again, Derek was always really good at keeping an eye on her. He walked up behind them and tickled Hazel as she squirmed and bucked, so Derek put her down with a grunt.

“She’s definitely your daughter,” Derek teased as Stiles wrapped his arm around Derek’s waist and kissed Derek’s cheek.

“I can verify that I was a wild child,” Stiles replied with a chuckle as Hazel climbed into the cart and sat down.

“I think you’re getting a little big for that,” Stiles told her.

“I’m only 9, Daddy,” Hazel replied, sounding annoyed like she often did these days. Hazel was 9 and it had been two years since they’d moved into their new house. Derek was rarely at his own place anymore and they’d been considering turning it into a rental for extra income. Not that they needed it, but it was a nice thought.

“And 9 is a little old to be riding in the grocery cart. Where are we going to put the turkey?”

“You can carry it!” Hazel said it like it was the simplest answer in the world.

Stiles frowned. “I’m not carrying one turkey, much less the three we’re going to need for our family dinner.”

Hazel sighed. “Fine. Can we at least get the stuff for our pie now? You know, the one that you said grandma used to make when you were little?”

“Of course. Why don't you grab us some cool whip from the freezer right there?” Stiles suggested, hoping that it would tide Hazel over since she’d be helping.

“I can do that,” Hazel said with a nod, climbed out of their cart, and went over to the freezer.

Stiles set his basket in the cart and turned back to Derek. “Hey there,” he said and leaned in to kiss Derek. The kiss was soft and sweet and Stiles wished he could kiss Derek longer, but it would definitely be indecent in the grocery store.

“Hey,” Derek replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You find everything?” Derek’s hands fell to Stiles’ hips as he tugged him closer.

“I think I got everything other than the pie crusts and the cool whip. I figured Hazel might want to get those.” He wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, his fingers playing with Derek’s hair at the base of his skull. He knew that Derek loved it when he did that and if Derek could, Stiles thought he would purr.

“Good. Then we’re almost done getting everything. We just need the turkeys.” Derek gave Stiles another peck that sent shivers down Stiles’ spine, like the kiss was a promise of more.

Stiles sighed, letting the happiness settle in his chest. “I love you, Derek. So much.”

“I love you too,” Derek replied softly. “And our little family.”

And Stiles hoped that one day, their family might grow. After all, he did have extra bedrooms in his house that he needed to fill.

***

Stiles jerked awake and held his chest, his heart pounding in his ears. It felt like he was ripped from another life. He reached up to touch his head. Stiles was still disoriented, swimming in and out of his dream, trying to figure out what was real and what was a fantasy.

What the hell had that been?

He’d never felt anything like that before. Nothing had ever been that real. His dreams were just dreams and he'd never dreamt of someone he’d just met before.

They were also dreams that Stiles was told that he’d never have. After all, Stiles didn't have a soulmate and he was told that he never would. It just wasn't in the cards for him. So they for sure weren’t soulmate dreams. That was ludicrous.

He sighed as he laid back in bed, letting the mattress hug his body, sinking into the foam. He breathed in and out slowly, letting his heart calm and his brain sort out what had been a fantasy and the real world.

But all he could think about was Derek. Derek that had been with them at the grocery store like it was any other day. Derek that had a smile just for him. Derek whom he was in love with in his dream. DerekDerekDerek.

Stiles knew he was really attracted to Derek but he needed to get it together. He wasn't crazy and he wasn't desperate. It wasn't as if he hadn’t had relationships and that men and women hadn’t been interested in him. He just wasn't in one right now and didn't really have any plans to be. His life was focused on Hazel and his career and Stiles was completely okay with that.

His mind wandered… and Stiles ran a hand over his face as if it would push away thoughts of Derek.

He was screwed and not in the best way.

Fuck.

Chapter 3

It had been six months since Hazel had accosted Derek, making him tell her all about his motorcycle and what exactly he’d been doing to it. He’d been changing the oil, something that Stiles hadn’t found out until days later when he’d chatted with Derek at their mailboxes.

Now he’d often find Hazel chatting away with Derek in the driveway when he was outside working on his motorcycle, or when he was in his front yard taking care of the bushes or mowing the grass. She’d even managed to get Derek to play soccer with her, which Stiles had no idea where she’d gotten a soccer ball from. So likely it was Derek’s.

Stiles was not athletic. At all. So maybe it was for the best that Derek had been the one that she’d talked into playing soccer with her that day.

They hadn’t played soccer since.

Hazel’s interests were fickle like that since she was only seven years old.

But really, Stiles hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Derek. Especially since every time he spoke to Derek, he had another dream. It was always something so domestic and simple, something so mundane that it would be boring for most people. That was what made it so awesome for Stiles, though. It was like Derek just fit into his life. Like he had always been there and belonged there.

Stiles had stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago. When he was seventeen he’d visited a psychic, one that told him that he didn't have a soulmate. At the time he’d been so lonely that he needed to know if he’d ever find his soulmate. If he’d ever find someone that would be his world. After that, he’d given up on soulmates. He lived his life like a normal person, never expecting to meet their soulmate.

It happened sometimes. A person would have no soulmate, or people could have multiple. Or maybe their soulmate would just end up being their best friend and it would be platonic instead of romantic. No one ever really knew how the whole soulmate thing worked, but it seemed like it had a mind of its own. How crazy was that?

Stiles looked through the mail as he lingered by the mailbox. He didn't know if Derek was home since he worked the oddest hours. Derek would be on for 48 or 72 hours, then he would be off for 24 hours.

Not that Stiles was keeping track of that. Of course he wasn't. Which is why he didn't really know if Derek was home. Maybe he should keep track of Derek’s schedule if he was going to try bumping into him more often. That would probably be the best idea. Although, it was also slightly on the crazy side. He wasn't a stalker.

Stiles faintly wondered if Derek had been having dreams about him, too. Sometimes someone’s soulmate wasn't always the other person's soulmate. Stiles wondered if Derek had ever thought about soulmates before.

He had to have, right? At some point in his life? Everyone did…

It would kind of be a weird conversation starter, so Stiles dropped it and sighed, closing his mailbox. He quietly hoped that Derek would be home later and that Hazel would sneak off to talk to him just so Stiles could find her and have a reason to talk to Derek.

He was a terrible person who used his daughter’s curiosity in Derek just so he could talk to their hot next-door neighbor.

Stiles walked up the pathway to his house and climbed the steps, heading inside.

Hazel was out with Lydia for the day, so he had some time to himself for work. He tossed the mail on a side table and grabbed his tablet from the couch, falling back onto it and resting his head against fluffy pillows. Stiles could also use a nap, but he had to turn in a few pages at the end of the week to his publisher. Just an update of what he’d been working on since he had gotten an advance on his next publishing contract.

Stiles opened a canvas and looked at the sketch of a little wolf and fox. It was a story of them becoming fast friends and falling in love. It was probably one of the cutest stories he’d written in a while. He wasn't sure if he should be thankful or not that children’s publishing companies pushed for books about soulmates, so children could learn about them early on.

Stiles knew that the fox and the wolf would have a tough time, especially because they were different, but they were soulmates, and children learning about differences and challenges was always a good thing.

He started coloring in the scene, focusing on the wolf for a while, painting his black fur, and giving him minute details that didn't really matter in a children’s book. He smiled at the wolf and stroked his finger over the image.

“At least you have a soulmate little wolf,” Stiles said softly, then frowned when there was a knock on the front door.

He glanced at the time on his phone. It wasn't nearly time for Lydia to bring Hazel back and he wasn't expecting anyone. He closed his tablet and tossed it back onto the couch, then headed to the front door.

Stiles opened it, shocked to see Derek standing there.

“Uh, hi.” Derek smiled, shifting there awkwardly on Stiles’ porch. Then he wiggled something in his hand and Stiles’ eyes dropped to see a package. “It looks like this was delivered to my house but it’s yours.”

“Oh.” Of course Derek was here to do something as simple as return a package to him. It wasn't like he was there for Stiles. “Thanks.”

Stiles reached out for the package, his fingers brushing against Derek’s as it was handed over. He might have lingered a little too long during the exchange, but he told himself that was because he wanted to make sure that he had a good hold on his package before taking it from Derek.

If he were using an emoji right now, he would definitely be using a side-eyed Discord dog emoji in response to the lies he told himself.

“Would you like to come in?” Stiles asked, opening the door more and stepping aside. Why he was inviting Derek inside? Stiles had no idea. He just knew that he didn't want Derek to leave.

“Oh, sure.” Derek rubbed his hands on his pants, then stepped through the threshold. He looked around as Stiles closed the door. “Wow. I guess I wasn't sure what I expected it to look like in here, but it’s nearly the same design as my house.” Derek paused. “The layout, I mean.”

“Yeah, I figured they would all look pretty similar. I think when they made the neighborhood the developer had very little differences in the main layouts of the houses. It was really based on how many rooms there were. At least, that’s what I found online when I was researching. And by researching, I mean avoiding drawing,” Stiles rambled.

“You like to draw?” Derek asked, pushing his hands into his pockets as he faced Stiles.

Stiles smiled and nodded. “It’s kind of my job. I write and illustrate children’s books.” Which was probably what was inside the box now that Stiles was thinking about it. Derek looked star-struck when Stiles’ gaze flicked from Derek to the box in his own hands.

“Wow. That’s…amazing. I guess it wasn't expecting that either.” Derek’s cheeks were flushed and the tips of his ears were pink as Stiles studied him.

“What were you expecting?” Stiles asked curiously, wondering what Derek thought of him. But if Derek was expecting something, then at least he was thinking of Stiles, right?

“I’m not sure,” Derek replied, shifting from foot to foot. Stiles wondered why Derek seemed nervous. He never seemed nervous when they’d previously talked.

“I guess most people never expect me to be a children’s book writer and illustrator. So I shouldn't really be surprised that you thought I’d do something else for a living.” Stiles picked at the tape on his package.

“I guess because your father is the Sheriff, I thought you’d get into something doing with law enforcement. Maybe a lawyer,” Derek added, his gaze focused on Stiles.

Stiles laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. At least, the law enforcement part. At one point I wanted to work down at the station and possibly become a detective. I wasn't sure what kind of detective. And on another occasion, I entertained the idea of being an FBI agent.”

“FBI, huh? I guess your life would be a lot different if you did that for a living…” Derek rocked on his feet but he didn't turn away from Stiles nor look away.

Stiles tilted his head, thinking about that. His life might look different and he might not have the stability to have Hazel. Which meant that there was no choice. He wouldn't have it any other way.

“I guess it would be a lot different,” Stiles said and nodded. He licked his lips, the back of his mind itching to tell Derek he’d been dreaming about him. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked instead. Damnit.

“I’d love something to drink,” Derek said with a soft smile, the offer seeming to relax something in both of them. “Water is fine.”

Stiles tipped his chin toward the kitchen. “It’s this way, but if your house is almost exactly like mine, then you’d know that.”

It was Stiles’ turn to flush for no reason and he kicked himself mentally. He walked with Derek to the kitchen and set his package down on the island. “So you’re off for the next 24 hours?”

“Yes. I just got off shift.” Derek leaned against the island as Stiles grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

“Ice?”

“Sure.”

Stiles filled the glass with ice from the dispenser and topped it off with water before turning and handing it to Derek. “You must be pretty tired, then.”

“A little. I’m still running on adrenaline from our last call. But it will wear off in a bit.” Derek took the glass, not pulling it away from Stiles’ hand immediately. “Thank you…”

“Of course.” Stiles smiled almost shyly. “It’s the least I could do for you returning my package.”

Once Derek took the glass, Stiles looked at the box again and grabbed a butter knife. He cut the tape and set the knife aside before opening it. Sure enough, there were some proofs for his next book.

“Are those yours?” came Derek’s voice over his shoulder. It really shouldn't take Stiles’ breath away and send a shiver down his spine with how close Derek was now.

“Uh, yeah. Well, the beginning of a series that I’m working on.” Stiles pulled a book out and smiled as he smoothed his thumb over the black wolf on the front cover. “It’s about a fox and a wolf meeting and finding out they’re soulmates.”

Well, there it was. The topic had been thrown out into the open. There was no avoiding it now unless Stiles wasn't Derek’s soulmate despite Derek being his. Then Derek would have never seen glimpses of their possible future together.

“You write about soulmates?” Derek asked, sounding curious as he leaned in. “I didn't know there was a market for children’s books about that.”

“Yeah, it’s starting to pick up traction the last few years. I know there weren't many books like this when I was a kid, but maybe things would’ve been different if there had been.” Stiles shrugged. Then he paused, wetting his lips as he tried to control his breathing. “Do…you believe in soulmates?”

Derek looked hesitant, like he was searching for the right answer. After a few moments, Derek said, “I’ve always loved the idea of soulmates…but just because you have a soulmate doesn't mean it will work out, or that it will be romantic. It could be platonic. That doesn't mean you can't fall in love with someone that’s not your soulmate. That you can't have a life with someone and be happy if they aren’t your soulmate.”

Derek set the glass on the counter and shifted to lean his hip against it, standing next to Stiles. There were only scant inches between them, which had Stiles’ heartbeat speeding up. If Derek had supernatural hearing, Stiles’ heart would completely betray him.

“I think soulmates could make it easier if you’re compatible with the person. At least, if you’re mutual soulmates. I know it doesn't work out for everyone that way,” Derek added.

“So…you haven't found your soulmate yet?” Stiles asked carefully, knowing he was treading water and hoping he wasn't about to drown.

“Well…I wasn't sure that I had one,” Derek replied. “I, uh—also wasn't out there searching for my soulmate either. I figured if I ever met them, then it would happen because it was supposed to. I’ve never signed up for those soulmate dating apps or anything.”

So…then maybe Stiles wasn't Derek’s soulmate even if Derek was his. His heart sank at the thought and he drew in a shaky breath. “Yeah, well, I haven't used those sites either.”

The silence hung between them like it was something fragile that neither of them wanted to break. Stiles wasn't sure how long it lasted until Derek’s words broke into his thoughts with, “I had dreams about you after the first day we met, Stiles.”

Stiles looked at Derek, confused. Had he just heard what he thought he heard? “What?” Stiles asked, his mind fuzzy with hope and his heart breaking if it hadn't been.

“After we met that first day, the day you moved in. I had a dream about you and Hazel.” Derek took a deep breath. “We were at a grocery store shopping for a family Thanksgiving dinner.” He looked like he was waiting for Stiles to process what he’d said and Stiles’ mind was spinning.

Derek had had the same dream he had. Of them being a family, of being in love. Of spending the rest of their lives together. Because that’s exactly what Stiles had dreamt and felt then, too.

“Really?” Stiles asked, still refusing to believe it. He couldn't let himself believe that it was true. That his whole life had been a lie up until now. That he actually had a soulmate. “I—I— I had the same dream,” Stiles breathed.

“And your family was going to come over. And my dad. We were going to have Thanksgiving here.” Stiles slipped back into that moment with Derek, standing in the middle of the frozen section aisle while Hazel went to grab the cool whip for his mother's pie. He remembered the way Derek’s lips felt against his, how Derek’s voice sounded when he told Stiles that he loved him.

“Stiles?” Derek asked gently, pulling Stiles from his thoughts again. “Are you okay?”

Stiles ran a hand over his face, trying to push away his memories of their shared dream. Did that mean that Derek had shared Stiles’ other dreams? “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry… it’s just a lot to process.”

Derek nodded, crossing his arms and shifting to lean back against the island, his body turned away from Stiles. “Yeah… I understand. I wasn't sure if I should say anything…”

“It’s not that I don't believe in soulmates,” Stiles was quick to assure Derek, “It’s just that I didn't think that I had one. So, it’s a little more to process than just finding out… I guess, like, normally.”

Derek was nodding, but he didn't say anything right away. “Well,” he breathed out. “How about we start out by going out on a date? I mean, if you’re into guys. I guess I should have asked that first…”

Stiles laughed softly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I am. It would kinda be weird if I wasn't and my soulmate was a dude, huh?”

Derek chuckled. “Well, I guess in that case we could have been really good friends… and maybe great neighbors.”

Stiles laughed again, then he breathed out all the tension he didn't know he’d been holding in. “You’re into dudes, right?”

Derek smiled at him like it was a given. “Well, yeah. I wouldn't have suggested we go out on a date if I wasn't.”

“I just had to make sure. You never really know with these things. I didn't want to assume.” Stiles looked down at the book in his hands that he’d completely forgotten about. “Did you want to look at the book? I’m working on the second one in the series now.”

“I’d love to,” Derek replied, uncrossing his arms and reaching out to take the book from Stiles’ hands. “So, you said it’s about a fox and a wolf?”

“Yeah…” Stiles turned to lean back against the island, scooting just a little closer to Derek as he looked at the book in Derek’s hands. “Obviously the black one is the wolf,” he added, reaching out to brush over the wolf with his finger. “And the fox is a red fox.”

Stiles didn't know why he was telling Derek what he could see for himself. “They meet in the forest and spend the day together and promise to meet again before winter sets in.” He smiled as he studied the cover. “It takes a long time, between getting ready for winter and taking care of the pack, but within that time they dreamed of each other and of what their lives could be like if they stayed.”

Derek opened the book, looking at each page like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Like maybe it was their story.

“And they decide to winter together instead of being separated again.” Stiles smiled as he touched the opening of the wolf den on the page. “And then they never parted after.”

“So, the second book?” Derek asked as he looked through the rest of the pages. “What is that one about?”

Stiles shrugged and smiled. “Life, I guess. Just because someone is your soulmate doesn't mean you won't have challenges, right?”

“Right,” Derek agreed and closed the book. “I think it’s a really great book. And I can't wait to see what you come up with for the second book in the series. How many are going to be in it?”

“I’m not sure. But right now I have at least three planned out. I guess it depends on the publishing company and if they want more books in the series. I can always create new characters, though, for another series. New stories. New lessons.” Stiles bumped his shoulder with Derek’s and Derek handed the book back to him.

“I’d love to see your other work sometime,” Derek replied, not pulling away as Stiles rested their shoulders together.

“Yeah, I have other books I can show you. I don't think I can share what I’m working on right now, but after it’s all finalized I can share then.” He took the book from Derek and set it on the counter behind them.

“So…where are we going on a date?” Stiles felt his cheeks heat at the question, telling himself he shouldn't be nervous about this.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” Derek replied softly, smiling at Stiles. “We can work something out.”

Stiles had always believed that soulmates were forever and he couldn't wait to explore that possibility with Derek.

Derek was right. They’d work it out.

Chapter 4

Stiles checked his watch and sighed, looking around Hazel’s classroom and the other 25 first graders in the room. Today they were going on a field trip and Stiles had volunteered to be a parent chaperone.

He was already regretting it.

Apparently, there were no other parental chaperones. So, Stiles looked at the list of names in his hand and counted the kids again to make sure they had the correct amount before they all filed onto the school bus.

Their field trip was a short ride and Hazel had been talking non-stop about it. They were visiting a local firehouse to see the trucks and learn about fire safety. Stiles continuously reminded her that it might not even be Derek’s firehouse and if it was, Derek might not even be working when they got there. Or Derek might be out on a call saving someone from a fire.

Hazel promptly ignored everything Stiles said, insisting that Derek would be there because she was ‘going to see him be a fireman today!’

Stiles couldn't deny that he wasn't excited at the possibility of seeing Derek all dressed up in his work clothes. He hadn't seen Derek in anything related to his job yet, not that Stiles didn't like Derek’s regular clothes. But he’d thought about Derek on more than one occasion dressed up as a fireman. It had definitely fueled some of his late-night thoughts.

It had been two months since they’d started dating. It was difficult since he had Hazel full time and Derek’s schedule was a little crazy, but they’d found the time. Even if it was only when Derek came over after his shift while Hazel slept.

They snuggled and fell asleep together on the couch probably a little too often.

Too often for Derek not to have kissed him yet.

Stiles had been thinking about kissing Derek for weeks at this point on a daily basis. He just wasn't sure how to go about it and Stiles was worried that Hazel would wake up and catch them in the act. She’d never seen Stiles kiss anyone, so that would be a whole conversation in itself.

After he helped settle the kids into their seats, he took a seat at the front and they were off.

The drive was less than fifteen minutes to the firehouse and the kids were way too excited and in a chatter as they started unloading them. Stiles tried to keep an eye on everyone, even as Hazel took his hand and the kids gathered around in a small group with the teacher in front.

“Alright, class! We are going into the firehouse and they’re going to show us the firetruck after we discuss fire safety.”

With that, they filed into the building as quickly as 26 first graders and two adults could. Once they were inside the cramped space that looked like a lounging area that also had a kitchen on one side, they were greeted by three firefighters. Stiles glanced at their name tags, which read: Erica, Boyd, and Isaac.

The blond bombshell stepped out from the group. “Look at all these cuties!” she exclaimed excitedly, beaming at the kids. “I am Miss Erica and these are my two helpers, Isaac and Boyd.”

All the kids said hi in near unison and Stiles chuckled as he watched them explain fire safety to the kids. Then the blond guy, Isaac, acted like he was on fire, fake yelling and all before he dropped to the ground. Boyd, with an unamused look on his face, took off his coat and covered Isaac with it to pat him down. Erica narrating the whole scene was almost just as assuming as watching the two men act it out. The kids were enthralled by the demonstration.

All of them except for Hazel, of course. Stiles looked down when he felt Hazel tug his hand.

Her eyes were big and bright, looking expectantly at Stiles like he had all the answers in the world. Which he definitely didn't.

“Daddy…are we going to see Mr. Derek?” she asked, which made Stiles sigh. Again.

“I don't know, pumpkin. I told you that he might not be here when we got here. Right now it looks like we have some fun people showing your class about stopping, dropping, and rolling if you catch on fire, though.”

Hazel looked sad and uninterested. “I already know how to do that Daddy. We talked about it at school with the nurse.”

Of course they did.

Stiles glanced up at a tiny girl, who announced herself as Kira, came into the room and started separating the students. It looked like she was a paramedic and not a firefighter.

“Okay! Sir, you will be with me and I’m going to show your group the ambulance. Our firehouse is assigned an ambulance that makes emergency runs on its own but also assists the fire trucks. In addition, they back us up when we leave the firehouse on separate calls, just in case we need extra help,” Kira started as she motioned for the group of six kids that had been corralled with them toward the ambulance parked in the bay.

When they reached the back of the ambulance, a dark-haired woman was sitting inside with the doors open. Her smile was warm, her lips red, and her eyes sharp as she greeted the kids. “I’m Laura. Welcome to our firehouse. We’re so excited to have you here with us today!”

Stiles’ brows furrowed as he studied her. She looked frighteningly familiar, but he’d never met her before.

Kira and Laura helped the kids into the back of the ambulance, showing them the various tools inside. Hazel seemed more interested in talking to Laura, rapidly firing a million questions at her. Laura didn't seem to mind, like she was used to it.

His daughter had a way of wrapping every person she met around her little fingers and Laura looked like no exception. It was a good thing that they’d only interact for the field trip, otherwise Hazel might have another person out there willing to do her bidding for whatever she asked. Stiles chuckled to himself.

“Stiles,” came a voice from behind him and he turned to see Derek there, half-dressed in his fire get-up. He was also dirty, as if he’d just come from a call.

“Oh, hey,” Stiles replied, his smile growing. “I didn't know you were here.”

“I just got back,” Derek replied, motioning to the fire truck parked right outside the bay where other firemen were inventorying.

“We haven't been here that long,” Stiles assured him, tilting his head and taking in Derek’s appearance more. It really was hotter than Stiles expected it to be, especially because Derek was sweaty and had soot on his skin. “You okay?”

Derek nodded, smiling tiredly at Stiles. “Yeah. Just had a hard call. I can't exactly give you details, but everything worked out.” He walked over, reaching out to hold Stiles’ hand and tug him closer. All Stiles wanted to do was kiss him, but he managed to control himself as Derek wrapped his arms around him and buried his face against Stiles’ neck. Stiles circled his arms around Derek and held him, giving him whatever comfort he needed.

“Mr. Derek!” Hazel shouted, pulling Stiles from his thoughts. Well, there went the whole trip. He couldn't blame Hazel for being infatuated with Derek. Stiles was too. It was more than that for Stiles, though.

Derek chuckled and drew back, letting Stiles go, and looked down at Hazel who was already next to them, raising her arms excitedly. He picked her up and perched her on his hip easily. “Hey, Peep,” Derek teased.

“That’s not my name, Mr. Derek,” Hazel replied, sounding offended. Derek had given her the nickname within the first couple of weeks because he’d said Hazel’s voice sounded like a little bird. Stiles thought it was cute. Hazel did not. He supposed it could have been worse. He could have called her Chirp. Stiles really tried not to laugh to himself.

“Alright, alright. Miss Hazel,” Derek replied. “How are you enjoying your field trip?”

“Good, now that you’re here!” Hazel hugged Derek and Stiles thought it was the most adorable thing, but she would likely need a change of clothes with the soot that clung to Derek transferring onto Hazel.

She pulled back and looked him over, then frowned. “You’re stinky,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Hazel, that’s not nice,” Stiles chided, but he was smirking and biting his lip. “We don't say those things to people.”

“But he is,” she replied and shrugged.

Derek laughed. “Well, I was going to take a shower so I wouldn't be stinky, but I wanted to come say hi to you before I did that.” He glanced toward the ambulance and raised his chin at Laura.

Oh. Oh. Well, Stiles knew now why she looked familiar. She looked nearly identical to Derek.

“I see you met my sister, Laura.” Derek’s gaze returned to Stiles and he couldn't believe that he’d just met Derek’s sister. They hadn't really talked about meeting each other’s families yet.

“I didn't know she worked with you.” And why Derek hadn't mentioned it before.

“We both got our EMT certificates in high school, but I decided I wanted to become a fireman. Laura was happy with staying in an ambulance. She gets to help a lot of people that way. At least on a daily basis.” Derek jiggled Hazel and she giggled, holding onto him.

Stiles looked back over where Laura was letting the kids hear her heart through a stethoscope. Yeah, they were definitely related. And the genetics were strong. Derek had told him she constantly reminded him she was fifteen minutes older than him since they were twins.

Derek nudged Stiles with his shoulder.

“I’m going to shower and I’ll be right back,” he promised, handing Hazel over. Stiles shifted her onto his hip as Derek smoothed a hand over Hazel’s hair. “It won't be long.”

Before Stiles could respond, Derek was retreating and Hazel asked, “Are we going to see the fire truck, Daddy?”

All Stiles could think about was how fucking hot Derek’s ass was as he disappeared into the lobby.

He was going to Hell.

Chapter 5

Stiles closed the front door and locked it before taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair. Lydia had just left with Hazel for the weekend. And if Stiles’ weekend went as planned, Derek wouldn't be leaving until Monday since he had two days off. Two days that Stiles wanted to spend enjoying everything he could with Derek.

“Hazel leave okay?” Derek asked as Stiles walked back into the kitchen. He was chopping asparagus at the island, smiling at Stiles. He looked like he belonged there, just like he had when Stiles first dreamed about him ten months ago.

Ten whole months of domesticity and Derek slowly integrating into their lives. Stiles couldn't believe that much time had already passed since it seemed just like yesterday that they’d moved in next door.

“Yeah. She was excited about spending the weekend with Lydia.” He walked into the kitchen behind Derek, wrapping his arms around him and leaning his chin on Derek’s shoulder. “Lydia even gave me a wink.”

Derek chuckled. “High hopes for this weekend?”

“Maybe,” Stiles teased as he watched Derek finish the asparagus and put it into the pan. “I think the pot roast is almost done and I was thinking, maybe tomorrow we can have steak and mashed potatoes?”

Derek set the knife in his hand aside and turned the heat down on the stove before turning in Stiles’ arms to face him. He leaned back against the counter, one hand moving up to wrap around the back of Stiles’ neck.

“That sounds perfect,” Derek said softly, drawing Stiles in for a kiss. It was soft and sweet, undemanding. Safe. It made Stiles warm all over as he leaned in, pressing his body against Derek’s. When they parted, he sighed and rested his forehead against Derek’s, Stiles’ hands trailing up Derek’s arms and resting on his biceps.

“I could get used to kisses like that…” Stiles didn't pull away and wet his lips. “Every day…” The suggestion twisted his stomach, filling it with butterflies.

Derek smiled, brushing his nose against Stiles’, causing Stiles to look at him. “Are you asking me to move in with you Stiles Stilinski?”

“I—” Stiles studied Derek, looking into his eyes like they held the answers to the universe. Was he asking Derek to move in with him? Was ten months too soon? They were soulmates, after all. It wasn't as if they hadn't spent the last ten months weaving in and out of each other's lives. “I… think I am.”

Stiles breathed deeply, wishing for courage. “Hazel adores you,” he continued. “And I—” Oh, god. Was he going to say it? Would Derek say it back? Would Derek say yes? “I love you, Derek.”

Derek didn't hesitate as he replied, “I love you too, Stiles. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.” He pressed his lips to Stiles’ again, this time kissing him a little deeper, almost tentative. “You’re my soulmate. This is the only place I want to be.”

Stiles squeezed Derek’s biceps as if they could ground him, taking a shaky breath. “So does that mean that you’re moving in with us? Is…that a yes?”

He didn't know why he was more nervous than he was before. There was no way that Derek would tell him no after what they just confessed, would he?

“Absolutely. Whenever you want. We can pack everything this weekend.” Derek’s smile was almost blinding as Stiles drew his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I… was hoping that we’d, um—spend our time inside this weekend. Together.” He could feel his skin flush, knowing it would make him blotchy all over. “Preferably with no clothes on.”

“Oh.” Derek chuckled. “Well, I can't say that I wasn't hoping for the same thing, because I was.” Stiles always thought Derek was cute when the tips of his ears turned red, but at least he knew that they were both flustered over the prospect of all-weekend sex.

Stiles laughed. “Well, we should probably at least eat first. We made all this food. Then we can put everything away. I can officially show you my bedroom.”

“I eagerly await the official tour,” Derek teased, giving Stiles a peck. Stiles knew it was more so neither of them would lose control and rip each other's clothes off right there in the kitchen. Not that Stiles was opposed to having sex for the first time with Derek in his kitchen. “Come on, let’s eat.” This was going to be the fastest dinner Stiles had ever eaten, knowing that he’d be practically inhaling it in anticipation.

He pulled away, moving to the other side of the counter to check on the pot roast in the oven, feeling Derek’s eyes roving over him.

Oh yeah. Dinner would be quick.

They’d eaten in record time and Stiles may or may not have been keeping track.

“Leave the dishes.” He reached out for Derek, his finger slipping into Derek’s belt loop, tugging Derek close.

Stiles didn't hesitate as he pressed their lips together, melting into the heat of Derek’s body. He whimpered against his lips as Derek’s hands found his hips. God, Stiles had been wanting this. Needing this.

He’d never needed anyone as much as he needed Derek right now that he was so overwhelmed with it.

“Fuck, I need you,” Stiles breathed, nipping at Derek’s lips and pressing his hips against Derek’s, letting him feel how hard he already was.

Derek’s hands slid over Stiles’ ass, rocking him against him. “Need to get to the bedroom before I fuck you right here over the counter.”

A needy sound fell from Stiles’ lips, his arms wrapping around Derek’s neck. “I wouldn't say no to that but we really need lube.”

Derek chuckled. “Definitely.” He kissed down Stiles’ neck, leaving gentle bites as he gripped and squeezed Sitles’ ass. “Hold onto me,” he whispered against Stiles’ skin.

And then Derek was gripping him firmly and lifting him, taking Stiles by surprise, which made him laugh. He moaned softly, his legs wrapping around Derek as his lips trailed along any skin he could reach.

“Are you going to brave the stairs while holding me?” Stiles teased, his grin mischievous as Derek carried him.

Derek looked dubious when they reached the bottom of the stairs, which only furthered Stiles’ amusement.

“If you drop me, you’ll regret it,” Stiles teased and Derek laughed nervously.

“Well, then I guess I better not drop you.” Derek kissed him briefly, a promise of more, and then they were ascending the stairs. Not that Stiles actually thought Derek would drop him. He did carry full-grown men for a living. And it was so fucking hot.

Stiles’ hands never stopped moving, needing to touch Derek, his legs squeezed tight around Derek’s waist. “Mmmm, okay, okay. My room,” Stiles motioned with the tip of his chin.

Derek took direction well, carrying Stiles to the door and Stiles’ hand reached behind him to twist the knob, letting them both in.

Stiles was just as reluctant as Derek seemed as Derek set him down, but their hands never left each other. Their fingers were frantic as they practically ripped each other’s clothes off, their lips kissing over exposed skin until they were both naked.

When Stiles felt the bed behind him, he sat down, his hands gripping Derek’s hips as he buried his face against the base of Derek’s dick. Derek groaned, his fingers threading into Stiles’ hair. “Fuck, Stiles. You make me so fucking hard.”

Stiles breathed deeply, taking in Derek’s musky scent, and rubbed his cheek against Derek’s cock as if he were marking him as his. Only his. “God, I need to taste you.”

“Fuck yeah. Please,” Derek breathed, sounding as desperate as Stiles felt. Stiles wasted no time drawing back just enough to draw Derek’s cock into his mouth, laving the head with his tongue and teasing it into Derek’s foreskin.

Derek groaned above him, his grip tightening in Stiles’ hair. It only made Stiles’ dick harder, precome leaking against his thigh, swallowing Derek down like he couldn't get enough. He was drunk on the taste of Derek, his skin feeling like it was on fire.

“Stiles—”

Derek tugged against Stiles’ hair and he whined as he let Derek’s cock fall from his mouth with a filthy sound. “You okay?” he panted.

“Yeah, fuck. I need—” Derek didn't finish his sentence as he dipped down and captured Stiles’ lips in a kiss. Stiles understood Derek’s need as it burned through him, licking into Derek’s mouth as they kissed fervently. He scooted back onto the bed, Derek following him down until he was pressing Stiles into the mattress with the weight of his body.

Stiles whimpered as Derek leaned down, kissing across his chest, and captured Stiles’ nipple between his lips. “Mmmm, god, Derek. I need—I need you to fuck me. I want you inside of me.”

They’d never discussed sex dynamics, but Stiles never thought Derek would deny him anything. He needed Derek like he needed to breathe and he knew Derek felt the same.

“Whatever you want,” Derek breathed, kissing across Stiles’ chest to give Stiles’ other nipple the same attention. “But first…I want to taste you too.”

Derek tilted his head up, kissing Stiles again, slower and deeper which sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine. His hand slid between them, gently stroking Stiles’ cock and brushing across the head teasingly.

“Mmm, yeah?” Stiles breathed, feeling Derek’s fingers slicken with his precome.

Derek released Stiles’ cock, his hand dipping between Stiles’ legs to stroke and tug at his balls. “I want to taste you… here,” he replied just as his fingers pressed between Stiles’ asscheeks to brush over his hole.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles moaned, his dick twitching at the thought of Derek licking his hole. He pressed against Derek’s fingers, needing more.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, okay.” Stiles kissed Derek, needy and wet before he pulled away and rolled over, Derek’s hands running along his back and thighs as he settled. He could feel Derek shift on the bed, feel the heat of his body sliding down his side and the weight of Derek settle on his thighs.

Stiles arched his back, raising his ass as Derek gripped his cheeks and spread them. He couldn't move with Derek’s chest lying across his thighs and he groaned as Derek pressed his face flush to him, wasting no time teasing.

Derek’s mouth was hot and wet, his tongue demanding as he licked and sucked against Stiles’ hole until he pressed in and Stiles’ hole fluttered open. Stiles cried out in pleasure, his fingers twisting into the bed sheets when Derek fucked him with his tongue. He was relentless, filthy sounds falling from Derek’s lips, Stiles’ ass getting sloppy wet with Derek’s saliva.

“Derek—Derek—” Stiles begged, but he wasn't sure if he was begging for Derek to keep going or to stop. Stiles just wanted. “Derek, please—”

Stiles swore it sounded like Derek growled, but his mind was so fuzzy with his arousal that all he could do was focus on Derek’s hands and mouth. “I need—” Stiles whined.

Derek drew back with a wet sound, giving Stiles’ hole one more sloppy kiss before his fingers rubbed over it.

“Where’s the lube?” Derek asked, voice rough with desire. “Need to open you up for me.”

Fuck.

“Nightstand,” Stiles sighed out, the sound desperate as Derek pulled away and kneeled, leaning over to open the nightstand and fished out the lube. “Do you—want me like this?”

“On your back.” Derek closed the drawer and sat back on his calves as Stiles rolled over. “I want to see your face.”

Just Derek admitting that sent heat coursing through him and straight to his dick. God, if he could get wet from being so turned on, he’d be sopping with it. Stiles’ thighs fell open unashamedly, exposing himself to Derek. He reached down to grip his own cock, stroking it lazily, watching Derek open the lube and squeeze some onto his fingers.

Derek’s fingers were so much thicker than his, and fuck, it was so hot. “Derek—”

“I’ve got you,” Derek promised, leaning in to kiss Stiles thoroughly.

Stiles gasped, then groaned when three of Derek’s fingers pushed into him. He loved the feeling of Derek fucking him open, stretching him for his cock. And fuck, Stiles was so close to coming already it should be embarrassing, but he wasn't.

“I don't want to wait,” Stiles panted against Derek’s lips. “Mmm, fuck, I need you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Derek kissed him once more before pulling his fingers free and then slicked his cock.

“Nuh-uh,” Stiles grinned, pushing his hand against Derek’s chest. “You’re going to lay back and let me ride you until you’re filling me with your come. And I’m going to get every bit of it I can from your gorgeous cock.”

The sound that fell from Derek’s lips was debauched in the best way as he rolled onto his back, his eyes following Stiles hungrily. “I’m all yours.”

Derek stroked his cock, getting it nice and slick as Stiles crawled into his lap still kissing him.

“C’mere,” Stiles whispered against Derek’s lips, still grinning. His fingers circled around Derek’s cock, holding it as he settled into Derek’s lap. “God, you’re so thick.”

He didn't wait for Derek to respond before he pressed Derek’s cock to his already fluttering hole and then sank onto him, his head dropping back in pleasure. Stiles didn't take Derek in slowly, groaning as he stretched himself on Derek’s cock, the feeling of Derek’s fingers gripping his hips so hard that he’d have bruises later being the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Jesus—fuck—” Stiles gasped as Derek bottomed out, his hands pressing to Derek’s chest as he leaned down to kiss him.

“Fuck, Stiles, You’re so tight,” Derek hissed, his hands urging Stiles’ hips to roll.

Stiles laughed softly. “Well, it’s been a while. But I can promise you it’ll never be that long again.” He raised his hips just enough to feel Derek’s cock drag against his prostate, which had him mewling.

Derek’s arms wrapped around him and Stiles groaned into Derek’s mouth, swallowing the sounds Derek gave him as they moved. He fucked himself languidly on Derek’s cock, taking his time to feel each and every thrust, their hips moving in counterpoint. Every snap of Derek’s hips had Stiles whimpering with abandon until he gave up trying to keep his rhythm, his fingers digging into Derek’s arms as he held on.

Their needy, desperate sounds and the slap of skin against skin were the only things that filled the room, words having fallen away as they focused on the feeling of each other. Stiles couldn't feel anything other than Derek. Nothing else existed other than them in this moment, together. Stiles felt his chest swell with warmth as Derek’s hips started to stutter, Stiles’ lips brushing and pressing against Derek’s more than kissing him now. He couldn't catch his breath as the base of his spine started to tingle and —

Suddenly Stiles cried out, clutching Derek close, his ass squeezing and then pulsing around Derek’s cock as he came hard, dick spurting between them. He keened with unrestrained gratification, even as Derek tensed under him and fucked them through both of their orgasms. He faintly made out the needy, guttural sounds beneath him as Stiles collapsed on top of Derek, chest heaving and mind swimming in fire.

“Derek—” Stiles panted, unable to raise his head to kiss Derek like he wanted to.

“I’ve got you,” Derek promised, arms circling around Stiles as his hands smoothed up and down Stiles’ back. “I’m right there with you.”

They lay like that together for some time, lost in the aftermath, unwilling to let the rest of the world back in. Stiles only gave an unhappy sound as he felt Derek’s dick start to soften and slip out of him, already missing the feeling of his soulmate sharing his body.

“Don't wanna move,” Stiles whispered.

Derek kissed the top of his head, his hand trailing down until Stiles felt Derek’s finger pressing between his cheeks and stroking over his used hole, fingering his come back into Stiles. “Don't have to. We have all weekend.”

“Mmm, good.” Stiles turned to press kisses along Derek’s chest, enjoying the feeling of Derek’s fingers lazily fucking him. It was hard to describe how he felt, but he knew he’d never felt so complete before. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Stiles.” Derek’s free hand stroked through Stiles’ hair, practically petting him down. “Until the day we’re no longer here and into the next life. That’s what soulmates are… and I’ll always find you.”

“And I’ll wait for you,” Stiles promised. “However long it takes. Forever.” His smile was loopy and content as he turned his face up to kiss Derek. “Mmmm, but I think I want—”

Derek’s smile was bright as he laughed, curling his fingers inside of Stiles until Stiles moaned. “You’re insatiable,” Derek teased.

“Get used to it.” Stiles grinned and nipped Derek’s lip. “After all, we have forever, right? Are you ready for that?”

“Always.”

It was a promise that Stiles intended to keep, always and forever, no matter how many lifetimes they spent together. Their love could span the universe. They were soulmates. And it was all that Stiles would ever need to make his soul complete.

Chapter 6

Three years later.

Derek rubbed his eyes, smiling to himself as he walked downstairs, yawning. It was bright and early Christmas morning and it was their tradition that he would make everyone the best breakfast they’d had all year long. Including powdered sugar waffles covered in both Stiles and Hazel’s favorite fruits.

Strawberries and blueberries and only strawberries and blueberries. No other fruits were acceptable. Not even bananas. Derek had found that out the hard way.

He didn't know how Stiles and Hazel didn't like pancakes, but they were definitely a waffle family now and Derek didn't mind one bit. Whatever made Stiles and Hazel happy, made him happy.

Once he was in the kitchen, he hit the button on the coffee pot to brew his morning cup and dug around in the fridge, pulling out ingredients for eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, sausage, and their decadent family waffles.

In a few short hours, Hazel would be up, eager to see if Santa had visited (Stiles always bit the cookies and drank the milk while Derek stomped on the roof jingling bells after midnight, just in case Hazel was waiting up to hear them).

The base of the tree was filled to the brim with presents, but Hazel knew that they couldn't be opened until her grandparents and Aunt Laura arrived. It was a true family event, with everyone converging at the Stilinski-Hale household for every holiday.

Derek set the ingredients aside, reflecting on the last four years of his life. He glanced at his hand where a traditional gold band adorned his ring finger, the memory of their wedding day held close to his heart. It had been two years ago when they’d said I do.

Other than the day he’d met Stiles and Hazel, it had been the best day of his life, followed by the day he’d adopted Hazel and they’d become an official family.

Derek busied himself making breakfast, whipping up the batter and sipping his coffee, warmth spreading in his chest. It wasn't long before he heard Stiles coming downstairs and he grinned as Stiles’ strong arms wrapped around him from behind.

“Good morning,” Stiles said, voice rough with sleep. He kissed Derek’s shoulder and then nuzzled against the back of his neck.

“Good morning.” Derek tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to Stiles’ hair.

Stiles responded with his usual sleepy grumble and then turned a loopy smile up at Derek as he rested his chin on Derek’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday.”

“My mother really robbed me of double presents,” Derek joked. “Me and Laura.” Stiles chuckled and Derek laughed. “If we have another kid and it’s a December baby, they’re getting double presents.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, his fingers trailing up and down Derek’s chest. “You want another one? Hazel is 10 now… a baby might be a lot for us, but I’m game if you are.”

Derek considered that. Hazel was as much his daughter as she was Stiles’, but he had so much love to share and they had extra bedrooms, which Stiles kept reminding him about at least once a year. “I think I’m ready…do you think—”

“I can ask Lydia for an egg if she won't carry a baby for us. I know she’s working on a big research project right now, but we can always ask someone else to carry our baby for us.” Stiles trailed kisses along the back of Derek’s neck. “Plus… this way, they’ll be related to Hazel.”

Derek licked his lips, focusing on the eggs in front of him, even as Stiles hugged him closer. “You think she would?”

“I think she would. And… If you want to, I think it would be amazing if you were the biological father. I’ve been dreaming about having a little boy or girl and they look just like you,” Stiles said softly, rubbing his cheek against Derek.

Maybe they’d have a boy with Lydia’s eyes and his hair, or a little girl with his eyes and Lydia’s hair, hair that would be exactly like Hazel’s. Or it could look just like him. What if they had twins? The possibilities were endless and Derek’s mind was racing with them.

Before he could answer, a happy shriek sounded from the living room.

“Oops…” Stiles chuckled. “I guess I woke her up. My bad.”

Derek laughed. “3…2…1…”

Hazel came barreling into the kitchen shouting, “Santa came! Did you see all the presents?!”

They both laughed. Derek was surprised that Hazel still let them pretend Santa existed. Probably because she always got exactly what she asked for. They still wrote letters to Santa every year.

“Good morning, kiddo.” Stiles reluctantly let go of Derek and pulled Hazel in for a hug.

“Ew!” She fake gagged. “You probably still have Dad's cooties. Don't kiss my hair!”

Stiles let her go, laughing, even as she made a barfing noise and stuck her tongue out at him before she hugged Derek.

“Oh. I see how it is,” Stiles replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well Dad makes the food,” she defended. “And he doesn't give me cooties.”

Stiles rolled his eyes as Derek returned the hug, Derek’s focus returning to making breakfast. “The both of you are ridiculous.”

“The day you think cooties are nonexistent is the day that I’m going to remind you of these moments,” Stiles told Hazel.

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” She moved away from them and opened the refrigerator, grabbing the orange juice and taking the cup Derek was already handing her before Stiles could remind her not to drink out of the carton.

“Thank you.” She went to sit on a stool at the island, pouring herself a cup. “So when is the pack going to descend on the house? Because I want to open my presents.”

Stiles snorted. “Well… they’ll probably start showing up—”

“In four hours,” Derek finished. “Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Kira said they’d stop by too once they’re off shift. Laura has the day off so she’ll probably be here before our parents.”

“My dad will likely sleep in, even if my mom bugs him to wake up in a couple of hours. He keeps saying he’s going to retire, but I’ll believe it when I see it.” Stiles leaned against the counter as Derek put the eggs, bacon, and sausage on plates, then grabbed the waffle batter.

“Well, Grandpa is old.” Hazel’s smirk spoke volumes, especially since she loved to tease them about how old they were all getting.

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles was shaking his head, but his face was light with happiness.

Derek smiled, looking between the two people he loved most in the world. He poured the batter into the waffle maker and closed it, turning it over and, set the bowl aside.

He wasn't sure what he did to deserve this, but he thanked whoever or whatever had given him Stiles as his soulmate and the daughter which was their world.

It was more than he could have ever dreamed of.

It was perfect.

And he could only imagine how much more it would be as their family grew with love.

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