#if it's true that it's bc of a middle finger that's beyond petty

[bollur]

Hey there! Please can I request a Percy x reader where before Percy meets VM and he's building his gun he meets a psychic who tells him he's going to meet the love of his life and he's like "no" but then he meets the reader (who's with VM) and he's sees the reader and internally he's just like "fuuuuuuccckkk". Thank you 😊

a/n: definitely pulled out origins for this req. i hope you dont mind.

i thought this one was actually kind of cute, and ofc, reader has to make the most dramatic entrance, bc im a fucking loser.

Percival spoke, slight humor lacing his voice at his own inside joke, “Time for a little revenge,” snapping his Pepper-box into proper alignment. “And your noble quest, of course.“

Sounds of muffled scuffling and grunting echoed down the stone corridor, and a flash of bright light under the wooden door that suddenly swung open, followed by a body flying through. The group watched as you slid painfully across the floor, coming to a stop right between long legs. “O-ohhh,“ came the pitiful moan from your lips.

A disgruntled noise came from the fancier clothed gnome, arms gesturing vaguely around him. “Are you trying to wake up the entire village?”

One hand raised from the cold floor, simply throwing up a sparking middle-finger in his direction. “It’s not my fault if a spell backfires on me!” came a weak defense, all three members who knew you simultaneously quirked their brow. Silence fell over the group and your nose suddenly scrunched up. “Okay, but it’s still beside the point.”

Scanlan looked at you incredulously. “That’s entirely – “

The other gnome cut in, smiling tenderly down at you, but keeping her hands to herself as your body still showed signs of being conductive. “We just hope you’re okay,” obviously trying to diffuse the tension before an argument starts, again. “I know you didn’t mean to be so loud, but let’s all just try to be careful, okay?”

Throwing a side glance at Scanlan, who your next comment was totally not directed at, because you just weren’t that petty, you huffed, “At least someone cares.”

The druid looked dejected at your words, meekly raising one of her hands up. “I care.”

“I know, Keyleth,” you gave her a small smile, now beginning to sit yourself up, the pain beginning to dull.

She said spoke again, a still disheartened, "I care a lot."

During this endearing display of friendship, ever since he got a good look at your face between his legs, Percival was trying to decipher why you felt so familiar to him. Lately, that never seemed like a good occurrence, and he couldn’t help but watch every movement like a hawk. It wasn’t until you were sitting up, casting a glance over your shoulder in his direction, did realization finally hit him.

This exact moment tasted like déjà vu, and it was right on the tip of his tongue.

A couple of years ago, during the more unsavory times of his life – as if being labeled an occultist leader by the actual guilty party and thrown back into a cell wasn’t in that category – he had come across a strange woman who had spun the tale of him amounting to wonderful, glorious things beyond the mist of darkness that would consume his heart. For a moment, he had considered the possibility of her being accurate like a child’s dream in hoping for a better life beyond the revenge that fueled him, but then came the audacity that somewhere along the way he would find true love. That he had laughed at. Luckily, the gunslinger had owed her nothing as the delirious woman had come at him on her own accord.

Watching you now, however, as you stood up to face him, dusting off your clothes that looked in no better shape than his own, a hazy image of what the fortune teller showed him fell into step with yours, he couldn’t help but think: well, fuck …

Hands relaxing on your hips, you spoke teasingly, doing a quick once-over on him, “You must be the absolutely terrifyingly dangerous occult member that I have heard so much about.”

“Occultist leader.” Percival corrected you, a playful tilt to his lips, mirroring your stance. “Can’t have anyone spreading any false information now, can we?”

Of course, you knew it wasn’t true with what you had been told, that being the little bit of information that your friends had obtained from him this morning. So, naturally, you couldn’t help but indulge in his attempt at humor, a hand over your mouth as you let out what was almost a giggle.

Before you could come back with some quick quip, your wrist was being gripped by a pathetically groaning gnome, trying to tug you in the direction away from the gunslinger. “Let’s not forget the creepy flaming fucking horse ritual that we're actually here for, yeah?” you were reminded by Scanlan who had a reprimanding tone. “You can finish whatever the hell this is later.” letting him lead you away, you didn’t hesitate to throw a little smirk over your shoulder at the new member who was working on his boots, but that didn’t mean he missed it.

Watching you disappear around the corner, whining to the bard, Percival let himself chuckle.

… or, in remembrance of the more eloquently put phrase that he spoke earlier today; he is definitely in far more trouble than he thought.

[jesswritesthat]

you are such a good writer so i just know you’ll do justice to this. if you’d be willing, a small drabble about reader who tends to be quite standoffish w guys and just isn’t as close to them as compared to girls bc i remember being so stupid around my childhood crush and i’m pretty sure he hated me 😃 and then the guy i was friends w wouldn’t let me get too close to him bc he didn’t want people to think we’re “dating” n e ways let me shove my insecurities back down,,, but reader still loves watching romance anything bc someone unabashedly wanting to be around you like that?? can’t relate xx anyways it can be w any haikyuu guy, let the vibes come to you 🥰 thank you Jess love u 🥺

A/N: Hold up - THIS IS ME OMG! I feel you, I have terrible luck with romance but I find it so cute at the same time! I love you too, gorgeous anon, I hope I’ve done you justice 🥺

So allow me to kill some of those insecurities - or Oikawa will rather >:)

Warnings: cursing, fem reader

>>>>——————————>

Anyone could admit Oikawa Tōru was enamouring, yet you only offered a shaky sigh as your friend tugged you along to meet her team. That’s what you get for befriending the future manager of Seijoh back in Middle School.

"Aren't you from Iwa-chans’ class?" An internal shriek caused your eyes to widen, snapping your head to the local celebrity tilting his toward you rather than his fangirls. 

"I'm surprised you remember." Snarky. Nice, you'd possibly regret it if not for his all-too-gentlemanly attitude. He’d only barged in searching for Iwaizumi a couple of times, you didn’t think he’d taken notes.

"Wouldn't forget a pretty face like yours." The smile was beautiful, even so you crossed your arms with a raised brow.

"Next time, try harder~"

"So mean (L/n)-chan."

You winced, your head screaming 'I know! God I know?! Why would I say that?!' but it was natural instinct at this point, a defence mechanism if you will, especially against someone as cunning as Oikawa Tōru.

In honesty, you believed that to be the start and end of it - except your friend encouragingly dragged you to her practices and Oikawa strategically managed to catch you alone every single time. Makki or Mattsun (you think) subtlety coined your friends focus for approximately 10 minutes, leaving you laxly waiting for her to rejoin you. In fact with the consistency at which it occurred, you’d become friends with the Captain.

———

Only you’d let your guard down once, the team required managerial help meanwhile you got settled playing a romantic film on your phone. Immediately you were distracted, softness leaking to your features whilst muffled hopeless sighs of endearment were hummed in acknowledgment.

“That’s an unusual sound from you~”

“He just gave her a rose and they kissed in the rain, how could I not - shit!” It was a subconscious answer due to enthralment, the haunting voice only resonating mid-way through your justification causing you to shockingly snap around to Tōru watching from over your shoulder with a smug grin. You’d almost dropped your phone!

“Don’t stop now (Y/n)-chan, tell me how to get you to make that sound again. It’s cute.”

“No- no way! Get back to practice Oikawa - go do a jump serve or something!”

“Oh? So you do listen when I talk about Volleyball!”

———

It wasn’t until after their next practice match did you suffer his infuriating (yet admittedly appreciated) presence again. This time the brunette proudly standing by your side as he shared his views of the match with you - the burning gazes of his fans deadlocked on the two of you as if deciphering the DaVinci code.

"Maybe you should um - y'know, not be so close?"

A careful roll of your shoulder accompanied your hesitant claim, the close proximity allowing for the small movement to graze his left side. Oikawa shot you a perplexed look, leaning closer to your face out of spite - even if his inquiry was subtlety sincere.

"Why? You don't like it?"

"No - I mean yes - I just..." A sigh of defeat escapes as you run a hand through your hair before meeting his warm hues again. "People might think you care and I wouldn't want you to have to deal with rumours."

Tōru was unnervingly quiet, he would’ve took a step back if you’d asked, however this reasoning was ridiculous by his standard. Darkened irises scanned over your casual frame with fingers pressed against his chin in thought.

"What if I want people to think that? I mean it's true, isn't it~"

"Is it?"

A melodic chuckle echoes your sarcastic suspicion, the heartthrob of Seijoh nudging your arm with a charming smile that’d leave fans fainting at his feet.

"Am I not obvious enough for you (Y/n)-chan?"

"You're obvious to everyone - in fact you're probably nicer to your fans than you are to me. Hence why I'm hesitant to believe you."

It was beyond comprehension to think one of the most popular men in Miyagi be romantically interested in you, which is why taking the flirtatious antics of Oikawa was done with a pinch of salt.

“Hmm... in that case I’ll show you...” You hadn’t a moment to determine his intentions, not when he’d firmly hooked your wrist and dragged you out to the refreshing Spring showers currently hydrating Miyagis’ cherry blossoms that day.

“By getting me wet?!”

“Eventually maybe - ah, that’s not it though.” Only smirking at the death glare pointed at him due the insinuation, Tōru washed it away with the gentle caress of his palms either side of your jaw. You knew his hands were magic but this was surreal - a thumb brushed your cheekbone before his lips met with your forehead, his nose then skimmed to meet yours with a genuinely content smile ghosting his features.

“T-tōru?” Breathless surprise, that’s all you could muster with the rain trickling down your skin onto his delicate fingers. He’d never seen you so defenceless, and he’d wanted more of it.

“I actually like that sound better than your longing sighs, say it again for me, won’t you?” You’d pulled from him with that, your fingers lacing his wrists - to which the Setter fluently twisted and captured your hands in his own causing you to furrow your brows once again.

“Shut up, you’re not funny.”

A defeated sigh left him, eyes briefly closed in surrender prior to fluttering open with renewed admiration for you, mildly unwilling to admit the sentimentality underlying his actions. Sentimentality tailored to you and for only you.

“I know it’s not a passionate kiss in the rain like in the movies, the ones you like so much. But I’ll willingly, happily try - we can get to that if you want to go on a date with me?“

“Are you serious? Don’t you h-“

“I don’t want them, I want you. The person who lets her friends drag her to games she didn’t want to attend, who helps in practice despite not needing to, the girl who got to know the real me, and the one who looks really cute watching romantic movies~”

“I don’t know her but, I suppose there’s no harm in going out with you once Oikawa.” The witty response caused him to laugh along with you, expecting nothing less.

“Perfect - but my hair is gonna be ruined, can we go back inside now (Y/n)-chan?”

Rolling your eyes at his petty whining, you couldn’t hide the overflowing amusement in your laugh as you pushed him back into the gymnasium where his team (and your friend) sported expectant grins.

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[moonb-eam]

oh nat, i know we've basically made you write the entire p&p au from eliott's pov with our asks but i just can't help myself, esp after seeing the last ask about the telescope scene-so here it goes: have they ever talked about lucas' past- how lonely he must've been losing his parents at a young age? bc he still refers to his aunt/uncle as mr/mrs banet,like they're family but there's a distance. also i love that eliott loves the banets in your au as opposed to the og darcy who hated the bennets.

ahahaha we have managed to cover a lot of ground with the asks but it’s okay darling!! thank you for your question 🧡🧡🧡 (this one also ran away from me a bit, so i’ve but it under the cut)

When Eliott first met the Banet family, he didn’t know what to make of them.

They were loud, that much was true. Bold and indelicate. Simultaneously warm and welcoming but also intimidating. They were clearly close, as evident from their interactions and the way the spoke to one another. Eliott could see shades of himself and Daphné in the way the Banet sisters and Lucas would be arguing one moment, petty and childish, then fiercely defending one another in the next.

Mrs. Banet frightened Eliott the most. Her strong opinions and bouts of cluelessness likened her to his aunt initially, a comparison that made him turn in the opposite direction whenever he saw her approaching. Mr. Banet was more of an an enigma, quiet and withdrawn, but with a shrewd, intelligent gaze.

But these were only glimpses into the Banet family. Impressions that Eliott gathered from balls, when he had nothing to do but observe the guests from a distance.

Then, Lucas agrees to move in with him, and Alexia tells him, You’re already family, darling, and Eliott finds himself in the middle of Beaufort’s kitchen with Mrs. Banet clinging to him and rest of the family watching on in amusement, and it hits him properly, in the midst of it all, that he is a part of this family now.

Their chaos is his chaos. Their ridiculousness and dramatics are his to bear.

The thought makes Eliott so wildly happy that he thinks he might cry all over again. He can see them together: the Banet’s, Lucas, himself, Daphné, Madeleine. One overly large, patchwork family, one that’s made as much as it is born. One that’s real and imperfect and so full of love.

So, when Eliott finds himself alone for a moment at their garden party, which Lucas keeps insisting is not a wedding even though it may as well be, and he spots Mrs. Banet walking towards the food table, he drains the rest of his wine glass, and subtly intercepts her.

“Eliott,” she says happily when she sees him, linking their arms together. “I was wondering when you were going to come to talk to me.”

Not so subtly, then.

“I don’t want to bother you,” Eliott immediately says, and it’s an old habit that makes him wince. He can practically hear Dr. Daucet’s voice in his hear.

Why do you think your instinct is always to apologize, Eliott? What are you apologizing for?

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Banet’s cheeks are pink and her eyes are glassy. She grins, and her smile is that of a woman much younger than her, teasing and girlish. “You are my son now, after all.”

The ease with which she says it stops him short. “Oh.”

She grips tightly onto his bicep. “That is to say that you’re a part of this family, my dear. You’re one of mine.” She inclines her head to where Eliott can see Emma, Manon, Alexia, and Lucas standing in a circle, their heads bent together as though they’re sharing a secret. “And that extends to your lovely sister as well.”

“Thank you,” Eliott says softly. Mrs. Banet pats him on the cheek, and both of their eyes are watery. “That means more than you know.”

“I think I know.” Mrs. Banet says, with a sad tilt to her mouth. “You know, when I first heard the news that my sister and her husband died, all I could think about was Lucas.”

Her gaze drifts to him as she speaks, to Lucas, who is wrestling his crown of flowers away from Alexia, returning it to his head and pouting when Emma says something that makes all of the girls laugh.

“All I could think about was that sweet boy, now left without a family. We never discussed it, she and I, where Lucas would go if anything happened to them, but I knew there was only one possibility. He needed a family. He needed a home.”

Eliott pictures him, his sweet and sensitive and blisteringly smart Lucas as a child, alone and adrift in the world, and his heart grows heavy. His ribs strain under the weight of it. “So you gave him that.”

When he turns to look at her, Mrs. Banet’s smile is melancholic. “I tried,” she says simply. “But I could only ever do so much. I was never a mother to him, nor was my husband ever his father. There’s no replacement for that.” Her fingers touch her mouth, gaze warm as she takes in her children. “But we all tried together, to become something like a family. There’s some of it I would do differently now, for all of them, but I think...I think we’ve done alright.” She rests her head against Eliott’s shoulder. “They’ve turned out wonderfully, haven’t they?”

Eliott pats the hand that still grips tightly to his bicep. “They have,” he agrees. Lucas' head turns, eyes searching in the crowd as though he can hear Eliott thinking about him, and when he sees Eliott with his aunt, his eyes widen, his mouth dropping open.

“Oh,” Mrs. Banet smirks. “He thinks I’m embarrassing him.” She waves at Lucas with her free hand. “Quickly, Eliott: laugh as though I’ve just said something horribly embarrassing about him.”

The thing is, Eliott realizes, Lucas hardly ever talks about his parents.

There was that moment at Montrose, when Eliott’s aunt was badgering Lucas incessantly about his background, and Lucas had mentioned that his parents were poets, and that they had little money. But aside from that, Eliott knows nothing about them.

He understands it, though. Eliott doesn’t speak about his father unless he absolutely has to. It aches to do so, like prodding at an old scar, and Eliott doesn’t want to ask Lucas to tell him anything that he wouldn’t be willing to share.

That doesn’t stop him from thinking about it, though.

He finds himself in the library one afternoon, carefully combing through the Demaury collection of poetry, searching for any volume with the name Lallemant on the spine. His search yields nothing, aside from distracting Eliott from what was supposed to be an afternoon of finally responding to letters that he’s been meaning to respond to for weeks, and it does nothing to satiate his curiosity.

Still, he makes the decision to wait. He will only ask about Lucas’ family if Lucas gives him an opening to do so. Eliott is patient, a quality nurtured in him by his mother, and with Lucas, he’s even more so. There’s no end to how long he’s willing to wait for him. For anything.

But as it happens, Eliott doesn’t even need to ask.

There’s one night in October when it storms: pounding rain and echoing claps of thunder. Forks of lightning that crack the sky.

They spend the evening in the drawing room, Lucas, Eliott and Daphné, gathered around the fireplace with pots of tea and plates of food. They play cards and Daphné wins every hand. Eliott tells ghost stories until Lucas tells him to stop because he’s bored, even though Eliott has a suspicion it’s because he’s scared.

Eventually, Daphné falls asleep, curled up under a wool blanket on the settee, her open book tumbling from her hands down to the floor.

Eliott folds the corner of a page down to save her place, then wraps another blanket around his shoulders, sitting on the floor with his back braced against the the corner of the settee.

Lucas eyes him from his armchair. “Is there room in there for me?”

In response, Eliott holds the blanket open to him.

Lucas sits between Eliott’s legs, leaning back against his chest and letting out a contended sigh when Eliott folds his arms around him, the blanket covering them both.

A cold nose presses into Eliott’s neck and he gasps.

Lucas giggles into his skin.

“You’re annoying,” Eliott grumbles, but he’s smiling, and Lucas must be able to tell without even looking at him because his hand comes out the blanket, flailing around Eliott’s face until it finds his cheek, then poking him.

“You love me,” Lucas says, sounding nothing short of smug, and Eliott bites at the tip of his finger.

But he can’t help saying it, after a moment, ducking his head to kiss Lucas’ cheek, to whisper in his ear just as another fork of lightning casts long shadows across the drawing room floor, “I love you.”

Lucas turns his head to meet him in a kiss, and Eliott can feel it everywhere when he shivers.

“I love you too,” Lucas murmurs when they part. He tucks his face back into Eliott’s neck, and Eliott shifts his hold on him, lifting one arm so he can stroke his fingers through Lucas’ hair.

Lucas lets out a happy noise, and Eliott smiles, pressing his lips to his forehead.

It’s so peaceful there, in the places where their bodies overlap, underneath their warm blanket, that it feels as though they’ve created a world entirely separate from the one they inhabit. The storm may rage and roar, but there, in the Demaury drawing room, exists only warmth and comfort.

Eliott thinks he could fall asleep like this, with Lucas in his arms and Daphné’s soft snores above them, warmed by the crackling fire.

It would be hell for his back, but it would be worth it.

“This is what it is,” Lucas says softly, and his voice almost too quiet to be heard over the rain against the windows, “to speak of longing between souls. We must have fallen from the same star, my dear, for I loved you before I ever knew you.”

Eliott slowly smooths his hand over Lucas’ hair. “That’s beautiful.” His thumb strokes down the shell of Lucas’ ear. “Where is it from?”

“My mother wrote it.”

Eliott lets out a long breath, resting his chin on the top of Lucas’ head. His eyes are fixed on the tall windows across from them, the world beyond them dark and cavernous, lit only by the occasional stark flash of lightning.

“There used to be manuscripts everywhere in the house,” Lucas says eventually. “From both of them. They would read them aloud constantly, and pore over a single line for hours. It’s why I never liked poetry, because it reminded me too much of them. That one in particular...I heard my mother say it so many times, I could never forget it. But I,” Lucas hands fist in Eliott’s shirt, “I don’t think I really understood it until now.”

Eliott's free hand finds Lucas’ under the blanket. He lifts them together, kissing the inside of Lucas’ wrist, nuzzling into his palm.

He closes his eyes, trying to imprint the words onto his heart.

This is what it is, to speak of longing between souls.

“They would have loved you,” Lucas continues, and there’s a subtle fondness to his voice that makes Eliott smile against the delicate bones of his hand. “I’m sure you could have spent hours talking to them about poetry, or about art.” He lets out a soft laugh. “I would have had to fight to get any of your attention.”

Eliott shakes his head. “Never,” he says softly.

Lucas tugs on Eliott’s hand, lowering them back beneath the folds of the blanket to rest on his stomach.

“We didn’t have a lot of money, but I didn’t realize that, at the time. They never acted like it. I don’t remember them ever fighting, or ever speaking about money around me. They were just...happy, I think. They were always happy.”

Lucas falls silent, and Eliott realizes that he’s crying, small tremors rippling through his back that Eliott can feel in his sternum. Immediately, Eliott wants to comfort him. He wants to wipe his tears and tell him everything will be alright, but in this moment, with Lucas picking at the edges of the oldest scar he has, Eliott doesn’t think its his place.

Eliott knows grief, yes, but he doesn’t know grief like this. So he stays silent, pressing his lips to the crown of Lucas’ head.

I’m so sorry, Lucas. A clap of thunder echoes in the distance. The rain continues to beat against the windows. It’s unfair, and that’s all we can say about it. It’s so fucking unfair.

Eliott doesn’t know how long they stay that way for, but it doesn’t matter. He counts time by how many passes his hand has made down Lucas’ spine, by how many shudders he can feel under his palm, by how many times Lucas’ fists unclench from his shirt, only to grip back onto it.

Eventually, Lucas shifts against him, turning his head away from Eliott’s neck, and his voice is a little more solid to say, “I was lucky, you know. There are so many others like me who lost their parents and had to be taken to an orphanage, or to homes with cruel people. The Banet’s, they...they’ve done so much for me. They’ve given me a family, and a home, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t-” He exhales softly. “There’s something missing in me, and it won’t ever be replaced.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Eliott tells him gently.

“I know,” Lucas says, and it sounds a little sad, but it also sounds like something he’s thought about before. Something he carries with him.

When the silence between them stretches out into minutes, Eliott tentatively says, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Lucas leans away from Eliott’s chest, sitting up and turning on the spot so he can face him. The blanket drops from his shoulders, pooling around his waist.

His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, his face is red, but he’s smiling softly as he cups Eliott’s cheeks in his hands, pressing their foreheads together and letting a sigh unfurl between them.

“It’s so easy for me to tell you things,” Lucas says. “Well, not easy necessarily, but it - it feels right.” He kisses Eliott, short and sweet, and it feels like thank you. It feels like you’re the safest place I know. 

“It’s the same for me,” Eliott whispers. “I hope you know that.”

Lucas’ smile widens. “I do.”

They fire has died to embers, and with it, the warmth in the room begins to be taken over by the damp cold from the storm, so they make the decision to leave, having to try to wake Daphné a few times before bidding her goodnight, then making their way back to their own room, holding hands while Lucas wears the blanket like a cape.

It’s only when Eliott is sitting on the end of their bed, watching Lucas blow out the final candle on the mantlepiece, that he says, hesitantly, “I wish I could read her work.”

It’s too dark for Eliott to interpret the glance Lucas sends him, and he’s worried he’s overstepped, until Lucas steps towards him and says lightly, “You probably could. My father was only published in journals, but she had a book printed, years ago. I’ve never been able to find a copy, but I’m sure you could, with your,” he pokes Eliott in the forehead, “connections.”

“Would you mind?” Eliott asks, grasping Lucas’ finger and tugging on his hand, placing his palm flat over Eliott’s heart. “If I read it? If you would rather I didn’t, I’d understand.”

“No.” Lucas says softly. “I wouldn’t mind.” His thumb strokes across Eliott’s skin. “But thank you for asking.”

“Of course.”

“Her name was Hélène,” Lucas says. “Hélène Lallemant. But the book was published under the pen name Cezanne Olivier.”

The name gives Eliott pause. It tugs at something in his mind, a thin forest green spine and faded gold lettering, but he can’t be sure, not entirely, so he just nods, and says, “I’ll look for it.”

“Alright.” Lucas drops his hand from Eliott’s chest, kneeing up onto the bed next to him, then crawling under the covers, burrowing himself into the pillows.

“Come on.” His voice is muffled. “I’m cold and exhausted, and I’d like you to hold me, please.”

Without hesitation, Eliott goes.

His suspicion is confirmed the next day, when he ventures back into the library and finds that same thin volume. The lettering is faded, but not too faded so as not to be discerned, and Eliott sets it down carefully on the desk in the library, making a plan to return to it after he finishes his meeting with Maurice to survey any damages to the grounds from the storm.

But, when he returns, soaked from the light rain that continues to fall, covered in mud from walking the tree line, the book isn’t where he left it.

He checks the bookcases, on the chance that Madeleine may have re-shelved it, but cannot find it there. He checks the other tables, the drawing room, the study, and grows increasingly worried that he may have lost it somewhere, until he walks past the open door to the bedroom, and he sees Lucas in there, curled up on the window seat with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and an open book in his hand, one with a deep green cover and faint gold lettering.

Eliott watches him for a moment, the way his eyes slowly travel over each line, the way his fingers caress each page before turning it, before he smiles, then quietly turns back down the hallway.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

Also also “Don’t come until I tell you to.” for Jesse and Vrox! Please

My dude I am L I V I N G for these prompts THANK YOU!!!! ^____^ lmao I’ve done more writing in the first month of 2019 than I did all of 2018??? this is my YEAR X’D

send me nsfw prompts for my OCs?? :P

also I wrote this listening to ‘True Love’ by P!nk and I’m not sure if it applies more to Jesse or Vrox? bc like Vrox is a dick in general but Jesse is a dick in the bedroom ya know XD

you know the drill, under the cut 😉

Vrox bit the pillow in a vain attempt to muffle a shout, shuddering as Jesse thrust right up against his prostate. Each thrust racked up another level to the pleasure, already beyond anything he thought he could endure without cumming. His hole felt abused, his dick raw, and he was going to have Jesse’s handprints in black and purple on his hips where he had gripped too tight.

Jesse buried himself deep inside him and leaned in; Vrox could feel his hair tickle his shoulder, his breath warm on his ear. “Hey, you okay?”

Any other time, the concern would have made Vrox’s heart do that weird flip thing that was decidedly unhealthy, but this was not any other time.

“Fuck me.” His voice burned his throat, though the whine that followed it as Jesse ground deeper into him betrayed the strong effect he was going for.

Jesse laughed, light and carefree like he didn’t know what he was doing to Vrox’s insides right now. Or maybe, more to the point, like he knew exactly what he was doing to Vrox’s insides right now. “Okay. You’re the boss.”

What a lie that was. Vrox was being fucked like a little bitch and they both knew it.

That thought went straight to Vrox’s cock and he rutted against the pillow Jesse had so kindly placed under him, timing it to each of Jesse’s thrusts, pushing back in time to get him as deep as possible. Fuck, he didn’t even know it was possible to get that deep. He shuddered again, arched his back.

Jesse made a noise of approval. “Getting close?” he asked, and, since his mouth was to it anyway, nipped Vrox’s ear.

“Yes!” It was a wounded sound. Vrox’s voice was raw from the screaming Jesse had forced out of him when he’d bent him over the kitchen table in the middle of making dinner and taken him then and there, hard.

“Don’t come until I tell you to,” Jesse reminded him. There was an unsteadiness in his voice, though, that Vrox felt in the pit of his stomach.

Jesse bit his shoulder, smiled into the red skin as Vrox groaned so loud the neighbours probably heard. And then, because he was evil, he tucked his hand underneath his boyfriend and grabbed his cock.

Vrox jolted like he’d been electrocuted and made a noise as such. Jesse felt him throb in his hand, pain and pleasure mingling to push him to greater heights.

“Jesse. Jesse, stop, I can’t-”

“Don’t cum,” Jesse murmured, stroking him ever so gently.

“Jesse!”

Jesse made a soft noise in his throat and kissed his neck, used his weight to push him down as he slowed the pace of his thrusts, making each one count. Slow and deep, seeking out Vrox’s prostrate through practice and skill and care.

Vrox was whining with each one, wild and needy, beyond words. He trembled under Jesse, fitfully rolling his hips, trying to get more.

Jesse’s breath was catching behind him like it always did when he was working himself up. It was the hottest sound in the world to Vrox’s enhanced hearing: the ridges on the other end of the dildo were rubbing against his dick, building the pleasure as he fucked Vrox into his own orgasm. He could hear how wet Jesse was with each thrust, hear the pleasure starting to take hold, feel it in the way Jesse’s thrusts were starting to lose rhythm compared to how mercilessly consistent he usually was.

“Okay,” Jesse whispered, his hips pressing flush to Vrox’s ass. “Okay, baby, you can cum whenever you want.”

Instant relief. Vrox buried his face in the pillow and lifted his hips, fucking himself back onto Jesse’s cock. Jesse held still and let Vrox’s do it. His hand smoothed down the curve of Vrox’s back, comforting him as he always did, but Vrox knew just how much he was having to hold himself back; Vrox was grinding those ridges back against his dick with every move he made. The knowledge sent a thrill through Vrox, half petty revenge and half satisfaction that he was giving his boyfriend pleasure.

“Jess- Jesse, I’m-”

“It’s okay.” Jesse’s hand slipped under him again and found his cock. “Cum for me.”

He made a fist around Vrox, didn’t even have time to move it before Vrox came for the third time that day, both blessed and cursed with a demon’s refractory period. Jesse knew what he needed, holding his hand still so as not to completely overwhelm him with the sensation. Vrox let him hold him for that minute as he recovered. It was only when Jesse lifted his hand to his mouth and licked away the cum Vrox had left there that Vrox flipped over and threw Jesse underneath him.

Jesse’s eyes widened in surprise, then immediately fell closed as Vrox shoved three fingers inside him. He was so wet he opened easily for him, his hips nudging up, silently begging for more. The look of pure ecstasy on Jesse’s face traveled straight to Vrox’s cock, which twitched once but couldn’t do more, not with the multiple orgasms Jesse had subjected him to today.

“Vrox,” Jesse breathed. His eyes were open, drinking in Vrox’s face. “Oh, god, Vrox.”

Vrox kissed him, the scent of his desire and love - love - washing over him. Jesse was so limp under him, mouth welcoming his tongue, chest heaving, legs spread - trusting Vrox completely.

The memory of the first time they’d done this flashed in Vrox’s mind: Jesse had been so uncertain, pre-transition and so painfully uncomfortable in his own skin. He had kept his binder on, let Vrox touch him only through his underwear. Now, years later and well into his transition, he was so much more comfortable, with his flat chest and the changes testosterone had brought. The dysphoria was still there, obviously, but it was at least somewhat bearable now. And it would be fully gone one day - Vrox didn’t care if he had to sell what small scraps of soul he had left, Jesse was going to be completely happy with himself one day.

Vrox broke the kiss and smirked at him. “You’re not allowed to come until I tell you to,” he said, smugly.

Jesse gave him his signature ‘oh, really?’ look.

“Yeah, really.” Vrox leaned in close enough that their noses touched. Jesse pressed his lips together, dimple struggling to appear. “You cum before I say you can and I’ll… beat your ass.”

Jesse burst out laughing but within seconds it had turned into a gasped moan as his walls spasmed around Vrox’s fingers. “Holy shit, Vrox!”

Vrox twisted his fingers inside him, felt Jesse’s slick run down his knuckles. “So fucking wet for me,” he whispered.

Jesse whined and Vrox felt him tighten around his fingers.

“I hope you’re not planning on cumming,” Vrox said, all mock-sternness.

Jesse muttered something.

“What?”

“You’re an asshole!” Jesse said loudly. He was grinning widely from the bantering, but it was strained now; his gaze kept flicking down to where Vrox’s fingers were pumping in and out of him. “Vrox…”

“Yeah?”

Jesse chewed the inside of his lip. “Come on. Please?”

“Please what?”

“Please make me cum, asshole!” Jesse smacked at him and Vrox dodged easily out the way, extracting immediate revenge by shoving his fingers right into Jesse’s G-spot.

Jesse’s hips bucked on instinct and he swore. He gripped the sheets with two hands, holding on for dear life. “Vrox!”

“Fine,” Vrox sighed, rubbing the pads of his fingers in circles on Jesse’s G-spot, changing the tune of the other boy’s whines. “You can cum.” His blase words were offset by the soft kiss he pressed to the other boy’s chest, just over his heart.

Jesse whimpered, clenched down around Vrox’s fingers and came hard, fluids leaving a damp patch on the sheets. Vrox watched him twitch with satisfaction, coaxing him through it with deliberate strokes with his fingertips, before crawling up to lie beside him.

Jesse rolled over and cuddled up against him, rubbing his thighs together lazily to savour the last traces of his orgasm. “Love you,” he said through a yawn.

“You called me an asshole less than a minute ago,” Vrox pointed out dryly.

“You are an asshole.” Jesse smiled, tilted his head back for a kiss. “But I love you.”

Vrox relented and kissed him, soft and sweet. “Love you, too, sunshine.”