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naaaaayyyhaay · 2 years

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GGE2022 ;)

Hello!

A GGE2022 for @imikhailotakeyouian , definitely a stickler for details and an imperfect perfectionist so i apologize for the long wait😭 I really hope you enjoy your gift tho!! (i do intend to post it on AO3 too, so i'll come back and link it here when i get the chance💫)

And a very big thank you to @gallavichthings for hosting this years exchange❣️

Rated: M

Words: 3,330

Prompt: "Ian finally takes Mickey to the beach

Social media!AU

Any AUs/anything Gallavich makes me happy really"

Tags: fluff, toothrottingfluff, jealousy, jealous!ian, domesticity,postcannon, soft!mickey

Mickey's head is killing him, his eyes are lidded and tinged red from constant rubbing and his whole body feels like it's moving through a thick jello, leaving him weighted and slow. He had Ian to blame for this. To blame for his excessive tiredness. He was awoken this morning at 5am to an extra giddy Ian, rushed in the shower, and forced to leave by 6am(without a morning quickie he might add). And this all would've been unforgivable, an absolute injustice, if Mickey wasn't about to board a flight to Jamaica to go lounge drunk on their famed nude beaches with his very sexy husband Ian for their anniversary. And even if he tried, he couldn’t deny it, the fact that Ian is just so thoughtful. Surprising Mickey with an impromptu beach vacay for the second time in a row now. So as Mickey entered the airport with an utterly delighted husband hot on his trail like an overly excited puppy he couldn’t help but to think back to their first attempt at a beach trip…

"Mickey... Mick... get up. C'mon sleepy head."

"Gallagher” Mickey grumbled as he fought back a yawn and squinted through sleepy eyes. “It's like four in the morning man, can't this wait?"

"Mick it's literally twelve in the afternoon."

"Oh. Same difference." he muttered as he rolled over and nuzzled his pillow attempting to drift back off into sleep.

"Mick seriously, get up." Ian laughed as he shook his husband and wrapped his arms around him squeezing him tight.

"I swear I'll make it worth your while.” He says voice is sultry and inviting, practically dripping with honey.

"You really waking me up for a morning quickie Mr. Milkovich." Mickey replied with playfulness evident in his tone.

"No Mr. horny, I've got a surprise for you." He said, flicking Mickey on the nose and then hushing it with a soft kiss.

"A sexy surprise?" Mickey asked incredulously.

"Well... sorta," said Ian.

"This is n o t a sexy surprise." Mickey said, as he stared at what looked to be the world's most polluted beach. Or y'know just your regular average Southside public beach.

“Yeah I didn’t really expect it to be this…” Ian trailed off disgust and a bit of disappointment written plain on his face. The wind was loud in their ears, whistling the classic tune of ‘Get The Fuck Back Inside, It’s Too Damn Cold For This Shit’. A tune Mickey never ignored.

“Hey freckles, just in case you didn’t get the memo, it’s like below zero temperatures outside.”

“No it’s not, Mick. It’s like thirty degrees at worst.” Ian shot back.

“Okay, well I don’t know how you plan on doing this beach day at the start of March, genius.” Said Mickey.

“Don’t worry, we can just come back in the summer.” Mickey said, discerning his husband's disappointment and pulling him into an embrace mostly to console him but also to steal some of his body heat. Ian didn’t mind, what Mickey didn’t know was that his thoughts were already elsewhere.

“Yeah okay, you may be right.” Ian huffed a small laugh, finally giving in to the shiver that he was holding back as if somehow that would mean admitting defeat and accepting that it actually was in fact very cold.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you, Mick.” and that was the end of that. Or so Mickey thought.

One Year Later.

"This is gonna be great, Mick!" Ian exclaims, beaming ear to ear after fighting back another yawn.

"We're gonna go straight to the beach!" He has one arm wrapped around his short thug of a husband and in the other holds both his and Mickey's carry-on. It wasn’t a short impromptu vacation that Ian had planned at the very last minute, but it was much better. He figured their armed transportation business was doing pretty well and they had saved up a ton of extra money in the bank, and Mickey had just been working so hard with all the managing and security work and shit that hey, why not give themselves a little treat, right?

"We gotta check in and unpack first, dummy." Mickey says with mock annoyance. He hates to admit it but all Ian’s excitement was actually quite adorable. It reminded him of how Ian was back in their earlier days when they had just first started seeing each other in secret, fooling around in the back of the Kash&Grab, and sneaking underneath the bleachers.

"I know that already, sweetheart." Ian coos, ever since the start of their anniversary month he had picked up this funny little habit of responding to Mickey's attitude with over the top affection. Mick playfully bops him on the nose before they board their plane and settle into their seats. Without even waiting for any of the other passengers to board Mickey reclines his seat and places a sleeping mask askew over his eyes, planning to drift off into snooze-ville before the plane takes off. He takes one last peak at his studious Ian seated beside him, nose already buried in some book, before pulling his mask securely into place and dozing off. Well, dozing off for about five minutes before he was so rudely interrupted by a quiet

"Excuse me."

For god knows what reason, some stupid mix up with the tickets or whatever, Mickey was in the wrong seat and some fuckhead standing in front of Ian would like him to move. Or at least that's what he’s gathered from listening in to the conversation happening right beside him with some stranger and his husband.

“Absolutely not.” Mickey deadpans. Believe it or not he actually didn’t mean to come off as aggressive for once in his life, but Ian had woken him up waaaay too early. Trip or not Milkovich’s don’t get up before noon on a weekend, and he was already nicely settled into his seat and too comfy to migrate down the plane having to brush shoulders with a bunch of randos with morning breath probably.

“C’mon, Mick.” Ian sighs, already exasperated.

“It’s only a couple seats down, let’s just move.” He says as he nudges Mickey’s shoulder, probably giving him the ‘please let’s not make a scene just this once’ puppy dog eyes, but his magic can’t work on his husband this time seeing as how Mickey still has his eyes shielded with his sleepmask.

“M’not moving Gallagher. Already comfy. Can’t shithead just sit in the already free seat?” Mickey asserts.

“Not moving from my window seat.” He repeats once more and crosses his arms over his chest in defiance.

“Actually it has nothing to do with wanting a window seat, as it happens I actually prefer the aisle.” Came the stranger’s voice.

“It’s just that they seated me in a window seat right at the front, with all this legroom and empty space and it’s making me a little nervous.” He forces out a chuckle, obviously embarrassed but still trying his best to make light of the situation.

“Like the opposite of claustrophobia I guess, if that makes any sense?” The strange man laughs.

“No, it actually doesn't.” Mickey grumbles.

“I’m a nervous flyer and I guess it just makes me feel safer to be compressed.” Suddenly Ian’s body language shifts, he sits up right and turns to face the stranger.

“Say no more, I’ll switch with you.” Ian declares like he’s doing the guy some big favor, but Mickey doesn’t need to look at his husband to know that there is a goofy little grin plastered on his face. But Mickey does in fact dramatically rip off his night mask to shoot Ian a death glare. One that says ‘how dare you abandon me?!’without even having to utter a word.

“Wait, so you’re giving up a window seat and extra leg room?” He asks, almost in disbelief. The younger skinny stranger nods with extra enthusiasm, as if he was a salesman trying to seal a deal.

“You’re welcome to join me at any point, darling.” Ian replies all coy and shit as he closes his book and shimmies out of his seat and down the cramped plane aisle, just to end up sitting about two seats in front of his husband.

‘We can get through this right?’ Mickey thinks to himself as anxiety, and of course a total fucking stranger, start to settle in. `We've been separated by bars, by Terry, and even the Mexican border! There’s no way I’m panicking over a couple of plane seats!’ But here they are, literally just some old couple reading in silence and a jaded looking woman with her equally moody teenaged daughter placed in the rows between them. And on the inside Mickey’s mind is racing with thoughts like… ‘How could my husband do this to me? Wow, the ultimate betrayal. Now I have to move… but I’m already so comfy. You know what, he’ll just have to sit all by his lonesome then. Not my fault he decided to ditch me. Now I’m stuck sitting next to some weirdo for the rest of this dumbass flight, so serves him right anyways.’ But as the minutes pass Mickey surprisingly lets his curiosity get the better of him and he moves his night mask a little to get a peak at the so-called weirdo in question. And as he glances over he meets eyes with a young man who is practically swallowed up by his own large gray hoodie which almost distracts him from the man’s surprising striking features. Dark green eyes, razor-edged cheekbones, what seemed to be a small brown beauty mark above the left side of his upper lip and… Wow, what a crazy fucking coincidence, because as the stranger turned to meet Mickey’s gaze his hoodie pulls back just enough revealing fiery auburn hair. ‘Dude is totally stunning and a redhead?!’ Mickey thinks. ‘Oh my god he's just like a younger version of my husband!’ And as they share a quick smile Mickey is again reminded of how totally hopelessly in love with Ian he really is. ‘I wonder if he's a natural redhead..? Well, we're gonna be on this plane ride for a while so… there’s probably no shame in asking, right?’

Ian on the other hand, who was at one point as cool as a cucumber waiting for Mickey to get up and switch seats, is now a bit of a nervous wreck. Because ‘Why hasn't Mickey switched seats yet? Could he possibly be distracted? Maybe I should get up and remind him, or-’ But as he finally decides to go back and beg his husband to come join him the plane departs and he is forced to try to make peace with the fact that he won’t be riding beside Mickey. And yeah he might be more than a little upset, but then he thinks about how Mickey must be annoyed with his new plane mate, so he tries to focus and listen to see if he can hear Mickey being irritated by the poor talkative fool. “Oh a redhead, is that all natural or you get that outta ten dollar Revlon box?” He hears his husband chuckle. ‘A redhead?!’ Ian thinks, his brain sounding off alarms. ‘Don’t be ridiculous Ian, that doesn’t mean anything.’ he thinks to himself as he tries his best not to, but he can’t help the red hot burn of jealousy throbbing deep in his chest no matter how hard he tries to fight it back with logic. With each hour passing he feels his anger slowly start to bubble to the surface and just as he's about to explode the pilot announces that the plane will be landing and soon passengers will have started to depart. So out of the "greater good of his heart" Ian ends up deciding that he's just being paranoid and that the guy chatting up his husband is in fact just being friendly and nothing more. So Ian decides to let it go, it’s not like he wants to ruin this first trip alone with his husband anyway. So when the plane lands he makes sure to love up on Mickey from the airport all the way to the hotel check in and and to the beach.

"I'm telling you Mick, you need to reapply your suntan lotion! It's been two hours, and the bottle says to apply at least every hour!" Ian nags. And yeah he nags, but it’s with love, so sue him!

"Nah, they just want you to buy more of their shit. Anyhow, I'm not as pale as your ghostly ass, you should be the one worried about sunscreen here Mr. I burn like a vampire in the daylight.” Mickey chuckles.

“And if you don't come here, you're gonna miss seeing this crab, man. Little guy’s fascinating! Think he's looking for a new house!" Mickey babbles, crouched down in the sand, a half smoked joint pitched between his fingers. He was already a shade tanner and his eyes were a lazy tinge of red. Mickey was so beautiful like this. Relaxed, a little buzzed, and off in his own little world no longer burdened by the traumas that once plagued their love like Terry or prison or shitty sadistic PO’s.

"I want to see him too, baby, but you're gonna bitch all night if you get burned! Come on, it'll only take a sec."

"Nah, man. That shit s'all sticky and cold. It fucks with my high, and I might miss when Mr. Krabs finds his new house! If I burn then I burn, bitch!"

"You named the crab Mr. Krabs?” Ian giggles as he stares at the little guy who seems to have stolen his husband’s full attention.

“Not Shelly or Pincher or somethin’, you’re really going with Mr. Krabs?" Ian laughs.

“Yep.” Mickey says grinning up at his big orange giant.

“How original, Mick.” snickers Ian.

“Hey, I’m on vacation. I don’t need to be creative on vacation. I don’t need to be anything on vacation but good and high.” He takes another drag of his joint before placing it in the tiny ashtray he brought along with him and then grabs Ian and pulls him down onto him, startling and exciting him in the process.

“Well high, and on top of my husband of course.” the Milkovich says with that same flirty tone of voice that never fails to make Ian’s stomach do summersaults. And it takes every ounce of self control in his body to tear himself from Mickey when his phone rings and he knows that it’s either another goddamn ‘family emergency’, or it’s something work related that ‘just can’t wait’.

So, much to Mickey's dismay, Ian sits in the sand and answers a call from Kev regarding the transportation business while Mickey takes it upon himself to avoid work at all costs and nap beside Ian looking all cute. And by god’s name it takes everything in Ian to not just stare in awe at his beautiful husband laying face down drooling just a little on his beach chair looking very much double cheeked up in his tight blue swim trunks. ‘So blue that they almost match the blue of his damn near mesmerizing eyes, but not quite because the blue in his eyes is just too beautiful that no man-made creation could ever recreate that specific color that is Mickey and oh shit he's staring, and oh shit he's definitely waking up now…’

“Hey, there,” Mickey murmured.

“Hey, sunshine,” was all Ian could say. Still a bit stunned by Mickey’s unwitting beauty.

“Sunshine?” Mickey raises a brow.

"What's up with all the mushy gushy shit, huh lover?" he asks with a sleepy laugh, finally deciding to call it out.

In response, Ian reaches up to brush his fingers against his husband’s cheek, his once pale face now a bit bronzed and heated by the sunlight spread over them.

“You just got a bit of sun on your face, thas all. Also chair marks,” Ian moves his hand to the opposite side, feeling the faint lines pressed into his lover’s skin.

“Meanwhile you look like you’ve been very busy, real important business I see.” Mickey laughs.

“You should get some rest there, Red. Must be real tired after all that hard work playing in the sand and whatnot.” but Ian knows it’s not an insult, nor is his tone heated. He actually sounds content. So Ian huffs a small laugh in response and wraps his long arms around Mickey’s waist, burying his face into the soft part of his stomach and purring like a cat in the sun.

“Thank you for your concern, but a nap is the last thing I wanna do right now.” He mutters into Mickey’s stomach.

“Ohh, so you trying to get back to the hotel then Mr. Milkovich.” Mickey asks with a smirk. And Ian doesn’t even honor such a stupid question with such an obvious answer, and instead he grabs Mickey by the hips and hoists him up out of his beach chair and kisses him with a burning desire.

“Okay. Hotel. Now.” Mickey says, lips bitten and red, eyes a little glazed over with lust.

Hand in hand they walk along the sandy beach, enjoying the warm sun and the cool ocean breeze, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore providing a soothing background noise as they make their way back to the resort. "This is amazing," Ian says, interrupting the silence and smiling as he looks out at the ocean. "I can't believe we're actually here." and somehow Mickey knows that he’s not just talking about being here on the beach. But here. Together at last.

Eventually they make it to the hotel and quickly they rush their way through the entrance and make a beeline straight for the elevators, but before they can even make it past the hotel bar Ian is suddenly blind sighted by his actual worst nightmare. They’re greeted by none other than Mickey’s plane mate.

“Mickey? Hey! How’s it going?” He smiles brightly, too damn bright if you asked Ian, and makes his way over completely uninvited.

“Oh, hey. Brett? Right?” Mickey replies, thumbing at his brow.

“Brandon actually.” The man laughs, seemingly unfazed by Mickey's lack of gentility.

“So… this is crazy huh, I thought I had seen the last of you. Thankfully I was wrong though.” says Brett or Brandon or whoever.

“What’re you doing right now? I mean, I am working but I could definitely make you a drink. My shift ends in a bit actually.” And this time Ian knows that he's blatantly flirting with Mickey and there’s just no way he can hold his anger back now.

"He's married! To me! He's my husband!" Ian exclaims angrily, red in the face, a scorching rage igniting in his emerald eyes and permeating through his entire body as he grabs Mickey by the hand before getting in between him and plane guy. All it takes is one look and Mickey can see it in Brett’s(or Brandon’s or whoever’s) face that he has no intention of pushing back against Ian, and he watches as the poor guy basically folds up into a shell of himself and just embarrassedly backs off. So Ian doesn’t wait a second and finally drags Mickey into the elevator and up to their hotel room but on the way up Mickey just can’t help but to tease him.

"Don't know what came over ya back there, firecrotch." Mickey laughs breathlessly, lips pressed lightly into that spot on Ian’s neck that he knows just drives him wild. Ian groans and kneads the thick flesh of Mickey’s ass fitted perfectly into his palms. He places a couple more wet kisses to his neck and up his jawline before biting his lip and pulling back to look at the absolute mess he’s made of his husband.

"Can't say I didn't like it though."

#GGE2022 #fanfiction

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justadreamer08 · 1 year

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Could you write like- a little imagine of like christmas shopping w the stranger things gang? I don't really know what I wanted when I wrote this but like yeah!!! <3

Nonny!!! Ofc! I got you!!! :D

wc: 679 (This turned out to be much shorter than what I thought, but short and sweet I guess.)

pairing: (everything is platonic lol) platonic!steve harrington x reader, platonic!dustin henderson x reader, platonic!eddie munson x reader, platonic!robin buckley x reader

Warnings: Holiday/Christmas Spirit??? Corny jokes

Author's Note: good luck. You can either imagine this happens before everything in Hawkins goes wrong, or that it never happened.

Christmas Shopping With the S.T Gang

The car screeched to a stop on the icy pavement of the parking lot. You shift the car into park and unbuckle your seatbelt. As you pile out the car, the sound of the doors on your car closing follow close behind. Piling out of your car are Steve, Eddie, Dustin and Robin. The group of you decided to go holiday shopping together because- why not?

Snow crunched under your feet as you all walked towards the entrance, the sound of the usual holiday music playing from the mall speakers reaching your ears. Dustin, Steve and Eddie were having an argument about the most overplayed songs during the holidays.

“NO! Okay. Listen, it’s gotta be that one Mariah Carey song? The one where she just melodically screams about being alone on Christmas day. Like- okay Mariah we get it. You’re alone on Christmas, I’ve been alone for some years but you don’t see me singing about it do you?”

“Yeah, because you can’t sing Dustin.” Steve rolls his eyes, scoffing. Failing to hide a smirk that threatens to break through his annoyed facade.

Eddie whistles a low tone in shock and claps Dustin on the back.

“Tough luck dusty boy…can’t say he’s wrong though.” Eddie stifles his own laughter as Dustin shakes his hand off of his shoulder in a huff of annoyance. Robin turns to you with a raised eyebrow.

“I can’t believe you were actually going to make me go shopping with these three alone.” She whispers in your ear as if she’s afraid the rest of the group would hear her. Something quite out of character for her, considering you’ve seen her knock Steve down a peg or two when he was out of check in her opinion. Whether it be jokingly or literally. You shake your head at her words. It was true. You were never going to join them shopping, but you were eventually convinced when Steve and Robin came over insisting you come because you had nothing better to do. You eventually decided you didn’t mind going with your friends, but they didn’t have to attack your current lack of a social life. You had no problem expressing this, in fact, you scoffed at their words, and launched yourself onto the two of them. It led to an impromptu pillow fight- nay, a war. Which you won.

You shook your head and brought yourself out of your thoughts. You looked around to realize that you’d walked ahead of the group and left the rest of them behind. The boys were all leaning backward, eyes wide with fear, and hands up in an act of surrender with Robin standing at the head of the group hands on hips. You walked toward them with apprehension, catching the end of Robin’s rant.

“...this conversation. Honestly, the fact that the three of you can argue about something this stupid for this long. All I want for Christmas is for you to shut up. If not, it will be your last Christmas, because I will deck your halls.”

You stifled a laugh at her usage of famous holiday songs to threaten the boys. You folded your arms and raised an eyebrow at the group.

“So, are we going to continue standing in the ice cold, in the parking lot, getting incredulous and judgy looks from passers-by, or are we going to go inside, do what we came here for and get out of the cold?”

The initial focus of the trip is regained, and the five of you start walking back in your original direction towards the mall doors. You all look around, as ‘Last Christmas’ plays through the speakers. Dustin claps his hands and looks around the group.

“Welp, this is officially our iconic, cliche, holiday special, movie moment! Look at us go!”

Everyone collectively shakes their heads at his antics. Before you can even collect your thoughts and decide on a plan or where you’re going shopping first. Everyone yells their ideas and runs off in separate directions.

This was going to be a long day.

Masterlist

#stranger things #platonic!steve harrington #platonic!dustin henderson #platonic!eddie munson #platonic!robin buckley #robin buckley #eddie munson #steve harrington #dustin henderson #hawkins #imagine #drabble #christmas #holiday #ignoring the entire plot line of stranger things

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your-divine-ribs · 25 days

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Kinktober ❤️‍🔥 Privacy

She was right there... in my bed. I could hardly believe my eyes.

Words: 1.5k // Devil Next Door Van // voyeurism

Kinktober Masterlist Main Masterlist

❤️‍🔥 The early morning sunshine was as harsh as a laser beam as it carved a scorching path through the chink in the curtains, straight into your bleary eyes.

❤️‍🔥 You were only supposed to be having one drink last night, but you were having so much fun and one drink had quickly turned into two, and then by the time you'd accepted Bondy's offer of a third glass of wine the bottle was draining faster than your good judgement.

❤️‍🔥 You weren't a big drinker and you definitely weren't used to it, so a night in with your fun-loving neighbour was never going to be a quiet, uneventful affair. By midnight you'd entered into an impromptu karaoke battle, inhibitions pushed to the side as you'd belted out 'I Will Survive' loudly and off-key, using the empty wine bottle as a mic.

❤️‍🔥 It wasn't exactly a lengthy journey home, but when Bondy had offered up Van's bed for the night it had seemed to make perfect sense. Van was visiting his parents back home for the weekend and even the short walk next door seemed arduous when you were struggling to see straight to tie the laces on your converse.

❤️‍🔥 You'd fallen into a deep sleep as soon as your head had hit the pillow and awoken seven hours later with a stonking hangover, panicking and confused for a moment as your eyes darted around the unfamiliar room. Your disorientation quickly faded as you realised where you were... Van's room.

❤️‍🔥 You sat bolt upright in bed, filled with curiosity, but your head started to swim and pound so you quickly lay back down, burrowing your face into the pillow... his pillow... where he'd been lying... sleeping... maybe fucking... maybe getting himself off...

❤️‍🔥 FUCK...

❤️‍🔥 Heat instantly flooded between your thighs and you pressed them together, breathing in the musky scent of his cologne from the bed sheets. You closed your eyes, images of him lying naked in this very bed flickering behind your eyelids, your hand sliding down your body and slipping beneath the lace of your panties...

Van's POV

❤️‍🔥 It was wrong. So fucking wrong. It didn't stop me though. She was right there... in my bed. I could hardly believe my eyes.

❤️‍🔥 I was supposed to be miles away in Llandudno but I'd arrived back early to work on music for the debut album. The last thing I expected to see was Y/N in my bed but there she was, eyes closed but clearly not sleeping. Her pretty pink lips parted to let a breathy sigh tumble out, the bed sheets rumpling and creasing as she moved underneath.

❤️‍🔥 I could have coughed or something, made a noise to alert her to my presence... but I didn't. I probably should have backed out of the room completely... but I didn't. I'd quite obviously stumbled on to an intimate moment I shouldn't be privy to but I couldn't tear my eyes away.

❤️‍🔥 She just looked too fucking pretty lying there, the rosy flush high on her cheeks, her long lashes dusting her skin, her chest rising and falling as her breathing got deeper and more erratic as the seconds ticked by. My cock twitched as blood rushed to my loins and I grasped hold of the door-frame to steady myself.

❤️‍🔥 "Fuck..." she mouthed softly, and I watched, mesmerised as she pushed the covers aside like she was finding them restricting. Her little dress was bunched up around her hips, one hand dipped under the lace of her panties, the other kneading at her tits, pulling and tugging at her pert nipples where the neckline of her dress was gaping open. I was entranced.

❤️‍🔥 She bit down on her lip like she was trying to hold back her sounds, her glistening fingers appearing above the lace so she could pull her panties to the side and sink two slender fingers inside herself. I had to fight hard not to groan out loud.

❤️‍🔥 It was the most arousing sight I'd ever witnessed, her back arching up off the bed as she writhed under her own touch. What I would have given to be the one pleasuring her. If I was she'd be coming by now, gushing all over my fingers as I sunk them deep inside her.

❤️‍🔥 My cock was rock hard and throbbing uncomfortably in the confines of my skinny jeans. I wasn't propelled by conscious thought as I quietly unzipped them, it was like I was hypnotised by the erotic display unfolding in front of me, completely automated and driven by raw desire, any sense of moral decency pushed aside as I wrapped a hand around myself.

❤️‍🔥 Her fingers were moving faster now, tiny whimpers and shaky breaths filling the air as she slid them in and out a few times before spreading her glistening juices over her little bud, shuddering with pleasure. She had the prettiest pussy I'd ever seen and I found myself licking my lips, imagining how it might taste. A little slice of heaven for sure.

❤️‍🔥 I started to stroke myself back and forth, quick flicks of my wrist whilst I braced myself against the doorframe with my free hand, gritting my teeth to stem the choked groans that were threatening to burst free. I knew it wouldn't take long, it never did when I was jerking over Y/N and that was when I was relying on mental images alone. Now I had a full on front row seat to a real-life pornographic performance.

❤️‍🔥 If she saw me now... if her eyes were to snap open and she caught me wanking over her like some kind of creep she'd be mortified. Shame flooded me but it didn't put me off, if anything the sordidness of it all turned me on all the more. I picked up my pace, feeling pressure building as I kept my eyes trained on her writhing form.

❤️‍🔥 She was close now I could tell, a pretty scarlet flush blooming on her chest, her fingers rubbing quicker, the wet sounds mingling with her shaky breaths. Her legs fell apart even further as she pushed her hips forward, grinding herself on to her fingers, murmuring so quiet it was almost unintelligible... "Van... fuck... oh Van... feels so good when you touch me like that..."

❤️‍🔥 That was it, I completely lost it, thick ropes of cum spurting up over the front of my shirt and spilling over my knuckles. Wracked with the pleasurable rush of my orgasm my body automatically folded in on itself and to my horror I stumbled, accidentally knocking the doorframe.

❤️‍🔥 I swiftly pushed myself back, darting across the hallway and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut as I cursed angrily to myself. I was shaking as I leant against the wood, head tipped back as I panted heavily, wiping my sticky fingers across my shirt before tucking myself away and fastening my jeans.

❤️‍🔥 If she'd seen me I'd be in trouble... big trouble. Moving out and living in another part of the country kind of trouble. Shame washed over me again but this time it was accompanied by cold, prickling panic.

❤️‍🔥 Silence hung in the air and I realised I was holding my breath, waiting for a shriek of fury or an angry rap on the door, a humiliating lecture about respecting privacy probably delivered right after a sharp stinging slap around my face which granted... I wholly deserved.

❤️‍🔥 The knock on the door was soft though, tentative. A pause before I heard her voice, quiet and muted. "Johnny? Is that you?"

❤️‍🔥 My exhale of relief left me quickly and I brushed down my shirt, grimacing at the stickiness. She hadn't seen me. I gave myself a cursory glance in the mirror before I pulled open the door, fixing her with an enquiring look as I saw her eyes widen in shock. "It's me... just got back from me mam and dad's. Hey... what're you doing here this early anyway? You stayed the night or something?"

❤️‍🔥 "Yeah... I... errr... I just passed out last night..." she stuttered, cheeks glowing as she struggled to meet my gaze. "Bondy said I could crash in your bed... we'd been drinking... I hope you don't mind. He said it'd be okay... didn't think you were back 'til tonight."

❤️‍🔥 "Of course not," I said quickly, feeling my own colour rising as I looked at her fingers clasped together in front of her and pictured where they'd been just a few moments ago. "You're looking a bit flustered though. You had a bad dream or something?"

❤️‍🔥 I really was a dick, I just couldn't help myself, I just loved the way the flush darkened on her skin, the smug knowledge that it had been my name on her lips as she'd made herself come. I grinned at her as she giggled shyly, raising up a hand to partially hide her face as she started to turn away from me to walk away. "Actually, it was a pretty good one if you must know."

#the devil next door #kinktober #van mccann x reader #van mccann fanfic #au fanfic #van mccann #vanfic #smut

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user13984 · 1 year

Text

Sirius had several tattoos. They littered nearly every inch of his body. His first tattoos had been one for each of his blood brothers and lover. A rat nose and whiskers for Peter, a pair of ateliers for James and a crescent moon for Remus. Lightly tracing them his mind wandered back to how he got them.

It had been a dare during his fifth year by none other than Marlene. He had accepted because his was a Gryffindor and a Black and it was a matter of pride. He couldn’t back down.

She had pulled out a stick and poke station. And Sirius filled with nerves, places his arm on her lap.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he had asked and Marlene who always hated being questioned gave him a pointed look before flicking up the lighter to sterilize the needle.

“So, any idea what you want?” Marlene asked.

Before Sirius could respond. His best friends pipped in.

“Ateliers.” James said and leaning for forward that it was a surprise that he hadn’t fallen flat on his face.

“What no, you should do a rat nose and whiskers.” Peter protested. He seated next to Mary, who had been doing his nails, painting them a bright blue.”

Remus had rolled his eyes. “You should get a tattoo of something what you want.”

As Marlene to sanitize his forearm, Sirius mauled it over and thought that is he was going to get a tattoo might as well be of the people he cherished the most.

“Yea, I want the ateliers for Prongs, rat nose and whiskers for Wormtail and crescent moon for Mooney.”

“That’s so cute I puked a little in my mouth!” Mary snarked as she held Peter arm up to examen her nail art. Peter and James cheered in victory and had almost high-five only to be scolded by Mary for nearly ruining her hard work.

“Where did you even get this?” James asked.

“From are darling Lily of course.” Marlene said.

Several pair of eyes land on the ginger, who had been quietly speaking to Remus. She looked up and raised an eyebrow,

“And what about it?” Lily asked.

Sirius whistled at the exact same time that Peter had been. “Lily the bad girl. Give it a rest. More like Lily the church girl.”

The room burst out into a loud laughter. Lily turning a bright shade of red. “Fuck you guys, honestly.” She snapped. She shoved Remus who had been the closes. He easily allowed himself tipped over.

“Why did you get it anyway?” Remus asked.

Lily shrugged. “I was curious and wanted a tattoo.”

“And then she chickened out.” Mary snorted.

Lily nailed the side of the head with a throw pillow. Mary squawked about her hard work and tossed the pillow bag, which triggered an impromptu pillow fight, that Sirius been itching to join in.

“Okay, I’m going to start.” Marlene said. Cutting the brewing pillow war short.

Everyone held their breathes when the needle first contacted his skin. It didn’t hurt as much as he was expecting for a needle repeatedly puncturing his forearm.

“How does it feel?” James asked.

Sirius almost shrugged. “Strangely soothing.”

“Of course, you would say that. You’re fucking mental Black.” Mary snarked.

After a while they finally settled down and the conversation drift off to a debate about what movie they should watch. Sirius, Lily and Marlene firmly on the side of not watching a horror movie. While the others were pushing the promotion of watching all the Friday the 13th movies.

Outnumber 3 to 4 they ended up watching a Friday the 13th movie marathon. Two and a half movies later Marlene was finished, and he had three new tattoos. James had dragged both Remus and Peter in a group hug.

“Sirius is now anchor. Keep us all from drifting apart.” James said and pressed a kiss against Sirius cheek.

~_~_~_

The piercing sound of someone screaming in agony snapped Sirius out of his thoughts. A common enough background noise in Azkaban. His hand dropping away.

#marauders era #sirius black #tattoos #sirius black in azkaban

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soupercatte · 2 years

Text

The First Starlight

He sat back and listened to the crackling of the fireplace, the cedar logs fragrant in the cool air of the small one room apartment located above the Brume. The wind whistled through the various cracks in the walls even though they had been stuffed with cloth and tree paste but the room itself was pleasantly warm and cozy. Which was good, because the snowstorm was miserable outside and he was tired of dealing with the slush in his boots and the ice in his hair and the chattering of his teeth.

It was Kelas'ra's first Starlight Celebration with Teka’a. He was certain the small boy had enjoyed them with his mother previously back in The Northern Shrouds before…well, before all that had happened. He wasn't sure how to approach the concept of the holiday as he'd only celebrated in theory, having worked at the guild every year since he was one of the very few who didn't follow the tradition or have a family to return to.

Every year he would sequester himself in the Carpentry Guild's workshop with a pre-made meal and a constantly boiling kettle of tea and would dedicate himself to the craft, carving or fixing up last minute gifts and tools. He'd hum and sing to himself as he worked alone, occasionally getting a visitor to bring him a small gift or a snack but otherwise he was rather clueless on how to properly celebrate.

Gifts were important, that much was clear. Speaking with the Inquisitors and the others confirmed as much, but what sort of gifts? What do you get a small child you've known for barely a year?

Kelas'ra had worked himself into a proper mess, plotting and planning and scrimping and saving until at last Rosie had taken pity on him and nudged him towards the idea of a simple gift; a book of fairie stories across Eorzea. He'd learned that Teka'a loved to read and was damn good at too for his age, so he'd located and purchased a handsome tome with bright crimson leather and golden lettering, carefully wrapping it in a Corvosi-styled cloth before setting it within one of the paper boxes common in Eorzea, complete with a bright and shiny bow.

The boy seemed unaware of his grand master plan as Starlight crept closer, caught up in the festivities as they were at both the Respite and back in Gridania until at last the day had come. Beatin had merely smirked when he asked for the day off for the first time, nodding and shooing him away to join his new little family. They had started off in Gridania and then traveled back to Ishgard, spending the day out in the streets with others and enjoying the live music. The decorations and bells and fresh hot food and drinks lining the streets of both cities, lights shimmering and magical as they enjoyed themselves, letting themselves be taken by merriment and joy for the first time either one of them could remember.

For hours had Kelas'ra and Teka'a played together in the snow, exploring and racing back and forth, ducking and sliding from impromptu snowball fights (and sometimes even joining in with others) before finally retiring back to their home in the Brume, giggling and fever flushed with the cold.

He had made them hot chocolate on the wooden stove, hanging their clothing above to dry out while they had retired to lounge by the fire, soaking up the heat. Dozing lightly he glanced down to see that Teka'a had already fallen asleep by his side, metal cup in his hands slowly falling away.

Kelas'ra carefully set the empty cup aside and pulled the child close, letting himself be used as a pillow. He sat there in silence, an exhausted grin crossing his lips as he lightly held Teka'a and watched him sleep deeply. In the short span of a year they had gone from complete strangers to acquaintances to friends, even then their bond had become stronger and stronger and dare he say it, he was beginning to think of him as his own son. It was a terrifying thought. A pleasing thought. One he was secretly thankful for and excited for.

“Merry Starlight, My Heart.” He said softly, listening to the snores of the child in his lap and the small hamsa chick nesting in the pile of dirty clothes nearby. Kelas'ra could very well grow used to this, if this is what it meant to finally have a family.

“Merry Starlight. And to many, many more.”

#ffxiv #kel lore #ffxiv oc #ffxiv rp #oc rp #starlight celebration #short story #Oop all catboys #i love these two so much

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leam1983 · 2 years

Text

On Quietude

We're headed into that one time during the Holiday season which I love the most: the in-between days.

Christmas is technically over, but you still have a full license to binge on all the eleventybillion reduxes and revisions of A Christmas Carol, Die Hard and all the Xmas-related content you were short on, and it's also part of those two weeks wherein Food Comas are utterly and completely expected.

We're in the span of days that sees Walt nap everywhere and nosh on anything that's edible. He's not too concerning, apnea-wise, but there is enough obstruction in there for his intakes to be particularly noisy, once a bit of booze and a little too much food's done some work on his airways. It's those exact days that'll see us whip out board games or try for walks around town. those exact days that see us cram together in either mine or Sarah's bed, with absolutely zero intent towards intercourse.

We'll just spoon and talk or slip under the covers and nap, spending long afternoons using various body parts as impromptu pillows and head-rests. We'll try out cocktails and share in one another's hobbies, in full awareness that it isn't impossible for me to step out of a Scrabble match for the sake of a Bio break, only to come back to the sight of Sarah sat across Walt's lap, their liplocks turned slow and tender. The last time it happened, I slowly stepped in and looped my arms around Walter's shoulders from the back.

"There's so much love in this apartment," I noted, sighing in contentment. I remember Sarah stopping for a moment, the sharp click of released pressure between Walter's mouth and hers.

"I know," Sarah said, smiling softly. "We're awesome."

That we are, honey. That, we still are.

We gave each other our gifts, FaceTimed our friends, close colleagues and relatives, and then went to bed at a shockingly reasonable hour. All three of us in the same bed, Walter with his favourite no-longer-young adults under his arms.

Oh, and I got an unexpected bonus from work, so I splurged on that Razer Blade 14, added an Orochi mouse and a corresponding travel case. Walter's response was a long kiss and a hand on my cheek, so something tells me he decided to fight for said bonus on my behalf...

#life post

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searidings · 3 years

Note

hi, i just love you and your writing

can i suggest something - you are in love (taylor swift) and supercorp

i cannot listen to that song without going yeah, that's them

(also on ao3 if you prefer)

Five years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, five years from now, Lena will think back to this moment.

This moment, which is as close as Lena's come to happiness since she'd woken up ziptied to a chair in her brother's office. This moment which, despite the fuzzy feeling of her unbrushed teeth and the pungent aroma of burnt toast filling the air, is perfect.

Kara, bed-warm and sleep-heavy, is gazing beseechingly down at the charred remains of a slice of a bread as though if she only pouts hard enough, its edges will un-blacken and its corners will stop smoking.

“I'm so sorry,” she says as Lena rounds the screen separating Kara's bedroom from the rest of the apartment and perches herself on a barstool, tugging her borrowed sleep shorts a little lower down her thighs.

Kara's tone is mournful, her face so forlorn she looks to be one deep breath away from tears. “I wanted breakfast to be perfect, since it's your first time staying over and if it's terrible you might not want to stay again and I, I really want you to stay again, but I don't know why you would since you probably have a private chef waiting for you at home and I can’t even manage toast—”

“Kara,” Lena interrupts, biting at the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as Kara's bottom lip trembles. “It's fine, really. I once set fire to my dorm kitchen trying to boil an egg. And besides,” she winks as blue eyes meet hers. “I like to give my personal chef the weekends off.”

Kara huffs out a relieved chuckle, her face brightening. “Oh, well, in that case,” she grins, a sparkle returning to her eyes. “I'd better feed you up before you go home. Never let it be said that I don't look after you.”

Lena can't help the smile that pulls at her as the warm bright feeling in her chest grows and grows. She tugs the sleeves of Kara's sweatshirt over her hands, fighting the urge to fidget as the blonde orders a frankly obscene amount of food from the brunch place on the corner.

She feels exposed like this, face bare and hair sleep-mussed, unshowered with unbrushed teeth, huddled inside borrowed clothes after the impromptu invitation to stay over when last night's movie marathon ran late. It's a far cry from the regimented composure she fights so hard every day to project, and something in her chest twists anxiously.

Kara is a reporter, after all, and National City really doesn't need any more reasons to hate Lena right now. The darkest corner of her mind – the one which has been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to come crashing down ever since the whirlwind of Kara's too-good-to-be-true friendship had come blazing into her life – still worries that this may all be an elaborate ruse. A trap, a way to get close to her in order to assess her weaknesses, to bring her down with an inside scoop.

But in their six months of friendship, Kara's never given her any reason to believe she has any kind of ulterior motive. And despite the suspicions and anxieties hammered into her by a lifetime of hurt, Lena knows now that even if this is a trap, she'll take the bait willingly. Especially if it means Kara will keep looking at her like there might just be something in Lena that's worth her time.

"Hey,” the blonde says gently, leaning back against the counter opposite and pinning Lena with a searching look. “You okay? You kind of zoned out on me there.”

Lena jumps, blinking back into herself with a start. “Yes, sorry. I was miles away.”

The blonde only smiles, flicking on the coffee machine at her elbow. “You sleep okay?”

“Very well, thank you,” Lena answers, fighting to lessen the formality of her tone, to soften the edges her harsh childhood had sharpened into a fortress to keep the world at bay. “Your bed is surprisingly comfortable. I had a great night's sleep.”

"Perhaps the company had something to do with it,” Kara winks as she turns to pull two mugs down from the hooks at her shoulder. Lena thinks back to the smell of Kara's sheets and the soft pulls of her breathing, to the warmth of Kara's ankle against her calf and the strong fingers that had wrapped themselves in the sleeve of Lena's sweatshirt in sleep, anchoring them together. She blushes.

Kara only smirks, pouring their drinks and grabbing the milk from the fridge. “Well, the food's all ordered, it should be here soon,” she says over her shoulder, the waterfall of her golden ponytail mesmerising in the bright rays of morning light filtering in through the vaulted windows. “And you don't need to head off in a hurry, unless you have plans—?”

She glances back at Lena, who shakes her head. “Great!” she grins. “’Cause I was thinking, maybe we could check out the botanical gardens, since it's such a nice day? Oh, and there's a new bakery right across the street that I've been dying to try—”

Lena listens to the blonde's excited rambling with an endeared smile plastered to her face, feeling happy and warm and wanted with every fibre of her being. The feeling is new but so welcome she could cry, and Lena wonders – not for the first time – how she ever got so lucky.

Kara's presence in her life is like sugar in her coffee; meant only to sweeten that which has always been bitter.

Lena's always taken her coffee black. Softening the blow was never much her style.

But here, now, perched at Kara's breakfast bar with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug the blonde has brewed to perfection, sunlight streaming in and highlighting the angles and planes of Kara's face, the way she’s smiling at Lena like there's nowhere else in the world she'd rather be, she realises her reasoning is twofold.

Sugar isn't just appetising. It's addictive. And now that Lena's had a taste of sweetness, she's hooked.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

Four years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, four years from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which may well be one of the lowest of Lena's life. And she's had some doozies.

The two bottles of wine she'd managed to mainline between Sam leaving to orchestrate damage control at L-Corp and Kara arriving and attempting to confiscate her glass have well and truly caught up to her now. She sways heavily on her stool, the room spinning. Tears sting her vision and guilt scorches her throat as she presses a hand over her eyes so she won't have to look at Kara's face anymore.

“Please, just— just, stop believing in me, okay?” she slurs, heart full to shattering with the faces of lead-poisoned children. “I am not worth it.”

She hears Kara sigh, and the room falls silent for a long long time. Lena drops her head fully into her hands, fighting the nausea that's taken root in the pit of her stomach. It could be the booze that's causing it, of course, but it could also be the incessant headlines baying for her blood, the bullet James had taken for her that she'd fully deserved, the curse of her family finally fulfilling itself.

The guilt, the worry, the crushing disappointment of the knowledge that despite her very best efforts, she'll never be anything but a monster— it's too much to feel. It's too much to bear.

So, Lena drinks.

She drains her glass. She pours another. Kara watches, silent and disapproving, fingers twitching against the granite countertop between them.

Lena finishes her glass. Splashes the last dregs of the bottle into it, blood on ice. Still Kara watches, motionless and mute. It's only when Lena's swallowed the last of the red and is lurching unsteadily to her feet to source another that she moves, a hand reaching out to encircle her wrist.

Shame ignites beneath her skin and she pushes Kara away. Snaps at her to go home, to learn to recognise a lost cause when she sees one and just give up already. Kara refuses with a stoic shake of her head, and Lena sighs.

They repeat the same routine three times en route to Sam's wine rack, the blonde shadowing her every step. Each time, Lena wobbles, head fuzzy and room spinning. Each time, Kara steadies her, and Lena flinches from her touch like her palm is a brand, snarls at her to leave, to cut her losses, to just fuck off. Each time, Kara refuses.

She eventually retrieves the wine after a number of unsuccessful attempts but overbalances on her toes, bottle slipping from her grip as she sways dangerously. And then Kara is there, glass bottle caught a split second before it can shatter, a firm arm at her waist that will not be rebuffed.

Lena struggles, shoving and protesting, but this time Kara does not give in. “Enough,” she says quietly, firmly, blue eyes burning a mere inch from Lena's own. “Lena, enough.”

Lena's unsteady legs buckle further and Kara’s basically holding her up now, walking her slowly over to the couch and she shouldn't be this strong, surely, shouldn't be lifting Lena onto the cushions quite this easily. But it's such a minor concern when weighted against the fact that Lena is personally responsible for the hospitalisation of children that her mind brushes over it, forgets it immediately.

"Please go home,” she slurs as the blonde arranges her on the couch, as she stashes the unopened wine far out of reach and sets about finding blankets and pillows in various cupboards. “Please, just— leave me alone.”

“No,” Kara says, almost snaps, glancing back over her shoulder. Partially hidden in the linen cupboard, her face is cast deep in shadow, a splinter of half-concealed truth. “I made you a promise, I gave you my word. I'm your friend, and I will protect you. Always.”

She crosses back to the couch, soft blankets and pillows held out in invitation. When Lena refuses the offering Kara sighs, draping a knitted throw over her anyway and perching on the cushions beside Lena's hip. “I'm not going to leave you, so you might as well stop asking,” she hums, softer now, a hand reaching toward her that Lena no longer possesses the strength or coordination to bat away.

Long fingers make contact with her cheek, with the mussed curls tangling in her eyelashes, and Kara sighs. “You are not your brother,” she murmurs, fingertips grazing Lena's cheekbone, sliding back to thread into the fine hair at her temple. “And you never will be. There's too much light in you to allow for that kind of darkness, so put that fear down, Lena. Let it go. Be free of it.”

Tears spring unbidden to her eyes. “I poisoned children.”

Kara tilts forward and Lena wonders if it's just that her vision has upped its spinning, but then warm lips are pressing against her forehead, soft and delicate as gossamer wings. Kara's mouth moves against her skin, breath damp and sweet and unmistakeably her. “You saved the world.”

Neither one of them moves. When Lena speaks again, the words hit the elegant hollow of Kara's throat. “I don't deserve your kindness. I don't deserve you.”

Kara's lips are still on her forehead. “I don't care.”

Lena feels as if her throat is splitting open, every last fear and hatred and worry and insecurity gushing out of her in an unstoppable stream. “I'm scared.”

“I know.” Kara's lips press once more, and then withdraw. They watch each other in the dim light from the kitchen. Lena's vision is beginning to blur at the edges. Kara's hand is still in her hair.

“You will get through this,” the blonde whispers, so earnest Lena almost manages to believe her. “We'll figure it out. Together.”

Heart in her mouth, tongue sticking behind her teeth, Lena's eyes slide closed.

The sweetness of Kara's words, her gentle touches, seep inside her like honey. She doesn't deserve it but God, she wants it. She wants to be worthy of Kara's faith in her more than she's ever wanted anything in her life. She wants Kara more than she's ever wanted anything in her life.

And it's telling, she knows, that she's just lost the trust of all of National City, that she has no way of easing those children's suffering and no way to prove that she isn't the cause of it, that she's finally living up to the Luthor name she's been running from ever since she'd learned what it truly meant and yet in this moment, with Kara's hand in her hair and the ghostly imprint of her lips on Lena's skin, none of it seems to matter.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

Three years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, three years from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which stands alone as an oasis of calm in the turbulent tumult of the past days, weeks, months of chaos. Lex's escape from custody, Eve Teschmacher's betrayal, James’ shooting, the Harun-El serum, the whole shitty totality of it all has been weighing Lena down like an nth metal chain around her neck.

And Kara, Kara hasn't been around. The one person who has always managed to ease Lena's suffering has deserted her when she needs her the most and it feels like she's been sliced open, cracked in two.

She tells her as much, when Kara at last comes to see her. Tells her she's missed her, tells her she needs her, all but begs her to stay. And what does Kara do? She leaves.

And when she leaves, Lena is gripped by a panic so intense she fears she may never breathe freely again. So terrified is she that Kara is gone for good, that she's forced away the best thing that's ever happened to her, that almost before she knows what's happening she finds herself at Catco with apologies dripping from her own tongue.

Anything to get Kara back. Anything to keep her.

Lena apologises. Kara apologises. Lena cries, and Kara holds her, and tells her that the decision to help her brother when he was dying of cancer doesn't make her the monster she now believes herself to be. And standing on her office balcony with Kara's fingers wrapped around her biceps, with her own tears spotting dark on Kara's blazer, Lena manages to believe her.

When she's collected herself, smoothed away the wetness coursing down her cheeks, she speaks. “I really want to help you with your investigation on Lex.”

Kara's face lights up; Lena's whole world along with it.

“I'd love that,” Kara says, voice quiet and still a little tentative in the wake of their new truce. “But first— would you, um. Would you like to have lunch with me?”

Lena blinks. “Don't you want to get started on the exposé?”

“I do. But—” Kara's face is still painted that earnest shade from earlier, when she'd smoothed her hands over Lena's shoulders and whispered you are a brilliant, kind-hearted, beautiful soul against the sensitive skin of her neck. Lena feels her cheeks heat up at the memory, at the intensity in the blue eyes still roving her face.

Kara shuffles her feet but her gaze is clear, unwavering. “But you were right. I've spent too much time recently prioritising the wrong things. So, I want to work on this exposé with you, and I want to bring your brother down. But first, I'd really just like to have lunch with my best friend.”

Lena's heart trips in her chest. “I'd like that too.”

So, that's what they do. Kara asks her to wait, which she does, idly tapping out a few emails on her phone. And then the blonde is back, far quicker than should have been possible, with her arms full of takeout bags from the café on the third floor and she's taking Lena by the hand and leading her to Cat Grant's private elevator. She presses the button for the roof and Lena's gaze jumps to her face but Kara only smiles, and squeezes her fingers. “Trust me, it'll be worth it,” she hums, her excitement infectious. “You'll be safe with me.”

And Lena believes her.

That's how she ends up sitting at the edge of Catco's roof on a clean sheet Kara had borrowed from the builders on the second floor, heels kicked off, Kara's red blazer draped around her shoulders. It is worth it, she'll admit; the view from this high is phenomenal. The sun burns bright in a cloudless sky, glinting off the glass-sided skyscrapers of the business district, the glittering waters of the bay beyond.

Kara had picked up Lena's favourite salad, some flatbreads and dips, and they drink kombucha and eat strawberries in the sunshine. They talk and they laugh and they catch up and there's no more fighting, no animosity, no megalomaniac brothers or backstabbing secretaries or worlds needing to be saved. There's only them, she and Kara, and it feels like all she will ever need.

The blonde's hands are braced behind her on the rooftop and she looks happy and carefree as she regales Lena with stories of her upstairs neighbour's antics, and Lena feels the tight knot of tension that had taken up residence in her chest begin to unfurl.

"Hey,” Kara hums, pushing up straighter as Lena licks strawberry juice from her fingertips. The motion brings them closer, their shoulders brushing. “Look up.”

Lena does. High above them, a huge murmuration of starlings whirls and swoops through the air. Thousands of birds move together as one, a vast wave cresting but never breaking against the blue canvass of sky.

“Wow,” Lena gasps, awed.

Against her side, Kara hums. “Yeah.”

They watch the birds for a long moment, captivated by the ceaseless swirling and diving. When Lena at last tears her gaze away from the sky, Kara's eyes rest intently on her face. "Here,” the blonde murmurs, reaching out. The pad of one finger makes feather-light contact with her cheek. Lena's breath catches in her chest.

Kara holds out her finger, proffering the stray eyelash she'd captured with a smile. "Make a wish,” she whispers, her fingertip an inch from Lena's mouth. Her eyes never leave Lena’s.

Lena looks from Kara's face to the eyelash, and back again. From somewhere deep inside her heart, the truth bubbles its way to the surface. “I don't need to.”

Kara smiles, a brilliant, beautiful smile, and Lena knows. The stresses and anxieties of their current crisis feel far away here, harmless as birdsong. She's meted out forgiveness, received it in return. For the first time in her adult life Lena has communicated an issue with a loved one and been heard, understood. She has admitted her own mistake without having it spell out the end of her relationship.

Lena smiles back. The weight of the world sublimates into nothing beneath the bliss of a simple picnic in the sun.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

Two years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, two years from now, Lena will think back to this moment.

This moment, which has sapped the both of them to the bone. Another fight, another screaming match, another quick-fire back and forth of accusations and recriminations. Another night of cursing and crying and choking on all the things they never said before this, on all the things they can't now that Kara's secret has detonated in the shrinking space between them like a nuclear bomb.

Another round of bloodshed, and for what?

Lena sags against the arm of the couch, exhausted. Her face is hot, scratchy with salt from the tears still drying on her skin. She's dehydrated, probably, and half hoarse from shouting, tongue blistered with the bitter sting of betrayal.

Across the no man's land of her living room, Kara slumps against the floor-length windows, drops her temple to the cool glass. She's breathing heavily, cheeks wet, posture battered and eyes dark-bruised beneath the force of Lena's wrath. As Lena watches, her eyes slide closed.

It's been three months since Lena found out. Three weeks since Kara found out that Lena had found out.

Every night since, they've done this. Every night, Kara has shown up on her balcony and begged, pleaded, apologised, cajoled, defended, rebuffed, and sobbed. Every night, Lena has unleashed the hollow agony of Kara's deception masquerading as anger in her chest, incinerating the both of them in the fires of her desolation.

She would have expected the wounds to have cauterised by now. To feel some kind of release, the relief of catharsis. Or at least, to have expended some of her fury after all this time.

She hasn't.

They've been at this for three hours already this evening, and gotten nowhere. Kara's skin is pale above that fucking supersuit, face drawn and complexion sallow.

Lena knows how she feels. The singular exhaustion that is her rift with Kara has sapped her in every way imaginable. She can't sleep. She barely eats. She's no longer interested in work, research, friends. There's nothing in her life that isn't tainted by the shadow of the lies her best friend told and kept telling, every day for four years. Lena doesn't know how any amount of screaming and crying is ever going to get them past that.

Across the room, Kara sighs. It might be the saddest sound Lena has ever heard.

“Should we keep doing this?” she asks after an interminable silence, voice rough with tears still building. Her eyes are still closed.

Lena manages, with exorbitant effort, to raise her drooping head. “What?”

“Is there a point to all this?” Kara asks quietly, hunched body sliding a little further down the glass. "The explanations, the fighting?”

Blue eyes blink open. The weight of the sadness in them is unbearable. Lena struggles to find it within herself to care.

“Lying to you about who I am is the single biggest mistake I have ever made, and if it will make even one single shred of difference I will apologise to you every day for as long as I live,” Kara says into the aching chasm between them. “But I can't keep doing this. Not if it won't change anything. I can't— I don't want to keep hurting you.”

An hour ago, Lena would have scoffed at a sentiment like that. Would have parried back with some piercingly dry comment about how the blonde should have thought about that before she decided to betray Lena's trust as soundly as she possibly could.

Now, though— now, she's just too tired.

“So, should we keep doing this?” Kara whispers, throat working. “Or— God, Lena. Should we just— should we give up?”

Green eyes meet blue, two shattered hearts haemorrhaging between them. “Is that what you want?”

“No.” Kara's voice is loud, fiercely determined in the face of Lena's hesitant whisper. “God, no. Never. I don't ever want to give up on you, Lena. I don't ever want to give you up.”

Kara straightens then, with a strength Lena cannot imagine mustering herself. Perks of being a superhero, she supposes. Perks of being Kryptonian. The thought stakes another shard of ice through her bleeding heart.

“But I know that I've spent four years calling the shots for both of us by keeping you in the dark,” Kara continues. “I've taken away your agency. I've taken away your choice. I won't do that again.”

She sucks in a deep breath, a little of Supergirl's regality seeping back into the defeated slump of her shoulders. “So, I'm doing what I should have done from the start. I'm being honest with you, and hoping that you'll be honest back. I'm asking what you want.”

Kara's fingers twist anxiously before her, bottom lip bleaching white beneath the nervous pressure of her teeth. “Do you think we should keep doing this? Or do you— fuck.” Her voice cracks, the tears brimming in her eyes once again breaking free. “Do you want to give up?”

Jesus Christ. Lena never knew that the prospect of doing the right thing could hurt so much.

“Fuck,” she mutters as she kneads her knuckles over her closed eyelids, digging in until white lights starburst across her vision. “Fuck, Kara.”

“I know,” the blonde whispers from across the room, brittle and broken. “I know. I'm sorry.”

Lena slows her assault on her own eyelids, pinching thumb and forefinger hard at the bridge of her nose instead. “I want to give up,” she mutters, and in the taut silence between them she hears the blonde gasp, watery and thick.

Lena blinks open her eyes to find Kara's face crumpling, every facet of her seeming to fold in on itself even as she visibly fights to keep herself upright.

Lena sighs, and hates Kara, and hates herself even more. “I want to, but— I can't.” She sucks in a ragged breath, hating the truth that's just fallen from her lips, hating the lies that had necessitated it. Hating everything and everyone and most of all, hating just how much she's hurting. “I can't give this up.”

The tiniest spark of hope flares to life in Kara's eyes. Lena hates that she notices, hates that she cares, hates that the sight eases the tight knot of devastation clawing at her ribcage just the tiniest bit.

She also knows that this was inevitable. She knows that, though she hates Kara, though she's nowhere close to forgiving her, though she has no idea how they can rebuild from here or even if she truly wants to try, a question like Kara's could only ever have one answer.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

One year from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, one year from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which is barely even a moment at all. It's more like a dream, warm and faded and fogged in darkness, seconds stolen when sleep should have long since claimed them.

Kara's nightmare had woken them both. In the month since they'd pulled her out of the Phantom Zone, she hadn't slept alone once. Often, she stays with Alex, curling into her sister's side the way she would when they were just kids after one too many late-night horror movies. Once, she stays with Nia, tucked up snug in a borrowed pair of puppy print pyjamas.

Mostly, she stays with Lena. It's natural and unspoken and easy as breathing, the way Kara will show up at her place after a Supergirl save or Lena will let herself into the blonde's apartment after a late night in the lab. They cook dinner and watch Celebrity Masterchef and brush their teeth elbow to elbow at the bathroom sink and when Kara is inevitably tugged screaming and sobbing from her night terrors, the way she presses her face to Lena's neck and her hand over Lena's heart is natural and unspoken and easy as breathing, too.

Kara's racing pulse has calmed a little, her grip on Lena's body beneath her losing some of its urgent desperation. After a long moment of Lena's hand stroking her hair, of gentle reassurances and lips pressed to her temple the blonde pulls back, just enough to rest her head on the pillow facing her.

In the dim light filtering in through the bedroom window Kara's pupils are blown, her face solemn. There's something in her heavy gaze that Lena can't identify; something weighted and potent that prickles goosebumps up the length of her spine.

"Feeling better?” she whispers into the inch of warm air between them, reaching out to tuck a sweat-matted curl reverently behind the blonde's ear.

Kara catches her retreating hand and holds tight, twining their fingers together on the narrow swathe of pillow between them. If either of them were to move so much as a millimetre, their clasped hands would press against their lips.

The blonde nods and sure enough, the soft heat of her mouth brushes the back of Lena's knuckles. She shivers.

Kara is still watching her, the intensity of her gaze causing Lena's heart to thud hard in her throat. She squeezes lightly at the fingers threaded through her own. “What?”

A pause, heavy and sweet as overripe fruit. Kara blinks once, slow. “You're my best friend.”

Lena swallows down a sudden swell of emotion. The blonde nudges closer and when she speaks, the wet seam of her lips catches on the angle of Lena's bent knuckles, painting her skin with the words.

“You're the most important person in the world to me,” Kara whispers, breaths skating fire-flashes across Lena's fingers, voice muffling out past the mouth pressed to her skin. “You know that, right?”

Lena's voice deserts her in the wake of the quiet words. She leans forward instead, presses her lips to Kara's fingertips where they rest against the back of her own hand. It's answer enough.

She hears Kara's breath catch, feels the disruption mirrored in her own chest. Both their mouths are pressed to the joined hands clasped between them. If they were to move their fingers down even just a fraction, there would be nothing separating their lips but a promise, a prayer.

Kara's eyelashes flutter in the semi-darkness. The tip of her nose brushes Lena's own. Neither one of them moves their hands.

They only gaze at one another a long moment, and Lena wonders if the blonde is memorising the planes of her face the way she's memorising Kara's. She could look at her forever, be happy here with her forever, and in this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

For the first time, she wonders if she might not be the only one.

Right now, Kara is reaching across the table at Noonan's and taking Lena's hand.

It's been three weeks since they'd taken down Lex for the last time. Three weeks since Kara had stormed into the Tower's med bay to cup Lena's bloody, bruised face in her hands; since she'd brushed her thumbs feather-light over Lena's split eyebrow and purpling jaw and growled don't you ever scare me like that again. Three weeks since she'd leaned in and pressed her lips to Lena's.

It's been two weeks and six days since Lena, confined to a gurney but utterly uncaring thanks to the warm Kryptonian curled against her side, had pressed her aching face to Kara's shoulder and first whispered that she loved her. Two weeks and six days since Kara had first said it back.

It's been two weeks and five and a half days since Nia had walked in on Lena in Kara's arms, lips pressed to her neck and hands wandering beneath her sweatshirt, and promptly shrieked the place down. Since their friends had exchanged pointed glances and relieved sighs and congratulated them on finally making it official, their expressions ranging from overjoyed to exasperated to plain exhausted.

It's been two weeks and four days of she and Kara dating; of morning kisses and shared showers and the perfect partner at game night and all of Lena's wildest dreams coming true.

It's been less than a minute since Kara had admitted, hushed and wondering, that she'd known she was in love with Lena ever since she'd found herself suddenly prepared to poison National City's entire water supply rather than let Lena fall. That she hadn't been able to fully it admit it to herself until she'd found herself suddenly prepared to alter the course of all of history in order to get Lena back.

And right now, Kara is reaching across the table at Noonan's and taking her hand. She's looking deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice barely rises above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And now that she has, Lena is sure of her answer.

The highlight reel of her relationship with Kara lays itself at Lena's feet, each precious memory between them stretching out like a roadmap of her growing affection, with every hard-won step leading her right to this moment.

And in this moment, Lena knows. She's in love with Kara. Really, she always has been.

#sorry this took approximately 8932018207402 thousand years to materialise #if you've ever sent me a prompt and thought well fuck she's taking so long with this she's clearly forgotten about it i'm just here to say:#nope!#still here #unsure how inspired by the song this actually was in the end #it's either way too close to the lyrics or not close enough #who can say #but anyway yeah. supercorp song #thank your for the prompt and the lovely message! hope you like it #asks #anonymous #ridings writes #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers

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law-iess · 2 years

Text

❝ peter pan ❞

genre: horror, gore, psychological thriller, ni-ki-centric, non-idol, au, slasher, oneshot synopsis: my brother was too beautiful for this world. tw/cw: major character death, implied mental disorders, psychosis, disturbing themes, implied murder, delusions, blood word count: 263

author's note: did this SUPER impromptu while trying to decide on a collect book cover. please be a responsible reader! if i missed any warnings, let me know!

When my brother was three, he started playing with the blocks I'd grown out of. He'd shove them everywhere but the right shape and watching them fly out of his hands. He'd giggle, I'd laugh.

"Don't put the blocks in your mouth Ni-ki! It's dirty!" I'd say.

He'd stare at me like I grew two heads but spit the green star out eventually.

—

When my brother was five, he started going to kindergarten. He held my hand in a vice-grip all the way there. He cried when I left. I came back in a rush.

"I'm here, little guy," I told him, wiping his tears. "I'm not leaving."

The teacher would give me looks for missing my own classes during the first few days but Ni-ki would run to my table at the back after every activity and show me his work with a proud smile. That made everything worth it.

I bought him a picture book to help him start reading. He'd never want to put Peter Pan down.

—

When my brother was seven, he began to play with guns and swords. He'd pretend he was Peter and I was Wendy. He'd playfight and I'd be rescued from the evil Captain Hook. Mother would laugh, teasing that he was short. He'd sulk for being little, but never for too long.

"I'll grow up!" he'd declare. "Just you wait and see."

"But if you grow up, you won't be able to play Peter Pan with me," I play pouted at him. He pursed his lips in thought for a moment before grinning.

"Then I won't grow up. I'll just grow bigger!"

—

When my brother was ten, he took an interest in art. He'd paint in my room while I curled up with a book. He had a sketchbook of my portraits. I still keep them.

"These are impressive, Ni-ki!" I'd tell him. He'd have the widest, goofiest grin on his face before diving down onto the bed next to me just to snuggle while I look at his works.

"I tried using charcoal for this one," he told me. "But I couldn't really get the shading right. I think I can do better. Your hair's a little long to be like Wendy's too. Maybe you should cut it?"

I laughed, staring at the picture. It's still one of my favorite works of his.

—

When my brother was eleven, our dad died of suicide. Mother married a drunk but he didn't understand that yet. When he hits him, he crawls into my bed right next to me.

"Hush, little guy," I whispered to him. "It's all going to be okay."

"Why did dad have to die?" he'd weep onto my pillow. He didn't understand death yet, nor grief, so I just hold him and stroke his hair. I couldn't tell him.

"When you're grow up, you'll understand."

He looks up at me with bloodshot eyes and says: "I don't want to ever grow up. I don't want to understand."

—

When my brother was thirteen, he got picked on a lot. They called him an orphan with no dad and pushed him onto the sidewalk. I caught him just before he got into a fight. We changed schools right after.

"This year, it'll be different," I told him. He shrugs and pulls his backpack tighter on his shoulder. He strides through the front door without another word and my heart clenches.

"I just want to be like a lost boy," he muttered. "No rules, no expectations."

—

When my brother was fifteen, girls took an interest in him. He was taller than most of the kids in his class and had gotten Father's good looks. "Don't worry," he told me. "I'm still your little guy."

"That's easy for you to say," I answered. "You're already taller than me. I'm actually kinda jealous."

"Don't be. I'm don't want to think about that stuff yet. It's still so much fun being a kid. Speaking of which, I did a new Neverland painting this morning. Wanna see?"

—

When my brother was sixteen he came home late, sketchbook in hand. Drunk Stepfather wanted to know where he went. He ignored him; took a punch or two until I finally stepped in. Ni-ki stormed into his room and I followed him.

"I know why dad died," he surprised me by saying. "I wish I didn't. I wish I was back to being a kid, when I didn't know anything." I embraced him because that's all I can do.

Late at night we awoke to screaming. It's Drunk Stepfather and Useless Mother fighting. He had her pinned down and he was lifting her skirt on the kitchen table. I pulled Ni-ki away immediately. He asked what's happening but I didn't respond. If I did, he'd grow up some more and that's not what he wanted.

I waited for the screaming to stop. I waited until the master's bedroom door shuts. I waited some more.

And then I tiptoed into the hall.

There is a cure, says Peter Pan, to growing up: Neverland. The second star to the right and straight on till morning. I leaned against the kitchen sink after getting my glass of water. The moon illuminated the small countertop, casting a shadow over my face. I fix my eyes on the twinkling in the distance.

Second star to the right.

I reached for the star, watching its light flicker between the passing of my fingers. I retreated back to bed. To Ni-ki's room. He needed his older sister that night.

And straight on till morning.

I awoke again to Useless Mother's screaming. Drunk Stepfather stumbled back in the doorway. I rubbed my eyes, adjusting. Flowers had bloomed all over the room, red roses and peonies and tulips across the floor and the walls in beautiful intricate vines.

"How-how could you?!" Useless Mother was staring at me, face paler than the white of my nightdress. Oh, it wasn't white anymore. There were roses and peonies on it too.

I looked down at the star in my hand, watching it glitter under the soft sun's rays. Ni-ki was still asleep beside me despite all the noise. That's okay. Peter Pan says the children fly to Neverland in their sleep so the pixie dust doesn't break. I'll let him sleep some more.

I raised the star to my lips, shushing Useless Mother and Drunk Stepfather. "Don't make a sound," I said, stroking Ni-ki's hair with my fingers. "He's on his way to Neverland. He didn't want to grow up so I took him there."

—

When my brother was sixteen.

He stayed sixteen.

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ynsimagines · 3 years

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Supergirl Alex and B!D sister Headcannons

- Growing up Alex was always extremely protective of you. Despite being 10 years apart you’ve always had a close bond sans the short period of time when she distanced herself a bit from your family.

- In fact Alex’ favorite memory is getting to meet you in the hospital when you were born.

- Despite you now being a grown up she’s still just as protective.

- This can sometimes lead to fights between the two of you, but neither of you can stay mad at the other for long.

- Unless they have a death wish no one will mess with you because of how intimidating Alex is.

- She doesn’t intimidate you much though because you know she’s really just a big softie.

- She calls you kiddo and baby sis more than your actual name.

- Alex loves how close you and Maggie are, even if you both sometimes treat her like a third wheel.

- She can read you like a book.

- She showed you the Exorcist when you were 11 years old thinking you would be scared, but you loved it.

- You now watch horror movies together whenever Kara is out of town because they scare her.

- Alex loves to start pillow fights she can’t help it.

- You know you can always go to her when you need advice or tough love.

- She has an extra inhaler on hand for you at all times.

- You were the first person she came out to, and of course you accepted her with open arms.

- You constantly tease her about how old she is. “Is that a grey hair I see.”

- Alex will always drop what she’s doing when you need her, but especially if you’re hurt. She immediately goes into Doctor mode.

- Lots of impromptu checkups when you’re injured, sick, even if it’s just a hang nail.

- Constant Hugging.

- Alex always gives you the best hugs, never ashamed of people seeing her do so despite her reputation. They always make you feel so protected and loved.

- She’ll often have her arm around you or a hand on your arm. Its her way of letting you know that she’s there for you and to keep you safe should anything happen.

#supergirl #alex danvers #kara danvers #Baby!Danvers #maggie sawyer #cw #DC comics #OC #Headcanon

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amerrierworld · 4 years

Text

Lullaby

Ocean’s 8 fanfiction

for the request: More Lou x reader plssss they’re so good! Maybe a protective!Lou fic

Summary: Lou is there for you as you struggle with incessant nightmares.

Characters: Lou x gn!reader, the team mentioned in passing

Word Count: 2,071

Warnings: comfort and fluffffff. a bit dark in reference to scary nightmares, restlessness, worry, etc! some fluffy suggestiveness, but nothing smutty

You knew you needed to sleep. Hell, you wanted to sleep. Your eyes were burning as you stared at the ceiling fan high above you, spinning gently and sending cool air to the sleeping bodies below.

The ladies had all crashed at Lou’s that night, an impromptu sleep-over after a night drinking in celebration. There was plenty of couch space to go around, and an extra mattress was pulled out for the remaining few. Pillows and blankets were tossed about and shared.

You heard Rose snoring quietly at the other end of the mattress. At some point in the night, you had rolled off of your side onto the hardwood floor, blankets half-covering your restless body.

The ground was hard and cold against your back, but it was a welcomed feeling, because you’d woken up in a fit, heart pounding, drenched in sweat and gripping the blankets with trembling hands.

You didn’t expect nightmares to visit you tonight. You’d drank happily and were exhausted from the day’s events, and you were out cold as soon as everyone turned out the lights and said goodnight.

But shadowy figures danced about your brain as you laid there, staring up at the ceiling fan, trying to decide what to do next. Memories of the nightmare were already fading due to the drunken haze you had fallen asleep in, but the panic was still heavy in your chest.

Suddenly, your body tingled with restlessness and you sat up. Wincing at the stickiness of your sweaty shirt peeling off the floor, you got up and gingerly stepped around your sleeping friends. You needed to move, or do something, before your heavy breathing woke anyone else up.

You went to the bathroom, used the toilet, combed your fingers through your wild hair. Wandered around the small space for a bit, opened the cupboards and inspected what kind of hair products Lou liked to use.

It was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet in someone else’s house that you’re not used to. You sat on the edge of the bathtub, which was wondrously large, and debated drawing yourself a bath. It’d be too loud to fill it, you figured. You’d feel like you were imposing, no matter how comfortably you knew Lou and the rest of the team.

But you also didn’t want to go back yet either. The cool bathroom floor tiles were jarring but relaxing to your aching feet, and the harsh bright light dispelled any shadows around you.

Wild, hot tears prickled the edges of your eyes and you sniffled. You rubbed your face with a shaky hand, irritated at your drowsiness but inability to sleep peacefully which only made you cry harder.

Wind roared outside and the lights flickered for a split second as you sobbed silently into your hands.

Lou wasn’t a light sleeper by any means, but if something sounded off in her own home, she’d be the first to wake up. And so, when she heard soft footsteps creaking up her staircase, she was awake in seconds.

She peeked down the hall and saw the light coming from the bathroom as you snuck in, clicking it shut slowly, as if all hell would break loose if someone heard you.

Lou normally wouldn’t have done anything, considering there were eight people sleeping over and someone was bound to use the toilet in the middle of the night, but the way your feet shuffled weakly and your head was bowed down in fear made her worry.

She waited for you to come back out. Heard the flushing of the toilet, the running of the sink, and expected you to open the door again immediately. But you didn’t. And when she walked over, leaned her ear towards the door and heard quiet sobs coming through, she nearly broke down the door with how swiftly she opened it, fearing the worst.

Your back straightened, squeaking in surprise at the sight of Lou in the doorway, her eyebrows furrowed.

You both stared at each other for a moment. Lou opened her mouth and closed it again, swallowing thickly. She realized how invasive it was for her to burst through the door, but the sound of you in torment pushed any rational thoughts out of her brain.

Rubbing your eyes quickly, you got up and wrung your hands in front of you.

“S-sorry I took so long,” you said, thinking she needed to hurriedly use the bathroom. Lou’s brain was short-circuiting with both worry and confusion. Your clothes stuck to your body and seemed damp, and your face was red and splotchy, despite your attempt to hide any signs of your crying.

You felt bad for waking Lou and keeping her waiting. She was wearing an oversized rock ‘n roll t-shirt that nearly reached her knees, and her hair stuck out in all directions, a low bun drooping and threatening to fall out entirely.

“It’s alright,” Lou replied dumbly, not realizing why you were apologizing.

You got closer, trying to think of how to get past her without making it obvious how much you were struggling, hoping her sky-blue eyes wouldn’t catch on.

But a gentle hand stopped you before you could walk past her and you knew that she had.

“Y/N,” she whispered, pushing you back a bit so she could close the bathroom door, giving you privacy, “what’s wrong?”

You nonchalantly leaned against the sink, looking at your toes, “nothing.”

The lights flickered again as the wind howled outside. Suddenly the space felt too surreal, too harsh and bright, and you ached.

Lou turned away from you, rummaging around and pulling out a washcloth. She used the sink behind you to dampen it, and you wondered what she needed it for. Maybe she needed to wash her face, or had some makeup left over...

Then she reached for your hand and gently pressed the fabric against the back of it. The lukewarm temperature of it zapped through your body like a shot and your clammy hand went limp in hers.

She searched your eyes, looking for fear, for rejection. Instead she found pleading, drowsiness and trust.

“I’m not good with words,” she muttered as she rubbed the cloth over your fingers and forearm, before moving to the other. “But does this help?”

You nodded, face scrunching up as tears threatened to flow again and you wanted to hold them back.

Then she pressed the damp cloth against your collarbones and shoulders, where you felt sickly sweaty, shuddering. When she reached behind to cup your neck and work her fingers into your muscles through the cloth, you surrendered. Your body tipped forward, following the pressure of her hand and resting your forehead against her shoulder.

She stilled, holding the cloth against your bare, clammy skin.

“I can’t sleep,” you muttered thickly into her shirt, voice breaking.

Immediately the cloth was gone and her hands replaced the absence, holding you closely and letting your entire weight rest against her. Hot tears flowed again.

“Did Tammy kick you in her sleep?” Lou asked, “apparently she does that. If she did you just gotta kick her back-”

You chuckled, pulling away a bit, and replied, “no, it wasn’t Tam. I get these.. nightmares.”

Lou’s eyebrow raised in curiosity. Her hands held your waist as she let you speak, the warmth and heaviness of them a grounding feeling for you.

“I have trouble sleeping at really stupid times,” you muttered, “And then I’m stressed about it. When I wake up I- I’m afraid to even think about going back to sleep.

“Like- I- I don’t know, they just happen and I wake up, but I don’t feel like myself when I do, and- and it takes ages to feel okay again. I just..”

You trailed off, biting your lip in worry, clenching Lou’s shirt in your hands as you looked at her chin to avoid her piercing gaze.

Lou’s heart broke a bit at the sight of you fighting with yourself, and she sighed. One of her hands came up to cup your cheek, making you meet her eyes.

“Would it help if someone was with you?” she asked.

“Well.. no, clearly, because even with the whole team down there-”

“I meant someone who was with you. Making sure you’re okay and safe to fall sleep,” Lou corrected herself, smiling at your doe-eyed look, eyes wide, cheeks still splotchy. She picked up the washcloth, ran it under the water again and rubbed it gently against your cheeks.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to form words, feeling wonderfully sleepy in her arms,

“I- I suppose so.. maybe. I don’t know.”

“My bed is a lot cozier than the couches downstairs,” Lou suggested, picking her words carefully. “If you’d like you could...”

“Sleep with you?”

“Not sleep with me,” Lou said hastily, “but.. yes. If it'd be more comfortable.”

You smirked a little, looking up at her and batting your eyelashes, “What if I did want to... sleep with you?”

Lou snorted, “not with the state you’re in right now, missy. You look ready to fall over and snore all on my floors.”

You blushed, rubbing your thumbs over the middle of Lou’s shirt, too distracted by the design on it to notice you were pressing your fingers against her abdomen and warm skin, making her nostrils flare and her grip tighten.

“You can say no, Y/N.”

“No, I’d like that, but.. why? You’re not just feeling bad for me are you?”

“No, of course not,” Lou sighed, “Y/N..”

She cupped your cheek and looked you squarely in the eyes, “you mean the world to me, darling. I mean that. Let me take care of you, at least for tonight. Let me help.”

You blushed, again feeling your emotions well up and threaten to spill over but Lou rubbed your cheeks with her thumbs, brushed back your hair, pulled you closer to her warm body.

You nodded and felt Lou take your hand, open the door and turn off the bathroom light, swallowing both of you in darkness. She lead you and you followed blindly to her bedroom, where a massive bed awaited.

You put a hand on the mattress, feeling that it was still warm from where Lou was sleeping, and the thought made you blush. There was a glass of water on the nightstand that Lou encouraged you to drink.

“Crying makes you dehydrated,” she said as she went through her drawers. “Drink something, it’ll help.”

You downed the glass in nearly one gulp, and your throat felt less like sandpaper after finishing it.

“Here,” Lou whispered softly. She was holding out another oversized shirt to you, “It’ll be easier to sleep with something clean.”

You nodded and lifted your arms as Lou reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging it off of your body. In the semi-darkness, the only light being Lou’s lamp on her nightstand, you should have felt exposed, but Lou did nothing that made you feel uncomfortable.

She tugged her shirt over your head and helped your arms through, the soft fabric falling against your skin with a welcomed sigh.

Then she kneeled down and tugged your pants off for you too, palms rubbing at your calves and heels in assurance.

She pushed back the comforter and climbed in on the other side of the bad, tucking her long legs under the sheets and holding out her hand for you to take.

You snuggled in beside her, warm from where she’d been sleeping, her scent enveloping you and blurring your mind like a drug.

“Feeling better?”

You nodded, admiring her in the soft light. You looked so cozy, swaddled by her comforter and pillows that Lou couldn’t bear to ask you to turn out the light. So instead, she reached over you with long arms, turning out the light herself.

As she did, your body rolled towards her as she came closer to you, and she blinked in surprise just as darkness surrounded you.

Once Lou got comfortable, you were pressed up against her side, face buried in the crook of her neck, and your breathing was coming out slowly, evenly.

Lou smiled as she realized you’d fallen asleep, peacefully, it seemed. She draped an arm over your middle and pressed a kiss on your head, holding you tightly and mentally fighting off all the nightmares threatening to come into her room tonight.

A/N: this was very cathartic for me to write, I hope it may do the same for you reading it <3

#lou #lou miller #lou miller x reader #lou miller x you #cate blanchett #cate blanchett x you #cate blanchett x reader #wlw #lgbt #ocean's eight #oceans 8 #oceans8 #oceans 8 fanfic #ocean's 8 #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #merry writes

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