#in dreams or waking i frankly do not care

[queerofthedagger]

Okay but have we considered dark, co-dependent Dreamling yet?

Hob, who has seen the best but also the very worst of humanity again and again, and for whom something just snaps when he finds Dream in Burgess' basement. Dream, who has always had an ambivalent relationship with humanity and who, with a bit of a nudge in the opposite direction than canon, might be pushed to bitter caution. Both of them starting off just a little bit unhinged about the other's safety post-Burgess, and having no one around them, really, to stop them from becoming worse.

Dream who sends nightmares to people who so much as mildly annoy Hob, and eventually sends nightmares to keep an eye on Hob, full stop. Hob, who's actually quite touched, what do you mean it might be a bit unhealthy? Who starts out by making sure people in the New Inn or around him know to keep their distance from Dream, who's quite willing to pick a fight (and hide a body) of anyone who looks at Dream the wrong way. Who grows on the inhabitants of the Dreaming so much that eventually, they are quite happy to listen to him, too, when he tells them to protect their boss even when it doesn't seem necessary. Even when said boss doesn't ask them to.

Just, Dream and Hob who become increasingly protective of each other, who become increasingly willing to do anything to keep each other safe, and if that means burning the whole world down? Well, then let it burn. Who go on a downward spiral so slow, by the point anyone really notices it's way too late to disentangle them from each other, and their ruthless devotion to no one but themselves. Dreamling who are ready to kill and abuse their power for each other, and as such are balancing each other so much that it is almost impossible to stop them without killing them both.

Just, Dreamling as 'us against everyone else.' They sure both are obsessive enough for this; all it really needs is the realisation that the other is just as bad.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | angus tully x reader

sequel to 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲, won't really make much sense without reading that!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | holiday break can only last so long, but angus wants this to be more than a fling-- and you, as much as you want to deny it, already know it's more than a fling. the question remains if either one of you will admit it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public sex, breeding kink, very inappropriate activities in a church, secret relationship, a wee bit of angst and fluff at the end!

part 3 coming soon!

“Fuck, I don’t wanna go back,” he groaned, dropping his head defeatedly into the crook of your neck.  “I never wanna go back to that horrible fucking school.”

“I guess you’ll just see me at Easter break then, huh?” you purred, grazing your teeth over his ear.

“You know, if sex with you keeps lining up with the Catholic calendar, it’s gonna give me a complex or something,” he noticed.

“Oh, I can do better than that,” you beamed.  “Next time you see me at Mass, I won’t be wearing any panties.  And you’ll be the only other one who knows.”

He perked up again, balancing himself over you with bent arms against the mattress.  “I swear, you’re a dream come true.  A really fucked up dream I had after seeing a porno mag or something.”

You laughed, but it was cut off with him pulling you into another kiss— sweet and slow, with both of you smiling against each other.  With your limbs tangled together under the sheets, you melted together into your bed; and no, none of it really seemed real yet.  Every time this happened, you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you were hooking up with Angus Tully.  Frankly, you were sort of trying not to think about it, at least not too much.  If you really tried, you could look at his face and see the little kid you babysat all those years ago, and it just made you feel sort of awful about it… yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

Your smile fell into a gasp when he started to kiss your neck, his hands guiding your back as it arched slightly.  When he pressed his body against yours, you felt him getting hard against your leg, and you groaned softly.

“Fuck, Angus, again?” you whined.  “We already went twice—”

“I’m leaving in two days,” he explained, “I need you as many times as I can get away with it.”

You wanted to protest, say something about how sore you were or about how he needed to leave and go back home before someone noticed he was gone— but his slender fingers were already diving between your legs and making you just moan instead.

“See?  You’re wet already,” he noticed with a playful mockery to his tone.  “I’ve gotta take care of you, baby…”

Oh, you couldn’t stand it when he talked like that— when he made you feel so vulnerable to him, so paradoxically submissive.  When this started a couple weeks back, it was the other way around: you were the cool, older woman with all the power.  You told him what you wanted and he was more than happy to oblige, never questioning you— he was obedient, basically.  But once you’d had a few more encounters, he realized that you wanted him just as badly… that he could make you desperate, if he wanted.  Once he’d had the smallest taste of control, he was suddenly a changed man; now, he loved to tease and taunt you, see how far he could push you, even once he made you beg— and you expected you’d never get to live that down. 

He watched your face with a mischievous smile as he slowly slid two fingers into you, watching the way you winced and then relaxed.  “I’ll be careful,” he promised, “I know you’re all sensitive still… thought you might wake up the whole house with that last one.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed, remembering how he’d had to cover your mouth with his hand when he made you come.  These were issues you hadn’t considered much before, since you spent most of the year living in a dorm where you didn’t really care if anyone heard what you were up to.  Staying in your parents’ house again— and secretly fucking their friends’ son in your childhood bedroom— posed new challenges to say the least.

You gasped when his fingers curled inside you, rubbing that spot that made everything clench for a moment.  “Mm,” he observed encouragingly, “like that?”

“Yes,” you hissed under your breath.  Just when you began to let your eyes fall shut, they shot open when he added a third finger inside you.  “Fuck!” 

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” he scolded, “you can fit three fingers just fine— my cock’s bigger than all that anyways.”

He twisted the fingers inside you as your hips rocked, shivers running over your skin.  “Yeah, but still— fuck, it’s a lot…”

“You take it just fine,” he assured.  “You take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Sh-shut up,” you whimpered, and he laughed softly.

“You’re so good for me,” he continued anyways, making you bite your lip in hopes he wouldn’t notice his effect on you.  Whenever he said stuff like that, you just wanted to ask him who the fuck he thought he was— it made you want to shove him off of you and pin him down, remind him of his place.  But you never did, because letting him take control always felt so damn good…

His head dipped down a bit under the covers— and his lips latched onto one of your nipples, making you gasp and grab his hair with one of your hands.  “Oh god— yes,” you praised, shuddering a bit as he suckled hard on the bud.

He moaned around it, his free hand holding the other breast and keeping you down even when your back longed to arch deeper.  “You get so wet when I do this,” he noticed as he pulled away briefly, moving to suck the other for a moment as his fingers gently pumped into you.  When he pushed them in all the way to the knuckle, at the same time that his tongue swirled around your nipple just right, your patience finally gave in.

“Just fuck me,” you begged, tugging harder on his curls as you felt him smile against your skin.  “God, I just— fuck—”

He pulled away from your breast with a pop and a grin.  “Just ask nicely, baby, and I’m all yours.”

“I know you want to, just fuck me,” you growled, but he shook his head and you clenched your jaw.

“You can say it,” he encouraged, “just use the magic word.”

You rolled your eyes, hating the juvenile way of describing it, but his fingers were still moving inside you and you just needed it too bad— “Please,” you breathed.  “Please fuck me.”

“There you go,” he praised, slowly pulling his drenched fingers out of you and moving his hips to line up with yours instead.  He was so hard; you were almost impressed with his resolve, though at the moment you were mostly just annoyed with it.  “Look up at me,” he demanded, making you meet his gaze before he pushed himself inside you.

It was almost too intense, looking right into his eyes as he thrust into you carefully— you bit your lip, watching the heavy sigh of relief leave him as he filled you.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his eyes scanning all over your face and watching your expression change as he pressed his cock as deep as possible.  “You’re fucking perfect.”

You didn’t really believe that, but you at least would concede that this moment was perfect.

You held tighter onto him, legs wrapping around his hips, as he leaned in closer and moaned against your neck.  “How am I supposed to leave when you feel this fucking good?” he groaned lowly, and you felt yourself already beginning to pulse inside as you moved closer to the edge.  “I feel good too, right?”

Poor thing— if only he knew that it was his own fault you withheld praise, just because he sounded too precious when he asked you for reassurance like that.  He was really fucking talkative, way more than you expected; sometimes you thought if you didn’t say anything, he’d just go off on these wild tangents about how bad he needs you.  “You feel good,” you replied, trying to keep it a little vague so he’d ask for more.

“How good?” he asked with a grin, and you smiled, too, because he was wonderfully predictable sometimes.

“So good,” you cooed, “so fucking good that I’m gonna come way too fast.”

“Hey, that’s my thing,” he joked.  His stamina had definitely increased a lot in just a few encounters, but he still had a habit of coming quickly if you got him a bit too riled up.  Not that you really minded… it was still cute, after all, and he usually made it up to you one way or another.

He picked up his pace, letting out a low moan against your ear.  “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he ordered, panting with each quick thrust.

“Fuck, Angus, I want you come,” you replied, whispering against his ear.  “I want you to fill me—”

“Fuck…”

“And put all your come so deep in me—”

“Fuck, baby,” he whined again.  “I’m so fucking close.”

You whined, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling your chest get tighter as you moved closer to the edge.

“Tell me you want me to breed you,” he added; okay, so much for predictable…

“Wh-what?” you choked, feeling suddenly hot all over.  “Angus, I—”

“I know, you won’t,” he soothed, “it’s just, you know, pretend… just say you want it, please.”

You swallowed but nodded, holding on tighter to the back of his neck.  “I… I want you to get me pregnant.”

“God, yes,” he whined through his teeth, fucking you faster.

“I-I want you to fill me up so I can have a baby,” you continued in a whisper, and he moaned again as his grip on your hips tightened.  You could hardly believe what you were saying, nor that he had asked you to say it, and yet it made the most wonderfully bizarre feeling stir inside you— strangest of all, it was turning you on.  “F-fuck, Angus, I’m gonna come.”

“You’re gonna come with me?” he pressed, sighing when you nodded.  “Fuck, let’s do it— we’ll come together.  That’ll definitely get you pregnant.”

“Jesus, Angus,” you hissed, “what are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t get you hot, thinking about it?” he challenged.  “Thinking about us making a baby right now?  Imagining how good it would feel to let me breed you and make you a mommy?”

“Sh-shut the fuck up,” you grunted, but you were already trying to hold it back.

“God, you want it so bad,” he noticed— how was he only this perceptive in these sorts of situations?  “You want me to come in you and knock you up, I can tell.  You’re gonna come just thinking about it.”

Even though it wasn’t really just thinking about it— it was him fucking you deep and fast and hard after a whole night of making love— you were forced to bite your lip and nod.

“C’mon, baby, I wanna feel it again,” he purred.  “Feels so fucking perfect when you come around me— you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Your heart jumped and your eyes shut tight.  “God,” you groaned in frustration, but he just smiled and held you tighter.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, “nobody has to know, it’s just me— you’re mine, right?  Say it.  Say you’re mine.”

You whined when it hit you— and nothing had ever hit you quite like that.  Tensing up inside, pulsing uncontrollably, you felt the weight on your chest lift and you dug your nails into his shoulders as he fucked you through it.  “Fuck!  I-I’m yours!” you blurted out, unable to stop it when you were drowning in your ecstasy like that.

He swore against your ear, and gave you hardly one more thrust before falling over the edge himself, groaning weakly as his body sank down onto yours.

You hoped against all odds that he wouldn’t force you to address any of what you’d just said; he looked so exhausted that you almost wanted to let him fall asleep here if it meant avoiding that conversation.  But it was just like him to only give you about ten seconds of silence before running his mouth again.

He started by just sitting up enough to kiss you on the cheek, then the lips, then the side of your forehead when you turned away.  “That was so hot,” he announced, still catching his breath, as he grinned down at you.

“That was… different,” you admitted as you hoped your embarrassment wouldn’t show on your face.  “You weren’t serious, right?  I mean, you know I’m on the pill—”

“Yeah, of course,” he assured, “it’s just, I don’t know, a fantasy.”

You raised an eyebrow as you looked at him.  “Respectfully, I thought it was more of a nightmare— you know, it’s kinda worst-case-scenario here.”

“No, no, I know— that’s why it’s fun,” he explained.  “‘Cause it’s, like, bad.  Well, not bad, but… scary.  In a good way!  Like a rollercoaster or something.”

“Yeah, sure,” you scoffed, “just like a rollercoaster.  That’s why the maternity ward at the hospital looks so much like Six Flags.”

“You know what I mean,” he laughed.  “It’s just… if it actually happened it would be a huge fucking deal… but just imagining it, just for fun I mean, it makes my heart race.  See?”

He picked up one of your hands and put it on his neck, pressing your fingers into his pulse so you could feel its rapidness.  “Fair enough,” you shrugged, “you sure scared the crap out of me for a second.”

“You liked it,” he cooed, kissing the tip of your nose.  “You like being mine, too.”

Even if you could’ve hid the reaction on your face somehow, the way your weak muscles still found the energy to clench around his softening cock gave you away; he purred as he smiled, kissing you more tenderly on the lips this time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered to you.

“I probably look like a mess,” you laughed quietly, “I don’t even want to know what my hair looks like after a night like this.”

“Yeah, that’s how I like you, though— you look pretty all fucked up,” he explained.

You glanced over as he moved to bury his face in your neck again, only to see the slightest blue glow in the window: the early light just before dawn.  “Angus, it’s almost morning,” you noticed.  “You need to go.”

“Not yet,” he begged, hugging you tighter.  “I bet I can make you come again—”

“No,” you snapped, “if your parents find out you snuck out— and if anyone knows you came here—”

“Baby, c’mon,” he pouted, “I’ll be quick, nobody’s gonna know—”

“I swear to god, Angus—”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, “then just kiss me before I go.”

He held your cheek and turned your face to his, and you kissed him; you hated these kisses, the ones that felt like goodbye.  They were amazing, of course, but they always broke your heart.

“I’ll see you later?” he assumed.

“You’ll see me on Sunday,” you replied.

“Nooo, I can’t wait that long,” he whined.

“Yes you can,” you breathed.  “Now get up, please, before I have to literally kick you out.”

“Fine,” he relented, climbing off of you and searching the floor for his boxers and t-shirt.

“I still can’t believe you ran here without even putting a coat on,” you remembered, “it’s below freezing out.”

“Whatever, it’s not even a block to my house,” he rolled his eyes.

“Mr. Lindy across the street takes out the trash insanely early in the morning— what if he sees you running back to your house in the snow without any fucking clothes on?!” 

“He was young once, right?  He’ll understand,” Angus laughed.

“I’m hoping he doesn’t understand,” you groaned, “‘cause if he figures it out and tells my parents—”

“I know,” he breathed, slipping on his shoes and leaning over the bed to kiss you quickly.  “It’ll be fine, okay?”

“Okay,” you smiled back.

There was a brief pause before Angus dropped his arms down against his sides, hitting his legs; “Well, I… guess I’ll see you at Mass,” he announced.

“That’s gotta be the weirdest thing to say after hooking up with somebody,” you decided.

“I couldn’t think of anything else!” he defended.  “I’m about to jump out your window, it’s already a pretty weird transition.”

“Okay, first of all, please don’t jump,” you replied, “but fair enough.  I’ll see you at Mass.”

He hesitated, suddenly giving you one more kiss— one that lingered a little more— before opening your window and beginning to climb out.

~

Mass was certainly a lot more interesting when you kept feeling Angus’ eyes on you.  His family had been just barely on time for the service, so you hadn’t been able to talk to him before it started; you could tell he was dying to know if you’d gone through with it.

You tugged on the bottom of your dress as you adjusted yourself in the pew; it was definitely a weird feeling, and you couldn’t stop worrying that someone, somehow, would see up your skirt and get an eyeful.  The anxiety of it was oddly arousing, though— it made you understand a bit better what Angus had said about the whole scary in a good way thing.

When you occasionally spared a glance at him, you noticed that Angus still looked a little underslept; you’d both been up all night just a couple days ago, but the difference was that your parents didn’t really mind if you spent most of the next day in your room, so you’d had a chance to catch up— Angus’ parents were more determined to make use of his time off from school, and had him doing all kinds of chores and activities on Saturday that prevented him from getting more than a quick nap here and there.

And they’d tugged him out of bed bright and early for church today, so he was probably still feeling the effects of an all-nighter.  That said, he certainly didn’t seem lacking in energy at the moment— he kept wringing his hands, constantly glancing at you, so noticeably that his mom lightly smacked him on the shoulder when she noticed it.

But you were looking across the aisle at him, too.  If for no other reason than how cute he looked in his shirt and tie.

After the service, as everyone mingled around coffee and donuts, Angus made a beeline towards you— you’d kind of hoped he would be a little more subtle.

“Hey,” he greeted, and you just nodded at him with a smirk.  “It’s been too long.”

He glanced at all the people passing by, stepping closer to you to let someone walk past but never moving back; he waited until no one was too close before he spoke again in a lower voice.

“Are you really not wearing any…?” he asked, an extra sparkle in his eye and a mischievous smile on his face.  His smile dropped a bit when you nodded, though, and his eyes raked over you in the most intoxicating, lascivious way.  You were sure you’d never had someone look at you like that, like they’d give anything to devour you right then— and with no panties to hold it, you felt your arousal slicken where your thighs rubbed together.

He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was looking over at him as he adjusted his corduroys awkwardly; you licked your lips, a little too flattered by the effect you had on him.

“That’s, um, that’s…” he mumbled, tripping over his words.  “That’s really… yeah.”

“Really what?” you challenged as you bit your lip briefly, moving closer to him and all but batting your eyes up at him.

“It’s really fucking sexy,” he whispered.

“Yeah?” you cooed.  “I think it’s sexy that you think it’s sexy.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about—” he began.

“I know,” you sighed, “me too.”

“I wasn’t even tired that day— I was wired, actually,” he laughed quietly.  “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart’s pace picked up a bit, and you glanced away briefly.  “I, um… I thought about you, too.

“There’s gotta be somewhere we can go,” he whispered.  “It’s a big place— everyone’s here, if we just… found an empty room—”

“Jesus, Angus— in a church?!” you hissed.

“Come on,” he begged, “I don’t know when we’ll get a chance again— and I’m leaving tomorrow— and I want you so bad—”

“Shh,” you warned him, making sure no one was nearby again.  “We’ll figure something out— just not here.  It’s too risky.”

“But I need you now,” he insisted, voice lower and darker as he stepped just a bit closer to you.  “It won’t take us long— I mean, it definitely won’t take me long, after spending the last two days thinking about you.”

You crossed your arms, looking down at the floor, and you felt him lean in over you.  “Please, baby?” he whispered under his breath.

Releting, you took a glance at the crowd and made sure nobody was looking in your direction.  “You go find an empty room in the east wing.  I’ll talk to a few people— so it doesn’t look like we’re going together— and I’ll come find you in a few minutes, okay?”

“Great,” he beamed.  “Uh, which way is east again?”

You pointed him in the right direction and watched him bound away, sighing to yourself as you re-entered the crowd.  You got a lot of questions about your plan now that you finished your degree— and you found yourself repeating the same stock answer about how your graduate program didn’t start until the fall so you had the spring and summer to stay home.  Even though you knew you needed to kill some time to look less suspicious, you found yourself glancing constantly towards the east wing, getting more and more impatient for your chance to slip away as unnoticed as possible.

As the crowd was clearing out and nearly everyone’s attention was turned onto somebody’s new baby, you took the opportunity to disappear into the dark hallway.  As you peered around the doors, you saw Angus peeking out at you through one of the little windows; the door opened, and you slipped into an abandoned Sunday school classroom, barely having time to gingerly shut the door behind you before you felt his lips on your neck and his hand sliding up your thigh.

“That took forever,” he complained, and before you could remind him it had hardly been five minutes, his fingers were exploring between your legs.  “Fuck, what’re you so wet for?” he teased, and you groaned as you pulled him closer by his pants and hopped up to sit on the low bookshelf nearby.

“Just hurry up,” you hissed, “we need to get this over with before somebody finds us here.”

He opened his fly quickly, but struggled slightly to free himself from the confines of his trousers; you hummed a bit when he got it out, pressing it against you right away as you moved your hips up.

Thrusting into you all at once, you both sighed slowly; you took hold of his shoulders, he grabbed onto your hips, and instantly he began to fuck into you impatiently.

“God, you’re so tight,” he hissed against your ear.  “Touch yourself— I want you to come, too.”

You reached between your bodies to put a few fingers on your clit, rubbing fast in hopes that you could catch up with him.

“Do you always do what you’re told?” he mocked playfully.

“I think the fact that we’re doing this right after church proves that I don’t,” you replied.

“Guess you only do what I tell you to,” he shrugged, which really made you want to talk back, but you couldn’t because you were trying not to moan too loudly.

He moved faster inside you, and something about the angle of sitting up on the shelf was making him hit just the right spot— or maybe you were sensitive from the exhilarating fear of getting caught.

“What if I got you pregnant here?” he purred, making you arch your back slightly.  “Wouldn’t that be funny?”

“You’ve got a weird sense of humor, Tully,” you breathed, struggling not to let your voice come out all whiny and weak.

“Knocked up at St. Mary’s… it’s what God would want, right?”

“Do you never shut up?” you hissed.

“No,” he smirked, “you’re cute when you’re ticked off at me.”

His eyes met yours, and you felt a strange emotion stir in your chest: you bit your lip, willing yourself to tear away from his gaze, but you found it impossible somehow.

One of his hands moved from your hip up to your chest, palming at you through your dress.  You tensed up inside, making him wince a bit, and you couldn’t believe how close you were already.

“Oh god, baby, m’gonna come,” you whimpered, moving your hand even faster over your clit; he groaned in approval, leaning in to kiss all along your neck.

“Come for me,” he pleaded, “I’m so fucking close— please come, fuck—”

“R-right there,” you gasped, gripping his shoulder tighter— actually, that wasn’t the only place you were gripping him tighter.  He was struggling to maintain the pace of his thrusts, in fact, with how hard your walls were bearing down on him.  “Yes, yes, yes—”

“Not too loud,” he warned you, and you bit hard on your own lip to suppress your moan: it stayed in your throat instead, and you heard him gasp as he heard and felt you reaching your peak.  He had to take his hand off your chest and put it on the bookshelf under you to help keep you upright, and he looked down between your bodies to watch himself give you a few final thrusts.

He stopped suddenly, whimpering slightly as he buried himself in you as deep as he could go; you sighed and laid back on the bookshelf again, having to tilt your head to avoid a figurine of some prophet or saint that you had absolutely no interest in identifying at the moment.

Angus took a moment to catch his breath, before looking back over his shoulder and through the door’s window to make sure no one was in the hallway.  He pulled his cock out of you carefully and did his best to fit it back into his pants.  As you felt a warm oozing feeling between your legs, your face began to heat up.

“Maybe I didn’t think this through,” you realized.

“What?” he mumbled.

“I’m gonna have to go out there with nothing on under my dress, with your come leaking out of me.”

He bit his lip.

“It’s not sexy, Angus!  It’s very inconvenient!” you frowned.

“It’s both,” he insisted.  “It’s very much both.”

~

Though you did get another chance to see Angus before he left, it wasn’t that sort of rendezvous, unfortunately.  Although, just sitting and talking with him was wonderful, too— in an entirely different way.  See, that was the thing that scared you most, even more than how badly you’d come to crave his touch: how happy you felt just being with him.

He was funny, and weird, and seemed to think your stories from college were fascinating; he was well-read, especially for a high school student, and you two could chat about your favorite books— a hobby most of your classmates in college found too nerdy to sympathize with.  

It probably looked totally wholesome from the outside: two childhood friends catching up while they were back home for a while.  And you, you probably looked normal and cool on the outside— you were trying to, at least.  But inside, you were terrified.  You wanted it to be like what Angus said— scary, in a good way, like a rollercoaster— but you were starting to just feel sick.  You know, like an actual rollercoaster would…

“Everyone there is so… dumb,” Angus decided as he leaned back, looking up at the ceiling.

“That can’t be true, it’s a good school,” you tried to encourage him.

“I mean, maybe they could be smart, but they act like morons,” he clarified.  “They hate me, too, and I don’t even really know why.”

“Probably because they can sense that you think they’re all morons,” you suggested; and he looked over at you, as if he’d genuinely never thought of that before.

But instead of addressing that, he sat up again and changed the subject.  “My parents probably want me to go back and, like, put my trunk in the car and stuff…”

“Right,” you nodded, “you should go.”

“Yeah— b-but, listen, um, before I do…” he trailed off, leaning a little closer to you on the couch.  “I wanted to, you know, talk.  About something.”

“We’ve been talking for half an hour,” you noticed.

“Right, uh— I meant something specific,” he explained, his cheeks seeming to get a little bit more pink.  “I… I won’t be back until spring break, you know…”

“Uh huh,” you nodded, raising an eyebrow as you wondered what he was getting at.

“And, you know, we’ve been having such a great time,” he went on, and your heart twisted.  You’d heard this spiel before: the things are so good now, why do we need to put a label on it? why can’t we just have fun talk.  The you’re great, but not good enough for more than this talk.  You decided to jump in and spare him before he said anything too… honest.

“I get it,” you promised, and he looked at you nervously.  “We’re gonna be too far apart for too long— and you shouldn’t, you know, feel like you’re tied down to anything.  It’s okay— I didn’t think I was, like, your girlfriend or anything.”

“R-right,” he coughed, looking away and putting his hand on the back of his neck.  “Yeah, that’s— that’s what I was gonna say.  I knew you’d understand.”

You smiled, wishing you weren’t always so goddamn understanding.  “But it was fun— a good way to kill time over the break, for sure.”

“Yeah,” he agreed alongside a thin laugh.  “I… I think I’ll always owe you, for being my first time and all.”

“Well, you’ve certainly spent your first two weeks of not being a virgin pretty well,” you snorted.  “I had a good time.  We’ll call it even.”

“And… when I come back?” he pressed.  “Maybe we can, I dunno… maybe we can do it again.”

You grinned and tilted your head.  “Yeah, I like that idea.”

“But can I still call you?” he asked nervously.

“Of course!” you beamed.  “You’ll have to tell me if you get any good books assigned this semester.”

“Yeah, I doubt it,” he scoffed, but his smile lifted just a bit.

“I can come see you off, if you want,” you offered, “but it might make your mom suspect something…”

“You’re probably right,” he admitted, “I wish you weren’t, but you are— but I’ll call first thing when I get there!”

You smiled, and he gave you a hug before he left; and he promised to call again, though you’d believed him the first time.  And the next time you stayed up all night with Angus, it was on the phone— he snuck out of bed with a bag of quarters, and told you the phone was free so you wouldn’t feel bad, and talked to you about everything he could possibly think of.

Except, you didn’t quite make it all night: you fell asleep at some point, while he was talking about his English paper… not that he could blame you.

And for some reason, one that even he himself couldn’t quite explain, he kept feeding the phone quarters and listening to you sleep; he didn’t hang up until it was nearly morning and he had to sneak back into his room.

[series masterlist here]

[luciferlightbringer]

Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 7

Chapter 6|Chapter 7|Chapter 8|Updated through Chapter 12

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 3.9k CW: Slowburn, Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, cuddles, depression, anxiety, Sexual fantasizing, insecurity

Lucifer's eyes started to flutter open the next morning, a beam of light streaming in through the living room window. Wow, had he actually gotten a full uninterrupted night's rest again? What a pleasant surprise. He smiled as he looked up at the ceiling if his living room. Wait... his living room? Was he still on the couch? He was used to you bringing him back to his bed after he fell asleep, what hap-

Lucifer's thought process completing froze as he became aware of the weight holding his body down to the couch, specifically, the weight of your beautiful body, that still laid on him, sound asleep. Lucifer felt his cheeks burn a bright red. 'Oh my god, she feel asleep on me last night?! This is amazing, this is also terrible. Will she get mad? Will her boss get mad at her? Should I wake her up?' God he didn't want to have to wake you up. The sight of you curled up on him with your head on his chest was breathtaking. Shit... he really had fallen for you, hadn't he?

Lucifer had no idea what to do, he many ideas of what he wanted to do, but not what he should do. He could run his fingers through your hair, kiss your forehead, rub your back, any of those things could have encouraged you awake. But instead, he just sleepily watched you dreaming on his chest, until you eventually started to wake up.

After a little while, your eyes began to open. You too had experienced an amazing night of sleep that you were not used to. Perhaps all that crying gelling did you some good. But something felt off, where were you? You looked up to see Lucifer's smiling face, "Hehe, uhh... good morning, I guess."

Oh my god, had you cried yourself to sleep in his arms?! Lucifer cocooned you again in his wings before you could panic.

"Shit! Lucifer I'm so-"

"Shhhh shh shhh shh," Lucifer stopped you, "No apologizes, please. Yesterday was... hard, seemed like we both needed sleep, and frankly, I slept great. What about you?"

You blushed, and laid you head back on his chest while still looking up at him, mumbling, "Well, I guess that's the best I've slept... in a long time..." It was the best you had slept since you had arrived in hell.

"Excellent! So, lets just call it a happy accident, that we figured something out from. Also..." God he was trying to be a little bold and it made him nervous, "Would you be willing to try this again... but intentionally next time?"

"Like... have me stay through the night? And... sleep with you in your bed?" You asked.

"Yes..." he asked with a little more hesitance in his voice. You chuckled, look at him go, asking for what he wants, and so nicely too.

You smiled and shrugged, "Works for me, just let the boss know."

"Right..." he said, he was starting to hate the reminders that you weren't just here because you wanted to be. He wasn't upset at you, it just left him with a pang of insecurity, a curiously if you would even put up with him if it weren't for the fact that he hired you to be here.

He cleared his throat, trying to refocus. "You won't... get into any trouble for this, right?"

You waved your hand, "Naw, I'll just tell him I was out late partying. After what happened yesterday, he wouldn't bat an eye."

"Ok, how are you feeling, by the way?" he asked, looking over your face.

"Much better... Thank you... for... well everything..." you smiled nervously. You still felt guilty that Lucifer had to spend his paid time with you dealing with the aftermath of other client sessions, you were normally better than that. He seemed like he wanted to be there for you, but you had no idea why he would even want to. It felt so good, but you still could not tell how real or how deep the care actually ran. If this continued, the guilt and confusion might become overwhelming.

"It was my pleasure," he said, grabbing you hand and kissing it while staring deeply into your eyes.

Ugh, why did this have to be so hard to figure out!

After that, the two of you begrudgingly got up, and got ready for the day. Lucifer teleported you back to your room, bit you farewell, and left. Both of you back in your own spaces, alone, already missing the other.

______________________________________________________________

The next night you two had together, you and Lucifer would change the end of night routine as had been discussed, ending up with you both falling asleep in each others arms, and getting the joy of waking up to seeing each other first thing in the morning. It was beyond bliss. You didn't know it, but you two were in a secret competition to see who could wake up first, and get the privilege of watching the other as they clung onto their last few minutes of sleep before they would wake up.

The mornings that Lucifer woke up before you were both beautiful and painful for him. He loved getting to stare at your beautiful face, sure, but the urges... oh the urges to run his fingers through your hair, the urges to lace his fingers with yours, the urges to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, your neck, your... everything... the urges to let his hands explore your body, to sneak his hands under your clothing, to find the sensitive places on your skin that would make your breathe hitch, make the fire grow in your eyes, make you want to touch him the same way... the pain of all of these urges pulled at his mind, every morning, every day.

Some of them he could get away with more once you were awake, fingers through your hair, kisses on your hands, but he wanted more. Beyond that, he wanted them to mean something. He knew that he could just ask you for kisses or sex, and you would say yes, but he didn't want that, he wanted it to be real, he wanted passion, he wanted to make love to you. Every day with you made those feelings grow stronger and more unbearable.

Luckily, at least for another couple weeks, Lucifer would still be distracted by the upcoming extermination, and he figured that it was best that he focused on one life altering event at a time. You and Lucifer would spend more of your evenings hanging out with Charlie and the others at the hotel. Alastor had helped Charlie recruit many of the people of Cannibal Town to help, much to Lucifer's chagrin, and Vaggie had also gotten some intel on angels being able to be killed with angelic weapons, and was able to get resources from Carmilla Carmine, another Overlord and the only Angelic Weapon-Arms Dealer in hell.

Lucifer did not like learning that angels could be killed for a number of reasons, but he tried not to focus on that right then. Right now, he cared about being there for Charlie, and enjoying the calm before the storm.

The night before the extermination, most of the hotel crew, honestly, seemed like they were in good spirits. Alastor was even behaving and not doing everything in his power to piss of Lucifer, just some minor loitering on the edge of his conversations around the hotel. Angel and Husk were hanging out at the bar, and Angel's best friend, Cherri Bomb, had also come to hang out to join the fight. You noticed that Angel and Husk had increasingly been giving each other cute looks, and that Sir Pentious was nervous when it came to any interaction involving Cherri.

What you didn't know, was that Angel, Husk, and Cherri had also been watching the way you and Lucifer interacted over the last couple of weeks, the way you too looked at each other, the way his touch would linger, or that any hug would last a littleeee too long for a hug between just friends. Whenever you were not at the hotel, those three would come up with theories on what was going on with you two.

At some point, you ended up in a conversation with those three, chatting it up, and eventually Angel was the one that finally brought it up.

"Alright, babe. So...spill it. What exactly is goin' on between you an' da Boss Man, hmm?" Angel said, leaning his hand on one of his hands with a cocked eyebrow. You were startled by the question. Shit.

"Uhhh... w-what do you mean?" you say sheepishly, messing with your hair.

"I think you know exactly what I'm talkin' about~" Angel replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"I-uhhh..." you started.

"Come on, (y/n), cut the crap," Husk chimed in, cleaning a cup. "Ya!" Added Cherri, "We can all tell you two are seriously vibin' with one anotha," she said in her spunky Australian accent.

'Shit, had these three really been that curious about my relationship with Lucifer? Was it that obvious? I have been just trying to follow his lead on things when we visited.'

"I mean... we are just really close, and comfortable with each other... that's all," you say, not trying to look at them directly.

"But how close are you too exactly?" asked Husk. "Yaaaa, like bedroom close~?" Angel pushed in his flirty voice, talking a little louder.

You quickly covered Angel's mouth with your hands, looking around, no one else had seemed to hear him. Lucifer was across the room, chatting with Charlie and Vaggie, and Alastor seemed more focused on listening in on their conversation than yours. You look back to see Husk and Cherri with satisfied looks on their faces, along with a twinkling mischief in Angel's eyes.

You sigh and remove your hands, "Look, guys, I really want to talk about the details around my dynamic with Lucifer, but... I really can't... I'm not allowed. Even saying that might be too much..."

The trios' faces became more concerned. "Wait... he doesn't... own your soul, does he?" Husk asked.

"Oh! No, no, nothing like that. And he has been nothing but kind to me. It's just... not something I can talk about... no matter how much I may want to..." you say, holding yourself and looking down sadly. The other two looked to Husk, Husk looked sadly back at them, he could tell this was not a bluff, you were telling the truth.

Lucifer glanced across the room at you, and was surprised to see your body language had suddenly changed from how it had been during the rest of your conversation with the others at the bar. Your body language looked more sad to him. Lucifer briefly excused himself from his conversation with Charlie and Vaggie, saying he would be right back, and made his way over to you.

Cherri, Lucifer, and Husk saw Lucifer approaching, and he giving off a protective look of 'what did you do?' before putting a hand on your back.

"Darling? Is everything ok?" Lucifer said, his face softening as he looked down at you.

Your head spang up at his sudden contact and sound of his voice, 'Crap, did he hear any of that?'

You looked up at him in surprise. "Oh! Ya... sorry, we were talking about Adam and the battle tomorrow... just made me think about how worried I have been for you all..." you say sadly. The other three relax once they realized you were covering for them, Husk almost didn't like how good you were at pulling out a story like that, but right now he cared more about not pissing off the King.

Lucifer sighed and ran his finger through your hair, before pulling you in for a comforting hug, "I know... we are gonna get through this." He looked over at the other three over your shoulder, smiling, "Together."

The others smiled back at Lucifer and he released you from the hug before asking if you felt like we needed to leave for the evening. You shook your head, telling him you wanted to stay longer. He nodded, and then walked back to his conversation with Charlie and Vaggie.

"Well, one thing is for sure," Husk said looking after Lucifer, "That man cares a lot about you."

You blushed, you hoped so, you hoped and prayed that was true. But because of the structure, no matter what he said or did, you always had some level of doubt hanging in the back of your thoughts. You wish you didn't have to second guess every interaction. You wish you knew how an actually health dynamic looked like so that you had something to compare to. Most of all, you wished you didn't have to be scheduled and paid in order to see him. Would he even want to see you outside of the time he pays for you?

"How do you know?" you asked Husk. Husk gave you a soft smile, "No man spends as much time as he does constantly checking in on you if he does not care."

You cock an eyebrow, "But, he doesn't constantly check on me."

"Maybe from you're perspective," Angel chimed, "That mothafucka is constantly lookin' over at you, why do ya think he was over here so fast as soon as you started pullin' into ya'self. Which, thanks for da save by da way. I am not ready ta get on his bad side."

You looked over your shoulder at here at Lucifer, a moment later, he looked at you, smiled, and waved. You waved back, and looked back to the others.

"See? Man's totally whipped," said Cherri. Doubted that, Lucifer having feeling for someone like you? Ya right. But you could see how they would think that way without knowing the truth behind your relationship, and they made a fair point, he did care to some degree. You couldn't keep the blush from tinting your cheeks. I mean I guess he did send a man to be tortured for all eternity for hurting you, that has to mean something... No matter how small.

Before long, it was time to go. You hugged everyone goodbye that wanted hugs. While hugging Charlie you said, "Kick his ass honey, I'd really hate to lose a good housing option." Charlie beamed and hugged you even tighter, to the point where it almost hurt, "We will! We'll get you set up right after we kill all of the angels or kick their asses back up to Heaven!"

You laughed, said goodbye, and you and Lucifer departed back to his place. Little did you know, that would be your last time inside of that hotel.

______________________________________________________________

Sleep had not come easily for both of you that night, but it did all the same. Your time at Lucifer's did not end the following morning, Lucifer had booked out the rest of your day, he did not want to risk you getting caught if an exterminator if the angels were successful at wiping out everyone at the hotel and started going after the rest of the sinners. He knew the exorcists would not go anywhere near his house, Here, at least, he knew that you would be safe.

You wanted to help, but you knew you weren't a fighter, and giving Lucifer some peace so that he could fight when it came down to it was more important. Lucifer already had his hands tied in this situation. He had been the one to originally allow the exterminations to happen in Hell, mostly because he had no clue what else to do and he had been backed into a corner in that initial discussion with Heaven.

There was one rule however, that if broken, would allow him to fight, that rule being that hellborns were not allowed to be harmed. Funny, that a rule that he originally set in place to protect Charlie was now the rule that he hoped would get broken in order for him for be able to fight, and the only hellborn in this fight was Charlie, well, and Razzle and Dazzle too. Lucifer had created them as guardians to protect Charlie, and creations fell into a weird catagory. But an attack on them normally meant an attempted attack on her. He had to gamble that one of them would get hurt, but not so hurt that Charlie would be erased. It was a very uncomfortable situation, but nothing about this whole situation was anyway.

The two best case scenarios were that they could take out everyone, including Adam, without hurting Charlie, so Lucifer would never be needed, or for Charlie/her guardian's to get lightly hurt, so that Lucifer could jump in. Once he was able to jump in, the battle would basically be over. You didn't know much about how powerful Adam was, you had only seen small bits of Alastor and Lucifer's power, and nothing of Charlie's ability to fight him off. You had no idea how this was going to play out.

Lucifer however, knew how powerful Adam was, as well as his and Charlie's power, and he had a small idea of Alastor's power based on how he had defended the hotel a month ago. Lucifer didn't think that Alastor was going to be able to take out Adam completely, but he thought he would be able to most like put up a good fight, delay him, maybe get a few good hits in. If Charlie was as much of a fighter at Lucifer was, he wouldn't be as worried, but she was a gentle soul and didn't utilize her powers a lot. It was gonna be hard to tell how this was going to go.

Lucifer sat on the couch, tense, holding your hand, wings already out, waiting for the signal, waiting for the energy between him and Charlie to activate that would inform him that Charlie or her guardians had been hit. Before long, the sensation of a sting of shared pain ran through his body. He quickly kissed you on the forehead, said "See you on the other side," and jumped through a portal out to the battlefield.

You were now alone with your own fear.

You went to the window to see if you could see the hotel from his manor, but you barely couldn't. All you could do was pace around the house, waiting for Lucifer to return. You thought about turning on the tv or radio to listen for any news, maybe looking for a livestream on your phone, but no, all of that would have just made it worse. So you paced, until you decided to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling, trying hard just to breathe.

Until... a portal opened up. You sat up, looking at the portal, through the swirling red magic, you saw a familiar black claw reach out to you. You smiled, as the image continued to clear up, and you could see Lucifer, next to Charlie, and Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Cherri, Niffty... all covering in golden blood, except for Lucifer who looked exactly the same as when he left.

You felt tears well up in your eyes as you jumped through the portal into the arms of your friends. You all hug in a group before Lucifer picked you up and spun you around. After the laughter and smiles you looked around, something was missing, something big. It was quiet.

"Where are Alastor and Pentious? And... oh my god! The hotel!" you said realizing that it was not only some friends that were missing, but that the group was literally standing on the rocky remains of the Hazbin Hotel.

Charlie rubbed her arm, "Pentious... Pentious scarified himself for us... Adam killed him... he's... he's gone. And, umm... we aren't entirely sure what happened to Alastor either... He was fighting Adam, and the next thing we knew, Adam was out fighting the rest of us. We haven't seen him since. And... ya... Adam took out the hotel."

"And I took out the Bad Angel Man!" Niffy said, proudly holding up her little dagger, both her at it covered in bright golden blood.

You and the others laughed at Niffy's excitement, but your heart broke for your friends, you hadn't really gotten to know Sir Pentious very much, but your knew he had meant a lot to the hotel crew. You hoped that Alastor had found a way to slip out or something, he was... a unique individual... but he was also an important piece to the hotel. And the hotel...

Lucifer grabbed your hand, "The hotel, however, we can fix." He said with a smile, "Wanna help us build a hotel?"

You smiled, finally something you were able to do to help.

"Lets do this!"

The rest of the afternoon was spent with the whole crew building up a new Hazbin Hotel, one that was even bigger and better than the previous one. You had no idea that it was possible to set up a new building in an afternoon, but with Lucifer's extraordinary magic and an amazing team, the shining new doors of the hotel were gleaming and open again.

Lucifer could not stop smiling the whole rest of the afternoon, to have a purpose behind his creativity and powers of creation, to have a community again that liked him, to have his daughter back and getting to support her dreams, and to have you, you who made all this happiness fall into place again. Getting to beat the shit out of Adam had also been quite enjoyable.

He looked down at the wedding ring that was still on his left hand, after wearing it for so long, he had forgotten that it wasn't just a part of him, it was his reminder of Lilith. He would still always have love and care for Lilith, but the time of her had come to an end, and you were his new horizon. He wasn't ready to take off the ring just yet, he didn't want to tip anyone off, but god did he just want to toss of the ring, swoop down from the sky, scoop you up, kiss you, and tell you how much he loved you in front of all of hell, but this wasn't the time. This day was about Charlie and her dream. Plus... he was still really fucking nervous and didn't know how to say it to you.

Eventually, Alastor manifested himself back from the shadows and re-joined the group, Lucifer and Husk were... less than thrilled, but everyone else was happy, including you. The group celebrated at their new beautiful hotel together late into the night.

Eventually, you and Lucifer split off for the night to celebrate the rest of the night together snuggling in each other's arms. You fell asleep first that night, and Lucifer spent his last few minutes awake looking at your beautiful face in the darkness or his room, daydreaming about the best way to tell you how he felt.

______________________________________________________________

Don't get too comfortable! I've got one more twist in store for these two :) xoxo, dany As usual, leave a comment if you want added to the taglist so that you can get notifications when future chapters drop!

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[365granitegirlx]

✧・┈・╴you turn up in the reveries of my mind‧ ₊˚・

summary: your roommate, Vessel, lets his lust and curiosity get the better of him after weeks of wet dreams about a certain someone...you

vessel x fem!reader, roommate!AU, friends to lovers, smut (are we surprised) wet dreams, masturbation (m + f), sex toys, mentions of somno and dub con, subby!vessel, softdom!reader, scent kink?, vessel is WHINY, p in v, light choking (m receiving), light biting (m + f receiving), dirty talk, teasing, begging, cunnilingus

a/n: at one point this was a drabble. then it evolved into this big boy whom i love very much. thank you everyone who reads and interacts. ୨♡୧

MDNI

✧・┈・╴

Ten. That’s how many mornings Vessel awoke with his hand already palming his cock as if his life depended on it…and how many mornings he awoke from a wet dream about his roommate. You. You’re always so kind and punctual with rent. And you’re a good cook. You’re clean. Quiet. Funny. Beautiful. Single. But when did you become desirable…tempting…fuckable? He couldn’t wrap his head around that part, quite frankly, he was too far gone to question it. Was it something you said? Maybe. Something you did that he just happened to notice? Could be. Or did the dreams come first? Either way, he knew that waking up just to imagine being with you felt good.

Oh to sneak into your bedroom after these dreams and have you take care of his “problem.” To slip under the covers and press against your warm, sleepy body…to kiss your shoulders and neck. At first, he thought about the thrill of surprising you. The way your eyes would focus after waking…asking what he’s doing and why he never said anything before only to shut you up with a wet kiss. But soon that fantasy evolved into something much more satisfying for Vessel. Instead of shock, you’d greet him with comfort and soft touches…like you were expecting him. He’d whisper “good morning, pretty” as you immediately embrace him. Maybe you were already naked for him. Or maybe there were no words between you…just his hand between your legs as you gently take his cock out of his underwear. Just the idea that you’d be willing and ready for him first thing in the morning…that he’d be lucky enough to be on your mind like that. And that’s the thought that finishes him this morning.

A bit later, he’s already put his decadent morning routine out of his head. Nothing a shower and scrolling can’t fix. That is until he sees you. Do you have to look like angel even when you’re doing something mundane like loading the dishwasher? Also, weren’t you supposed to be out of the house today? Things become worse when he’s a few paces from you and he realizes you smell divine. Like sugared flowers…candy…sex, honestly.

“You ok, bud?” You laugh with an eyebrow cocked. “I said ‘hi.’”

Vessel’s eyes flutter as he comes back to the present. He shakes his head and coughs a little “Your perfume…”

“Oh! Oh my god,” you cover your mouth. “it’s too much isn’t it? Its a bit much! I should change my clothes or…”

“NO!” 

He didn’t mean to yell. He just…god…please don’t deny him that scent. He puts his fingers to his temples, shaking his head. “Sorry, sorry, no I don’t what came over me. No it’s…” he walks towards you and clears his throat. “It’s really…really nice.” He has to look away. “It suits you.”

You look down and smile, a blush forming over your cheeks. Recently you two were warming up to each other more. Joking more. Spending more free time together. But you haven’t noticed his lingering stares…mostly because you look away quickly before he notices your own lingering stare. 

…

A bit later, you’ve left to run errands. Ves is still reeling from your encounter. It wasn’t overly flirty…not even sexual in nature…at least it would appear that way to an outsider. But to him it was erotic. The way you blushed when he mentioned your perfume and complimented it. The way your confidence seemed to perk up after…god. What else could he do to make you act like that? And what else were you capable of? What could you do to him? And while he’s letting those fantasies unfold, he finds himself in the doorway of your bedroom. Shit. He shouldn’t do this. He should not be walking in, taking deep lingering breaths to inhale the scent of the room. Your candles. Your perfume. You. Just you. Fuck! His inner monologue is weakly begging him to stop rubbing his face in your pillows. To stop grabbing your blankets and taking in the smell of your body and what he assumes is your body wash and, of course, that fucking perfume. Oh he’s frantic. Actually feral. He gets up quickly and approaches dresser. There’s no perfume bottles on the top so maybe they’re in a drawer? Before he even knows what he’s doing he opens the top drawer and starts riffling around. He feels something solid..aha..there it…isn’t. He pulls the object out of the drawer and…oh. 

If the perfume made him feral…this drove him to the brink of insanity. He held up the sex toy and felt every ounce of blood in his body flow downwards. God he wanted to touch it all over. To run his finger gently over the rabbit part that teases your clit…to stroke the part that thrusts against your g-spot. He wants to watch you use it. He wants not be allowed to touch himself while you fuck yourself in front of him. He wants to clean it with his tongue when you’re finished and and and *DING DING*

You: hey, almost done over here. Sure you don’t need anything?

He nearly jumps out of his skin when you text him and yank him back into reality. 

Ves: all good :) thanks 

He throws the toy back into the drawer and breathes heavily. He looks at your bed and notices how messy he left it. He quickly smooths out the blankets and pillows to make it look less disturbed. God he hopes you don’t pay too much attention to how your duvet looks or the divots in your pillows. He rushes to his room and plops on his own bed. God, he hates himself. Why did he do that? Why was he snooping? Why was he imagining such crazy things? He’s on the verge off tears when he considers “what would I have done if she caught me…actually saw me?” The spiral leads him to think that maybe he should start finding ways to kick you out…or ways to keep him out of the house. Fuck fuck fuck fuck “FUUUUUUCK!”

…

The evening is fine, but Vessel keeps to himself more than usual. He’s also nicer than usual. He gets you another slice of pizza. Obsessively asks if the volume of the tv is ok…if you have enough of the throw pillows to be comfy…do you want more water…dr pepper…a snack?

“Ves…I’m. Fine.” You say with a dry, exasperated laugh. “Are you ok?”

GOD he wants to be good. He wants to be decent and pleasant but he also needs to know how you taste and what your eyes look like the first time he thrusts into you.

“I’m great, hun. Really.”

He shifts uncomfortably. You don’t believe him. You take a chance and gently poke his thigh with your foot. He jumps a little, and you snicker but that’s it. That’s the interaction. You both feel the tension. Something is different. You figure he’s dealing with something he doesn’t want to share. He figures you want nothing to do with him beyond being his roommate. That’s what he tells himself. Begs himself to believe it.

After you both go to sleep, Vessel finds himself in a fitful dream where you caught him in your bedroom. You chide him. Scream at him. Start beating him with the dildo (this is how he knows it’s a dream). He jolts awake and, damnit, he’s hard. He can’t bring himself to take care of the issue but he also can’t stop thinking about you. About coming clean. It’s late but he can’t stop himself from coming to your room. He whispers your name, and you make a small sleepy noise.

“Mmm. Yeah?”

He’s already standing by your bed and trying to get a grip. “I…I had a bad dream.”

You chuckle a little at the innocence of his answer. “Are you kidding?”

“No…no I’m not.” His face burns. What is he doing? He feels stupid being back in here…in the middle of the night…taking in your scent again. “We got in a bad fight.”

“Well, thank goodness it was just a nightmare…right?”

He doesn’t answer your question, he just poses his own. “Your perfume…what’s it called?”

You look up at him in the darkness and can barely make out his features, but you can tell he’s breathing a little hard. 

“It’s nothing special.”

“Perhaps to you…”

“Ves, what’s wrong?”

Vessel’s brain feels like it’s on fire. He should just jack off and get some sleep but he’s in here being a creep. “I just…I’m in a weird place.” God he’ll take anything right now. Any crumb.

And you pick up on that. You pull back the covers, and he wordlessly slips in. You roll over…ready to try and initiate some kind of less-than-friendly cuddling…but he had already started dozing. Sighs. Boys.

…

Vessel wakes up from the best sleep of his life. Seriously. He groans softly and rubs his face against the pillow and slowly opens his eyes…surprisingly he isn’t shocked to see he’s not in his bed. He remembered how soft and heavy his body felt right when he laid beside you. As much has he wanted to touch you…kiss you…he couldn’t fight his body’s desire to rest for once. He rolls over and realizes you’re waking up, too. You stretch and make a content noise. God…you look so sweet right now. He realizes he didn’t have his reoccurring wet dream but the urge is still there. 

You nuzzle into your pillow a bit and groan. “I’m coooooold,” you whine playfully.

He laughs softly at your little voice but doesn’t immediately offer to warm you up. How awkward would that be? After all the strange things he did yesterday it would be his undoing if he offered to hold you…to be sweet and kind…and then you back away because he’s poked and prodded you. But those thoughts don’t last long because you’re already up against him. Already hugging him close. Letting your hips press against his…becoming painfully aware that he wants this just as bad as you do. His breath becomes ragged as he bites his lip.

You want to ask him if had wanted to kiss you last night…if he had been in your room (because you absolutely noticed your dildo was out of place in the drawer)…if he felt the same. But words feel exhausting right now. Why not just see what happens when you let your hand glide up and down torso mindlessly?

He groans softly and lets his head fall back a little. Your eyes trail up to the spot on his neck you find yourself looking at often. When you were alone you often thought how nice a hickey would look right there…you have to take the chance. As your soft, wet lips kiss and nip at his neck, he holds you tight. Like you were supposed to do that. Like you belong in his arms. You suck gently at his neck and coo softly when you see the spot redden. He pulls your hair gently so you’re looking up at him. His lips are on yours instantly and so are his hands. Those wide..spidery hands. He touches you gently like you might break….like he can’t believe it.

And he can’t. He cannot believe his luck…that being a little creep has gotten him this far. Your tongue brushes his in a way that makes him whimper. You bite his bottom lip and let your hand trail down his stomach.

“I need you,” you whisper.

“Then have me.”

You don’t need telling twice. You trail kisses down his neck and chest, stopping for longer, nibbling kisses when you hear him moan or his breath catch. You’re getting closer and closer to his crotch when he stops you. He pulls you up and gives you a sweet kiss as he slips off his sweats…no underwear. Fuck. He’s ready for you. Rock hard and dripping. At first you thought you were going too fast for him…but you see now that he just wants to feel you. To fuck you. 

He watches you undress, enraptured. You’re already pushing him onto his back softly and kissing his neck when his fingers find your slit. You moan softly, losing yourself in the feeling of your friend touching you like this. 

“That’s a pretty sound, baby…” he whispers as you little bite his jaw. “Mm. You’re a biter, too?” He punctuates his question with a quick nip your shoulder. You yelp and giggle. “Bet you’d like it if I marked you up. You wear that pretty perfume for me all the time and you’ll have to fight me off like a feral animal.”

You straddle his hips and lean down to kiss him, his hands kneading your tits. “Hm. I think you’re just a scrappy puppy…no feral animal. Aren’t ya?” He groans at your teasing but secretly he loves it. He buries his face in your neck and breathes you in with a moan. Oh…oh thank god. There’s still the faint scent of perfume in your hair and on your skin. He groans softly and wraps his arms around you. You’re trapped. 

“Rub your cock on it…” you whisper 

“Wha….what?” He groans out. Vessel has gone completely pathetic. The feeling of you laying on him with your neck in his face feels like the dreamiest way to suffocate. He wants to rub his face on you like a drunk slobbery puppy. You asking him to rub his already throbbing cock on your pussy doesn’t feel like a reward, it feels like torture. “Please,” his broken little mind pleads, “one stimuli at a time.”

But he obeys and rubs the head of his cock against your slit. You arch your back and moan as it hits your clit…fuck he’s a big boy.  And you can tell he likes it too. Maybe too much. 

“Look at how you’re blushing, baby. What’s wrong, hm?” You whisper teasingly. 

“I…mmm” Vessel whines. He’s given up rubbing his cock on you and lets it rest against your entrance. “It’s too much.”

“Ooh too much? We haven’t even started,” you hold his jaw so he’ll look at you. “Don’t you want me?” You pout playfully. Who knew he’d be so easy to tease?

He whines and tries to push your hips down on his cock. His eyes are glazed over and his throat bobs roughly as he silently pleads for anything from you. “…I saw your toy…”

A smirk forms across your lips as rub your thumb against his pouty lips. “I know you did. You did a very bad job at hiding that you snooped.”

His face darkens even more and he looks away, embarrassed and vulnerable. You giggle and pepper his face with tiny baby kisses. He holds you close again and hides his face, groaning, “I’m such an idiot.”

“Did you imagine me using it?”

He nods shyly. 

“Did it feel good to think about it? Hm? Come on…”

He tries to buck his hips upward and into you. “Please…” 

“So needy…” you tease. He helps you lower onto his cock and adjust to his girth. “Oh my god…fuuuck Ves.” 

He grabs your hips as his breathing becomes ragged. “Please. Don’t. Move. Yet”

“Why, Ves? Too good?”

“Yes oh my god….fuck.”

“Does it make you wanna cum? Hm? Are you that desperate?”

“Ffffuck. Fuck. Just for you. It’s always just been…for you.”

“Then lay there and be my toy.”

You lean up a little with your hand on his chest. Your hips rock back and forth as you adjust yourself to rub your clit against him. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’re just grinding against him instead of fucking yourself with his cock. No…he looks like he’s found heaven. He’s still holding on to you but he looks like he could be moved…manipulated…how ever you wanted. 

“Pretty girl…oh my god…fuck. FUCK” he grips your hips and tries to move you faster but you swat him away. “Mm…please. Please use me…please touch me…please I’ve been so good. So good. I…fuck…I’ve wanted to sneak in here so bad…watch you play with yourself…or…mm…wait for you to come out of the shower. Please.”

You stop to look down at him. You’re in control right now but that doesn’t mean you aren’t teetering over the edge. You’re gagging for it. You want to bounce and moan and “please daddy daddy daddy” on it but you’ve got him in a very very fun position. “‘Being good’ would have been coming to play with me. Silly boy. You’ve been having fun touching yourself without me.”

He whines like a dumb puppy “nooo that’s not…babe…” You chuckle and press your hand to his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs again as he whines with his teeth clenched…is he about to cry? “Quit being a cock tease! Fuck!” 

You squeeze a little on his throat, which elicits the sluttiest noise you’ve heard from any man you’ve fucked. “Listen to you. Bratty and eager. You gonna cum for me? Once I get started again you won’t be able to hold it…no…no you won’t.” You flash him a devilish grin and start bouncing on top of him. Your hand has moved to his collarbone but he quickly pulls you down by your wrist. His face is smothered in your chest, but you’re losing your balance and ability to ride him bent over like this. He holds your ass down and starts fucking up into your pussy kind of like your favorite little thrusting toy…but this one whimpers and pouts and whispers little desperate words of praise as he cums inside you. 

“I need to see you cum.” He says pushing you off of him. “Please. Let me help you. Please baby…” he pins you down on your back in a breathless, messy kiss. You spread your legs and start to rub your clit. He pulls away, wiping your combined spit off his mouth and lets his jaw fall when he sees the mess he’s made of you. “I wanna help…please…please…”

You’re already close but when he starts tonguing your slit where his cum seeps out of you, you’re done for. Even after you stop rubbing your clit he still licks and sucks at you…like he has to….

And he does. What if this was a one time thing? What if this was just for fun? What if you actually don’t care beyond this morning? Vessel wants to soak all of your cum and spit and scent up and lock himself away so he can’t forget it. He can’t share it. When he finally gets his fill, he looks down at you softly. And you smile back up at him. As if you hadn’t just been absolute little whores together…you enjoyed yourself…you enjoyed him. 

He slumps beside you and yawns. “You know I like you, yeah?” 

You laugh and roll your eyes. “Oh is that what that meant?”

He flicks your arm and lays on top of you, trapping you in a big hug. “You know what I mean. I want this. I want you. Everything. All of it.” 

You stroke his back and breathe him in…thinking about how fun it would be to just cut the bullshit…just be together. And you do.

[hedwig221b]

Do you have any fic recs that involve chasing? Like Derek gives in to the urge to run after stiles and catch him?

I kind of didn't really understand what you were asking lol so here are a few types of "chase" fics:

Mating Run Fics:

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles. But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

The Cursed Wolf by SinQueen69

2023 Suggestion Anon Wanted: Feral alpha Derek, who has been cursed and got in that feral state. The only way to lift the curse is the "sacrifice" of a pure heart. And Virgin Omega Stiles is willing to help him but the ritual has to be a mating run.

When Things Go Right by SylvieW

Stiles is nervous for the mating run. What if his soulmate is disappointed? Scott’s convinced that Allison will catch him, but Stiles isn’t so sure of his best friend’s girl, and the results could be upsetting for everyone.

Angel Choirs and Magic by LadyDrace

Derek has been very, very patient, and has shown frankly incredible self-control in the face of brutal teasing and flirting for two months. But now it's time for the mating run, and he's about to get his reward.

Except for how maybe it's actually Stiles getting a treat. Win/win.

Stiles gets kidnapped and Derek gives a chase:

Out of Focus by exclamation

Stiles was taken prisoner by a coven of witches. Now his only chance of getting home is if he learns how to control his own magic… and stops blowing stuff up by accident. With surging power inside him that he can't restrain, Stiles must deal with memories of the nogitsune, and fears that he might end up hurting those he cares about.

Meanwhile, his family and friends don't even know if he's alive. His father desperately searches for answers, and Derek will do anything in his power to find Stiles, even if it means asking an Argent for help.

of gods & monsters by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“I’m not the best at conversation. I’ve been told I have no finesse for it.”

Stiles took a step closer to Derek, pushing the billowing silk out of the way. “And what would you say if you looked at me now?”

Derek looked up, startled for a moment when he realized he was now looking at Stiles’ unveiled face. He was silent for a beat, taking in Stiles’ features for the first time, convinced he would never see such beauty unveiled for him alone.

Stiles runs away and Derek catches his ass:

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void.

It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

My Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“If he wants to mate Stiles, why not let him?” Jackson asked, ready to part with Stiles if need be.

“Because if I did that, I’d be demoting Lydia,” Alpha Stilinski replied.

“We don’t even know how good of a Beta he is,” Lydia countered, bristling some that her status was being challenged.

“That’s because he’s not a Beta,” Alpha Stilinski stated. “He’s an Alpha.”

If you wanted fics with their own chasing scenes, I am sorry to inform you that I have a memory of a goldfish, and do not remember any in particular, though I am sure they exist somewhere in the wild. If someone knows some, please, feel free to add!

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | mafia

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

Last Night In The Neighborhood☆

《You're my world, you are my night and day. You're my world, you're every prayer I pray..》

《Warnings: the subject matter this ARG has are potentially disturbing. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Welcome Home was created by Clown @/partycoffin 》

-

Moving from your old home is a scary thing, whether you don't care for the danger ahead. Change is different, it's an oddity.

So when you find an old soundtrack album of a kids show from the 70s when you were unpacking. You grow curious.

Noticing a dusty old record player in the farther corner, you try to recall how to even use one. Begrudgingly searching up how to work the machine on your phone. You smile in pride as the vinyl disc starts to swirl about.

Picking up the album cover, you look over the design.

A cast of colorful characters smiles on the cover. Their expressions are forever saved in place, at least eight puppet-looking creatures waved or paid attention to the viewer. Even a little odd house with windows for eyes.

As if they stared right back at you.

Ignoring your uneasiness, you place the item down near the record-player and continued unpacking the little items you brought. That moving truck better be here by tomorrow..

Your feet tap to a few songs, occasionally singing or humming along clumsily with your own made-up lyrics.

When it became nighttime, you were uneasy, the loud noises from outside, and your paranoid self couldn't handle the stress. Grabbing a random record, you place the needle on the disc and throw the covers over yourself. Trying to drown out the world for at least a little peace.

-

Waking up to bright lights and rainbow color schemes surprised you. Your legs moved on their own as they take in the sights and sounds of this weird dream.

Houses and streets greet you, along with music that you swore was playing before you fell asleep.

Coming closer to the source of the music, you were shocked by the characters on the album singing and dancing to the rhythm.

One of them notices you and waves you over to join them.

You smile, this was a dream you could get used too.

Joining in with your messy lyrics and footwork. The puppets greet you with open arms and cheers.

When the song finishes, one of them comes up to you. They smile gently, holding out their hand for a handshake, asking for your name.

You tell them, ask for their own.

Before they could say it, they were interrupted by a pink monster girl.

"My name is Julie! That frowny face over there is my best buddy! Frank Frankly! Oh! And over here is..." She continued as she finally finishes with the blue-haired puppet who was shaking your hand.

Not once letting his eyesight stray away from you. "He's Wally! Wally Darling!" Julie said.

She then whispers into your ear loudly. "He's a painter! He likes to paint pretty things.."

The rainbow monster giggles, nudging you coyly and side-eyeing the other puppet.

He appeared uncaring of his friends' teasing, he only smiles. His attention was solely on you, it made you feel... Special.

He made you feel special.

In the following days, you felt yourself changing, you were happier. Content with your daytime life and nighttime shenanigans with Wally and the rest of the puppets.

Hell, even your clothes were starting to change into a whole new style. The colors and lengths become more in tune with the type of clothes your friends wore in your dreams.

Yes. They were your friends, especially Wally, he had become your closest friend in your polychromatic fantasy.

And you couldn't be more thankful. At least, in the beginning...

The more you slept, the longer you stayed, it felt as if the world where Wally resided wouldn't let you leave. As if it was crying out for you to come back whenever you woke up.

You couldn't handle the newfound drowsiness you found yourself in day in and day out. It started to take a toll on you, to the point where you feared to sleep. Afraid that if you fell back into the fantasy, you may never leave.

《If our love ceases to be. Then it's the end of my world for me..!》

-

[For context! This was based off Last Night In Soho, were a girl dreams about a mysterious girl in the late 60s. I was inspired to write my version of it it with a mix of welcome home! Thank you for reading! Fan art and reblogs are appreciated! Helps with creativeness, also, to my [WElcome To Your New HomE] fans, sorry for not a new update!]

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Post S4: If All That's Left of Steve in the Final Battle is Ashes—

...are they REALLY JUST ashes? 🔥 

The final battle—like the last part of the very final battle—ends with shattering, and with dust.

It starts, the first bad dream and the first bloody nose and the first Code Red on the radios: well, that’s three months into something, for the first time in Eddie’s sorry-ass-but-honestly-actually-since-almost-not-having-any-life-at-all-any-more-and-miraculously-making-it-through-a-night-then-a-week-then-a-month-then-rehab-then-chronic-pain-then-more-friends-than-he’d-ever-had-before-and-frankly-in-the-beginning-more-than-he-could-count-plus-three-new-mother-figures-and-two-maybe-three-extra-maybe-father-figures-plus-one-friend-of-Dorothy-who’s-the-platonic-soulmate-of-maybe-the-love-of-Eddie’s-not-actually-still-sorry-ass-life: he’s about three months into something wild and reeling in his chest, brushing hands and lingering looks and flushed cheeks and little secret smiles ducked in toward shoulders or behind stray curls, or falling asleep pressed arm-to-arm only to wake up in one lap or another, and the whole of it’s shameless and intentional and giddy somewhere low in Eddie’s belly because it’s not uncertain, it’s honestly just fucking bashful, it’s shy and it’s the both of them wordlessly leaning into it, careful but sure, and almost all the more buoyant for it.

It’s three months in, and when they step up to that last battle—that final turn, do-or-die—maybe Steve pulls him behind a truck Eddie doesn’t even know the owner of, where it came from or why it’s there; but maybe Steve pulls him behind and draws him close without a word and kisses him relentless, drags his teeth and draws a little blood for the force and leaves them both raw, and panting, and desperate: it couldn’t really go any other way, like this—here.

Now.

“Live through this,” Steve had breathed against his angry red lips, hard enough that it stung; “so we can pick up where we left off.”

“I will if you will,” Eddie had shot back, defiant; still begging.

And Steve had kissed him again, and Eddie’d watched as Steve walked away with the lightest smear of Eddie’s blood on his lower lip as he’d spoken:

“I’ll hold you to it.”

And they’d parted, to do their fucking jobs, to play their fucking roles. They’re come back together, ready to take the final boss down as a unit, and Eddie remembers that he’d felt hopeful, he’d felt so fucking relieved because this was it. They were gonna nail it, all for one, and—

So it might be near the end, actually—they may have almost done it, finished the job and killed every last bit of this hellscape, every beast big and small, crushed what’s left of the husk of Vecna orchestrating it all: it might happen near the end. Or maybe just shy of the beginning. Somewhere in the middle.

All Eddie knows is that it happens. There’s light, and people floating in the air and then more light, dragged back down by the same lightning-spark power, and it’s back and it’s forth and when it hits anyone, Supergirl pulls them back to the ground and fights back harder, her face blood red dripping to her neck, her teeth bared all wrath and fury, and then—

Then there’s something that shoots different, hits Steve and he doesn’t float. It looks different, so it probably is different, and he doesn’t float when it hits him.

And so: Eddie holds to the bargain.

But Steve.

Steve…Steve Harrington, with the bitchiest glare and the brightest smile and the goofiest laugh and the biggest fucking heart, the bravest of all of them and the best part of Eddie’s whole soul—

Steve gets hit, and disappears from the world in nothing but a cloud of dust.

No one tries to shush Eddie, when he screams, when he wails and sobs; drops to his knees and fucking howls.

No one tries to stop him when he crawls to the space that held his whole heart, and now lies empty, save a dusting of something almost shiny, coarse to the touch but fine to the naked eye, hard to distinguish from the dirt on sight alone—is that him? Is that his Sweetheart, all that’s left of him—

Eddie thinks maybe they try to stop him halfway through the way he starts frantically sweeping, scooping up the ash and filling every pocket he has with as much as he can. He vaguely feels a hand on his shoulder, maybe the sound of his name, but it’s all white noise because Eddie’s picking up the pieces of his heart, here, Eddie’s trying like hell to hold on to something of the man he loves and anyone who doesn’t like it, or thinks he’s crazy, or wants to rush him, ask him to leave any little pouch in any layer of his clothes unfilled, less than overflowing with all that remains?

Fuck them. Fuck them all. Because Eddie kept his side of the deal.

Live through this.

I will if you will.

And now he has to live with the way his Stevie…didn’t.

——

The rest of the Party sticks together after it’s done. Dustin is inconsolable, Erica and Max scowl in each other’s direction but not really…at each other. Mike’s having a weird…frenzy response, denying Steve’s dead at all and demanding Lucas help him get El to look for him, he has to be somewhere, he has be saveable like Max, like Eddie. Robin’s fucking catatonic—the real adults take most of the burden, trying to figure out who to call, because Steve’s their only casualty, the beating heart at the center of all this and it’s gone, no wonder they’re breaking—

The Party stays together. Eddie falls back on what he knows.

He runs.

Specifically: he runs home, carefully though, he can’t jostle his pockets, and he knows exactly where he’s looking when he gets to his room, crawls to the farthest corner of his closet in this still-weird-to-be-so-big bedroom after the trailer: and he finds it.

His mom’s old little hope chest.

There are a million little fake velvet pouches inside, a couple pieces of actual jewelry kept in an empty film canister, and then a smaller jewelry box type thing meant for a dresser or something: Eddie doesn’t think he can fill the hope chest.

But the rest…

He starts with the jewelry box, since it’s already empty, carefully cups his palms to fill it with the precious dust until the lid doesn’t close.

Then he sorts the pouches, puts aside the ones that don’t pull tight enough shut for his liking. The rest…those will be temporary. He’ll find a better home for the ashes soon, but for now they’re safe, and all that’s left is…

The film canister is special.

It’s stupid and plastic and like every other fucking black-and grey tube thingy that smells like vinegar on the inside of you hold it up too close. But this one—

He’s always gotten a little teary-eyed to think that this was the one his mother kept.

Because he’d poked a hole through the rough little peak in the top of the lid with a fork, took a piece of thread from the junk drawer and made himself a necklace to match the one she had and she’d smiled at him so bright, poked another hole next to his, and threaded his string-chain through the back of the lid so it’d close up tight, to keep all your most secret prized possessions, my sugarbean and he had. For years.

Now it held what was left of her jewels, mostly cheap stuff with sentimental worth he couldn’t calculate—but now he has to take the faulty pouches and give the jewelry a new home.

Now he’s never had something more prized and precious to keep.

He finds fishing line in Wayne’s stuff, stronger than the thread worn and aged over a decade and a half, swaps it out with the string. Covers the inside with electrical tape to make sure nothing can sneak out of the holes, even so.

And then he fills it. Last of the ashes, and it all only just fits but the lid pops on perfect.

Then he pulls it over his head, and lies down on his bed.

And fucking sobs when the canister falls to settle right over his heart.

——

Some of the kids try to coax him out, argue grief is better shared or whatever, but Eddie’s deaf to the knocking, the way they try to yell at his window—not even cracked open, he won’t risk a rogue bird or a stray breeze disturbing all he has left of his, his—

The kids go away, eventually.

Wayne finds out through the grapevine what’s happened—he comes into Eddie’s room and holds him even if Eddie doesn’t want it, doesn’t ask. He’s grateful, though, even if he doesn’t say it, and Wayne sheds more than one tear; he’d been warming quick to Steve, called him son.

That wasn’t something Wayne did lightly. Not that anything Wayne did was done lightly.

However many days pass, Eddie doesn’t keep track. He wakes and runs to the little box on his dresser, just to make sure it’s safe, clutching the film tube around his neck while he does, weighing it desperately until he can be sure the bulk of the ashes are undisturbed. The rest of his time is spent lying in his bed and rolling the little canister across his fingers, taking off all his rings so he can just…touch it. Be close to whatever lifeless pieces of Steve—and likewise, then: pieces of Eddie—remain anywhere at all. He passes the hours like that, largely. Sometimes he thinks he’s hungry, like his stomach aches in that pang kind of way, but thinking of eating in a world where Steve doesn’t breathe makes him sick every time, so he doesn’t follow through. Wayne pesters him to at least drink something, so he sometimes shuffles to the bathroom, or the kitchen, drinks from the sink because glasses are for people who make plans for the future, who intend to drink things over the course of a lifetime, a life maybe with a purpose, a purpose that—

Eddie throws himself back into bed again, every time. Presses his film-canister-talisman tight to his sternum until the hurt of the pressure blurs with bigger hurts, and ultimately blurs into black.

Until one day, he opens his eyes. And after he’s done with the subtle disappointment that he had to, that morning came at all; when he gets up and checks the box?

The lid’s flipped off.

And there’s a tiny pile of dusty ash, glittering next to it, when there’s no light in the room to even catch it.

Eddie’s heart drops, then seizes in his chest.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

No one comes in but Wayne, and he just pokes his head in. Nothing can get in, either, unless…but they closed all the gates, there is no Upside Down anymore—

Eddie’s hands are shaking as he tries to brush the little pile into his hands, pulse tripping when the thinks of what it is, inside his hands, and he carefully lets it sift back into the jewelry box, tries to judge if any’s been lost, closes the top when he starts breathing too heavy, when his anxiety threatens to make the situation worse as he tries to bend down and see the furniture at surface level, find any precious speck of—

Not a speck. Not a…mote.

The escaped ashes were on top of something, though. Something Eddie’s never seen before. About the size of a notecard but, kinda like…ancient, weathered; that yellowed look you can never fake just right, traced alone with…some kind of calligraphy out of fucking Camelot or some shit, metallic gold in script:

I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.  

The…fuck?

Eddie tries to squint, because the text is weirdly positioned; it does look like something’s worn off, and some of what’s actually there is brighter, bolder than the rest, and then there’s a whole other style, almost backward, like a mirror-image of handwriting, and Eddie lifts the card up to the mirror instinctively, only to see…

There’s writing on the other side.

Eddie’s breath catches when he recognizes the handwriting. Small, and more words than should be able to fit but…it fits. It’s dried blood in color, and Eddie’s not convinced it’s just a color for how it’s a little raised and flaky, but it doesn’t come off when Eddie touches it, traces it because the cramped little letters, tall and short all mixed and mismatched, so familiar, so tight in Eddie’s chest—

It’s…Eddie…

Eddie’s eyes skim the first few lines in Steve’s handwriting, and he cannot fucking breathe—

Hey, wow, that’s some crazy shit there on the other side of this piece of paper, my gran says it’s a warning even if I don’t personally get it, but I’m pretty sure it’s enchanted? The paper, I mean. The warning’s probably about being too close to…this, without being prepared. But that’s, whatever. Point is, I don’t think I can make new enchanted paper, so here’s the deal: First, thanks for grabbing the ashes? I didn’t actually expect anyone to do that. I hope it was intentional, like that you weren’t sweeping or the ash got stuck in your shoes or something, because intentional will make the rest of this way easier (hopefully, or like, maybe), and if you’re a part of the bigger Hawkins fuckery it’ll be way easier to believe at the least so, fingers crossed I guess but: I’m kind of a phoenix? Firebird? Thing? It’s a bloodline “curse” but especially since the, umm, incidents with the Lab I’ve been thinking maybe it’s actually kinda cool? Like insurance. But the extra fucked up thing is that someone has to grab the ashes without being, like, told to. Free will or some bullshit. And apparently we’re not a very spontaneously likable bunch of dungeons-and-dipshit-type creatures, because not many of us even get to re-birth ourselves. Because of the ash…thing. But you! You did that! And now I can do the rebirth thing! Which I hope is okay. There are a lot of, like, bond-type things that go along with the person who ‘cares selflessly to gather ash unbidden’—I think that’s what makes someone more than a ‘mere human’ consumed by the Fire and they won’t get burned, they’ll be…well, if they wanted. Bond-stuff. Not important. I’m not gonna hold you to any of that shit, like, nothing you don’t want to happen will happen because of this, I 100% promise. Except maybe I’ll do some over the top gestures of gratitude—and on the off chance you already know me, at all? Over-the-top is kinda how I do most feelings, so. Should not be a surprise. Only thing I will ask, and if it’s too much no worries, the whole resurrection shebang was a gamble from the get-go but, if you can just keep this pile of ashes safe for a little bit? It takes longer to heal based on how old you are when you, y’know. Kick it. So…yeah. I never learned how to come back as a baby because that sounded weird. Quicker, but weird. I only learned the slower way so I can just…come back how I left, like no time passed. But if you can keep the ashes safe until then that’d be totally cool. Anyway, thanks, whoever you are. Kinda owe you my life, here. I’ll show you the appreciation you deserve when I’m, you know. Not-ashes. Once I have opposable thumbs again and stuff. But really. Thank you. See you soon, hopefully (if that’s cool, I mean, I can get out of your hair ASAP too if you’d rather, just say so soon as I pop up)— ~SH

Eddie…falls to the floor at some point, nearly ripping the note, no: no, actually, he should have decimated it, macerated it the with the way his hands clench and his tears have fallen and made not a single mark: enchanted paper.

Ashes that…maybe are Steve?

That maybe mean Steve could come…will come back?

Eddie really can’t breathe, now, and when the black swallows everything, he’s still on the fucking floor.

——

When next he comes-to, Eddie splashes water on his face after he checks on the jewelry box, reads the letter again, clutches the ash-filled pendant in his hand as he drinks, considers eating—no.

No, not yet. His stomach’s still unsteady. His chest is swollen, pressed with something like hope for the impossible because what the fuck, first and foremost, but then, then…

There was a horrorscape under his feet for years before it came for him personally, before he almost died at its hands once, and then again by proxy when, when it took his…

His maybe-love-of-his-life-and-also-possibly-something-like-a-phoenix-who-might-be-coming-back-to-Eddie-which-would-mean-Eddie-could-keep-breathing-and-his-heart-would-be-returned-to-his-chest-by-the-hands-of-the-man-he-loves-because-he-thinks-it-died-with-Steve-but-if-Steve-isn’t-dead—

He basically almost died again when…maybe his Steve—who Eddie fully acknowledges at this point he’s absolutely fucking gone on with his whole heart and soul, because there’s no other real explanation for his total and complete shutdown as a human for the sake of Steve’s loss—when his Stevie died, but maybe didn’t.

But then now, now maybe…

Maybe the impossible could be something that saved them, saved him, instead of something that only sought to ruin.

Eddie doesn’t think he can believe he’s that lucky.

But it’s easier to entertain the possibility, than to continue just…knowing Steve died before Eddie could acknowledge with his everything that he—certified cynic and self-deceiving dumbass Edward Elliot Munson—was ass-over-ankles in love; and more than that: before he could tell Steve as much, because of anyone Eddie’s ever met, Steve Harrington deserves to know how impossible it is not to; how ineffably much he is loved.

“Hey,” Eddie ultimately finds himself curled up back in his bed again, clutching his film canister to his chest, tight enough to leave an impression on his skin.

He wants it to. Right over the way his heart slams against his ribs. He wants a bruise. He wants a scar. He wants inviolable proof.

“Umm, so I don’t know if this is real,” Eddie’s eyes flicker to the jewelry box of ashes, the strange potentially-enchanted note on his dresser; “or if it is, how this works?”

This apparently being talking to the cobbled together film-pendant around his neck, he…he’s so fucked, isn’t he, this is insane—

But it’s not like that’s ever stopped him before.

And before never had love in the mix. So.

“If you can hear me,” Eddie runs his thumb around the circumference of the cap, over and over; “I pretty fucking sure I’m in love with you,” and it’s maybe fucked up, how it feels as nervewracking to say it to a plastic canister of ashes as he imagines it’d feel looking into those stupidly-wide amber eyes, but yep: said plastic ash-pendant’d be fucking bouncing with his heartbeat if he wasn’t holding it so tight to the furious drumming of his pulse.

“I know it’s fast? But,” and Eddie swallows, shakes his head for reasons that are maybe about dispelling the idea that anything’s too fast or too much in the life they’ve led, one where more might be possible, where a future might still exist beyond all possibilities, all hope except for the fragile frail thing in Eddie’s chest written in blood red, in Steve’s hand on Eddie’s fucking bones:

“I don’t think losing someone hurts like this if your heart’s not in it all the way,” and that’s, that is…

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it. His heart is the heart of it.

“Sorry, about that, if you,” Eddie swallows, sour around the idea that maybe, even if the impossible’s possible, this part, where he feels like this, is just…maybe not too far but in the wrong direction.

But he wants to believe. He wants to think Steve saw something pointing in this direction when he told him to survive, so they could have, so they could finish, so they—them, together—could…

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s voice is hoarse enough to hurt, now, so he lifts his little film canister to his lips and presses them hard, sure: it’s weirdly warm against his mouth, held too close to his chest for too long.

Not long enough. Not close enough.

“Be careful about taking care of yourself, about, coming back and,” Eddie grips his pendant of ashes back tight to the center of his sternum;

“I’ll watch over it, watch over you,” he promises; “long as you need.”

And he breathes, holding the canister close before he brings it back to his mouth again and whispers to it like it matters, or…just in case it matters:

“Come back to me,” his words come out in a shudder, all trembling; “I’m just a mere human, maybe less than,” and that’s true, that is so fucking true but:

“But you already consume me,” Eddie speaks it honest, and kisses the rim of the cap— if there’s any chance of getting in, it’s there:

“So burn me up, as much as you need to,” and Eddie means it, he fucking means it with everything he is; “just,” and his voice cracks, and he shoves the canister back tight to his shaking heart when the first tear falls on it, covers it with both hands and cups it safe and damn-near painful as he whispers to whatever might listen:

“If any of this is real,” he barely fucking breathes: “please come back.”

He loses the battle for consciousness to his tears, but awake or asleep: he doesn’t once let go of the pendant pressed to his heart.

——

Eddie’s warm. Like, fell asleep in the sunlight, swaddled in a blanket, embraced and held and wrapped up in pure comfort warm.

“You’re more than a mere human,” a voice exhales right behind his ear: also warm, also comfort, also fucking impossible and he turns, frantic and even more so when he feels the lack of his film canister against his chest, and he tries to scramble for it but he’s…he’s held the whole time in strong arms that he knows, same as he knew that voice, same as it’s clear that he’s warm because he’s wrapped up in a body, tangled from the legs up with, with—

“How,” Eddie barely speaks, more mouths as that chest lifts, those lungs fill, that mouth curls warm and sweet and his Steve is watching him, those eyes so alive and then those strong hands are reaching for him, cupping Eddie’s cheeks and marveling like Eddie’s the wonder, here, like Steve isn’t lying in his arms like a full-on fucking miracle.

“You offered burning, and pledged your heart unasked,” Steve says it in this…this way that is exactly that simple, and exponentially more profound.

“That is some lore shit,” Eddie breathes out almost on instinct because…that’s some lore shit.

And Steve—Steve, his Stevie, wrapped around him and moving and breathing and being and definitely one-hundred-percent naked but that is totally irrelevant right this moment because Steve—

Steve laughs at him, soft and fond and god, god but Eddie thought he’d lost it. He was so sure, and his heart was so broken but now Steve’s heart is strong against his skin and Eddie can, he can…

Eddie can fucking breathe.

“I don’t think anyone expects our kind to be…cared about, like that,” Steve shrugs a little, and Eddie wants to protest because Steve Harrington isn’t only cared about, he is adored, and fuck anyone who says different, who so much as thinks otherwise—he wants to push the point, but Steve’s eyes are so intent, so saturated with feeling.

And fuck, but Eddie missed those eyes.

“Speeds the whole re-personing thing up, apparently,” Steve’s smile is a little wider before he shakes his head with a cute little toss of that hair.

“Old magic things,” he dismisses; “for later,” and then he draws Eddie back down close to his chest and snuggles him in so, so close.

“Tired,” Steve sighs a little into Eddie’s mess of curls; “and you need taking care of.”

And it’s…out of everything, the protective certainty in those last words are maybe the most unshakable proof that settles in Eddie’s chest and reminds the still-reluctant, still-too-scared parts of Eddie’s heart to commit and start back to beating because: only Steve Harrington is protective…quite like this.

“You’re really here?” Eddie whispers, wondering and hesitant all at the same time.

“Thanks to you,” Steve kisses Eddie soft, sure: taste strangely of smoke and cinnamon but underneath—all Steve.

His Steve.

He folds into Steve’s chest and just, fucking, clings.

“So fast,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s skin, because the heartbeat under his lips is almost indecipherable, one beat to the next. “And you’re so warm, are you,” Eddie props his chin up and looks up at Steve, anxious and flooding with worry before he sees Steve’s smile, still sweet and steady.

“Bird,” Steve drums his fingers against Eddie’s forearm, lightning quick; “fire bird, so,” and the heat makes sense then, too, as Steve wraps him up again tighter and sighs, satisfied as he envelopes Eddie’s frame.

“Also extra energy, I think,” Eddie listens to Steve’s words around his heartbeat through his chest; “like, I couldn’t make it past your kitchen but, I don’t know how I know it, but I know I can give some of it to you while it’s settling.”

Magic. Steve. Can share his phoenix magic. To take care of Eddie. Immediately after coming back from the fucking grave.

On brand, Eddie guesses. Jesus fuck.

“I am pretty damn positive I’m in love you with you, too, by the way,” Steve shakes Eddie back to his body, to the moment, to the soft sure way he breathes those words and kisses Eddie’s temple like Eddie’s pulse doesn’t trip around the sentence, the sentiment.

“Also thank you, for,” Steve adds, and drops another kiss while Eddie reels, floats in the moment of hearing the words, of knowing for sure, of feeling it: “for loving me, somehow, enough to,” and Eddie can imagine where that’s headed, the way Steve says somehow like an unthinkable thing.

And there will be none of that, so he stops it and kisses hard, wet, open-mouthed at the center of Steve’s chest, over his bird-flutter heartbeat.

“It broke me,” Eddie breathes there, cracked open and still raw; “I already mostly figured but,” and his voice breaks, and Steve pulls him closer, so warm, and the bird-heart-flutter feels more like full broad wings, majestic, almost embracing and ensuring Eddie of all things is safe, and kept.

And warm.

Fuck if Eddie doesn’t fall into the feeling, full body; whole heart and soul.

“If there was any question whether I already loved you with everything, the way I fell apart,” and Eddie just moans a little because there aren’t…he doesn’t have words for it at all, he—

“Let me put you back together?” Steve murmurs low in a way that’s so soft and gentle but trembles the marrow inside Eddie’s bones.

Timeless. Endless.

Eddie kisses Steve’s chest again and hopes Steve knows that means yes, and please, and forever.

Unequivocally.

“Could we maybe talk about that, um, bond stuff, that the letter…” Eddie eventually speaks muffled into the hair on Steve’s pecs, after soaking in the heat and pulse and realness of him.

“I meant it,” Steve murmurs straight into Eddie’s skin; “I’m not holding you to—”

“I want you to.”

Eddie did not for a second think or feel otherwise, from the moment he saw the words, before he even started to believe at all: his mind was filled with possibilities by those words. His chest was…

“You…” Steve nudges Eddie’s head up from his chest and studies his face, reads something in his eyes before his breath catches, this time; before his bird-pulse skips, something light and giddy against Eddie’s weight and Steve huffs, disbelieving but…maybe happy for it.

Maybe…maybe overjoyed, even.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and leans to kiss Eddie full on the lips again, consuming: familiar for it.

“Yeah we can talk about that. But later.”

And then he settles Eddie back against him and wraps him in his bare skin, the still-radiant warmth.

“Now you sleep, and when you wake up, I feed you, you shower, you put on new clothes,” Eddie wrinkles his nose, doesn’t even know how many days it’s been since he cared for those things; abandons any shame for it when Steve feels him recoil and presses him closer, chuckles once and nuzzles his hair;

“Then I feed you again, and then,” Steve kisses his head once, and then twice, and then three times and Eddie feels it tingle through his goddamn veins like a vow, filled up with promise when Steve whispers, so alive:

“Then, we can talk.”

For @klausinamarink, who requested '"I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST and also for @steddie-week for the Day Seven prompt 'Free Space'

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @mensch-anthropos-human @micheledawn1975 @lumoschildextra @dotdot-wierdlife @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @grtwdsmwhr @eddie-munson-addict

divider credits here

ao3 link here ✨

[lavendertales]

SEÑORITA: Chapter 8**

pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader

summary: your relationship with Javier gets more serious & heated after weeks of sneaking around.

word count: 5.9k

series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut.

chapter warnings: cunnilingus, praise kink, Javi's thirsty af, mentions of piv.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

series masterlist | AO3

Chaos reigns Javier’s thoughts the moment he wakes up.

He faintly recalls last night’s events, the rush of adrenaline, the yearning nearly burning him alive, and now, as he turns to the side, the consequences of his actions that he knows he’ll have to face sooner or later.

What strikes him though is the warmth of the bed. He sees you snoozing peacefully to his left, and something flutters in his chest. His lips stretch, almost effortlessly, into a smile as he silently admires you. His bed has always been exclusively cold—minus the minutes spent in sheer ecstasy or neediness. Yet now, it is filled with warmth and peace, and Javier knows it’s because of you and you alone. You’re the one that’s surprisingly soft and filled with life and sarcasm and joy, all the things he left in Laredo as a young man starting life. And frankly, Javier is unsure what to do with such loveliness. He is not used to it. His hands are calloused and stained with blood and pain; how are they supposed to hold something so wonderful without breaking it?

“It’s too early for you to be this deep in thought.”

Javier turns so suddenly he almost pulls a muscle in his neck. He looks at you practically breathless, the crease between his brows disappearing and being replaced with a smile over his mouth.

“Hi,” he says, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Hi.”

You smile and lean in, kissing him slowly, a little reminder that now you can, in fact, do this, even if it is just in the privacy of these walls. Javier doesn’t care; he can be discreet if the situation asks for it. And in this case, Javier has the feeling the two of you will have to be sneakier than the secret services.

Because it finally hits him: he’s in bed with his best friend’s sister. He slept with his best friend’s sister. After he was told not to.

“Don’t go all guilty on me now, Peña,” you warn softly, nuzzling at the crook of his neck.

“No, I’m—I’m not.”

“Are you always such a bad liar?”

“Normally I’m good at it but for some reason I’m not doing so well when your leg’s sliding up mine.”

You chuckle, kissing his cheek and grazing it slowly afterwards.

“This is not about Steven,” you remind him. “This doesn’t concern him, no matter what crap pours out of his mouth. This is about us. He has very good intentions but I’m more than just his little sister. I’m a woman with goals and dreams and needs.”

“Hmm. And what about your needs right now?”

You smirk against Javier’s lips, rejoicing into the chaste kiss that slowly consumes you both.

“Well,” you try to stifle a chuckle, “I was thinking of taking a shower and then having some breakfast if you feel like joining me.”

“I don’t eat breakfast a lot of the time but I could eat you out in the shower and call it a great meal.”

You actually feel your cheeks reddening, so you chew on your lip in a feeble attempt to hide how flustered you are by one simple statement.

“That could be dangerous to do in such an environment, so I’ll take a raincheck on that,” you reply. “But I could go down on you instead. That’s more practical, don’t you think?”

There is virtually nothing Javier can say against that. There is no rationality left in his brain, not when his blood is redirected to the south region of his body. It’s actually mind-boggling how painfully hard Javier can get within seconds just by looking at you or listening to you. He’s not sure he’s ever had such reactions from any woman he’s seen in the past two decades, and it’s toying with his mind in unbelievable ways.

“Oh, there’s something I should probably tell you,” you say as you’re getting out of bed, “I have a date tonight. So I can’t see you anymore.”

Javier stills, a cheeky smile spread across his face. He finds himself absolutely enthralled by your candor and your sense of humor, and it feels more than refreshing.

It makes him feel glad to be alive.

“Really?” Javier retorts. “Anyone special?”

You shrug playfully. “It’s too soon to tell, but I think he has the potential to be, yes. More than he gives himself credit for.”

“He’s a lucky son of a bitch.”

“How do you figure that?”

“He’d be a fucking moron to not recognize what an opportunity he’s been given. A chance to… be a better man.”

You don’t hesitate in pulling him in gently, engaging in a languid, tentative kiss that soon turns heated and needy. Before you can fully process what’s going on, you find yourself writhing beneath Javier, legs spread with the same ache as last night lying in between them.

You keep your word though, and as the hot water pours down your bodies, you get on your knees and take Javier in your mouth till he’s exasperated and spent and somehow still begging for more.

Around six p.m., Javier quickly decides that this is the most nervous he’s ever been in his life.

It’s silly, ridiculous even; he’s gone on dates before, he’s been engaged, for crying out loud. Hell, he’s been in far more dangerous situations in Colombia, life-threatening and panic-inducing situations.

Yet somehow, getting ready for a date with his best friend’s sister is tearing up his nervous system.

It’s guilt. Javier knows the sensation damn well, no matter how hard and deep he tries to shove it down, no matter how much he knows you’re right and this isn’t about Steve. And it shouldn’t be, but for the first time since his childhood, Javier feels honorable.

Except right now, as the memory of this morning pops unexpectedly in his head and taunts him, he feels dirty. He feels even dirtier thinking of all the things he has yet to do with you and to you.

But when Steve calls him three times in a row and Javier finally answers the fourth time, he lies to him. He tells him that he hasn’t seen you and that he doesn’t have the slightest clue regarding your whereabouts. He tells him that he should respect your wish and give you time. Yet Javier doesn’t say anything about how much of you he’s seen between last night and this morning; if he would open his mouth to confess his sins, he’s certain guilt would swallow him whole.

And then Steve would most likely dig a hole and bury Javier alive.

The knot in his throat doesn’t leave him even as he gets ready for dinner. He’s tried about a dozen outfits before he finally settled on jeans, a white shirt and a blazer. He hasn’t been this nervous in… ever, really. He remembers getting ready for all the dates with Lorraine and feeling excited, yet strangely confident. Not to say he isn’t excited now, no, that would be an understatement—but he is scared. More scared than anything Colombia threw at him.

He’s terrified of screwing this up.

The implications of a potential downfall between the two of you are catastrophic to even think about: not only would his heart get shattered, but you’d most likely resent him, never want to see him again, Steve would also refuse to speak or see him again, and Javier would end up all alone. One might say the stakes have never been higher in his personal life. And try as he might, he cannot ignore the little voice at the back of his head that screams “you will fuck this up, you always fuck things up”.

But the moment you open the door and greet him with a bright, excited smile, Javier’s worries seem to melt away. Each breath he takes is slow and calculated, as if he’s afraid too much or too less might cause him a heart attack.

“You’re so beautiful,” Javier mutters, his eyes roaming all over your figure.

“Why, thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”

“Really? I just threw some things on me.”

“You changed your outfit more than once, didn’t you?”

Flabbergasted, Javier stares at you, his frown so deep it could cut right through his forehead.

“Okay, so I’m nervous, sue me.”

You chuckle, and Javier’s chest swells with something akin to—

No, it’s not that. It can’t be, it’s far too soon and too risky.

“Aww, is this your first date?” you tease as Javier opens the car door for you.

“Unless you count one night stands as dates, then… yeah, this would be my first date since I was like twenty something.”

The more you stare at him, the more you come to realize that he’s very serious.

“Honey, if I’d count one night stands as dates, I would’ve been so much more popular in college.”

There’s something oddly enticing about the way you called him honey just now, and it takes him a while to get ahold of himself to keep driving properly.

“But is it really your first date since your twenties?” you ask cautiously. “I mean, I can’t imagine your—previous job allowed you to date much.”

“Well, no, it didn’t. All I had time and place for was… sex, really.”

“Oh, which reminds me. I don’t tend to sleep with guys on a first date, so I won’t be putting out tonight.”

“That’s a shame. I think we’d be pretty good at that.”

You smirk at him. “I think so too, but we just met and I’m a bit shy.”

“Funny, you strike me as a very vocal person. Especially if you were to sit on someone’s face.”

The memory makes your cheek turn auburn red, the color of flattery and ecstasy alike.

“So about this dating thing,” you try to stir the conversation on the right path again.

“Yeah. Well. I guess technically I didn’t date while I was in Colombia. And not since…”

“Since?”

Javier takes a deep breath in, reminding himself that honesty and openness might just work this time around.

“Since my wedding fell apart.”

Javier doesn’t even sneak a glance in your direction, which tells you he’s nervous about the whole evening and the revelation.

“Oh,” you say after a while, hoping your tone doesn’t make him think you’re all too shocked. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“You sure you wanna talk about my—probably one and only real ex on our first date?”

“I don’t mind. I like honesty. And I feel like this is an important piece of the puzzle that is Javier Peña.”

At that, Javier cracks a smile.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Her name was Lorraine. We met after high school, started dating, the lot. I really liked her, she really liked me—“

“Aka the sex was great.”

Javier’s smile widens. “Yeah, it was. As great as it can be for a couple of 19 year olds. Before I knew it, I asked her to marry me and she said yes. We started planning the wedding, and the more we talked about our future together, the more I started to realize that maybe we were getting married for all the wrong reasons. I mean, she was great and fun… smart, beautiful… the whole package.”

“But you didn’t love her.”

This time Javier does sneak a glance at you, surprised to see the fond expression residing on your face.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” you smile.

“I just think I was getting married more for the sake of our families and for her. I mean, she even told me she was pregnant before the wedding and as it turned out, she wasn’t. Then I sort of… left before the ceremony began.”

“So you left her at the altar.”

“Found out from the former maid of honor that Lorraine was going to leave first actually. Before she could leave she confessed to me that she wasn’t pregnant in the first place, so then I left.”

“Boy, talk about complicated.”

Javier ponders for a little while as he parks the car.

“I did love her in a way. As much as I am capable of loving,” he says, finally able to stare at you properly. “But I don’t think I was in love with her. There’s a big difference. Or so I’m told.”

“There is,” you smile.

“I guess I was never in love with someone.”

Until now. Maybe. I don’t fucking know.

No, don’t say it. Don’t even think about it.

How could you, of all people, even know what it is?

“You sell yourself too short, Javier.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you are very much capable of loving. I mean, just look at how hard you’re trying to honor your promise to your best friend. Just the way you talk about him and Connie, I can tell you care about them, that you love them.”

“Don’t remind me of that promise, please.”

Smiling, you reach to take Javier’s hands into yours.

“This is not about Steven,” you remind him. “This is not about Steven and Connie, or anyone else. This is you and me. That’s it.”

You always fuck things up, Peña. That’s your heritage.

“He called four times today,” he mutters.

You don’t answer.

“I didn’t plan on answering him—“

“Good idea.”

“—but I did on the fourth call.”

“Well, that’s on you then.”

Javier chuckles against his wishes, and stares at you with a mixture of disbelief and consternation.

“Don’t worry, I told him I still haven’t got a hang of you and that you most likely wanna be left alone for a while. I just… I didn’t think I’d have such a tough time lying to him. I’ve done it before, it was much easier.”

“How come?”

“It didn’t involve me fooling around with his little sister.”

“Let’s just have dinner, okay?” you try to coax him.

“Okay.”

But then you pull him in for a languid, soft kiss, and Javier simply melts into it. How strange, he thinks; usually the woman in his arms is the one to melt under his kisses and touches, not the other way around. And yet he cannot seem to help but feel utterly intoxicated by your presence.

“How about instead of dinner we stay right here?” Javier cheekily suggests.

You peck his lips and open the passenger’s door. “Oh, Javi, why so eager to get to dessert before dinner?”

“I’ve been told numerous times I’m insatiable, maybe that’s why.”

You scoff, taking his hand as he guides you into the restaurant. You sneak the occasional glance at him and can’t help but remark how he keeps gulping and tilting his head as if to readjust the collar of his shirt without you noticing. You find it beyond endearing, but you don’t have it in yourself to ask him what that is all about—not yet, at least.

You partially know the reason for Javier’s nervousness, though you cannot bring yourself to share the sentiment. The last thing on your mind is Steven or how this will affect him. This really isn’t about him in the slightest.

But when Javier still seems tense even after he orders a whiskey and you order a glass of wine, you decide it’s time to lay all the cards on the table.

“Javier, what’s really going on?” you ask.

He takes a sip of his whiskey before responding nonchalantly, “What do you mean?”

“Something tells me you’re not nervous just because of the dating thing. Maybe not even about Steven himself.”

“You really wanna expose me completely tonight, don’t you?”

You shrug, glass in hand. “Not completely. There’s some things I’d like only my eyes to be able to see.”

“So do I.”

He’s not sure from where the hell that came from, but it’s only making him even more agitated and restless. Each stolen glance in your direction, each purposely directed gaze at your figure is setting him ablaze and causing him to feel flustered he would’ve never deemed humanly possible. He still can’t quite piece together what it is that you’re doing to him that has him so reckless and yet so fearful at the same time.

Except he does, he does know. Or at least he intuits it. Because saying it out loud… a whole different story.

He can’t say it. Not yet, maybe not ever. He’s not even sure this is what it feels like. He’s never felt it before, never felt anything remotely close to it, how would he know?

“Javi?”

He snaps his head back in your direction, visibly distraught.

“You okay?” you check. “You kinda spaced out there.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking.”

“About my brother?”

Javier stifles a chuckle in his glass, followed by a deep breath and finally looking at you properly.

“Truth is, I’m a bit scared,” he confesses, the words pressing heavily on his chest.

“Of what?”

“Of this, you and me. Of you.”

You make an amused yet surprised face. “Me?”

“I’m not good at relationship. I don’t think I am. The one experience I have isn’t very reliable cause look how that turned out. A whole fuckin’ mess. And I’m standing here with a… stunning, smart and fun woman and I’m… I’m lost. I’m overwhelmed, I… the one thing I’m really good at—well, you’ve experienced it. That’s the one thing I can bring in a relationship. I’d go as far as to say that you’ll always be satisfied with me, no exceptions.”

You raise your eyebrows. That seems to give Javier some of his confidence back.

“Good to know,” you smile.

“But all the other things that come in a relationship… I don’t know. I want to be able to do all of it, for you and with you. I don’t wanna waste your time or take advantage of you, in any way. I just…”

“Javier. What is it that you want?”

It doesn’t take Javier long to ponder over that.

“To be with you,” he replies sincerely.

You smile, reaching for his hand again. “So be with me. That’s all. The rest of those things that scare you, they’ll come along naturally. But for now… just be with me. However it feels right.”

“I want you to be happy and safe. That’s all.”

“I know you do.”

“I really—I care about you.”

Javier gulps, hoping and praying you don’t take notice of that. if you do, at the very least you’re courteous enough to not make a big deal out of it.

“I know that too,” you smile. “I like that you care about me. I do, too.”

You say it simply, dozily, like it’s something to be said right before you drift off into an exhausted sleep.

But for the rest of dinner, Javier remains painfully aware of his surroundings and you, the woman he’d let into his life so abruptly, the one he fears he might already be nurturing big, serious feelings for.

He remains awake long after dinner, long after the two of you fuck again, his brain spinning and reeling with the realization of this new thing he fears so much, this new potential love.

This new, potential love he’s terrified he won’t be able to keep.

For the next several weeks, Javier’s life becomes a blur of work and sex. Well, perhaps just sex might be too crude to describe how far you and he have come: the two of you go out to dinner or you offer to cook and subsequently teach him a thing or two in the kitchen; you go out for drinks or movies, for walks in the parks when it’s dark so you can enjoy silence and the comfort of knowing you won’t be spotted so easily. You enjoy each other in every way you can think of, and Javier finally sees that it’s not all about sex.

He wants not only you, but to be with you.

And slowly, that notion melts away his insecurities and fears regarding his friendship with Steve. As the weeks go by and his relationship with you deepens, Javier simply avoids talking about you at all when he sees Steve. The gnawing sentiment of guilt that used to eat him alive from inside out has steadily faded, and it’s no longer about the fact that he is hiding the first meaningful relationship he’s had in many years, or that it is with his best friend’s little sister.

It’s about the fact that he finally understands what you told him on the night of your first date.

This is not about Steven and Connie, or anyone else.

This is you and me. That’s it.

But Javier does encourage you to call Steve back, and so you do. You’re willing to fix things, only this time around there is far less patience for any type of bullshit on your part, and thankfully Steve can tell as much; whenever the two of you meet, whether Connie and Olivia are there as mediators or not, you can tell Steve is trying his absolute hardest to be kind, interested in everything you have to say and open-minded. It surprises you when he asks to read your Star Wars story, and it provides a fuzzy, comforting feeling that you haven’t felt from your brother in a long time.

You do nothing more and nothing less but embrace it, allow it in.

Just as Javier lets you in: fully, unabashedly and overwhelmingly.

He’s shaking, trembling at the mere thought of you. But actually getting to have you in his arms, to savor you and your body? Absolutely debilitating. Just like it is now, his eyes roaming over your figure lying still in bed, legs half-crossed and book in hands.

Then Javier’s brain finally registers what it is that you’re reading, and his breaths get hitched in his chest for a fleeting second. He forgets everything else. There’s nothing but you, only your utter lack of artifice and complete ignorance of seduction as you rub your legs against each other, still lost in the book.

“What you got there?” Javier asks, his heart pounding in his ears and his voice grumbly with curiosity and need alike.

“Pablo Neruda,” you smile and show off the book for a split second before your eyes roam over the page again. “Never actually read his work and since you like him, I figured I’d give it a try.”

“English version?”

“Sadly not all of us are sexy bilinguals, Javier.”

He chuckles, the sound of his name perfectly spilled from your tongue and resting on your lips something entirely maddening.

“I am a sad one-lingual,” you continue. “Well, I do know some French, but I’m out of practice on that one.”

“If memory serves me correctly, we practiced something French just yesterday.”

You snicker, staring at him with an eyebrow cocked and oh fucking hell. The way you’re looking at him now, stunned and rapacious, Javier remembers all too well how it felt the first time a girl ever looked at him. of course it’s not even remotely comparable, but the sensation lingers still, only a hundred times more intense.

He remembers the first time he’d ever felt the bolt of lust that came from being wanted, and he’s feeling it now like he did back then, all this electricity and awareness prickling his skin, which suddenly feels too tight to contain all the things he’s feeling. Too tight to contain his want for you, which right about now is as big as a storm. Big as anything, certainly bigger than what his body can hold.

“I meant the actual language, but two things can be right at once I suppose,” you smile.

And Javier smiles too, crawling onto the bed, his eyes now roaming over your legs.

“What do you think of Neruda so far?” he asks as he mindlessly starts to caress your calf.

“Powerful stuff. I can see why even you are into it.”

“I know right?”

Next, he bends to pepper kisses from your calf to your knee, his other hand parting your legs as he slowly begins to make space for himself between them.

“Uh, Javi?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Hungry.”

You scoff. He answers it so casually, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And maybe to him it is. He did tell you that sex is the thing he is great at in relationships and so far, his words have been proven to be true.

“Javier…” you huff, half in exasperation and half in embarrassing neediness from just the feeling of his hands over your inner thighs.

“Keep reading, don’t mind me,” Javier grumbles, now pulling down your—his—boxer shirts.

God, he goes feral whenever you wear anything of his, and this is no different. In many ways it might be even better, truth be told.

“Kind of difficult to focus on reading when you’re moving—dangerously upwards and—oh!”

You can’t help the moan that just escaped from your mouth when Javier hastily yanks the boxer shorts from your bottom half, exposing you to him.

“Just keep reading,” he encourages. “Out loud.”

You shift a little on the bed. “Wait. What?”

Javier’s eyes are back on your face, and he tries not to grin when he notices how flushed you are already, and all he did was remove a single item of clothing from your body.

“I want you to keep reading, out loud, while I go down on you,” he states. “Is that a problem?”

“Never said it was.”

“Cause if it is and you don’t like or want this, I can—“

You tug at his hair, an almost shocked expression residing on your face, as if to say How dare you assume I want you anywhere but between my legs right now?

He smirks, his fingers already massaging your clit and your mouth falling open at the contact. “Spread your legs for me baby, please.”

You do as he tells you and you can feel his hot breath over your exposed pussy. It sends shivers down your spine, even to your bones.

“Now eyes on the book and read it to me out loud.”

You don’t get the chance to say anything because in the next second, Javier’s mouth is on your clit, kissing it gently, whilst his fingers begin to open you up to him. You swear you lose consciousness for a few moments because you have no recollection of how you land on the current page of the book, to the poem titled Drunk as Drunk.

“Drunk as drunk—on turpentine,” you start, your breath already shaky and your body itching and burning with Javier’s presence. “From your open kisses, your wet b-body wedged between—my wet—mmm—wet body and the strake—“

“S’good,” Javier mutters, licking in hungry stripes on your pussy. “Keep going.”

“The strake—of our boat that is made of—of flowers… oh, fuck—“

Javier eats at you like a man starved, and as you well know by now, he is indeed starved when it comes to you. It’s quite incredible, really, just how insatiable he can be for you and because of you, and it blows your mind every single time you remember.

“Fuck, Javi, please…”

“Keep reading, baby.”

“I c-can’t—“

Your face is contorted in sheer ecstasy, your body begging to be released from its shackles, begging for release after less than five minutes.

“You can,” Javier mutters and his eyes meet with yours for a dangerous, soul-snatching moment. “And you will.”

“Javi…”

“If you don’t finish—well. You won’t finish.”

You open your mouth in protest just as Javier’s fingers slide right back home into you, stretching you deliciously, and suddenly you are acutely aware of how desperate you are for release; more importantly, how desperate you are for fullness.

“I’m serious,” he seems to answer your thoughts. “I’m not gonna let you finish. And I’m gonna start over and over.”

Like a dutiful student, your eyes return to the book, holding it with much difficulty when you could be grabbing handfuls of Javier’s soft locks. Alas, you continue reading whilst Javier keeps his promise and eats and stretches your pussy expertly. This isn’t entirely easy for him either: he unknowingly starts humping the bed, the feeling of your slickness around his mouth, your warmth surrounding him, all conspiring against his sanity.

By the time you get to the last few verses, you’re half holding the book, half grinding on his face to the best of your abilities. You’re a mumbling mess of moans and grunts, but you persevere; you want more than anything to come like this, with Javier’s face in between your legs.

“—and woke with the bitter taste of land—on our lips—eyelids all—all s-sticky—and we longed… fuuuck… we longed for lime—and the sound of a rope lower—lowering a bucket down it well…”

“Mhm, just like that. M-More, baby.”

“Then, we came by night—to the Fortunate Isles—and lay like fish—“

You feel the much needed buildup in your belly, that flame that threatens a much bigger fire, one that can only be put out by him, and you nearly throw the book to the floor.

“Finish it,” Javier grunts against your folds, yapping devotedly.

“Lay like fish under the net of—of our kisses… fuck, Javi!”

Book forgotten, you grab a handful of his hair and curl it into your fist as you finally come with a not-at-all-subtle-shriek. Javier’s mouth remains on your folds, a hot furnace against your wet folds. You feel him everywhere; he’s on your skin, in your bones, in your lungs and in your heart.

Painfully hard by this point, Javier lifs his eyes to meet your face. He notices the little beads of sweat accumulated at your temples and on your forehead, your hungry eyes and how beautiful your voice sounded reading that poem, breaking and moaning for him. He’s so captivated by the passion in your voice. That is the best word to describe you, really: passionate. You’re so passionate about the people in your life, about love and the world and music and books that Javier nearly feels jealous.

He can’t remember feeling this passionate about anything, about any cause or any vocation. Not since Colombia, at least, and that flame quickly died after arriving in Cali. Ever since then, Javier has struggled to find something that’s worth getting out of bed.

And here you are, so passionate and excited to talk about book and stories and reading, and the gap between you is both humbling and absorbing. Javier feels like he could spend the next years or even the rest of his life thinking about it and only just start to unravel the rift between the kind of woman you are and the kind of man he is.

When he looks at you again and he crawls to you, hungry for your kisses that taste like the arousal he causes from you, Javier feels nearly wild with need. When you press your lips on his, there’s both sweetness and lust; and enduring you kissing him like this, with such a mind-boggling duality is something close to madness.

It has to be.

“You’re shaking,” you whisper, pulling away from the kiss to search his face.

Your eyes are metallic, sparkling, and your mouth is as wet and red as your cunt.

Jesus fucking Christ.

And Javier is shaking because he needs to feel you; he’s shaking because the woman he needs to fuck is a woman he is feeling insane things for, things he’s only ever read about; he’s shaking because he’s going to fuck a woman he’s in love with for possible the first time in his life. He’s shaking because—wait.

Wait a fucking minute.

Am I in love with her?

As in… actually in love?

The idea stuns him even as the truth of it thrums down to his bones, settles deep into his flesh and floods every part of him as you kiss again, as you wrap your legs around his waist and pulls him close, impatient and needy.

I love her.

I love Steve Murphy’s little sister with an insanity that is soul-crushing, and I’m thinking maybe I loved her since the moment I saw her in that hallway for the first time, since she shamelessly tucked that folder into my pants and had the audacity to smile at me like it was the proudest moment of her life.

“Javier?”

He snaps back to reality, the realization still lingering heavily on his mind, but apparently not on his body because he’s so fucking hard he can hardly think straight.

“Are you okay?”

Your voice is so sweet, so rich with care that it disarms him completely. You’re lying beneath him, slick glistening from your pussy and waiting to be filled with something better, bigger, and all Javier can think about is how much he loves you.

And how terrified he is of confessing to you.

“Do you want to stop?” you ask.

You’re more than content stopping; after all, Javier was generous enough to go down on you for what felt like both an eternity and a split second.

“I—“

He’s looking down on you, admiring you like the finest painting he’d ever seen, like the most beautiful poem he’s ever read, and he’s still shaking. Words flee from his mind, other than three pesky ones, three little ones that carry a huge meaning.

I love you. I love you I love you I love you.

“Javi, seriously, you have to say something,” you try again. “You’re worrying me.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to worry you, ever.”

You smile with relief, cupping his cheeks. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

The words are on his mind, right on the tip of his tongue, but he cannot muster up the courage to say them aloud.

Not tonight, he thinks.

“I got a bit in my head,” he excuses himself with a nervous chuckle, kissing your nose and cheek.

“We don’t have to do anything if you’re not up for it.”

He scoffs, taking one of your hands and guiding it to his cock, throbbing in his pants by now. You blush.

“I’m definitely up for it,” he smiles cheekily. “From now on always assume I am up for it.”

“Okay,” you laugh rather incredulously.”

“You don’t know… half the things you do to me. Just how fucking hard you get me, how much I think about you.”

“Then tell me those things.”

Javier promises to tell you all those things—in due time. For now, he resorts to the one thing he knows he’s great at: fucking. He slides into you, enjoying the tight warmth of your walls around him, the way your body seems to mold after his, and makes love to you. It’s a stark contrast with the way he ate you out before, but it carries no shortage of passion. He makes a mental note to sort out his feelings and tell you with the first occasion that arises.

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tags: @pedrostories @psychedelic-ink @milkymoon2483 @ifall4dilfs @casa-boiardi @fallenkitten @jenispunk

[redcoralpot]

Smudged (3) Rodrick Heffley X M! Reader

Anddd it's here!

Warnings: Mentioned eating disorder otherwise not specified.

Summary: You were busy enough in life, too busy for what school planned to throw at you; at everyone. A boy you know well seemed to come up with an idea to manage that.

Word Count: 2.7K

-

A white pillowcase smashed against a mess of blonde hair, “Get up.”

Heather’s eyes scrunched up, her first action of the day being to glare at you with an unreasonable amount of venom. The sky outside was just starting to shine through the blinds in her bedroom, clashing against the pink theme of it all. She was never quite the morning person, but frankly, waking her and Holly up was simply your duty; it has been since it was just the two of you.

“School’s been in for two weeks, you should be used to this by now,” you snickered, backing away from the bed.

“Get out of my room!”

That was the only warning you got before she initiated her revenge, sending the poor, soft pillow flying once again. You balanced onto your toes as you shut the door as quickly as you could; the only proof that the object hit the target was the loud thump on the thin wood, “Be careful not to mess up your precious cotton pillowcases!”

“They’re satin, you freak,” Heather yelled, echoing in the hallway you retreated down.

Holly’s room was the second farthest away from yours, only being beat by your parents’. The only thing that separated it from the rest of the house was a tie-dyed sheet; her choice, of course. With careful fingers, you peeked inside, seeing your little sister shifting and groaning in her blankets.

Softly, “It’s time to wake up, I got your favorite cereal downstairs.”

She shot up, staring at you with wide eyes, “Really?”

“Of course I did! Not a day goes by where I don’t spoil my favorite little sister, now does it?”

You disappeared back behind the sheets when she scrambled out of bed, eager to get dressed. The stairs groaned underneath your covered feet, almost as if they were as unenthusiastic about the day as you were. Both of your parents leave for work earlier than most now that Holly was old enough to be left alone with her older siblings, but because Heather rendered herself helpless in the morning, the role of caretaker was left to you. 

All three of you have to leave for school at seven, so you wake your siblings up to greet the morning at six o’clock sharp, no more, no less. You as yourself get up an hour earlier in order to gather your own things, pack lunches, pack Holly’s bag, and have time for yourself. It was exhausting, always, but it was worth it to see the two of them shine.

The kitchen was adjacent to the dining room, with warm lighting to start the morning off in the right mood. You dug your fingers into the cardboard seal on the cereal before popping open the plastic bag inside, not bothering to use scissors. It never spilled everywhere, after all. As you heard Holly’s light footsteps swirling down the stairs, you shook a serving into a ceramic bowl, setting it beside a cup of milk on the usual table. Heather never ate breakfast, and no matter how hard you tried, she insisted that she needed to skip in order to keep up with her dream body. If you pushed it, she snapped.

When Holly finally appeared and slid into her seat, you sat in a chair beside her, “How’re classes going? I heard this is the year you finally start switching classrooms for periods.”

“They’re going good, I guess.” She sighed, pouring the milk into her breakfast, “My teacher for English already handed out the project prompts for this year, but I don’t wanna do it.”

“Wait, wait, what the hell? Already?”

“You haven’t gotten yours yet?”

“No, not in my school. Isn’t it against the rules to get a head start?”

“It was only a day before you, so I don’t think so,” she grumbled, mouth full.

“Well, it should be.”

“Nobody’s started working on it yet.”

You threw your hands up in the air, laughing, “Still!”

Over the oven, the clock blinked at you. You ruffled Holly’s hair, while she turned her head towards you, adorned with a milky mustache, “We have to get going soon, your stuff’s leaning on the door.”

She jumped out of her chair, running to the bottom of the stairs to call upwards, “Heather! We gotta go!”

“I just need five more minutes to finish getting ready,” Heather replied, half silenced by the sound of the bowls settling into the sink.

“Nuh-uh, we have to go now!”

Holly shuffled her shoes on, sitting down to tie them neatly. Your twin hurried down the stairs, squishing past the other girl on the way down, flipping her hair behind her back. She opened the door, and shivered as the early chill seeped into her bones. Heather grabbed her bag alongside Holly’s, practically throwing it in the car before placing her own down in the backseat. You double checked the oven, lights, and sinks, before shoving Holly out the door and locking it behind you. Heather called shotgun, therefore Holly had to squish herself in between everyone’s backpacks. The car started with a weak, stumbling roar, and you were on your way.

The world was only just starting to wake up in a blur outside the windows as the voice of a young woman sang throughout your vehicle, interrupted with the occasional tapping of Heather texting her friends. She never stopped keeping up with her social life, it seemed. However, while everyone else was lost in thought, one thing stuck in your mind.

“Hey, did you get your prompt?” you said, glancing at the girl beside you.

Heather did not even look up from her screen, “Duh. You haven’t?”

“Ugh.”

“So… that’s a no.”

As you pulled into the parking lot of the school, lined behind an endless row of cars, she smacked you in the arm, “Why are you in the drop-off line? I’m driving the girls to the mall after school today, I told you last night.”

“Okay, okay,” you hissed, turning the wheel, “you didn’t have to hit me!”

“Don’t get a spot too far from the school, either!”

Your car slowed to a stop and powered off, as you slipped the key out and handed it to Heather, “I’ll kill you if you lose that– now both of you, shoo! Get out!”

Its doors were slammed shut, and it locked with a beep. You leaned against the hood of the vehicle, watching carefully as your two sisters entered the school. It was a plain-looking building, which the school pathetically attempted to fix with a few colorful flower bushes. The air around you was silent, as quiet as a parking lot could be, and you turned to walk the rest of the way to your school building. Yet, before you could step any farther, a white van screeched past. Deafening music screamed out; it was distorted from how roughly the driver was maneuvering potholes. Oh, how bad you felt for the passengers, did the driver even have a license? You shook your head, glad that you had the sense to keep an eye on your sisters.

The school you went to was not far away, simply a few buildings down the opposite side of the street. Due to their close proximity, they were always competing in everything; from student count, finances, even to awards. So much so that they had devised a competition to be held between the schools each year to contribute to the state curriculum. It was annual, of course, and every single one of the projects made would be showcased and judged based on a variety of categories. Whichever school gets on the podium the most, well, you get the point. That doesn’t mean it’s not a pain in the ass, however.

The day went quicker than usual, with you patiently awaiting the class of which you would get your prompt and category; English. You were set on it enough that even Daniel noticed, poking and picking at you the entire day, finding time to do it in the hallways when you did not have classes together. He reached his hand back towards you, fingers making a crude attempt at stealing your eraser.

You slapped it away as the bell rang, the seats in the classroom filled, “What’re you doing?”

“Lightening the mood, ever heard of it?” he whispered back, craning his neck to look at you.

Students around the two of you were passing papers back, the teacher’s eyes glaring holes into Daniel’s head. He squeaked, taking his prompt, and proceeded to throw the slip of paper behind him. It fluttered in the air, and came to a rest on the top of your nose. He earned two more holes being burned into him as it slid gracefully off of the tip. For revenge, you leaned forward, your hand hovering over a stray lock of Daniel’s hair. He had opened his own paper, shoulders scrunched, and you yanked the strand in favor of reading it.

He yelped while you raised an eyebrow, “Tree vandalism, huh?”

“What the fuck, dude,” More groans arose from the class around you, “what did I do?”

“You know what you did.”

“Ms. Kawiti already avenged you with whatever this is, please do tell me what tree vandalism is!” He rolled his eyes.

“Well, what’s the category?”

“Environmental Science– I hate that class, you don’t understand.”

You slouched against your desktop, “Loser. I bet they chose that on purpose.”

“If you’re so confident, why don’t you open yours?”

“I was getting to it!”

Daniel scooched his chair around, almost unheard in the chatter-filled room, when you thumbed the slip open. Percussion; musical. Ah, yes, now you could understand the reaction of everyone else. It felt like the administration grouped together all of the staff to give all of the students the worst prompts imaginable, even the janitor. Even God himself knows that the janitor hates them all, rightfully. Perhaps this was his plan to avenge himself and any of the past janitors as well, after a decade of working there. Perhaps you could plead for mercy, even as the class around you fell silent.

He squinted his eyes, attempting to read it upside down, “That isn’t too bad, unlike something someone got.”

“Since when can you read like that?”

“Since now,” Daniel said.

You scoffed, crumpling the paper and tossing it in your bag, “I don’t even know anything about percussion.”

“Well, the whole point is to research a topic, so,” he waved his own, “Google it, go to the library, pay the music teacher a visit for the first time this year. At least you get to have fun with yours!”

“Yeah, true, I won’t be stuck studying trees.” At that, Daniel stuck up his middle finger, scowling. 

A singular finger tapped his shoulder, a ring adorning it. You hid a smile behind your hand as Daniel slowly turned, getting tenser with each second that passed. His eyes followed the figure upward, until they finally met her own. Ms. Kawiti, in all her glory, stood firm in front of his desk with pursed lips; an action that gave you a better look of the tattoo of which ran down the bottom of her lips to her chin.

“Class was dismissed five minutes ago, boys. And Mr. Ivanov, if I see that behavior in my classroom again, I won’t hesitate to give you detention.”

Daniel shrunk in his seat, “Yes, ma’am, understood.”

She strolled to the front of the classroom, and busied herself with a stack of papers. He wasted no time shoving his materials into his backpack, heaving it onto his shoulder, and most likely busting the door hinges with how fast he ran out. You allowed yourself to remove your hand from your mouth, snickering. As you got up to follow your friend, the teacher looked up from her papers with a certain twinkle in her eye.

“Remember that working with another student is prohibited; have a nice day.” As you slipped out of the classroom at last.

Daniel was waiting for you outside, and trailed behind you as you appeared. He grabbed a string on your bag, per usual, in order to not lose you in the waves of students crashing into the both of you. You pulled him along, leading him to the quickly emptying rows of lockers in the hallway. This is where the pressure on your backpack stopped, and Daniel slammed open his door. The lock holding yours open clicked under your fingers, allowing you to dump the contents of your bag inside while its pins shook. 

He loudly asked, “Is it just me, or is she horribly strict?”

“Every teacher is strict to you, dude, you just hate school.” You hissed, “If anything, Ms. Kawiti is the least strict teacher that we’ve ever had.”

“She did let me off with a warning for flipping you off instead of detention.”

You smacked his back, “You’re one lucky man, Daniel. She won’t let you off that easily next time.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

He zipped up his bag, hitting you with it as he tugged it on. You made a face at him, only to see him smirking at you, before darting down the hall and towards the two large exit doors. Your jaw tightened, teeth grinding against one another. Even as you chased him from a distance, you could hear his cackles only getting louder as you started to close it, reaching out a hand to grab him by the collar. Daniel knew he couldn’t outrun you; he never once had beaten you in mandatory track practices in middle school, much less now. He lasted a grand total of thirty-two seconds before you seized him by the back of his neck, a mere foot from the doors. 

“You lost.”

Daniel cursed, “I have a heavier bag than you, of course I did!”

“Excuses, excuses.” You flicked his nose before setting him on the ground outside of the building, joining him shortly. The last thing you wanted was to pay a visit to the principal’s office simply because a teacher saw you playing. 

As you slid down the railing, accompanying the boy jumping down the stairs, he said, “Where’s your car? Aren’t you driving home today?”

“Nah, man. Heather wanted to take the girls and Holly out to the mall.”

“I could drive you home, if you want.”

You huffed, “No thanks, wouldn’t wanna be a bother.”

Daniel held his hands high in the air, backing away towards his car, “If you say so.”

“See you tomorrow, tell me how the research goes.”

“You better text me when you get home, don’t make me wait until math in the morning to see if you got kidnapped!” he yelled, slamming his door shut and peeking out the window.

Instead of answering, you stuck out your tongue at him as the engine roared. Really, you could have sworn he flipped you off again before pulling out of the lot, speeding off until you would be able to see him the next day. You chuckled, shifting the weight of your bag onto your other shoulder, starting onto your journey home. Heather and Holly should both be out of school by now, despite the fact that your school releases earlier than theirs, and should be on their way to the mall. You can’t steal the car back now, can you?

That is all you could think about as you crossed the street, running across the sections where cars were lined, peering at the entrance in hopes of seeing your siblings. Instead, you could only see a puff of brown hair hurtling towards you before a body hit you, an arm curling around your neck and spinning you around. You hurled over, trying to throw the person off of you, not wanting to take Daniel’s words seriously. A grunt and a smack rang out as he hit the floor; you stumbled a few steps back. 

A cough, “What was that for?” Rodrick spluttered.

You exhaled in a hurry, “Oh my god, it’s you.”

“Of course it’s me, who else would it be?”

“A kidnapper,” you responded dumbly.

He rolled onto his hands and knees, shaking as he staggered onto his feet once again, “Damn, I just wanted to say hi.”

“What part of hi requires you to jump on me?”

“The friendly part, duh.”

You stayed silent, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. He seemed to pick up on your mood, scratching the back of his neck, his voice still hoarse from the fall. 

“I need you to do a favor for me.”

-

[joka13]

FANFICTION (REQUEST): Weasley Twins x Reader (Hufflepuff Girl) - Lovesick - Part 5/5

WARNINGS: British swearing, vomiting

Never before had the Weasley twins experienced anxiety in such a way as this. Throughout their whole lives, they'd grown more and more accustomed to not having a single care in the world. Within only mere seconds they had gained something, or rather someone, that caused them to become literally ill because they didn't know if she felt the same way about them. This was the day Fred and George would confess their love to you. They were determined to do so, but the possibility of your rejection was unexpectedly the most frightening thing they had ever faced.

"George," Fred whined over an untouched plate of bacon and eggs. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"You are sick," George said. He began to cough, resulting in a lapful of petals.

"Do I look terrible? Because you look terrible."

"Thanks. You look as healthy as a horse with an infected leg wound yourself."

A short moment later, Harry and Ron sat down with the twins for breakfast.

"Morning," Fred and George said together.

Harry looked up at the twins, appearing slightly concerned. "You two sound like—"

"Aah!" Ron exclaimed in alarm at beholding his brothers' sickly, colorless faces. "Bloody hell, are you guys... vampires?"

George, who sat next to Ron, turned to face him directly right before sneezing. The twins laughed weakly as Ron was littered with petals.

Ron blinked, wearing an expression of vague surprise. Then a knowing grin spread across his face. "That's right! You guys are in love!"

"Aren't vampires supposed to be sexy nowadays?" Fred asked, smiling loftily and ignoring Ron's comment.

"Right, because that's exactly what I was thinking when I called you a vampire," Ron snorted sarcastically as he brushed himself off. "Nah, you'd be the sort of vampire that's just plain scary. The sort that feeds off homeless people and stray dogs." Ron squinted at the twins and stroked an invisible beard, observing. "You'd probably live in a cave with only bats for friends. And your back story—"

"Alright, we get it," Fred and George huffed in annoyance.

"Hold on... How'd you know about the, er, Hanky-wanky disease?" George asked.

Ron laughed. "Harry had it a while back."

"Ron!" Harry hissed angrily.

Ron shrugged. "What? It wasn't much of a secret."

Fred chuckled, "Hmm, yes. Ms. Chang was it?"

"We didn't need to see you hacking up flower petals to know that you fancied her," George laughed, and his laughing quickly turned into a petal-spewing coughing fit.

"Speaking of," Harry said, trying to change the subject. "Who is it that you fancy?"

"Now that's a secret," said George.

"At least until we can call her ours," said Fred.

"'Ours'?" Harry and Ron repeated together, confused.

Fred pointed to the top side of his bare wrist with a sudden urgency. "Would you look at the time! We'd best be going."

"Don't want to be late for class," George agreed as he and his twin stood up to leave.

"Since when did you care so much about making it to class on time?" Ron asked, suspicious. "The clock tower hasn't even rung."

"Don't worry about it, Ronald!" the twins called out behind them on their way to the doors.

They overheard Hermione, who was just now arriving at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, ask, "Why are there flower petals everywhere?"

Fred and George laughed, then coughed, and exited the Great Hall while leaving a trail of more pink petals in their wake.

As you headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast, you could not stop yawning. Since your meeting with the Weasley twins that day in Filch's office, you hadn't gotten much sleep. Though, during the times in which you had slept, you had wonderful dreams of Fred and George, so you were not all that upset about it.

It was the flower petals that drove you absolutely mad. Frankly, it was embarrassing; it was terrible to have your situation made so obvious to everyone around you (or at least to those that knew about the Hanahaki illness) every time you coughed in the middle of a class. And the retched petals made an appearance so often now that you stopped bothering to clean them up. You'd decided that you would tolerate the disease no longer, and you would tell the Weasley twins about your feelings for them the first opportunity that was given. You wished you'd known only how soon that would be when you turned a corner to be met face to face with none other than Fred and George Weasley.

"Oh! H-hello, Fred. Hi, George," you laughed nervously, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. This was it!

"Hello, y/n!" the twins responded a bit too enthusiastically, also surprised at the encounter.

Then, all at once, you hiccupped, George sneezed, and Fred began to cough.

You felt utterly embarrassed as you spat out a couple of petals onto the floor, but that feeling was quickly overwhelmed by astonishment as you realized that Fred and George had flower petals falling out of their mouths, too. Then you noticed how very unwell the brothers looked. In fact, their complexions matched the one you saw on yourself in the bathroom mirror that morning. It was in that moment that it dawned on you...

"Wait," George sniffed, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. He pointed to the small amount of flower petals by your feet. "Do you...?"

You gestured to the many, many petals spread out in front of the twins, grinning uncontrollably. "Are you two...?"

Your smile disappeared as Fred finished coughing, his eyes opening wide. He turned away, putting a hand on the nearby wall to steady himself.

"Freddie?" George asked. "Are you alright?'

As if in response, Fred proceeded to throw up a strange, pink liquid with flower petals instead of partially digested food.

"Aw," George groaned, looking away in disgust. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to that."

You stood back, wanting to help Fred but not sure of how you could. Then you remembered why you wanted to talk to the twins in the first place.

Though it was now an awkward time for it, you confessed. "Fred!" you called, making sure he'd hear you. "I... I like you!"

Fred, having stopped vomiting up the pink substance, slowly stood up straight. "Wow," he said, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his robe and turning to face you again. "I feel so much better." He looked much better too. Color had already begun to return to his face, and the dark circles under his eyes faded slightly.

You sighed with relief, relief that Fred was feeling better and that it meant he had feelings for you.

"And you, George!" you chuckled gingerly, turning to him. "I like y-you as well."

Though he had seemed to realize it moments ago when he saw your petals, George appeared to relax now that you'd said it out loud. He smiled blissfully as the illness visibly drained out of him.

"Now..." you said as you started to feel a bit sick to your stomach. "You say it back before I barf, too."

The twins gave a hearty laugh, very obviously feeling better, before each getting down on one knee in front of you.

"We love you, y/n!" they exclaimed simultaneously, putting one hand on their chests and extending the other towards you.

You grinned, feeling, in that single moment, whole again in more ways than one. Your stomach immediately felt better, and that awful feeling of something unhealthy sitting somewhere deep inside you that had gradually increased over time quickly melted away. You took in a deep breath, grateful for the clearness of your lungs that you had begun to think you'd never experience again, and exhaled in satisfaction. Though you now felt well again physically, you also felt a happiness so great that you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You!" a rough, angry voice yelled from behind the twins. Fred and George turned around, and you caught a glimpse of Filch walking towards them with clenched fists. "You took out one of your toys here, didn't you?" he growled, pointing to the pink vomit on the floor. "Just so that I would have to clean up after you!"

"Run!" Fred and George giggled together, not wanting to bother explaining anything to Filch, and turned to hurriedly usher you forward. You laughed as the three of you raced away with Filch cursing behind you.

TAG LIST: @tomhockstetter7-111 @jasm-1ne @costheticbabe @luthien-elvenia-asher @megablonde22 @thecuteavocado @weasleylady92 @websfromallthespiders @rubyintheforest @weasleylover4eva @georgeweasleyslostearhq @im-coolrat @them-cute-boys @xmadigurlx @keirasinbin @huayan

[sagesolsticewrites]

Dear...

A series of letters from one Lt. Harry Crosby to his wife 🤍 (a sort-of continuation of Just Say Yes, but can be read as a standalone!)

My darling wife,

‘Wife.’ I’ll never get tired of saying that.

How are you, darling? I hope you’re not worrying about me too much; I promise, I’m staying as safe as I can, and someday soon this war will end and I’ll have you back in my arms once more.

I miss you more than words can say, sweetheart. You occupy my every waking thought, and all of my dreams at night. Some of the things I dream can’t be written (you know what I mean), but I hope to be back with you soon so I can make them a reality.

All my love, and a thousand kisses,

Your Harry

My most darling husband, I know you didn’t just try to tell your wife not to worry about you! I know how capable you are, but there will always be a part of me that worries.  I’m keeping as busy as I can. I’ve found a job as a typist at the factory here! It’s not quite the job I’ve always dreamed of, but anything I can do to help you boys! Violet from two doors down works there as well, and I’ve made friends with a few of the other girls there, so you don’t need to worry about me being lonely over here. Be safe, my love, and I’ll be counting down the days until I see you again. The swell of joy I feel when I get your letters will surely be nothing compared to being in your arms again. With my deepest love, Mrs. Y/N Crosby P.S. Say ‘Hi!’ to Bubbles for me! P.P.S. I admit I’m intrigued by these dreams you claim you can’t write about… I don’t even get a hint?

Sweetheart,

‘Mrs. Y/N Crosby’ I don’t think a prettier sequence of letters has ever existed…

A job! Darling, I’m so proud of you.

Though now I can’t help but wonder at every piece of paper arriving on base here— did you type those words? Perhaps it’s just me wishing you were closer, but I like to think every piece of paper coming in with the supplies came from your hand.

Speaking of paper, was that a hint of your perfume I detected on your last letter? It was a wonderful reminder of you, my love. 

There are flowers blooming in the fields here. I’m not sure what kind they are, but they’re beautiful so of course they made me think of you. I’ve enclosed a few that I’ve pressed, and I can only hope they make the journey to you in one piece. If not, well… I send my apologies and a promise that I’ll make up for it with all the fresh flowers you could want when I’m home.

Bubbles says ‘hi’ back, and wants me to tell you that he’s making sure I’m safe (though I’m sure you know it’s clearly the other way around— no, I’m only joking, honey. We keep each other safe.)

As for your question regarding certain dreams… I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you in suspense, my dear, at least for now.

Your unspeakably proud husband,

Harry

[enclosed: a variety of small pressed wildflowers]

Honey,

It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you. Are you getting my letters? I hope so.

How are things going at work? I hope they’re not working my girl too hard. 

You’ll never guess what happened with Bubbles, sweetheart. He was off on pass visiting his girl over in Norwich, and the poor guy caught a stomach bug! He won’t be flying anytime soon, so I’m taking his place for a bit. Frankly I’m not sure how flying with me will be any different from flying with Bubbles with a stomach bug…

I miss you with all my heart, honey. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you

Goodbye for now, angel. I hope I hear from you soon.

Love,

H

My brave Bing, Poor Bubbles! Hopefully he’s recovered by now. Tell him hello for me! And I hope your missions went well, darling, and that you’re taking the time to rest when you can. Take care of yourself, my love. Work has been fine, for the most part. Violet and Carol had a bit of a falling out— over what I’m not sure, but it’s made the office fairly awkward. The prevailing theory among the girls is a spat over a boy, though Ruthie’s making a very convincing case for it being an argument over a lost lipstick. I’ll be sure to keep you updated on these riveting (ha) events, as I’m sure you’re as curious about it as we are. Your gifts did make it to me in one piece for the most part, and I’m keeping them safe next to my picture of you. They’re beautiful, darling. In return, I’ve enclosed some pressed roses from our garden. You know I don’t quite have your green thumb, but I’m doing my best (though I am looking forward to the day you’re back home and can take over the gardening duties— the flowers miss you almost as much as I do.) All my love, Mrs. Y/N Crosby

[enclosed: two pressed red roses]

My darling,

Would it surprise you to know the boys now have a bet going as to the reason for your colleagues’ falling out?

I told Bubbles about it, then word apparently spread, and now nearly the entire 100th seems to know the story! (For the record, most of the boys are leaning towards the cause being a boy, though Bubbles is still holding out for Ruthie’s lipstick theory)

Do let us know if the cause for the argument is ever discovered: I’ve got $10 riding on this, sweetheart!

I managed to get a moment to myself yesterday, and found myself walking in the field near where the ground crews were working on the forts. And do you know what happened, honey?

A butterfly landed on my hand.

It was a little orange and black thing, and it only stayed for a moment before flying off, but having that pretty thing choose me as a resting place on its journey to wherever it was off to… it made me miss you more than ever. I wish you could’ve been here to see it.

I love and miss you so much, sweetheart, I couldn’t possibly love you more, and yet every day, my love for you grows. I’m just existing until the day I can take you in my arms again and never let you go.

Millions of hugs, thousands of kisses, and all my love,

Your Harry

My most darling beloved Bing, Ha! I’m glad I could provide some entertainment from so far away, honey. Tell Bubbles to rejoice: Mary found a lipstick tube that had rolled into a corner behind her desk, and Vi and Carol have agreed to be friends again, imagine that! You didn’t tell me which side of the bet you were on, sweetheart, but knowing you I imagine you sided with Bubbles as always. Do spend your winnings on something sensible— perhaps more paper to write to your poor wife? Oh, my love. You’ll never believe what happened as I was reading your latest letter out in the garden (the weather’s been lovely lately!) A butterfly— black and orange, similar to the one you described seeing all the way over there — landed on the chair next to me. Your chair, darling. Did you send that pretty thing all the way over to me to say hello? I’ll imagine you did.  I love you more than words can say, darling, and so the millions of kisses I’ve enclosed will have to suffice. Stay safe, and I’ll see you when you come home to me. All my love, and then some more, Mrs. Y/N Crosby

[enclosed: in a departure from her usual singular lip print on the page next to her signature, Mrs. Crosby chose instead to enclose an entire extra page covered in its entirety in lip prints 👀💋]

[sports-on-sundays]

boulevard of broken dreams / LN4 / Part 2

Summary: After meeting a savior, there's still a lot of mess to clean up.

Warnings: drunk, partying, stranger touching reader, use of the nickname 'Lan' for Lando because I think it's cute ok?!, hangover

Requested?: Yes. Thank you for the suggestion, @rorabelle15

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who enjoyed part 1! Here's a part 2, if you're interested. And if after that you're interested, I'd be willing to write a part 3, in which things kind of get bad again, but of course with a happy ending. Here's the link to part 1:

Sometimes, the sunshine that appeared, found you, and is helping you pick up all your pieces, leaves.

Sometimes you stumble back to where you were.

And the guilt is worse, because you know your sunshine wouldn't ever want you to go back there again.

Your head is thumping in sync with the beat to the party music. There's a bit of wine dribbled down your collar, but you don't remember how it got there, and frankly, you couldn't care less. All that matters is swaying to the music, letting go of everything, and having the night of your life, that won't feel so fun when you wake up with a hangover and a guilty conscience in the morning.

There's a man with tan skin, messy slicked back brown hair, and striking eyes, and he's got his hands all over you. You feel a twinge of fear deep down, but you're sure to brush that off as quick as you can.

It's all good. We're just having fun.

His hands caress all over your body, and before you know it, his lips are leaving imprints on your neck that you'll definitely regret tomorrow when you're sober again.

But for now, you giggle and let him do what he wants with you.

And once he's finished with you, he leaves you and moves onto someone else.

And you flop on a stool at the counter. You dig into your Coach purse, fish out the final bit of your cash, and demand another drink. After receiving it, you chug it down, then stagger up to head back out on the dance floor.

But you bump into the last person you want to see here, right now.

Not because you don't like him. No. It's the exact opposite.

It's because you love him. And he loves you.

And Lando can't be seeing you here, like this.

Damn it.

You watch as Lando's eyes practically pop out of his head. He grips your arm, and pulls you away from the dance floor, against a wall. He stares at you, his mouth hanging open.

"Heeeyyyy... Lan... Lan..." you hiccup. "Why're you here?"

He shakes his head. There's that look in his eyes. He's disappointed.

In you.

His hand moves up, and brushes some strands of hair away from your face. "I was just going out for a drink with friends... How many have you had, Y/n...?"

You swallow. Everything's warped and weird. "I... I dunno. Why don't you... have a drink? Maybe we could dance together...?"

"Oh, Y/n, no. No, no. Not a chance. I'm bringing you home now."

You bite your lip, protesting, "No... Lando, I don't want to... I don't want to go home..."

But he pulls you to his side, and leads you to the door, through all the people. And there's not much you can do to resist his strong arm in your intoxicated state.

It feels like it's just you and him, and it feels terrible.

"I don't want to leave, Lando," you wail as he opens his car door.

"Well, that's a shame," Lando says through gritted teeth, "because we are going home."

And that's that. He drives you home, gripping the wheel all the way, and when you get home, he leads you to the bathroom. He wets a paper towel and begins wiping the smeared mascara and lipstick from your face. As he does this, you stare at his brown eyes. They look hard, and upset. Your eyebrows furrow, and some not-so-good emotions of concern and guilt flood you.

But then Lando sighs. His hand drags across your cheek, and he mutters, "You can shower tomorrow morning. You need to sleep. Stay here. I'll get you some clothes to sleep in, and then you should go to bed."

"Here?" you ask, looking up at Lando with googly eyes.

"Yes, here," he grunts. "You can sleep in my bed. But I don't feel like sleeping with you; I'll sleep on the couch."

Before you can respond, he walks out of the room to fetch you a change of clothes. When he comes back, he tosses the clothes to you, shuts the bathroom door behind himself, and you change into a light pink t-shirt and blue plaid pajama pants. They're a little big on you, so you tie the drawstrings tight and stumble out of the bathroom, calling, "Uh, Lan?"

Just like that, he's there. He grabs your wrist gently and brings you to his bedroom. You climb into his bed slowly, and he pulls the blanket up to your chin for you. He smooths it out, before walking across the room to the door. He flicks the light off, so you can only see his silhouette in the doorway as he murmurs with an exhausted sigh, "Good night, Y/n."

You watch as the door begins to shut.

A little fire goes up within you, and you say, "Wait, Lando."

The door stops moving. It slowly creaks open again. You stare at his dark figure, hesitate, and then stumble out, "I... Thank you, Lan. I... I love you. You're my sunshine."

Lando takes a few steps closer, so you can see him a little better. "Did you say I'm your sunshine?" he asks gently.

You nod slowly, looking up at him. You hold your hand out to him. He steps closer, and he takes it in his. Your hand is a little shaky, but Lando's grip is firm.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He squeezes your hand. "It's okay," he whispers. His thumb runs over the back of your hand. "I forgive you, Y/n. And I love you, too."

You nod.

He gives your hand another squeeze before letting it go, gently. He softly removes some hair on your forehead, before muttering, "Good night, Y/n." He walks to the door, watches you for a few moments, and finally the door slowly creaks closed again, with a soft click.

"Good night, Lan."

In the morning, you lay in Lando's bed for a while, awake, just staring up at the ceiling, tears slowly and silently falling from your eyes.

Finally, though, you slip out of the bed, wipe your cheeks, and pad over to the door, feeling like there's an extreme weight on your skull, causing it to pulse. You slowly pull the door open, peek into the hall, and call, "Lan- Lando?"

There's a few seconds of silence, before you hear his voice call, "Coming!" And soon enough, he's walking into the hallway, and towards you. He's wearing a hoodie, grey sweatpants, and a necklace around his neck.

It's clear he's already showered and gotten ready, which prompts you to ask nervously, "What time is it?"

Lando hesitates, before saying, "10:30 A.M." When he sees the distress in your eyes, he quickly adds, "Hey, but don't worry. You needed that sleep."

"Don't you have plans today? I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from your plans-"

"Shush. No, I don't have any plans. Don't worry. Now, would you like to take a bath?"

You hesitate, but then nod. Lando nods as well and says, "I'll fill up the bathtub for you."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he responds in a level tone. "Go undress in my room. There's a clean towel draped over my chair you can use."

"O- Okay..." you respond, before going to do just that.

In the mirror in his room, you look at yourself. You look at the marks that stranger left on your neck last night. You sigh, dismayed, and feel anger rise up within you as you touch them gently with your fingers, despite knowing it is completely your fault for putting yourself in such situations.

So you wrap yourself in the towel and walk back to the bathroom. It smells like sweet vanilla, and the tub is full and bubbly. You wonder where the scent came from, but don't ask. Lando stands up from the side of the tub and says, quickly leaving, "I'll leave you to it. Call if you need anything."

So you step into the warm water, let yourself sink into it, and relax. The warmth and the scent seems to calm your deepening guilt and slow down your rushing thoughts.

You sigh, contented.

When you finish, you begin draining the tub, before wrapping yourself in the towel again and calling, "Lando?"

"Yeah?" you hear his voice ask back from the other room.

"Uh- What clothes can I wear...?"

"Oh, sh*t," you hear him say to himself, before saying, "Sorry, I forgot! I'll get you a change."

You wait, and soon there's a knock on the door. You open it a crack for him to hand clothes to you through the door, which consist of a loose long sleeve black shirt, fuzzy socks, and comfy sweatpants. When you exit the bathroom and enter the living room, your hair wrapped up in the towel, Lando looks up from his phone and softly smiles, "You look nice and comfy," he comments.

"Thanks," you smile weakly.

He pats the spot next to him, slipping his phone in the pocket of his black hoodie. "Come on. Why don't you sit down next to me?"

You nod and walk over, doing just that. Lando wraps his arm around you. You swallow, feeling a little awkward, and mutter, "That bath- it was really nice and relaxing. Made me feel a lot better."

"Good," he smiles, pleased with this information. There's a few seconds of silence, before he says hesitantly, gently rubbing your shoulder, "Well, what happened? Why did you do it?"

You swallow. "I don't know, Lando... I guess I just... When you're gone at races or back at your home in Monaco... I miss you... a lot..."

His hand freezes on your shoulder. "That's why? Because you missed me?"

"Yeah, well, pretty much. And when you're here, I'm happy. But when you're not, all the stress comes back... I'm sorry, Lando... I'm sorry I'm so clingy... I just... I'm sorry I annoy you... I don't know why you haven't given up on me yet, like everyone else..."

"Hey, stop that," he says firmly, grabbing your hand. "Haven't I already forgiven you? And the only time I get annoyed at you is when you hurt yourself. Because I love you. You're so important to me. I don't want to see you in pain. But I'll never, ever give up on you. It takes patience, Y/n... You just need time to heal, and that's why I'm here to help you with that."

You sigh and nod slowly.

He sighs as well and says, "I wish there was some way to always have you by my side..."

"Lando, I feel so needy..." you confess softly.

But he responds earnestly, "But that's okay. It's okay to need other people. It's been months since we met, and we're becoming better and better friends. To the point where I do love you. But Y/n, this isn't a one-way street."

"What do you mean?" you ask, looking up, meeting his eyes.

"I think sometimes I need you, too. You don't try, but you're like a refuge to me. You get my mind off all my stress, too. I like spending time with you, and you always listen to whatever I need to say."

Your eyes begin to water slightly. "Really?"

"Of course!" he nods earnestly.

You stare, and sniff. You wipe your eyes before leaning in and hugging him. He hugs you back as you say, "Thank you, Lando... That's the nicest thing anybody has said to me in years... You're so special to me."

He grins. "You're even special-er to me!"

You smile softly through your tears and whisper, "You're my sunshine."

He grins even wider, and leans away to wipe your tears. "Do you know, I love that nickname? Well maybe you're my lovely moonlight."

To you and your dark world, sunshine is all you need. You don't understand how sunshine would need moonlight. How does that even work?

But you trust your sunshine. So if he said it, it must be.

Lando gives you a few months, and you're getting better. Things are getting better. And your relationship is getting...

Very close.

One day, you're sitting together, snuggled on the coach, each respectively doing important things on your phones, when Lando suddenly sets down his and says, "I've got a few important things to talk about with you."

Your eyebrows immediately crease together, and a pit threatens to form in your stomach. "Oh no."

But Lando grins. "Jesus, don't look so worried! It's nothing bad."

"You said it like you were about to tell me you're moving across the world and I'm never going to see you again or something!" you half-heartedly complain.

But Lando smiles, amused at this, and ruffles your hair, "Do you worry I would ever do that?"

"I don't know... Maybe..."

He shakes his head. "You worry about too many silly things. No. The first thing I want to talk about with you is your job."

You blink in surprise. "Why my job?"

"Because you hate it, and it one of the things that makes you most miserable, and I hate it when you're even the slightest bit not happy." Your heart warms at this from Lando as he continues, "So, I think you ought to quit your job."

But you snort ruefully. "Oh, yeah, and then what? Go and become a race car driver? You've only taken me karting once."

"No..." he trails off, seeming to know what he wants to say, but unsure of how to say it. Finally he sighs and says, "I make a lot. If you came and lived with me..."

Your eyes pop out of your head. "You mean your smaller place here in the U.K., right?"

He hesitates, before a sheepish smile appears on his face. "No, I mean Monaco."

"How the hell am I going to repay you?!"

"That's the point. Your happiness, and getting to be with me all the time, is the payment. I get you, you get my house and food for free, without having to work."

"You're insane!" you gasp, covering your mouth at how ridiculously dead serious he really is about this.

But he grins. "I know. So, will you do it or not, missy?"

"Oh, Lando, shut up!" you laugh.

"Well?"

You smile falteringly and respond, "I'll think on that."

You stand in Lando's flat. You only had a few things to bring with you, and you're already all unpacked, and feeling a bad, unsure, nervous feeling within you. Lando's hand from behind plants itself on your shoulder, and as soon as you feel this touch from him, you turn and hug him. He seems surprised, but hugs you back. You sigh. "I just don't know about this, Lando."

"Hey, you're still worrying about it? Come on. It will be an adventure, living someplace new. And you don't have to worry about anything. Because you know I'll take care of you..."

"I still feel bad..."

"Don't. This isn't a hard thing for me. I want this. And I can take care of you. I want you to be happy. Find your thing, you know? And I know you will. I know you're not a lazy person- how hard you've worked for so long is proof of that. And I know you've felt trapped for so many years. Now I'm giving you the opportunity to branch out. See and try new things! Make the most of life! It's an adventure, after all. Maybe the opportunity of the dreams you had as a kid are past, but there's still a lot you can do. You're not even twenty-five yet. Come on. Brighten up. Just think of all the dreams you still can fulfill."

It's your first Grand Prix, in Silverstone. Lando has already shown you around, but you've been keeping close by his side the whole time, since the crowds are a little hard for you. But you love them. You love the luxurious, intense, rich atmosphere.

You even got to meet some of the other drivers on the grid.

But now you sit in the McLaren garage, by yourself, since Lando had to go off to do something. You tap your foot, nervous, feeling like you're just about going insane if you have to sit here a second longer, when suddenly you feel a presence in front of you and look up to see Oscar Piastri.

"Hey," he smiles. "So, are you Lando's girlfriend, or...?"

You immediately feel yourself heat up at this, and at first, you hesitate, not knowing the correct answer, before you blurt, "Oh, no, of course not! We're, uh, roommates."

Oscar nods at this, a smile coming on his face. "Oh, alright," is the response with slight doubt, before he adds awkwardly, "Well, enjoy the race..." and walks off.

And you do enjoy the race.

But after the race, it's all kind of a whirlwind. People are everywhere, and it's busy, and everyone is determined to do or go to one thing or place or another, and you're kind of just caught up in it.

So in the end, you're disappointed that you don't get to see Lando standing on the podium.

You sit in the garage, staring down at your feet, kind of in a daze, when suddenly the familiar sunny voice exclaims, "Y/n!"

Your head snaps up, and you stand up. Just seeing Lando's shining, bright grin is enough to melt your sadness away. He steps toward you. You open your mouth to speak, but suddenly-

You can't.

Because your sunshine's warm, soft lips are on yours. And his gentle hands wrap around your waist, hugging it. He pulls your frozen, confused, shocked self closer to himself. He leans down, and you lean up, connected.

Within seconds, he pulls away, looking down at you. Your head and heart are pounding. You're sweating. Lando's eyes are shining as a mutters, "This was the perfect race for you to come to."

"Lando..." you gasp. "What was that?"

"A kiss, darling. Because I love you," He gently touches his nose to yours. "And I think it is about time we take this to the next level."

"Oh- Oh..."

"Are you okay with that?"

You hesitate, but then nod. "Y- Yeah... You're everything I've... ever wanted... But... why me?"

"What do you mean, 'why me?' You're still thinking in those terms?" Suddenly he cups your cheeks in his hands. "I'll tell you why. You think I'm your savior, and you think you need me. You've told me you need me. You just told me I'm everything you've ever wanted. But don't you understand, that this goes both ways? I need you. You're everything I've ever wanted, and that's just you being you."

You stare up at him, awestruck, in wonder.

And he pulls you into a tight, sweet, warm embrace. He rubs your back and whispers in your ear, "Okay, cutie?"

You nod, and feel a real, lovely, warm smile creep up on you. "As long as you never stop being my sunshine."

[mamawasatesttube]

OOF. There are so many good prompts on that list, I could barely decide! But I feel like I gotta go with “They’ll find me, they always do.” Preferably as spoken by Kon?

Kon doesn't know where he is.

Well—okay, he has a vague idea. It's... a box, somewhere underground, designed for holding Kryptonians. Designed for breaking Kryptonians, if he's entirely honest; courtesy of Luthor, of course. The walls are twofold, with all the air pumped out of the gap between the layers so that he can't hear anything from outside, and the strange, uncanny silence alone would be bad enough without the darkness, away from any sun.

The only light is, of course, the fucking kryptonite.

It's getting old, he thinks woozily. How many times is Luthor gonna pull this kinda shit? Does he really think he can break Kon's spirit just with a little (okay, a lottle) physical misery? Does he really think Kon will ever give up any of Kal's secrets just 'cuz of some pain, misery, and humiliation?

Admittedly, having to hand himself over for a bunch of civilian hostages just to get slapped with a kryptonite fucking collar is pretty heavy on the humiliation front, but still. Kon's a goddamn joke. He can take being a laughingstock.

He heaves a sigh, closing his eyes. At least the floor is cold and soothing against his flushed cheeks; the hot flashes are better than the cold sweats, so he's grateful, for the moment. He just has to outlast this, that's all.

At some point, the loudspeaker in the ceiling crackles and jolts him out of his doze. "You look pathetic," Luthor informs him. Kon musters up the energy to raise a middle finger to wherever the infrared cameras in here might be. "Classy as ever, Supernova. You could end this anytime, you know. And frankly, you owe me your existence; you'd think you'd be more grateful than this."

Kon rolls onto his back just to raise a second middle finger to the ceiling, too.

Luthor sighs. "So stubborn. Why do you insist on drawing out your suffering? There is only one way this ends, and we both know that."

"Yeah," Kon mumbles. He's too tired and achy to keep his arms up any longer, so he lets them fall back down to his sides. "There is. They'll find me. They always do."

Judging by the hiss of breath, Luthor doesn't care for that answer. Kon smiles despite the burning under his skin, and closes his eyes again.

Some time passes. Kon drifts vaguely in and out of consciousness, thoughts swimming; when the pain and the nausea grow too overwhelming, he retreats into the part of his mind that never left the tube at Cadmus and lets himself float away from reality.

He dreams about the swimming hole a little ways from the farmhouse. It's in a small copse of trees that stand out on the flat horizon; he took Tim there earlier this summer. They splashed around, swam, and made out sitting on the water's edge; right as they were about to leave, Tim stole Kon's shirt and jumped in wearing it, just to make Kon wear a wet T-shirt the whole walk home, and laughed at his own prank on and off all afternoon.

Kon likes when Tim laughs. The memory makes him smile; he can almost feel the warmth of the sunlight on his back as he reminisces. God, what he'd do for some sunlight right now...

Bang. Bang. Bang.

BOOM.

Light floods into the room, artificial, fluorescent light that does nothing for him. Kon squints vaguely at the silhouettes cast against it, but doesn't bother to lift his head; he'd rather dream of the swimming hole and the cool water lapping at his clammy skin.

"Is that a fucking collar?" Cassie's voice, frigid with rage. Warm hands brush against his throat as she kneels, and the sound of metal snapping reaches him from far, far away. "I'm going to kill Luthor. I'm actually gonna kill—"

"Not if I get there first," Bart says, his voice strangely taut. "Hey, Kon. Wake up!"

Someone else is at his side, too. Red, and black, and white eyes in a dark mask... oh. That's Tim, Kon realizes woozily, as a gloved hand cups his cheek.

"Kon," Tim says. His voice is low and urgent. He's not laughing. The kryptonite is gone, Kon realizes suddenly; there's a metal box next to Tim's knee. Classic Tim, he thinks. Always prepared. "Kon, can you hear me?"

Kon blinks at him. He probably should answer, but... he still feels like he's floating, and none of it can quite reach him. It's fine. It's probably fine.

Tim's lips press together in a thin, tight line. Kon doesn't like that; he shouldn't look so tense and unhappy. He likes when Tim laughs.

"Shit, that bastard really did a number on him," Cassie hisses. "Here, move. I got him."

Tim reluctantly pulls away. Kon whines a little as his hand drops from his cheek; he doesn't want Tim to go. But then Cassie is there, gathering him up into her arms, and Kon sighs, relaxing; she's warm, and he's suddenly acutely aware that he's freezing, and he knows in her arms, he's safe.

"Let's go," Cassie says, standing with Kon in her arms.

"He's shivering. Hold on." Kon watches through weary, half-lidded eyes as Tim fiddles with the clasps of his cape, pulls it off, and... oh. Drapes it over him like a blanket, then bundles him up like a baby, in Cassie's arms.

"If you guys have Kon, I can go murder Luthor real fast," Bart offers.

It's probably a sign that his friends are really, really pissed that no one immediately says no murder, Bart. Kon can't figure out what's going on, but he knows he's safe now. He closes his eyes and sinks into Cassie's arms and figures he'll just have to ask them to fill him in later.

[hedwig221b]

Your fic recs got me singing 🎵 a whole new wooorld🎵

On that note, any recs for just pure filth?

You want me to expose myself, huh?

Knot Thinking With Your Head by KnottheWolf

The first time Sam met Stiles he had no idea who the Omega was, nor did he have any clue that the Omega was already in a series relationship. When he met Stiles, he was hungover and had a massive pounding headache that was killing him to have his eyes open. The Alpha instantly ran to the nearest bathroom to puke in the toilet, before splashing cold water in his face and sighing with relief when the pain was barely there anymore.

Flushing the toilet he left the bathroom so he could make himself a cup of coffee, and then start figuring out how to make the best first impression with the other Alpha’s in the fraternity.

Now all he wanted to do, when he spotted the Omega was get all up on that cute ass.

Stuck In A Rut by KnottheWolf

Derek just loves to show off at the gym, first with his muscles and then with his mate.

AU in which it's legal for werewolves to have sex in public.

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

Deflowered by astrugglingstoic

In which there is a prince, a knight, sequential sword fights, and an anecdote about pressed flower petals.

As it Should Be by KuroKitty (HaleYes)

Stiles comes home from his 18th birthday party at the bowling alley to find a surprise waiting for him in his room.

Or, the one where Derek has no chill.

Plushwolf by the_ragnarok

So suppose Stiles slept every night with his plush wolf doll, to ward off bad dreams. Only that doll was Derek under a spell, and he came alive in Stiles’ dreams.

Specifically, in the type of dreams that involve coming.

In The Dead Of Night by SinQueen69

Stiles wakes up, dripping cum and loves the fact he had no idea who came into his room that night to fuck him.

The Kinky Adventures of a Wolf and His Boy by halcyon1993

A series of mostly unconnected PWPs in which Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale engage in all manner of depravity.

Love's Violent Delights by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted.

Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek.

Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

Angel Choirs and Magic by LadyDrace

Derek has been very, very patient, and has shown frankly incredible self-control in the face of brutal teasing and flirting for two months. But now it's time for the mating run, and he's about to get his reward.

Except for how maybe it's actually Stiles getting a treat.

Win/win.

Anything, really by SinQueen69, I ain't gonna expose myself more than I already did, but that shit is so… 🥵 yeah

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack

[prettyboykatsuki]

warm-ups | sfw + kunigami + sofa

✭ tags ; implied nsfw at the end, coming home / re-uniting, established relationship, gn!reader 18+ | ✭ wc ; 1.4k (?????)

✭ a/n ; me when the random prompt generator gives me a random prompt and i have no clue how to execute on it. never written him before ever so Sorry

Kunigami thinks he should get to fight an airline service at least once in his life.

It'd be one thing if this incident was something happened once in a while. National traveling is already a pain in his ass thanks to customs. He's doing it so constantly - he's used to the strain. Waking up early, packing his things neatly, going through a million checks.

If he were a less ethical person, he'd take a page out of other pro's book and just get a jet for himself because frankly he's fucking sick of it.

This is the longest he's been completely out of the country before in his life. He's been gone for around 6 months now, training with the Brazilian National Team. It was a reward experiencing he'll admit, despite kicking his ass nearly everyday. He made good friends and the people were welcoming- someday he'll make plans to go visit with you.

But he's homesick beyond reasonable doubt. He misses his family dog. He misses Japan.

Most of all, Kunigami misses you.

He really considered not leaving because the idea of long distance didn't sit right with him. You (being the unfortunately considerate lover) you are encouraged him to go. He's thankful you support his dreams. You even surprised him with a visit because it fell on his birthday.

Which was thoughtful and he was so glad to see you but not helpful in quelling the ache of your absence.

Kunigami Rensuke loves you habitually. Maybe that's just how he operates (how he has after becoming a wildcard, that persists into his pro-career) but there's something about it that he never fails to act on. No amount of calling or texting has been able to scratch the itch, the need to love you.

You've been dating for the better part of three years and your anniversary is a few months away. Kunigami wants to marry you but he has to make more money first so he's been hustling.

(Not that you care about stuff like that. But as a pro and a man with pride, he's not really comfortable giving you any less)

It's a typical story for a lot of athletes but you were there before all the fame and publicity. You put up with all of it, all of his dedication and all of his frustrated feelings. Soothed him with gentle hands and a warm meal and a house that felt lived in.

To say Kunigami is grateful is understatement of the century. More accurately, Kunigami can't be without you too long. His life feels incomplete if you're not next to him. He's gotten heat for being soft but he doesn't care.

A wild card, a soccer hero - Kunigami has a lot of self-imposed expectations. But you? Not once have you ever made him feel bad about any of it. In a career where nothing is guaranteed, Kunigami is assured by your love. It makes him want to work harder.

You, of course, are nowhere near as clingy as he is. People often joke that you've got him wrapped around your finger. You laugh and disagree but Kunigami knows it to be true. Anything and everything, Kunigami wants to give you the world.

So six months has been a nightmare. Frankly, he never wants to do it again. His mood is infinitely worsened now because of all the delays. You have a tight schedule and you're not going to be able to come see him because of it.

So he's seething a little, despite it all. He really wants to make it someones problem because he misses you just that much. But alas, he already knows he shouldn't. He can practically hear your voice already.

("A day isn't gonna kill you, Rensuke.")

But it really feels like it will. He's moping the whole way home, even as his driver drops him off at his apartment - Kunigami doesn't feel like his life will start again until he sees you.

So, unlocking his door and coming into his abandoned apartment feels unceremonious at best. His first reaction is that something is a little off when he enters.

There's a noise coming from the living room and everything smells good. The house smells like linen, more precisely. His first reaction is that there's someone who broke in.

But upon entering further, traces of you start to appear like magic. Your coat on a hanger in the closet, your shoes on the rack and your house slippers missing. He doesn't want to get his hopes up, so he holds his breath as he walks into the living room.

Like some kind of miracle, Kunigami finds you asleep on his old beat up sofa. Now the new one, but the one he's had since he's first apartment. You're cozy in it too, hidden under a pile of blankets and wearing his stolen clothes.

The T.V. is playing an old comedy movie and there's a glass of water and all your things next to you. He's so happy for a minute, he really doesn't know if he should wake you up. Picking you up and plopping you into bed with him (maybe trap you there for a while) seems best.

But you stir awake before he even has a chance, eyes blinking up at him blearily, muffled under the covers.

"Rensuke?" You say, yawning aloud "That you? Or am I seeing things?"

What does he even do with his feelings?

"Not seeing things. I'm home."

You laugh pleasantly, sitting up rubbing your eyes. Your socks are pulled up to different degrees. Kunigami wants to marry you immediately.

"You're home," You say, happy with it as you open your arms up dramatically - inviting him in "Welcome home,"

It takes every ounce of restraint not to tackle you as he drops his bags on the floor and kneels between your legs to hug you. You're warm and soft, and Kunigami has missed you so much it's inhuman and cruel.

You let him nuzzle into the crook of his neck, palms soothing on the nape of his neck as you rub your cheek against his hair.

"How was the flight?"

"Pretty shit but it doesn't even matter," He says back, pulling away to really look at you "Doesn't matter at all,"

"You missed me that much?" You tease. He laughs out loud.

"Don't do that to me," He says, unable to stop smiling "You know the answer to that. I thought you couldn't come see me?"

"My boss' son is a huge fan of you, would you believe?" You say, yawning a bit as you lean forward to press your forehead to his "So I promised him a signature. He gave me 3 whole days off."

Kunigami laughs.

"Are you serious?"

"So serious. I thought it'd be better to surprise you at home. If I did it in the airport the paparazzi was gonna get pictures of you losing your marbles,"

He laughs at that, cradling your face in his palms.

"Yeah. Pretty sure I woulda tackled you,"

"You would've knocked me unconscious. You're so big,"

"You think I got a little bigger?" He prods. You laugh and Kunigami thinks it's his favorite sound in the world.

"Fishing for compliments five minutes in? Really? You did get bigger, your arms feel good. Very much wanna get crushed in them, so good work?" You say, squeezing his bicep. He grins.

"And the rest of me?"

"Guess I'll find out about your core 'n legs in a bit, huh?"

Kunigami laughs at that, the stupid wiggle of your eyebrows and the warmth of your body. He feels fucking giddy, in a stupid way since he's a grown ass man. But who cares, really? His life is good. He's never been so happy.

You make room on the couch for him and Kunigami hurries to join you - taking his shirt off and leaving him in his briefs before you climb to lay on top of him. You hug his chest.

"I got 20 minutes before I can't hold it in," He replies, his hands around your waist.

"Maybe I should stretch or something."

"I can help you with that," He offers.

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

"No you can't, you fiend. Give me 20 minutes of cuddling before you render me useless to walk without assistance,"

He feels blood rush to a place it shouldn't go.

"Might have to cut it to 15,"

You laugh and hit his chest and Kunigami squeezes you even tighter. He loves you more than anything else in the world.

[mothxmoons]

Bringing you home.

Self aware au/ Yandere

It had been a couple of weeks since Wesker became aware of himself and the game he occupies. Of course everyone was else normal, there were a lot of parts of his universe that weren’t in the game, that you did not see. However things would go back or forwards in time depending on which game you were playing.

Frankly, he had seen everything so many times that he knew exactly what to do and how to counter it to make his plans go perfectly. However, he wants you to be there. Blaze a new trail with you by his side, a whole new universe, none of which no one could have ever seen coming. Who else could possibly be by his side? Who else to cheer him on as he cut down his, no, their enemies?

Sure, he could feel you when he touched the camera screen when you placed your hand against it as well. But he wanted the real thing. You would need some training of course but there’s nobody better than him. And you would also be safe, the safest in fact. Right next to him.

He’ll be sure to take care of you, to make sure you’re loved. He’ll let you know that your devoted love means absolutely everything and more to him. Now Wesker just needs you in his universe, with him. He just needs to wait for you to angle the camera to look at him.

“My player, may we talk while we wait for the enemies?” He asked suddenly, surprising you, you still weren’t used to that. Your fingers jolting off of the controls for a second.

You chuckled after calming down for a second and tilted the camera towards the front of him.

“Sure, Al, what did you need?” Usually he only talks to you when he’s bored, or accepting praise, or when he needed some ammo or something.

His character paused before titling himself towards the camera, it did not move away as the wall in front of him prevented it. Seeing as mercenaries is placed outside the timeline, if his theory was correct you two would be sent back in time to the last game you played. Which was Umbrella Chronicles. Perfect for him. Perfect for you. He knows how much you love to see him in uniform, with how you ooo’d and aaa’d at him in the first resident evil cutscenes.

“I just want to try something.” He said, placing one of his hands on the camera. One theory correct, he can press on it, and against it. Now onto the next theory, can he go through it and bring someone else back through? Only one way to find out.

He pushed his hand against the screen and to his surprise, it went through. And that shocked you as the surprise yelp left your mouth to see a hand come out of the TV screen. To his luck, you had a very big tv so he could easily push the rest of his body through and…presto!

“Hello, my dear player.” He greeted, now in your living room. Millions of questions rushed through your mind but mainly “WHAT THE FUCK” was playing like a mantra. You just stared up at him as he looked around, spotting the games he was apart of.

Wesker picked up one, and replaced the mercenaries disk. He then turned to you, smiled, or well smirked, and picked you up. If this is a hallucination or a dream, do not wake me up, you thought as he held you in his arms. He waited until the game showed up on the title screen, The umbrella chronicles, appeared. He then stuck one leg into the tv and his whole body next, bringing you with him. It was a bright flash of light before…the lab.

You looked up at Wesker, he was younger, in his STARS uniform you adored so much. He looked down to you, and smirked wide and menacingly. One hand coming to stroke your cheek longingly as your wide eyes stared up at him.

He looked back to where you two presumably came from. No more screen. No more camera. No escape.

“Oh my dear. We are going to do great things together. You’ll be mine…forevermore.”