#they either get the rights to own the name or they come up with a different name

[adimilkys]

JJK men waking up horny at night

MDNI : 18+, smut, somnophilia, masturbation, p in v, degradation and much more

Contains : Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Toji Fushigiro, Choso Kamo, Ryomen Sukuna (I was throwing up while writing his bitch ass 😾 I still love you Sukuna 😔)

small note : remember! Consent is everything, so let’s say the reader and character made an agreement on not minding if they would wake up to head etc. Not proof read

Gojo Satoru

He often got wet dreams, either waking up to morning wood or- waking up in the middle of the night.

And that’s what happened this time, it’s 3 am and Satoru let out a groan as his eyes opened, his whole face was red, it was so goddamn hot in here. He looked over at your peaceful face, wrapped his hands around you and pulled you closer.

He breathed in your smell, leaving kisses all around your neck and shoulders, slightly grinding his hard cock against your ass.

“Fuck… not letting me rest in my sleep either.” A quiet whine left his mouth, one hand going under his shirt that you were wearing, while the other one pulled your panties to the side, you usually only slept in his shirt and your panties, so he had easy access to your body.

“Baby… I need you…” two of his fingers entered you, he started moving them slowly and scissoring them, you let out a soft moan and clenched your thighs together- but still asleep.

He sped up his pace, taking his own cock into his hand and started stroking it. You let out a louder moan, feeling something tighten inside your stomach.

Suddenly your eyes shot open as your hand instantly went to grab his wrist. “T-Toru!” You cried as he added a third finger.

“M’sorry baby… I was so horny…” he was also close, groaning as he was stroking his cock faster.

“C-Can I put it in? Please please I need to feel you…” You nodded, not able to say anything, the only sounds leaving your mouth being moans of his name.

His fingers left your hole, you whined at the lost sensation but it was immediately replaced with his cock, you gasped at the feeling of being so full. He had your back against his chest. His arms were wrapped around your thighs, holding them up so it was easier for him to slide in.

His thrusts were slow and deep, hitting your cervix every time.

“Toru!! Ah- c-close!” You moaned, your nails were digging into his shoulder as he fastened his pace.

“S-shit… me too baby, me too.” One of his hands left your thigh, letting it lay on the bed, it instead went to your clit.

Your eyes rolled back and your back arched as you came, he wasn’t far behind, a few more strokes and he buried himself deep inside and shot his loads of cum.

As he pulled out you both were a panting mess. He moved your panties back, his hands wrapping around your waist and head hid in your shoulder.

“I’ll clean you up in the morning…”

Nanami Kento

It was rare for him to get wet dreams, it basically never happened, until this night.

He was rock hard and itching to touch you but he didn’t want to wake you up. You came back from work really late and exhausted, it was a hard day for you.

He could just jerk off, but he wanted you so bad. He got onto his knees, making you lay on your back as he pushed your legs apart, slowly pulling your panties off, making sure you won’t wake up.

He grabbed his cock in his hand and started stroking it, imagining it was your hand right now. You were so cute asleep, his beautiful wife.

You probably would tease him for days if you found out what he was doing, he just wanted to quickly get off to your body and go back to sleep.

He leaned down, kissing all over your exposed cleavage and neck, leaving small marks with every kiss, you’ll probably wake up and wonder where’d they come from.

He’ll explain himself tomorrow, right now it wasn’t important. What was is that he’s closer and closer, he started moving his hand faster, shooting out ropes all over your stomach that was exposed due to your shirt being ridden up, following with a muffled moan.

When he calmed down, he grabbed a tissue from the shelf and cleaned the cum off you. Putting your panties back down and laying down next to you, cuddling you.

Toji Fushigiro

He dreamt of you pregnant all over again, your round belly, filled with his child. He knows he has a breeding kink, so it’s obvious that he has gotten hard just from thinking about it.

Megumi wouldn’t mind a little brother, or maybe sister. Fuck, he wanted to get you pregnant again. He knows you’re on that shitty pill- he needs to flush them down the fucking toilet.

But right now all he needed was you. He grabbed your sleeping face and slammed his lips on yours, making you gasp, which allowed his tongue to enter.

“Mhmm- too-ji?” You muffled out barely awake, confused why in the middle of the night your man started furiously attacking your mouth.

“Fuck- feel what you did to me doll, got me all hard even in my sleep, yeah?” You let out another gasp, feeling his hard erection press against your clothed pussy.

Not letting you say anything he ripped your panties and immediately positioned his cock against your entrance.

“T-Toji! What if we wake up Megumi-”

“Then you have to quiet down all these pretty sounds, hm?” And just like that he slammed his dick inside of you. You quickly bit down on your hand, muffling your loud cry.

Not letting you adjust, he continued slamming in and out of you at a quick pace. Tears filled your eyes from the pleasure, trying the best to muffle your loud moans. Your other hand scratched at his back.

He grabbed the hand that was covering your mouth and replaced it with his lips, you could’ve sworn you felt his tongue in your throat, it was a messy kiss- tongues and teeth clashing together. Then he moved down to your neck, leaving marks all over it.

“A-Ah! S-Slo’down- T’muchhh!” Instead of actually slowing down, he only went faster if that was even possible at this point.

“I know you can take it, doll. You always do.” With every thrust you were closer, it was also hard to be quiet with this beast of a man slamming into you at an inhuman pace.

“Toji- close so close!”

“Come on, cum f’me” Your head threw back, not able to contain the loud cry that left your mouth, his pussy clamped down so hard on his cock that he came short after you, letting out a load groan as he filled you up.

“One more round?”

“Toji- wait, AH-”

Choso Kamo

You’re his first ever partner, he’s still not used to all those relationships things. So just imagine his confusion when he woke up at 2 am, his dick rock hard and his body hot.

He looked over to you, sleeping so beautifully, you were asleep and didn’t even do anything- what happened??

He couldn’t go back to sleep, he was too horny. You won’t be mad if he wakes you up, right?

He carefully shook you, calling out your name. After a minute you opened your eyes, mumbling out some incorrect words. When you saw it was Choso who was sitting up, looking all worried you immediately raised yourself up on your hands.

“Love…? What’s wrong?” You asked, his face got red immediately, embarrassed to say what happened.

“I- woke up and my dick was hard, I didn’t know what happened so I woke you up.” You stared at him and let out a soft laugh, sitting up next to him.

“Oh baby, you probably just had a wet dream.” He looked at you confused, still not understanding what that meant.

“A wet dream is when you dream about something sexual.” He let out a quiet ohh, you shook your head smiling.

“Want me to help?” He didn’t move for a while before slowly shaking his head, still embarrassed that he had to wake you up for that. You took his dick in your hands, slowly moving them up and down before lowering your head and leaving kisses all over his cock.

His hand buried itself in your hair as he let out a quiet moan, begging you to not tease him. You complied to his request, taking as much of him as you can in your mouth.

He slightly thrust his hips forward, making the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. “M-m’sorry… had too-“ he whined as your plump lips dragged on his dick, your mouth so warm. The rest that you couldn’t fit in was wrapped around your hand, not being forgotten.

The way you looked up at him, the way that your mouth moved- he was getting closer and you knew it, your movement got faster and he gripped your hair tightly, letting out a moan as he came inside your mouth.

You swallowed it all, giving his head a last kiss before raising yourself up and wiping the corners of your lips with your hand. “You did so good love” he blushed at the praise,

“I’ll repay you tomorrow, okay?”

“Choso, you know you don’t have to-”

“But I want to.”

Ryomen Sukuna

He will not wake you up and admit that he got hard because of a stupid dream, there’s absolutely no way. He won’t ‘jerk off’ either, that would be just low of him.

So he will indeed wake you up but by his cock inside of you. He immediately got to work, ripping your panties off and throwing them somewhere in the room, getting in between your legs as he picked them up and held them against your chest.

He spit down on your pussy, the cold sensation making you shiver in your sleep. He grabbed one of his cocks and positioned it against your entrance, he would use both but getting you prepared for the other one would take too long.

And with a quick thrust he was deep inside of you, filling you up. The sudden intruder immediately woke you up, letting out pleasurable but also painful scream.

“Ngh—! wha-?!” Your eyes darted around the room before laying on the huge frame of Sukuna, who was glaring at you.

“Quiet, brat. This is your fault so now take it.” Your back arched off the mattress as he suddenly started moving, still half asleep not knowing what’s happening.

“Ryo-! Wait! Let me-” before you could finish your sentence a loud moan left your mouth, he did not plan on giving you any mercy with how fast he was ramming inside you.

You yelped as he slapped your ass harshly, “That’s for waking me up, brat.” You wanted to reply to him but you couldn’t form the words, even if you did you knew that would just result in another slap.

He didn’t even bother at pulling out as he picked you up and flipped you onto your stomach like a ragdoll. Continuing with his harsh slams, you felt every vein, with how big he was he was hitting every spot inside your pussy.

His hand grabbed your head and pushed you further into the pillow, making you arch more. He was slamming into you so hard it felt like he was rearranging your guts. The knot in your stomach tightened as you clenched around him.

“Cum, slut.” With his words your hands gripped onto the pillows and with almost a scream-like moan you came so hard you saw stars, but even with your tight pussy clamping around him so hard his thrusts didn’t slow down.

He once again grabbed your body, now picking it up and making you sit on his lap, your back against his chest as he bounced you up and down. You were so fucked out, tears streaming down your cheeks, your tongue out as spit leaked from the corners of your mouth.

“Look at you, so greedy for my cock.” He smirked, pinching your nipple.

“Ryooo— I can’t-” he slapped your ass once again, making you let out a cry, feeling another orgasm coming soon.

“Close already?” He scoffed “Pathetic” you squirmed as his hand went to your clit. One hand on your throat, second on your boobs, third wrapped around your waist making you bounce and fourth on your clit.

“Haa- n-nono-“ you cried as the next orgasm hit you, squirting all around his cock and hand. Leaving you a panting and overstimulated mess.

“What a messy pussy…” he groaned as he slammed you down, cock buried so deep there was a bulge on your stomach as he filled you with his load.

You were sure you would fall down on the bed if he wasn’t holding you up. He pulled his cock out just to fill you again with his second one.

“Did you think we were done, brat?”

[winterrrnight]

there’d better be a mirrorball

PAIRING: soft!rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you couldn’t attend senior prom, so your boyfriend bought the prom to you.

WARNINGS: mentions of puking and food poisoning, sweetheart rafe, usage of nicknames, intentional use of lower case

EDITH SPEAKS: huge huge thank you to miss @zyafics who had to see my poorly edited photo of a terrace and helped me figure out that it’s called a ‘gazebo’, except that picture didn’t actually have a gazebo in it (I’m sorry I’m so bad at explaining shit 😭) but yeah zya you’re a real one ilysm 💙🌟

if you liked reading this please consider reblogging! feedback is always appreciated 🪩

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it was the saddest day of your life.

you went to sleep all excited, your dress laid out, your shoes right next to the dress, your jewelry picked out, a clear image of your make up look in your head; just for you to wake up and do the last thing you’d expect for that day: puke.

your puke was unceremoniously cleaned up by your mom, who when touched her hand to your forehead, claimed that you were burning up. when you tried to speak, your voice barely came out – it was hoarse and heavy. and it was even worse when you couldn’t stand on your own two feet for a few moments before starting to feel an intense body ache that had you flopping back onto your bed.

“I’m sorry darling, but I don’t think you should go to prom today–”

“no!” came out your rough voice, tears starting to blur your vision as you took a look at your perfectly arranged dress and accessories for the coming night. your mom couldn’t bear to see the sight but she had to exercise her never expiring mom card and made you miss the prom.

you were laying in your bed, your curtains drawn and the lights turned off to not let any harsh lighting pulsate your already throbbing headache even more than before. you had called your boyfriend rafe and had given him the unbearing news of you not being able to attend prom because of your horrible health – which was concluded as food poisoning by your mother – and he felt his heart shatter with the news.

rafe, who was never interested in prom before, was looking forward to that night because you were his date. you made his decision regarding proms flip to a total 180 and convinced him on how fun it would actually be, and now what? now, you can’t go, you: the light to the dark side of his moon.

“then that’s simple, I’m not going either,” came his voice through your microphone. you groaned for what felt like the millionth time, and shook your head.

“you are going rafe,” you said, your voice clearing up just a bit thanks to those sharp tasting lozenges your mother dumped into your mouth. “okay? you are going. the rest of our friends are going to be there, and it’s the senior prom! you are going, and that’s final.”

damn. even when you’re lying sick in your bed, you still have your control over him.

rafe reluctantly agreed to go to the prom, but before he went there, he stopped by at your place to check up on you. he brought you some fresh flowers and put them in a vase to sit in your room.

“when I come back, I’m coming straight to you, okay?” he murmured softly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead gently, not listening to your whines on how he shouldn’t kiss you because you were sick.

the hours passed, and you made a quick scroll through your social media – something which you knew you shouldn’t. there were already a gazillion pictures and short videos from the evening, everyone dressed up in fancy fabrics from head to toe, jewelry gleaming on their ears and necks, and familiar pop music played in the background. you sighed, feeling yourself getting more and more sad and left out as you practically threw your phone aside, and decided to just nap to get your mind off of it.

you were woken up by your name spoken by an all too familiar melodious voice, and a soft nudge to your shoulder.

“wake up baby…” you heard in your ear. you opened your eyes and were met with rafe’s bright blue ones. his blazer had come off and was hanging on his shoulder, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“yeah?” you muttered as you rubbed your eyes and sat up.

“come on, I want to take you somewhere,” he said in a hushed tone as he watched you awaken.

“take me where?” you asked and without any questions, you followed rafe’s lead, who helped you to your feet and helped you put on your shoes. he draped his blazer over your shoulders and took your hand, leading you out of your room.

“just come with me, you’ll love it,” he said softly, grinning from ear to ear as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you out. you lived only a few doors down from tannyhill, and rafe kept you well tucked under his arm as he kept up with your slower pace of walking than usual and led you to his place.

he led you inside the huge mansion, and when he saw how tired your body had gotten from the walking, he carefully picked you up bridal style and carried you up the stairs, all the way up to the terrace.

“now…” he hummed as he set you down, both of you standing right outside the closed door of the terrace. “i’m going to cover your eyes, okay?” he said softly, and when he saw you didn’t interject, he covered your eyes with his fingers. he opened the door and carefully led you out to the terrace.

“i’ll lift my hands in 3… 2… 1…”

at 1, his hands came off and you were greeted with a sight that made you gasp.

multiple strings of golden fairy lights hung all around the terrace, a record player spun in a corner, a table was covered with drinks, chocolates and other little treats, and to your right, right under the wooden gazebo, was a mirrorball.

a mirrorball hung right from the center of the gazebo, spinning slowly and slowly as it reflected silver light in different directions, producing a complex display. you gasped at the sight, the spherical object rotating and momentarily reflecting across you, the reflections mere spheres that appeared and disappeared on your body at different parts each time.

“rafe…” you muttered, and you felt his arms wrap around your waist from the back, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“this is our prom baby,” you whispered in your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

“when… when did you even do this?” you whispered, still in awe from the entire decoration.

“I came back from prom early, it was extremely boring without you,” he murmured. “couldn’t stand being there without my pretty girl,”

you turned around in rafe’s hold to face him. “this… this is so beautiful…” you whispered, looking in his twinkling eyes. you wanted to say more, you really did, but you were falling short of words because you were still trying to recover from the surprise.

“not as beautiful as you baby,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your forehead and you broke into a smile. he can be so cheesy.

“now come on, I believe you owe me a dance,” he grinned as he walked up to the record player. he changed the vinyl spinning and you watched him curiously, but all curiosity washed away when you heard the gentle instrumentals of there’d better be a mirrorball fill the space around you.

he walked back to you with a cheeky grin and took your hand in his, leading you to the gazebo where you both stood right under the mirrorball. he took your hands in his and brought you closer to him, placing your arms around his neck and placing his around your waist, and starting to sway you gently to the music.

you rested your head in the crook of his neck and he kept you close in your arms, both of your eyes fluttered shut as you gently swayed to the music, taking in the moment.

“I love you,” you heard the faint sound of rafe’s voice in your ear. you felt your heart thump at his words, a soft smile forming on your face.

“I love you just as much,” you whispered back, burying your face in his neck. he smiled softly at your words, pressing a kiss to your temple as he continued to sway you both.

by the end of the night, you had completely forgotten you had to miss prom.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @sage-burrow @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @lukey-pookie-hughes43 @rafesgiirl @theoraekenslover @fals3-g0d @personalfavsthatarerandom @b1mb0slvt

[tee-dohrnii]

Hey!! I’d love to see Thalia and Gale being domestic, if you don’t mind!! Your art is GORGEOUS.

I’d also love to learn more about Thalia’s backstory or any Gale headcannons you had!

I hope this counts as being domestic I just can't resist a good nap time moment :') and I also wanted to just do doodles but I got carried away and started coloring 😭 coloring has never been my strong suit so I hope this is fine

And uaaa thank you for thinking my art is gorgeous!!! I'm honestly really glad to see people are enjoying my silly doodles here thank you!!

--- vv Thalia backstory blurb vv ---

In terms of backstory, honestly I haven't been able to flesh it out much yet! I also don't know much about dnd lore (I really wish I did) so anything I say here may not be consistent with lore :'D

However, what I have so far is Thalia used to be Thalia Adkrana, daughter of a noble family from a powerful bloodline of storm sorcerers. Despite being the 4th born child out of 5 children, since birth she's shown to be more blessed with magic than anyone in her family, powerful storms raging around her constantly when she was younger and destroying anything around her, causing trouble for her family. As she grew older, she may have logically understood how it is to keep her lightning under control, but whenever she gets very emotional her magic tends to lash out in response to her reactions. Growing up privileged and powerful, she also developed a bit of a superiority complex and an awful temper when things don't go her way, so not really a good combo when her magic gets unstable when she's upset.

Because of this, her family preferred keeping her within their property as much as possible to avoid dealing with her and to avoid troubling others, especially when one wrong outburst from her could ruin their family reputation. Growing up isolated from world didn't really help her grow and mature properly either, and her temper tantrums got worse and worse the longer she was kept in there and the more her family seemed to just give up on her. The only one she could really confide in and find comfort in was her younger brother.

Everything really changed when one day she decided to speak up against her family and demanding they let her leave the house, let her come with them to one of their social gatherings. Hells, she's been trapped in their property for 30 years at this point she wants to engage with people, even peasants at this point because she'd rather deal with them than look at the same suffocating decor for even another second. Voices and tempers rising, she grew more and more frustrated as her parents kept shutting down every argument she could come up with, and the more the storms around her grew the more she proved that her parents were right for keeping her in. Angry at them, angry at herself, thunder roared and the lightning sparks dancing around her gathered into huge bolts of lightning, surging out of her in rage as if her magic itself was screaming out for her if her words and her voice couldn't reach her family. She knew they had every good reason to not let her out, knowing her own lack of control over her own emotions - but maybe if they trusted her just once, guided her, saw her as someone in desperate need of help instead of a stain on their family name, maybe things could've been different.

But that's not how we got to this point. A loud thud of a body falling flat on the ground snapped her out of her state and right beside them lay one of their servants, dead at her feet, and as if the panic she was feeling couldn't get any worse, just close by she saw her younger brother lying on the floor, badly hurt and crying out from pain. Immediately her parents, older siblings, and anyone who heard them nearby rushed to her little brother and the poor servant, doing their best to take care of the situation and Thalia stood there silent, watching her world fall apart in front of her eyes.

The order to banish her from their home came soon after, no longer Thalia Adkrana but simply Thalia, removing her status and all the benefits that name gave. Since she so desperately wanted to go out and see the world, now the world is all she'll have and no home to return to.

Kinda really awful timing when shortly after she started her new unwanted life as an adventurer, she got picked up by a nautiloid and had a tadpole squirming its way behind her eye.

And also shortly after meeting poor souls who shared the same unfortunate tadpole situation she was facing, it's no wonder Thalia fell so hard for a certain wizard who showed her in one night how beautiful, intimate, and warm magic could be as it enveloped her whole being like a gentle embrace - that her power and her emotions were something she could learn to channel and not be afraid of, a perspective her family failed to teach her for 30 years. And even if at times she still found herself electrocuting the waters they stood on in her anger or excitement and hurting them, or maybe her temper would get the best of her again and she would unconsciously lash out at them before she could even realize she was yelling, after every argument or petty insults thrown at each other, they would still watch out for one another and care for each other and soon after they'd be sitting around a campfire laughing and enjoying each other's company.

It's no wonder once she's found a family she truly belonged in and felt safe in that her true nature finally bloomed after being suppressed for so long - a kind, lonely girl who loved being around people and helping them in all the ways she wished she could've helped her younger self ages ago, never letting anyone get left behind and given up on like she was back then.

Although being out of touch from reality for 30 years did create a lot of very awkward moments when interacting with people during the beginning of their journey, she did learn very fast how best to compose herself in public - best she could when the ones teaching her are also a couple of social outcasts but hey it's fine.

---

Whew! That's a lot actually. Idek if any of that makes sense I'm not going to proofread all that :') I also don't really have any Gale headcanons I do really enjoy reading other people's headcanons about him though!

I hope this answer is sufficient ^_^

[saturdaykru]

the pyramid - B. Blake x reader

﹒✚﹒ masterlist ` , request ` , taglist﹒✚﹒

playlist ! kinda took ur idea and ran with it, i love getting requests

Bellamy Blake x reader - Arkadia

It wasn't uncommon for you to flirt with Bellamy, but it was unusual for him to flirt with you back.

cw: smut, plot, nsfw

Flirting with Bellamy was my forte, brushing me off was his. I had stopped counting the number of times he'd dismissed my advances, not really caring. Most of the time it'd be a joke, and most of the time it wouldn't be.

Today was no exception.

I was walking down the halls of Arkadia to the bar where I 'worked' when I passed by Bellamy.

"Hey, hot stuff." I greeted as I always do with a smile.

"That's not my name, y/n." Despite his words, I could always hear a hint of amusement in his voice.

Bellamy always said it was inappropriate, that we were just friends, but that could never stop me. I knew he'd have to give in at one point, who wouldn't with me?

"Right, where are you off to looking like that?" I looked him up and down, he looked good. Though he looked like that every day. Literally.

Bellamy had a look of confusion as he examined his own outfit before connecting the dots and rolling his eyes, "I don't have time for this," He said before turning heel and continuing his walk down the hall.

"You know you love it!" I yelled before doing the same.

Life at Arkadia was simple, the grounders had stopped attacking around a month ago, and our hunting parties would always come back with feasts, it was how life should be.

And I didn't always flirt with Bellamy or shoot terrible pickup lines his way.

I knew when the time was right to do it, most saw it as a funny bit, most saw me as desperate or wierd, and some saw me as a girl trying to find her way which I found completely unrelated to the situation at hand. People usually made it known where they stood on the pyramid; either by their actions or words. But I wasn't sure where Bellamy stood on the pyramid; I was sure his stance fluctuated as the days passed.

Funny.

Desperate.

Weird.

Lost.

Those were the four trifectas of the pyramid.

There were days when I thought I should find my luck elsewhere- like Murphy or Monty, people who would fold the second I even glanced their way. But that was the easy way out, and Murphy wasn't exactly the cutest tool in the shed. I liked the chase with Bellamy; it was exhilarating. The constant back-and-forth banter on how it was inappropriate, how there were better times for flirting, and how bad the pickup line was.

The chase wasn't the only thing that fueled me, it was not knowing the outcome. Despite my confidence, I was sure how this would end with Bellamy, this could go on for years to come, and he could get a girlfriend. I wasn't sure how that thought made me feel- well I did; I just didn't know how to put it into one word.

Disgust, jealousy, hurt.

For my own brain's sake, it was a less-than-appealing thought.

"Hey, Sinclair!" I yelled, entering the back of the bar.

Jasper was already in his usual spot. He sat there every day for 43 days since they got rescued from Mount Weather, the only time he left was when we called Miller to carry him out.

I always asked Sinclair to just ban Jasper from the bar and save us the trouble, but Sinclair said to just let him cope after the trauma he'd been through, having lost someone special to him. So after the first 10 days, I stopped pitching the idea. I wasn't sure what else he was on, it was a sore sight for the other regulars who weren't drinking their way into the grave. It was a sad sight for anyone, but nobody but me had the guts to say anything to him.

I wasn't sure where Jasper was on the pyramid, when he wasn't drinking he was smoking, and when he wasn't smoking he was drinking. The only time he isn't doing either is when he's sleeping.

I like the think that the old Jasper would find it funny.

"So, what is it? Day 40 already?" I ask Jasper while pouring a new batch into the bar's fountain.

Jasper didn't turn to look at me, he didn't try and do anything, he never did. Though I didn't know how he felt since I've never lost anyone I loved.

"Day 43." His head was resting on his arms as he stared down into the half-empty glass, he didn't even feel like drinking, too consumed in his own sadness.

I didn't try to continue the conversation further, knowing the fun, easygoing Jasper was already drowned out by the buzz and taste of the drink in his hands. And I didn't openly argue with him, I already knew he was arguing with himself.

"Two minutes late, y/n." Sinclair said, appearing from the open door next to me.

Sinclair was like a mentor to me, he was tough on me but it kept me in line when I needed to be.

I knew where Sinclair stood on the pyramid, he thought I was trying to find my way in this burned world; which was only half true, the world was factually burned.

I wasn't lost, I wasn't trying to find my way. I thought people were taking it far too seriously for their own good. And no matter what I said, they would always think that.

"Salvation isn't easy, Sinclair." I joked, directing my attention from Jasper.

"Salvation lies within." Sinclair walked by me, taking a seat on the stool behind the bar.

"Salvation," I look to him, "Can kiss my ass." I smiled.

"Language," Sinclair warned, though a smile showed through his frown.

"Nobody deserves forgiveness," Jasper spoke up, in his self-deprecating pity.

I turned to look at him, his glass was now empty and he tossed me a familiar look.

I grabbed his cup and refilled it under the fountain, "Miserable quote of the day, Jas?" I handed him back his drink.

I joked to keep my own sanity around Jasper, his sadness had a way of infecting people. You could've been the happiest person but one minute around Jasper and you're drinking your way to an early grave.

Did it with half our regulars.

Jasper didn't reply, instead, he gulped down the thick liquor and stood abruptly. It wasn't a surprise, it was his usual routine. He'd drink until he felt tired of drinking, then dance until he felt tired of dancing.

All this sadness got me thinking back to my happy memories, I wonder what Bellamy is doing right now.

"You pass by Bellamy?" I ask turning my head towards Sinclair who was absentmindedly watching Jasper find music.

"Yeah, why?" He asked, resting his head on his palm with his elbow propped up.

"Just curious. Is he on watch today?" With how much I think about him you'd think I'd have his guard days down- but I don't- I'm not desperate.

Sinclair sighed, "For the first half, I think."

I smiled widely at this.

Serving at the bar was great, it meant I could socialize, and learn more about people, but most of all?

I could see Bellamy nearly every day.

Everyone used the bar room as a hangout area and eating area, it's where everyone went when they wanted to chill. It's where Bellamy always goes.

And like clockwork, I saw Bellamy's tall build walking into the bar with Miller and Clarke at his sides.

Miller was a nice guy, despite his total resting bitch face which intimidates most- if not all- people. Though, when it comes down to serious situations he isn't one to joke around. I, unfortunately, learned that the hard way when we were talking defense plans and I had the great idea to hit on Bellamy.

I was on guard watch for a week after that.

It was easy to understand where Miller landed on the pyramid, most of the time, he thought I was desperate. He believed I could get anyone else I wanted, and that I should give up on the delusion of Bellamy.

It really pushed my buttons when people couldn't grasp the joking aspect of it all, but I was too deep in the joke to stop.

I could tell Clarke didn't like me by the way she looked at me and by the way she talked to me. I didn't like her either. I wasn't sure why she didn't like me, it's not like I openly talk about hating her.

And it's fairly easy to know where Clarke stood, she told me every time I brought it up, she thought I was weird. Her words never got to me though, nobody ever did, I was very confident in myself.

Not wanting to suffer through my firting Sinclair patted me on the shoulder and took his leave, sad for him, I've been thinking of new ones this entire time.

Bellamy walked up to the bar while Miller and Clarke took their seats at a table, watching Jasper dance very tiredly.

"Let's hear it," I heard him say, already expecting my antics.

I smile, "Hear what?"

"Don't play dumb, I've been waiting all day for this one." My smile was quickly returned with a grin as he leaned on the surface.

"Why don't we skip the talking and go back to my room." I placed three cups full of liquor on the bar.

I was expecting him to laugh my comment off, return to his friends, and make some witty comments.

"Might take you up on your offer if you keep dressing like that,"

His tone was the opposite of his smile, he sounded serious.

Maybe he was drunk.

But he hadn't even drunk.

This was the first time he didn't brush off my flirting.

I felt all my confidence go out the window, finally not having a witty comeback I stared towards the ground. Feeling my face fog over with a deep red I hoped he didn't notice, I hoped he took the drinks and left.

But the world never worked in my favor.

"Look at me," Bellamy said.

I didn't hesitate to obey his command, looking up at him to be met with a cocky grin.

Bellamy noticed the red lining my cheeks, he didn't know I'd fold this fast.

"That's a good princess." I watched as he took all three cups in his big hands and turned his heel towards Clarke and Miller.

I was left stunned.

"Can I get another drink?" Jasper slurred.

"Shut up..." I breathed out.

I watched Bellamy's figure that entire night, he knew it too, I didn't try to hide it. But I knew he was watching me too, he watched as I interacted with people, while I poured drinks, and watched me watch him.

Why was I so nervous over two simple sentences? I was supposed to be in control.

The night was full of shameless staring, eye fucking each other from across the room. A complete switch from this morning.

My mind imagined what was under his clothes, what was below his waistline. The thought made my whole body shiver.

The hours passed by antagonizing slowly. Jasper got mad and voluntarily left the bar while Clarke and Miller took their leave, and once they left so did the rest.

But Bellamy didn't leave.

He stayed until the bar room was empty and the only thing you could hear was the low hum of music from the bar's old iPod recovered from Mount Weather.

Knowing it was just me and Bellamy left in the bar I felt nervous.

Was he going to leave too? Turn heel and pretend it didn't happen? What did happen? Why am I asking so many questions?

Bellamy was sitting at a table in the middle of the bar, gazing at me as I emptied the fountains into buckets for the night. Thanks, Jasper.

My hands were trembling the entire time, I was too focused on trying to look normal I didn't even notice when Bellamy stood up, I didn't notice when he walked to the bar, and I didn't notice when he leaned on it.

Placing the lock on the barrel I stood up once again, being startled when I locked eyes with Bellamy.

"Got anything else for me?" He asked, looking me up and down.

Confidence.

"I need you..."

That is not confidence.

"Go to your place, I'll be there soon." Bellamy stood up correctly while speaking, his body now towering over mine from across the bar.

I wasn't sure if it was because I felt intimidated or curious, but my chores had been long forgotten. My only goal now was to listen to Bellamy.

He stared with a smile, watching me walk out of the bar and down the hall towards my room.

Thousands of thoughts were racing around my mind.

Maybe he was just pranking me, or standing me up, finally getting payback for all the inconvenient times I've hit on him like a desperate dog.

One thing was for sure.

I knew where I stood on the pyramid.

Sneaking into my room I realized the mess I left it in when I woke up late this morning.

"Shit!" I whisper-yelled, quickly tending to the mess unsure of how much time I'd have.

What was I meant to do in these situations? Undress and look sexy on the bed? Just stand here and wait? Stare into the wall and think about my actions that led to this point? Only one of those options sounded good to me at this moment.

And it was definitely not the first one.

But what if he was expecting that?

I shut my mind up when I heard three knocks.

I didn't need to check to know it was him. What do people do in these situations? Do I wait before answering?

Confidence.

Opening the door I was met with Bellamy looking down at me. He wasn't in his jacket and he carried a serious face.

"Do you, um, wanna come in?" I ask, my voice wavering.

My confidence once again crumbled at the sight of him.

"I wanna do more than that," Bellamy said before walking inside, once the door was closed he pressed his lips to mine.

Something primal took over Bellamy, he kissed me wildly as we walked backward towards my bed. We didn't part once, not even when he roughly dragged my pants down and undid his, or when he tore my shirt to get to my breasts.

The cold air hit my nipple but was soon covered by his big, calloused hands. I moaned into the kiss and he smiled, parting from the kiss to get a full view of my chest.

I bit my lip as I watched him, his gaze shifting from my breasts, down my stomach, and towards my cunt hiding behind my panties.

"You were so cocky this morning," His hands roamed down underneath my panties, "What happened, princess?"

The feeling of him exploring my body made me shiver and let out a breathy moan.

I couldn't believe Bellamy had me crumbling and melting under his gaze and touch. It was everything I'd been dreaming of, I knew I wouldn't last long with his praise.

"Stop teasing." I breathe out, bucking my hips up more into his hand, needing more than his fingers.

He smirked and snaked my panties down my thighs at a teasingly slow pace.

"Careful what you wish for."

He gripped my thighs and spread them apart, my lips parting with them. Bellamy used one of his hands to lower his boxers just enough to reveal his hardened cock.

I shivered at the contact it made with my cunt, "Please."

With a smirk, he lined his tip up with my entrance, and with a light thrust, he only inserted the tip.

I propped myself up on my elbows and watched his tip enter me, despite the little amount he was giving me I still felt the pain of the stretch. I needed more, I needed him; all of him.

"Bell, please, more," I said in a whiny voice staring up into his brown eyes.

"Brave princess, huh?"

I wasn't expecting him to thrust fully into me, but I was glad he did. The feeling overtook my entire body with a shake of my legs causing me to throw my head back with a loud moan, despite the pain a soft smile appeared on my face.

Bellamy let out his own series of groans at the tightness around his cock, the sight of me such a mess over his dick was beautiful to him, knowing he caused this, knowing I could follow his orders so well.

"Good fucking girl." He groaned out, running his hands down my thighs and to my hips, gripping them tightly as he began thrusting into me roughly.

I couldn't keep my eyes open, pain being mixed with pleasure making me shut them tightly.

"Keep your eyes open, princess, I want you to watch,"

I opened my eyes and watched as his cock pounded into me, the wet coat clearly visible despite the low lighting.

Bellamy used one of his hands to start circling around my clit as a reward for listening to him.

I was already reaching my climax, his fingers guiding me to my peak.

"I'm so close, Bell," Lewd sounds filled both our ears.

"Let it go, it's okay," He deepened his thrusts when he leaned forward, ghosting his lips on my cheeks and giving kisses to my jaw.

My entire body shook as my orgasm hit, I grabbed onto his back and dug my nails into the flesh; needing to grip onto anything while he fucked me through my high. The pleasure was unlike anything I've ever felt, him being so close causing me to breathe in his scent- it was intoxicating.

"That's my good girl, just like that," Bellamy exaggerated out the 'just.'

Bellamy pampered my neck with his kisses, leaving surprises I'd find in the morning. But I was too starstruck to care, only thinking about how well he fit in me.

I could tell Bellamy was close, he sounder louder with his grunts, and his hips couldn't keep up with his thoughts. I ran my fingers from his back and into his hair, gripping it slightly.

Bellamy began thrusting more wildly and faster, chasing his high until he finally reached it.

"Princess," He pulled out and rested his dick on my stomach as he came with a loud groan in my ear.

Coming down from his high Bellamy pulled away from me, letting me see his cum that decorated my stomach. Before he could grab a cloth I scooped the cum up with my fingers and stuck them in my mouth as he watched; the salty taste invading my mouth while I bit my lip at his reaction.

Bellamy only smirked at me before zipping his pants back up.

"Want me to stay?" He asked, watching me crawl under the fur covers.

"Of course I do, hot stuff." I scooted over giving Bellamy enough room to slide in next to me.

"That's not my..." He cut himself off, "Alright, princess." He smiled as he pulled me into a small kiss.

I learned two things that night.

Bellamy was amazing in bed.

And I didn't care about the pyramid anymore.

﹒✚﹒ masterlist ` , request ` , taglist﹒✚﹒

feedback always welcomed

[gracev0609]

Between the Two of You

Jake X Chris X Reader

A @lipstickitty / gracev0609 collaboration.

WC: 4K+

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI, Explicit Sex, Slash, M/M, F/M, Threesome.

✨✨✨✨✨

Jake set his glass down on the bar top with a clank, the condensation making the pint glass slippery between his fingers, with a slight slur,”Ya know, we're really doin’ it man. Mirador is coming to fruition, it's it's own entity, people are loving it.”

Across the table Chris let a small laugh through his nose, his bandmate clearly feeling the alcohol he's consumed,” We really are Jake, this is a good thing we've got going here, I feel like we can grow creatively.”

He watches as Jake's eyes focus on something, someone, over his shoulder. He turns his head, twisting his body almost one hundred and eighty degrees when he sees her.

Jake utters,” That's Y/N! Fuck, we haven't seen her in years! What… since 2019?”

Chris turns right side round and picks up his own pint glass, ready to take a sip to clear his throat, he always thought she was breathtaking. Before he knew it, a less than sober Jake was waving and calling her name, beckoning her to the table.

Y/N rushes over to the table, eyes bright with excitement at the sight of her friends. She tackles Jake in a hug, squeezing him tightly before turning to Chris and giving him the same treatment. “What the fuck!! I haven’t seen you in so long, how have you been? What are you up to these days? I’ve kept up with the band page a little bit, you guys are like full blown rockstars now!!” She giggles, one hand on each man’s arm.

“And we weren’t back then? Ouch.” Jake teases, clutching his chest in fake pain.

He grasps at her ringed fingers, covered in tarnished silver jewelry,” Come drink with us honey! Please?”

She glances between Jake giving her puppy dog eyes and Chris who's nodding his head in approval,” Alright alright, just a round or two.”

Chris rises from the booth allowing her to scoot in before signaling to their waitress that they needed her to come take drink orders.

The waitress makes her way to the table for their orders, shooting sneaky little glances at both men which they don’t even notice, their attention fully on the woman seated with them. “What can I get ya?” She asks with a smile. Jake orders a craft beer that Y/N teasingly rolls her eyes at the name of, Chris orders a simple stout he’s probably had a hundred times, and Y/N politely requests a Blue Moon.

The woman tries once more to make eye contact with either man seated in the booth, again to no avail. She huffs quietly under her breath and walks off to put the orders in.

“That’s pretty mean, you know. The poor girl just wanted your attention.” Y/N laughs, playfully shoving Jake’s shoulder.

“Did she? I guess my attention was focused elsewhere, darling.” Chris says, voice sweet like honey but a little rough from the liquor. She smiles, suddenly feeling butterflies from the male gaze she's under, her eyes meet Chris's first, then flit to Jake's, both are heady and familiar. She's not a stranger to their flirting, both of them attempting to take her out the last time they met up years ago, originally she denied them due to her relationship status, but fortunately, things change. The waitress interrupts the heaviness between the three of them, setting their beers down with a heavy thud while yet again Y/N thanks her.

As their glasses were emptied and refilled a few more times, the men moved closer and closer to her in the booth. Soon enough Chris had his arm around her, resting along the top of the booth, playing with her hair every once in a while, and Jake had his hand on her thigh tapping his fingers and tracing soft patterns. Their chemistry was incredible, soft touches and laughter filled their booth. As Jake set down his once again empty pint, he quietly asked, his voice soft and gentle,”Do you guys want to get out of here? Go back to my hotel room?”

Y/N fakes a scandalized gasp while Chris lets out a slightly nervous chuckle. “What will the church elders think?” She teases, feeling a little drunk on the liquor but very drunk on the two men currently draped around her. “Honey, the church elders can suck my dick.” Jake laughs.

“Jacob, I’m pretty sure that was blasphemous in about a hundred different ways.” She leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Let’s pay the tab and get the fuck out of here.” She lets her hand drift to Chris’s neck and slide down his chest before resting at his waist, prompting him to rise from the booth and pull Jake up by the hand so the three of you could settle up at the bar and make your exit.

Both boy’s minds were a little hazy from the liquor and excitement, only made worse by Y/N’s hands cheekily roaming both their bodies while they were trying to get the bill paid and get her alone. “If you keep touchin’ me like that, we’re not gonna make it back to the hotel, baby. I’m gonna take you right here.” Jake growls in her ear. Immediately she bites her lip and neatly folds her hands, resting them on her stomach, she can push him later in the sanctity of his hotel room.

One short cab ride later they arrived at their hotel. As Jake fumbled with the key card Chris had his hands roaming her body, his skilled calloused fingertips leaving tingly trails. He kissed her jaw, his arousal evident against her backside, and she shuddered out a breath as wetness pooled in her panties. Silently she was pleading with Jake to get the damn door open any faster. After what felt like an eternity the door unlocked and he ushered them inside. Jake wasted no time, eagerly pressing her body against Chris's, his rough kiss stealing her breath. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt both mens lips against her skin and their erections pressing into her body. She felt positively drunk on them and they were still fully clothed. She let out a shaky breath. Once she felt Chris's fingertips lightly lifting the hem of her shirt gruffly he asked her permission,” Can we get this off of you, love?”

Jake growled,” Please sweetheart, let us see those gorgeous tits. I've been wanting to play with them for so long Y/N.”

She feels her panties sticking to her skin a bit more at his admission, trying to rock her hips into both of them while being trapped in between their bodies. She nods, face flushed. Chris wastes no time pulling her shirt over her head, leaving her in her lacy black and green bra. “Fuuuuuuck. I knew they’d be pretty.” Jake groans, gently stroking the pad of his thumb across one nipple over the material while his other hand dips under the other cup, gently massaging and kneading, familiarizing himself with the feeling of her soft skin. “She’s so god damn soft. Feel.” Jake takes one of Chris’s hands in his own, guiding it to the band of her bra. His rough fingertips trail across her skin until they come to the clasp on the bra.

“Can we take this off, honey?” Jake whispers. At her breathy ‘yes’, Chris’s skilled fingers easily unhook the clasp, letting the straps slide down her shoulders until the garment hits the floor. Her nipples harden even further once they meet the chilled air of the room. Jake’s jaw hangs open while he takes her in, committing the way she looks to memory. Then he pushes his lips against Chris’s just over y/n’s shoulder, sandwiching her even tighter between their heated bodies. He moans into Chris’s mouth while both their hands explore the flushed skin of her torso, her head swimming from their proximity and the show they’re putting on for her right now. She shivers underneath their palms, nipples pebbled and aching under their touch, while the sinful audio of their lips colliding echoes in her ear. She turns her head, whispering just loud enough for them to hear,” Come on, let's keep going. Both of you, take something off.”

Chris backs up, and Jake audibly whines,” Aht, you heard her Jakey… undress for the pretty girl.”

She licks her lips as she watches the both of them remove their shirts and pants, leaving the boxer briefs on, barely concealing their arousal. She smiles coyly as she spies matching patches of arousal dampening the fabric of their underwear.

Jake points, gesturing between the three of them,” Fairs fair isn't it honey, take your pants off and let us see your pretty panties.”

She slowly unbuttons and unzips her jeans, she can tell she is torturing the poor men, as they desperately palm at themselves as they watch her little strip tease.

“Please baby… let us see. We just want to worship that pretty pussy,’ Chris utters, voice strained.

Taking pity on them she hooks her fingers in her waistband and pulls both her jeans and underwear off, confidently bearing herself to the beautifully crafted men before her.

Jake roughly squeezes the tip of his cock through his underwear shakily proclaiming,” Fuck. She's so fucking beautiful. Please honey, come closer let me touch you.”

She relents, giving in to the desperation in his voice, she sidles up to where he sits on the bed. Jake leans forward kissing her lower stomach, making the ache bloom in her core. Her mouth hangs agape as he breathes deeply before placing another kiss this time on her mound. His eyes flutter,” You smell delectable. Can I sweetheart? Can I put your pretty clit in my mouth?”

Unable to deny him, she nods her head agreeing. Jake sticks his tongue out, eager to dive into her folds, and she yelps as he licks against her sensitive nub.

“Does she taste as good as she looks, Jakey?” Chris murmurs, sliding up behind Jake to kiss down the back of his neck and across his shoulders. His hands stroke down Jake’s spine before slowly making their way around his front to cup his covered cock, gently squeezing.

“Mmm, fuck yeah.” Jake groans into her folds, unwilling to disconnect his mouth from her for even a second. “Come find out.” His voice is deep and raspy, slightly panting. Chris wraps his fist in Jake’s hair, tugging him up to smash their lips together. It’s brutal, all teeth and tongues as their inhibitions completely melt away and they give in to the pure lust swirling through them. Chris lets out a groan when the taste of her arousal hits his tongue mixed with a hint of the liquor Jake had been sipping on plus something else that was inherently Jake and entirely intoxicating.

“Oh my god.” Y/n whines, disappointed at the loss of Jake’s mouth but unable to will herself to be truly upset when she’s watching the two guitarists devour each other that way, hands roaming each other’s bodies as well as hers.

“Go on, baby. Eat her pretty pussy.” Chris whispers against Jake’s lips, using his grip in Jake’s hair to push him back down towards her dripping heat. Jake hums happily, letting his tongue swirl over her clit before sucking it past his lips just for a second. Then his tongue trails down to her aching entrance before plunging deep inside, her back arching off the bed as a strangled moan rips from her chest. “That’s it. Good boy.” Chris growls before maneuvering so he can lap his tongue over her sensitive bud, letting his tongue brush against Jake’s making their heads spin. He’s licking and sucking over her clit while Jake’s tongue forcefully fucks into her opening over and over. Y/N has one hand tangled in each man’s hair, grounding herself while she takes in the overwhelming pleasure they’re showering her with. Her eyes clamp shut as she feels the knot in her stomach tightening, gasping out she cries,” Need more, please!”

Out of her view Jake grasps Chris's hand, pulling it towards her entrance. His mouth licks up to pleasure her clit in tandem with his band mates, gently Chris plunges his fingers into her sopping wet heat. His fingers slowly pump in and out, carefully stretching her out for what's to come. Once she relaxes enough around Chris's digits, Jake slides his pointer finger in. They work together, pumping and curling their fingers until she's ready to take another one of Jake's. Once both mens pointer and middle fingers are nestled deep inside her they work in harmony to bring her to orgasm. Between the curls of their fingers against her walls and their tongues swirling on either side of her clit the knot in her stomach snaps. With an obscene moan her vision whites and her legs shake, her pussy contracting around their fingers. They lick her to completion, gently guiding her down from her orgasm.

She huffs out a breath, leaning up on her elbows,” Fuck, you two are good at that.”

Both men grin at her, mouths wet and glistening with her cum.

Her chest still heaving,” I need one of you in me, right now, please.”

Chris is the first to remove his final layer, his cock bobbing red and angry in the cool air of their hotel room. Quickly he positions himself between her legs, running his swollen tip through the mess between her legs. Jake removes his underwear and nestles himself into her side, his hot wet mouth kissing and licking her breasts. She tilts her head back groaning as Jake's tongue flicks against her hardened nipple, while in sync, Chris taps his leaking tip against her puffy orgasm swollen clit. Her body jolts at each targeted tap of Chris’s tip against her still overly sensitive clit, making both men chuckle at her already fucked out state.

“You need it bad, huh love?” Chris breathes, tapping his head against her teasingly once more before lining himself up with her entrance.

“I need it so bad. Please.” She whines shamelessly. With that, he pushes his swollen tip into her, relishing in the gasp that leaves her lips at the feeling. He stills, attempting to let her adjust for a moment but only serving to make her needier.

“Will you fuck my mouth, Jakey? Need you inside me too, need to taste you.” She moans, one of her thighs hooking around Chris’s hip and her hand tugging at Jake’s hair. He leaves a little red bite mark between her breasts before lifting his head to meet her gaze.

“You want my cock in your mouth, honey? While Chris fucks your perfect little pussy? Who knew you were such a dirty girl?” Jake rasps out before crawling up the bed to straddle her chest. “This okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?” His cocky persona fades away for a moment, making sure she’s completely comfortable with everything he’s doing before he proceeds any further.

“Yes, fuck, please.” She grips his ass with both hands, trying to push him forward to her mouth.

“Okay, okay, Jesus.” He giggles, fisting his throbbing cock. He taps the leaking head against her extended tongue twice before guiding the tip past her lips with a shaky sigh. She hums softly around his tip sending vibrations through him. She looks up at him doe eyed while she swirls her tongue over his skin, savoring the taste of his arousal on her tongue. His eyes meet hers with a soft gasp.

“You feel so fucking good, love. Pretty pink pussy wrapped around my cock so tight. Does it feel good sweetheart?” Chris grunts as he’s finally fully buried inside of her, just barely rocking his hips into her to get her used to the feeling of him moving inside of her. Jake barks out a laugh that quickly dissipates into a moan,” Dude, she can't exactly answer right now.”

Chris chuckles as she removes her hand from Jake's hip giving him a thumbs up. He gently picks up his pace and his eyes roll back as she clenches around his length, squeezing him tight. He pants as he grabs at her hips, the plush flesh squeezing under his nimble fingers, his eyes settle on the sight in front of him, Jake's round ass. After a few stutters he synchronizes his trusts with Jake's, fucking into her together. In and out they plunged their throbbing cocks into the holes she offered. Acting on instinct Chris leaned over her body, his teeth biting quickly into Jake's butt cheek.

Jake tossed his hair over his shoulder, looking back at his friend,” Hey! What? Need something to do with your mouth?” He grasps onto Chris's shoulder pulling him into his body, their lips lock again, teeth clanking as they consume one another. Their tongues dance, and they moan, still able to taste her.

Jake grips y/n’s jaw gently as he starts thrusting his hips against her face with more force. His other hand threads into her hair, gently guiding her head up and down on his pulsing length. “Fuck, honey, I just knew you’d look so gorgeous with my cock in your throat. Shit, just like that.” Jake moans. Y/N is letting out near constant moans and whimpers muffled by Jake fucking into her throat, her eyes rolling back. Chris can feel her clenching tight around him more and more frequently.

“Gonna cum for us? C’mon beautiful, cum all over me.” Chris grits out through clenched teeth. He snakes his hand in between their sweaty, writhing bodies to press two calloused fingers to her clit, rubbing tight circles around it. The added stimulation sends her into her second orgasm, cumming hard, soaking Chris’s cock with her release. Jake slips himself out of her throat and turns his head to watch, giving her a minute to calm down.

Once her body relaxes Chris slows his pace, trying to gently guide her through the overstimulation and carry her into another high. “You came so pretty for us, love. Such a good girl.” He whispers, pushing deep into her but slowly, letting her feel every inch.” Jake, rub her clit for me. That's it, good boy, she's clenching around me.” Chris dips his head down, his hair covering his face, his eyes totally entranced in watching himself slip in and out of her while Jake rubs fast circles over her swollen clit. His ears ring with her moan,” Good girl sweetheart, cum for us love… need to feel it one more time on my cock, and then Jakey can have a turn.” She clenches, her whole body tensing as she meets her climax yet again. Chris slows to a stop and Jake removes his hand letting her fully calm down. Jake anchors his hand in her hair and pulls her up to meet his face, kissing her hungrily, he's been patient so far, but he's throbbing with need. Jake leans back up, maneuvering in between her thighs when his primal urges kick in. He leans over both of their legs, face hovering over Chris's cock absolutely soaked in her cum. Jake licks up from his base to his tip, tasting them together. He wraps his plush pink lips around his tip, gently swirling his tongue and bobbing his head, totally overwhelmed by the flood of flavors on his tongue.

Chris throws his head back onto the pillows, blonde locks splaying out behind him, and he wraps a fist loosely in Jake's mane encouraging him to keep going,” Jesus Christ Jake… fuck your pretty mouth is good at that.”

After a few more moments Chris chuffs and pulls him off of his cock,” Okay babe, enough of that, getting me a little too close.”

Jake gives him a drunken smile before returning his attention to Y/N.

“Hi sweetie, are you ready for me?”

He gently gathers some of her arousal on his fingers before fisting his cock, pumping himself slowly. She spread her legs wider and tilted her hips up while squeezing at her chest, wordlessly letting him know that she was ready. He canted his hips forward and pushed into her dripping wet heat.

His head tilts back, exposing his neck,” That's it love, fuck you feel incredible.”

He sinks into her fully, resting inside of her as he twitches.

“I feel that Jakey.”

“It's because your pussy feels too good Y/N, just give me a second baby.”

After a few more moments he gives her a soft thrust, enough for her to get used to his size. He presses his large palm flat against her stomach adding some gentle pressure. “That's a good girl. Feels so good wrapped around me honey.”

She lets out a loud moan, nails digging into Jake’s shoulder at the pleasurable stretch. “You know, I’ve imagined how you would feel hundreds of times over, but my imagination never could’ve compared to the reality.” Jake groans, punctuating his statement with a slightly rougher thrust. “Harder, Jake. Please.” She whines. Jake gets a mischievous glint in his eye and leans away from her body to hitch one of her thighs over his shoulder, gaining a deeper angle. He starts pulling out slowly and then pounding into her tight walls, abusing her g-spot and making her cries grow increasingly louder.

“Harder, yeah? That better, sweetheart?” He says with a smirk on his pretty pink lips, but his voice shakes slightly with exertion.

“Yes, Jesus Christ! I need more, please!” Y/N cries, rocking her hips up to meet Jake’s thrusts. Her eyes land on Chris, sat back on the bed watching everything unfold with his fist wrapped around his cock, stroking in rhythm with Jake slamming into Y/N.

“More?” Chris teases. “Pretty girl wants me to lick her sweet pussy while Jakey fucks it?” It’s rhetorical, proven by Chris’s form already sliding down the bed to maneuver his head into her lap, sucking her clit into his warm mouth, his tongue constantly tracing patterns around it and making her see stars. Jake speeds up his pace just slightly- the chorus of moans, whimpers, obscene wet sounds, skin smacking, and the headboard hitting the wall increasing in volume and tempo. “Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop!” Y/N sobs, one hand wrapped in Chris’s tangled mess of hair and the other clawing at Jake’s back.

“That’s it, dig your nails in baby. Let me know how good it feels. Cum on my cock sweetheart, cum all over it.” Jake grunts out between thrusts, feeling her walls tightening around him making his head spin. “You’re so fucking tight, honey. Jesus.” He moans, letting his eyes slip shut and his head fall back. Chris brings one hand between her legs to gather some of her arousal on his fingertips before reaching around to gently massage them over her back entrance. With that, her orgasm slams into her and her walls squeeze impossibly tight around him as she drenches him. Jake stills with his eyes clamped shut, willing himself not to cum just yet- he wants to feel her a little longer, he’s not ready to give her up yet and he knows Chris isn’t either. Quickly he pulls out of her, his cock pulsing on the edge of release. Jake steadily fills his lungs with oxygen and exhales, willing himself to calm down.Once he feels the burning in his stomach dissipate he motions to Chris,” Why don't you suck on him for a little bit, then you can come back to me.”

Y/N sits up in bed, pulling on Chris's hand dragging him within her reach. She kisses his stomach, trailing down to his hip bones, lightly nipping at the taut skin,”You're close aren't you?”

He breathes,” Wanna cum soon, wanna cum for you.”

Her nails dig into the skin of his hips,’ Yeah gonna be a good boy and cum? I want you both to cum on my chest together.”

“We can do that.”Chris responds eagerly, his hips subconsciously rocking towards her.

She grasps his length in one hand, and lets him enter the warm chasm of her mouth. She eagerly works him, her tongue teasing his length to swirl against his tip nudging into his slit to taste his precum. His hips buck at the overwhelming sensation, and he pulls out of her wet mouth. He fists himself slowly, just enough to keep him from toppling over the edge. Twisting her body to the right she connects her mouth with Jake's length, bobbing it down and burying her nose in his soft downy pubic hair. Her free hand comes up to toy with his tightening balls, Jake groans,” Yeah that's it baby, fuck. Mmhmm gonna give it to you, gonna cum all over those beautiful tits.”

A few more moments of her throat swallowing his length was all he could take, he ripped himself away and began hurriedly pumping himself to his finish.

Her eyes glaze over as she watches her beautiful friends bring themselves to their peaks. Chris breaks first with a groan, his hot cum splattering over her chest. Shortly after Jake reaches his bliss, his calloused hands flying over his length as he spurts his own cum onto her breasts. Once they come back down she makes eye contact with them, dragging her middle finger through the semen dripping down her sternum and rubbing it over each still pebbled nipple before gathering another drop and sucking it from her appendage like it was the finest dessert.

After picking his jaw up off the floor Jake maneuvers himself off the bed, padding into the bathroom. He locates the wash cloth and runs it under hot water before taking it back to Y/N. She goes to take it from his hand but he doesn't relent,” Just let me do it sweetheart, just let me take care of you.”

She accepts flopping back onto the mattress next to Chris. Gingerly Jake cleans her chest the best he can. Once done he carelessly drops the rag onto the floor, joining them in the cuddle puddle. After a few moments of silence Y/N speaks,” Ya know, I never thought I'd end up in bed between the two of you, but I'm certainly glad I did.”

Chris grasps her hand in his, twirling her rings around,” I think if we ever cross paths again like this, we should have a repeat.”

Jake chuckles, agreeing with his band mate before placing a soft kiss against her lips,” Just so you know, you're always welcome in my bed.”

[pervcoded]

DOG-EARED AND DOUBTFUL starring yuuji itadori. part iii.

──☆*:・ﾟcontent warning: amab!reader (referred to as a boy), canon divergent, college au (18+ characters) inside of the hybridverse. artist!reader, sukuna is related to yuuji. awkward meet-cute, but yuuji is implied to be (and is) slightly unhinged. reader is human and yuuji is a doberman hybrid. fluffy, safe for work-ish. nude modelling. bashful , sorta pushover reader. reader has a stutter. invasion of privacy (yuuji goes through your sketchpad and gets comfortable fast). british use of trousers (pants) and pants (underwear). scent stuff going on, yuuji has a good nose. yuuji is sorta feral and reader's not in a position to (nor does he quite want to) argue. mdni! reblogs and comments appreciated!

wc: 4.2 words.

It’s beautiful, truly. Yuuji is admittedly philistine in his artistic taste, never had a muse for it; but he finds himself wholly appreciative of the opportunity to become yours- even if it’s only for the evening. He can’t control the way his tail wags, heart pattering quicker in his chest as the excitement overrides his previously projected aloofness, his hands moving faster than his mind in that moment. One more page wouldn’t hurt.

You’re just like any other boy in class, really. Maybe the round ears and lack of fur are a bit of a weird look, but Yuuji wasn’t popular when he first transferred to the university either - and some change is always good, he thinks.

“And your tongue—is it really that small?” Someone had asked on your first day in, your classmates ogling your skin, analyzing its novel texture. You’re good at acting nonchalant when you’re placed on the spot. Tone even, eyes level, posture loose and relaxed as you fold your arm over the back of your chair. You’re smarter than they’d ever give you credit for—laughed along with their jibes so they wouldn’t see how gently you swayed. Trembled. The claws of some touchy Wolverine mutt glancing at your collarbones, and you laughed it off, never once minding the sweat cascading down the apex of your temple.

But your scent is disloyal to you. He never thought to mention it. The sour notes of tangerine, key lime, crescendo in the spot where you stand, a heady cocktail of anxiety and embarrassment and horror. 

You’re quite popular for a human, however. Maybe that was your conventional appeal. Or rather stood next to them you stick out like a sore thumb, and that makes you far more interesting—purely by virtue of your association. But Yuuji likes to think you have your own redeeming qualities too. You’re an artsy type. Try and spend a lot of time by yourself if you can manage, but your peers seem intent on laywaying your silence; coveting your time like shiny trinkets in a magpie’s nest.

Still, you’re nice to him. 

You remember his name. Say “Itadori, hi,” and give him a solemn nod before going on your way. You give him your leftovers you don’t want if your class schedules happen to line up that day. You share your notes from Anthropology, and sketch him in the margins of your notebook on the days you can’t focus.

The patience of hybrids doesn’t often extend to their own kind, and Yuuji’s felt terribly lonely since his grandfather passed - what with his uncle not being much in the way of making conversation. But you’re easy to talk to.

“Ah, Itadori, can you come here?”  His tail wags a little at the acknowledgement, but if you notice you failed to comment. “Uh, yeah? What’d you want? I’m a little busy right now, so,” He smiles half-heartedly, suddenly a little uncomfortable to be seen with you like this. You move your stuff away from where you want him to sit at the table, and his eyes are acutely drawn to each movement of your hands. Gathering up runaway pencils, stacking textbooks. “You can call me Yuuji, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Your face lights up at that, and you tell him your name in kind. He tries it. Once for his pleasure. Again to make sure he got it right. He looks back down at the now emptied table, though he doesn’t go to take a seat.

Your lunch is sparse. Two pieces of bread with peanut butter and something else sandwiched in the middle. A browning apple eaten to the core. He thinks about mimicking the impressions of your teeth.

“Ah, well, I know we don’t talk and um - I’m still kinda new here and - please, you can sit,” Your hand fans out to gesture at the chair in front of you, and Yuuji settles into it uneasily. He can smell you’re afraid of something.

“Yuuji…” You tap your pencil on something he can’t see, draped over your thigh. “I.. wanted to draw you.” Yuuji tilts his head, finger absently reaching towards his chin. “Me?” “Yeah. It’s for an art assignment. We’re practicing portraits.” Your smile is disarmingly charming. “If it was okay with you, I wanted to see if… we could find some time to—y’know. Have you model for me.” Yuuji doesn’t let himself get excited so quickly, the hair on his forearm bristling a bit as he digs his nails into his thigh. Keep it from bouncing. “Okay. Yeah. Sure - that’s fine. I’d love to.” Yuuji sounds like he’s speaking through grit teeth, but his expression doesn’t expose anything other than slight apprehension. You sigh, a weight seemingly lifted off your shoulders. “Oh! Okay!” You try not to sound too happy about it, but a smile keeps weaseling onto your face. “Okay so, we’d have to book one of the art rooms, but that shouldn’t be too hard—nobody really lingers around after class. Lucky us, right?” You’re fishing your phone out of your pocket, and Yuuji nearly forgets to grab it with his unbloodied hand.

“Here. Add your number, take a photo if you’d like.” You’re teasing, but Yuuji never was good with sarcasm. He smiles big and wide for it, pointed teeth all in the front row. 

He saves his name as ‘Yuuji 😎’, and hands your tech back to you. You send a quick ‘hey’ to make sure you got the right number. When his pocket rumbles he’s off no later, barely waving goodbye as he leaves you to your own devices.  

You text out the details later. Tomorrow, at 7:00. 

He gets there at 6:56 on the dot. Campus has been largely deserted this time of day, and the few stragglers left, student and faculty, each flock to their club space or the odd, afterhour meeting. You’re all set up by the time he’s there. You’re well-prepared, graphites and eraser shavings finding a home on the floor around you. Sticks of pastels lie short and chipped on the easels mantle, your fingertips already blackened by charcoal. This wing is new to him, but the hallways look just like this rooms walls. Student made murals scaling taller than him, ferals unfurling across the unorthodox canvas; a magnificent sky. Ceramic busts settle atop storage cabinets; baked and glazed vases filled with paper flowers, tucked into empty corners. Paintings hung to dry. Thick ink stains as he sidesteps a rolling chalkboard, gently pushing it to the side.

You glanced up when the door opened, but it was more reflexive than comprehending. You saw him, then looked back at the canvas, focused. Only when he nearly stumbles do you look back up again, and you’re smiling really wide. You wave excitedly. “Hey Yuuji!” His ear twitches near imperceptably, tail high and wagging. “Hey.” He’s decent at acting, if you think he’s faking casual you don’t mention it, just gesture to the seat beside you. The chair you saved for him has tall legs and a strong, straight back; perfect for a model.

“Well, you can take this chair when you’re ready,” he’s taking a peak at the easel sat in front of you, identical setups matching yours haphazardly set up around a squat stage in the center of the room.

Your sketchpage: marked with vague gestures and dancing, people-like shapes. You’ve been practicing. You absently tug at your collar at the lack of distance between you two (forgot you were using charcoal, so you quickly stop) and a strange aura radiates from you, the smell of frayed nerves stinging his nose. His tail lulls in its movement, a tad disappointed you weren’t as comfortable with him as he thought you were.

“For a portrait, you being closer is ideal, so we don’t h..have to use the stage. I’ll just do my thing over here and… Oh! I brought some water and um, snacks.” You tilt your head in a familiar, curious motion, ”You like shrimp chips?” 

He shrugs at you and smiles. “They’re okay.” He’s flattered you considered him, mostly. He really did like that about you humans, such soft and compassionate creatures; moreso than any of the hybrids he knew. Where they-mournfully, himself included-took a unique pleasure in watching another squirm, your kind wasn’t like that at all, were they? Perhaps an underdeveloped survival mechanism. A tail to tuck in the presence of a predator’s bared fangs. Regardless, your grin crinkles the corners of your eyes and makes his heart soar, your anxiety easing out as you stand from your seat, revealing your true smell. Heat and sweet and pastry-light; a creme bruele after the top has been carefully cracked open. Tickles his cheeks pink.

“So, how long you been doing this art stuff for anyway?” You seem startled by the ask and pause before you answer, probably not used to being asked about your interests by the other hybrids. “Years now. E..ever since I was a kid I always liked art, drawing-” You curse as something rolls out of your bag and say sorry to nothing and no one. “Drawing, traditional, digitally. I was thinking about going into graphic design! - I’m still technically undecided, but I love art… It just calls to me, you know?” Oh, he has no fucking clue what you’re talking about. But he hums in the affirmative and reckons now’s a good a time as any to check. Take a peek through your lens and see the shape of your artisan mind. An artist’s sketchpad to him seemed the appropriate equivalent to their soul; so he takes the opportunity to flip through the pages on your drawing pad. 

He’s admittedly expecting something grander. Maybe the inside of an old world colosseum or perhaps something abstract and profound, the kind of things disheartened schoolchildren write essays about; A Great Wave or Thinking Man, befitting of the brand of mystery he’d superimposed on you. Nothing suitably miraculous happens. The task merely becomes more intimate by virtue of your artistic repertoire. Surely, not the fault of his plain nosiness.

All flesh upon the paper is laid entirely bare. Inscriptions of bodies wrap around the canvas from the top to the very bottom like the prayers in a holy book. Any free tarp is not spared, a bared torso and breast here, the sole of a foot en point over there. Largely unfinished yet tangible, beginnings and inbetweens and many more ends; scores of tails, teeth, tongue and claws. “Oh, wow.” You’re still digging through your bag so you don’t mind him, preoccupied second guessing kneaded erasers and rags to wipe your creativity off on.

To describe your work as a product of mere fascination would be a woefully inaccurate assessment. Not a proper acknowledgement of your time, effort, sweat, (more than a few smudges in the graphite, a whiff of salt that sticks out above the rest) and conviction. 

There’s quick notes scribbled between poses and observations, some names - none of which he immediately recognizes, but makes his head fog with some vague posessiveness regardless. Jealousy maybe. He doesn’t linger on it, instead flipping to the next page. Bodies more and more bodies, some without heads; long torsos; hips; thighs and legs and asses,

Lips, mouth wide open, teeth and tongue presenting. There’s a notable lack of vulgarity to the images. A seemingly clinical observation of how the parts move, some independent of the others; but when it all comes together…

It’s beautiful, truly. Yuuji is admittedly philistine in his artistic taste, never had a muse for it; but he finds himself wholly appreciative of the opportunity to become yours- even if it’s only for the evening. He can’t control the way his tail wags, heart pattering quicker in his chest as the excitement overrides his previously projected aloofness, his hands moving faster than his mind in that moment.

One more page wouldn’t hurt. (It’s just admiration he’d say, when the real reason he’s so riled up is because he’d been hoping for this moment; all his anxieties of pursuing you assuaged by your apparent obsession for him- er- hybrids like him—can’t get ahead of himself just yet—) His fingers move with deft purpose. 

You come back with a whole bag of stuff; chips, ramune, what smells like pocky, but he’s not looking towards you as you return. Surely, you think, a blank page can’t be that interesting, and you’re right; that’s not what he’s staring at. 

He’s found your page.

Your life drawing class encourages you to practice still lifes in your free time. There aren’t many hybrids tripping over themselves to be ogled by a human - some models even abject to posing in the room while you’re there - so when the opportunity presented itself to observe something more than a picture, someone else, removed from your wheedling peers, obviously you lept for it. 

You’d grown tired of drawing yourself.

“Ah, Yuuji-” Your inhale quick and sudden, the sharp clatter of a glass bottle twitching him out of his stupor. You stiffen up when he looks back at you despite his brevity (because he is just fascinated with your canvas all the sudden), your hands flapping anxiously as you step close, you’d collapse in on yourself if you had the option. “Um wait, please! That’s private!”

You are deeply gifted. He doesn’t have to stare it like he did the other ones cause he recognizes it as you so immediately. (Letting his eyes wander all those times seems to have payed off). Recognizes the arch and swell of your muscles, the slope of your back and the softness of the dimples in your hips, the gentle curve of your -

A hand darts over the artistic nudity before he can fully commit it to memory, and you shout: “Yuuji! I got the snacks, okay? Just- we can get started now,” He can’t read the expression on your face as you reset your canvas and flip to a blank page. He desperately tries to meet your eye; but your gaze is leagues away. An inkling of some base, carnal attraction blooms in his chest; your unwitting submission appealing to some feral hindbrain before he recalls your humanity, disappointingly gentle emotions and sensibilities. 

He feels sad for you after though it only lasts a moment, his tail drooping pathetically and eyes sagging similarly as the compunction grapples him; and in a frenzied moment of attempting to sooth your shame (smells dull and salty like wood grain) he gets a good idea. According to his standard, anyway. He smiles at you and pants a little. His finger is digging into his collar at an angle, tugging up; in demonstration.

“If you want me to get naked, I really wouldn’t mind!” His whip tail thud-thuds into your easel. “Excuse me?” You initially abject, dumbfounded. Your face feels warm and your skin tingles, the blood in your cheeks stinging it darker, body tensing up. “W-why would you..? I..I wouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. I-it’s a, well - Portraits are mostly sup..supposed to be your face, so, getting naked? Really not necessary,” 

He’s already taking his sweater off. “Yuuji, please.” His tail wags a little when you whimper and he has a mind to admonish himself for taking pleasure in such a thing.

“It’s fine, really!” Sounds so easy for him to say, when you’re on the verge of an aneurysm. “I was reading a little about it-” (and hardly did he ever read), “-and apparently, portraits can be half, or full bodies. Well, you’d probably know that better than me anyway.” His voice is dampened by the fabric, but you’re too dazed to notice he said anything. Everything is happening too fast.

He kicks off his shoes and drops trou in your choked silence, your hands tremble as dread wars in your mind and you remain uncertain of where to put them. Nevermind your eyes. The thought of trying to stop him warrs with the concept that having to touch him, see him, will surely kill you. “You seem to draw a lot of hybrids- so I assume you’re already used to seeing us naked? Though I didn’t see a lot of dogs in there…”

The room kicks up a few degrees and your blood simmers beneath your skin, your boundaries bent and bowed as you struggle to figure what happens next. Your shirt feels too, too tight. His is starting to come off. The slow drag of cotton across his body is amplified by the emptiness of the space, at a pace entirely too casual for an impromptu strip tease. “But there’s nothing wrong with trying something new every once in a while, y’know?”  He stumbles a little when it’s past his shoulders, self consciously fixing his hair after he’s gotten it slung over his arm. 

As if he has anything to be nervous about. He looks at you triumphantly when he’s finished (pants regretfully still on), and he wishes you couldn’t meet his eyes this time; get a good eyeful of how excited he is for you. In what must be respectful to you, you catch his gaze this time, with these big round prey eyes that makes the fur on the back of his arms bristle in the studio’s cool air. A vein in his throat jumps and his pupils dilate, but (too) soon you turn away.

You’ve seated yourself back on your chair and fixed up the workspace, though he has a hard time gauging this new expression on your face. Maybe apprehensive, again? Bashful? You chew your lip with this insistence, bruising the delicate skin there. Your hands move with opposed intention; flattening out the canvas and arming yourself with graphite.  “O-kay. Y..you can.. Make yourself comfortable I guess..” He can still smell you, too.

This scent is new. Near cloying and knitting to the inside of his nose as it pours off of you, slight, topping off that twinge of orange peel and grapefruit. 

“Okay!” He brusquely shoves past your apprehensions; looking mighty pleased with himself-the dog-the muse’s chair dragging agonizingly against the floor as he goes to set it in place. You do nothing at first. He is seated within seconds and after your hand suddenly is no longer your own, flexed potential in every muscle put to pause in the air, your brows furrowing in newfound frustration.

You don’t look at him, still. Yuuji’s triumph of domination having past, he finds the selfish desire to be observed and admired comes gnawing back to him. He doesn’t want to push you (so he says while shoving you) but he really is going all out. He’d like some of that signature human hospitality back, pretty please? He leans closer. 

You get infinitely stiffer and he whimpers. An honest to god beaten doggy whine, and your shock is what finally gets you to look up. He’s far more relaxed than you at present, pouting expression at odds with his slouched posture and occasional pant. His floppy ears tilt open and he momentarily mirrors your wide-eyed wonder. “Finally,” he chirps. ”I was starting to think we weren’t actually friends!” You scoff, still staring saucer-eyed. Your eyebrows go up and down and up, your forehead wrinkles. “You ge-get naked for all your f..friends?” The incredulous twang to your voice wants to read to him like jealousy, but projection is a fickle thing.

Yuuji  genuinely thinks about your question, further astounding you. “Well. I guess only for the ones I really like.” The statement is made sincerely, the smile accompanying it darling, and could have perhaps romanticized the situation had you not been a sane-minded human man. The warmth in your face has turned to fire hot heat and you sputter on your words. “I’m fl..flattered. But humans? Don’t do t..this,” you attempt to gesture to the entire situation, “With their friends! This is, frankly, too, too-” You stutter into nothing, the thought dying on your tongue. “Too what? I mean, you don’t smell like you hate it,” he sniffs. “My nose is pretty good! If you-” you dislike the way he stresses the syllable, like you’re special some how, “-were scared, I’d smell that miles away. You have a very strong scent you know? It’s not a bad thing though, don’t worry! At least, it isn’t for me anyway. It makes you feel more.. Genuine.” He hums matter-of-factly, your pencil beginning to tremble above the page. “But aren..aren’t you cold? Or-or something? It’s always freezing-freezing in here!” Yuuji shrugs, ”Aw, it’s no worries really. I sorta run hot, so,”

You knew a lot of things about hybrids. About their keen noses, most gifted with perceptive capabilities beyond that of your kind. Still it feels no better to hear that for despite your subtlety, you never had a chance to evade their prying eyes. You sigh with a shake of your shoulders, and Yuuji takes your silence as an excuse to move closer. “Hey, don’t worry. What’d I say about new things?” You don’t feel terribly reassured, but you nod along for your own sake. “You got an assignment due, don’t you? Just focus on that. Forget Yuuji, focus on capturing..” “The form.” You finish. Yuuji would have said ‘these guns’, but shrugs. “Yeah, that.”

You look at him again, but only now do you truly perceive him, resigned yourself to capturing his image and replacing the blankness on your canvas. Your gaze is sharp and surgical, your pencil connecting with the paper as you change focus between him and it. Him, his infuriatingly cheeky grin and easy-going eyes and loose limbs. This body worthy of envy. Laid bare for you to wrangle and tame, reduce to your second dimension.

You begin to draw.

Yuuji sits in a silence punctuated by the sounds of your scribbles. Upwards stroke, down again; quick curving motions. Stare right at him, into the depths of his soul. Turn away, and sketch some more.

It’s a lot more boring than he’d imagined it. He is very excited you have your eyes on him; don’t get him wrong, but your stare doesn’t possess any of the fullbodied fascination, like he has for you. He almost wished he could give you his nose just so you could smell his pheremones, or his eyes, so you could catch every little jump of his muscles or twitch of the tail. He’d refrain for a few selfish reasons; Your changes in mood. The straightening of your spine and the twitching of your eye after you got a rhythm going. You ditch the graphite, go for the charcoal, and make some bigger shapes, Strikes some fine lines. Stillness comes simply to him, studying you as intently as you are him. 

Your movements slow to an inevitable stop after a time, “Okay…” You stare stonily at your canvas. Briefly compare in silence. “I… think I’m finished.” You don’t move away, seemingly taken by your own creation.

He shoots up from his seat and moves close. “You’re no..not gonna put your c..clothes back on?” He looks down at you with his head at an angle, suddenly peered over your shoulder. “You want me to?” Your silence is loud. “Okay then.” He smiles, finally taking a look at your drawing.

The expression you gave him is burrowing and severe. An intense glower that catches even him off guard. An unbidden hunger beneath his eyes accentuated by whisps of charcoal, a pinprick of yellow nestled into his irises. He is in both awe of it and horrified that is how you saw him. How he truly was. You define the slant of his collarbones after the fact, rounding out the muscle of his pecs. You sketch and erase, sketch and erase under his curious eye, sketch. Your palette grows. Swirled into colorless grey by your finger, pencil replaced by your finger. You draw without a model, so he no longer sees the point in teasing you with his nudity. Forgive him for expecting something more dramatic- he’s been reading too much manga, surely…

He gets dressed slow and gets as close as possible to your face whenever he has a question. 

“Is art always this boring?” He whispers close to your ear and you shiver. “M..maybe if you’re not the one…the one drawing. This.. I-I’m having fun, actually.” He tuts at you, “You need to teach me how to draw then. Next time when we do this, I can take a crack at drawing you!” His clawed finger crawls down your shoulder, you sweat a little under his attentions. 

“Y..yeah,” you swallow. “Maybe..” He smiles cooly as he eases back into the seat opposite you. “I just don’t think it’s fair you get to have the fun all to yourself, y’know?” You shoot him a look, lip pursed. “A-a lot more people would be more … excited about getting a free portrait.”

“Well, a lot more people would be more excited about getting to see me half naked.” Practically naked, to be a precise as possible. Your exasperation beats out your nervousness and you’re no longer afraid to set your brows with attitude, scoffing in irritation. Like he knows how you feel. The sheer restraint you’re exercising. How adamantly you will not allow this to get out of hand; you will not allow yourself to do something you'll regret- “G..get them to draw you, then!”

“Nah.” He drags his chair closer, but it’s not casual like before. Now the oxygen feels stuffier. Hotness that makes the air thicken and drag you down, a heat that blazes too close to your ears and seemingly makes the air tremble before you. You look toward him, not knowing what to expect (but twitching, aching for it). 

His tongue runs over his canines in a raw, animalistic fashion, the deep pools of his amber eyes threatening to drown you beneath their surface. “I don’t like them nearly as much.”

all content written by me @pervcoded is owned by me, and you are not allowed to repost or translate my works. don't put my shit into ai generators, don't steal my shit and put it on wattpad. thank you.

[natsukishinomiyaswife]

Hi! Just saw your cute cafe event and thought I'd send in a request if that was okay!

May I ask for an order of chicken and waffles with sweet tea please? Thank you!!

- 🌟

Hello 🌟 Anon! ☆

Thank you so much for your order! ♡ It makes me happy to know you think my event is cute! I hope you enjoy! ♡

This is part of an event I'm doing where people can request stories by placing orders! For more information, please refer to this post! ♡

⋆ 𝓐𝔃𝓾𝓵 𝓐𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓸: 𝓓𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 ⋆

One order of chicken and waffles and a sweet tea, coming right up! ♡

⋆ You were used to dates at the Mostro Lounge, sitting in the booth Azul reserves just for you. It was tucked away in the corner, secluded so that you could enjoy each other's company uninterrupted. He always had a way of making you feel special, your hands held in the center of the table as you talked and ate. He was attentive as he listened, stroking your hand with his thumb. His attention only waved when he was needed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving to do his job. Once he was back he would resume where you left off, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he held your hand once more.

⋆ Jade or Floyd would usually be the ones serving you, unable to resist teasing him whenever they stopped by.

"There's a new drink coming to the menu soon. He named it after you."

"Want my recommendation? Get this week's special! He kept insisting on making sure the taste was just how you like it, so you better order it!"

"Oh, is that a new tie Azul? And in Name's favorite color, too? It suits you."

"Name's here now, so stop worryin'! I can even drag 'em here myself if they're late again, aha ha!"

You knew they meant no harm with their teasing, Azul either scolding or ignoring them as the tips of his ears turned red.

⋆ Outside of the lounge, he would usually take you to restaurants, looking for inspiration or ideas he could incorporate into his own business. Some would be more fancy than others, always taking into account your tastes and dietary needs when choosing where to go. He would ask your opinion, wanting to know your thoughts on the decor, the menu, the food. Depending on how well you enjoyed it, he would take you there again, making a note to himself for a future date.

⋆ Your dates weren't exclusive to eateries though, Azul enjoying any moment he could spend with you. Even something as simple as going on a walk, enjoying each other's company as you looked around, was good enough for him. One of his favorite dates was after he had a long day, relaxing and cuddling with you as you talked about your days. You had gotten up for a moment, making something quick to eat before returning, handing him a plate. The intimacy of it, the care, caused his heart to race, thankful to have you in his life.

⋆ For your most recent date, he wanted to take you somewhere more casual and fun, bringing you to a board game cafe. It was an idea he got from Idia, having listened to him talk about them during their club meetings. After paying a fee, you were able to browse the cafe's large selection of games, and play them right at your table. If there was a game you liked, the cafe sold them as well, allowing you to purchase any games you wanted to take home with you.

⋆ You had fun looking at all the games, seeing some you've played before, some you've heard about, and some you didn't even know existed. You would take turns choosing which game to play, keeping score to see who won the most games by the end of the night. With the winner getting a kiss, Azul has no plans on losing, determined to win the prize you promised him. As your date is coming to an end he holds you close, an arm around your waist as the other cups your cheek. He takes a moment to stare, thinking how wonderful you were before leaning in, meeting your lips in a gentle kiss ♡

I hope you enjoyed your meal, and thank you for visiting the Cathie Cafe! ♡

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾! ♡

[zukosdualdao]

stage kiss

zutara month, day 8: actors au, @zutaramonth

summary: katara just needs to earn enough to make passage to the northern water tribe, so she begins working as a seamstress for an acting troupe in ba sing se. fine enough work in theory, until the leading actress is out sick and katara is asked to step into the role.

other notes: au in which the avatar never returns, and the war is still going on. katara is 16 and just left home, zuko is 18 and let go of his search for the avatar two years ago.

Katara doesn’t believe this is happening.

Well, alright, she mostly does, but. Come on.

All she’d wanted when she came here was to find work that let her earn enough to book passage to the Northern Water Tribe. She had known it would be difficult—her own tribe hadn’t had contact with them in many years, for much longer than she’d been alive—but she hadn’t expected there would be no official transport there when she got to Ba Sing Se. 

It had quickly become apparent that her options were to either book passage through a sketchy crowd of characters—sketchy mainly in that she didn’t like the way they looked her up and down, so she’d have to decide which ones she ‘trusted’ the most—or to… purchase a ship herself. And get a crew. And probably learn how to steer it.

She’s still figuring it out.

In any case, she had to earn one way or another, so she was relieved to find the acting troupe when she did, as the director seemed eager for a seamstress right away. Apparently, the last one had quit with barely a word.

Guiltily, Katara does not mention her plans to leave as soon as she has enough money to make passage.

It goes well for several weeks. A lot of the troupe is friendly, if a bit rowdy for her tastes—one earthbending boy has broken so many props she doesn’t know how he hasn’t been fired for it yet—but she’s met some really wonderful people too. Some of the girls her age have taken to talking to her about things like boys and far-off places they’d like to see and makeup and fights with their families, and it makes Katara feel a little choked up. She’d had Gran Gran, of course, and Sokka, and all the little kids she adored and the elders she respected, but she’d never really had someone who was a friend her own age.

The one person she hasn’t made much headway with is a boy a tall boy with dark hair and a scar that clearly came from a burn over his left eye. She’d come to understand quickly that most of the war refugees were blocked off in the lower ring, and they’re in a sort of in-between state, where artisans and food stallers live—it all makes her feel sick to her stomach if she thought about it too hard—but she can’t help but wonder if that’s how he got it. 

Zuko, the girls tell Katara his name is. He’s quiet and snappish and glares a lot, only seeming to come alive, to become softer, in those moments on stage when he’s being someone else.

Katara finds herself a little fascinated, despite herself, but it’s nothing to pay any mind to. In the weeks ahead, she’s just got to focus on her work.

It goes well. Until it doesn’t.

“Xiu Bao has fallen ill,” the director says as he implores Katara to take the lead’s place. “We would be ever-indebted to you.”

“But I’m not an actress!” Katara exclaims, feeling her heartbeat grow ever faster.

All she’d wanted was to learn waterbending. Now, she’s being asked to join an acting troupe. Temporarily. But still.

“It’s no matter,” he says. “You’ve seen the play many times over by now—and you don’t have to say the lines exactly,” he adds, a bit urgently. It is, after all, only a few hours until the show is meant to begin. “Just… to the best of your memory.”

Katara purses her lips. She’s not an actress, but her storytelling was well-regarded in a way that always made her proud, if a little squirmy—just like your mother, the elders in her village used to say—so maybe that could translate.

“And I’ll be paid?” she asks.

“Of course,” he assures her. “Yes—thank you, Katara,” he adds, turning heel before she can point out that she hasn’t technically agreed yet. 

Probably smart of him.

When she finds herself on stage that evening, made up and in Earth Kingdom robes, she tries to tell herself it’s just like telling a story. Mostly, it works. She remembers the lines surprisingly well.

Something else surprises her, too—the way it barely feels like acting as she stands across from Zuko. His role is still quiet, surly, a romantic lead of few words, but there’s a charm to him, an openness, and she doesn’t know where she possibly draws it from.

It’s near the end of the thing when she remembers with sudden clarity—they’re supposed to kiss here. 

How did she find herself in this situation?

When he strides toward her, placing his hands on her waist, Katara’s breath stutters, and that… that isn't acting.

He looks at her searchingly for a moment—does the scene always take this long?—and when she gives a slight nod of her head, he leans forward. Their lips meet, and it feels like the world around them just… stops. His lips are soft and gentle against her own, and from this close, Katara can tell he smells of firewood and cinnamon. 

When he pulls back, they rest their foreheads together. Katara breathes in shakily. Zuko is supposed to have a line, Katara’s pretty sure, but he's looking at her with a swell of emotion. The director clears his throat from the front row, and it's only then that Zuko remembers this fact as well.

Katara smiles to herself a little as the scene goes on. Maybe acting wouldn't be such a bad way to earn her keep and save for her travels while she stays here in Ba Sing Se.

[thecreelhouse]

accident prone

part two - I laugh often, so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine

Paring: Steve Harrington x fem!OC - Francesca “Frankie” Amato

Summary: Steve and Frankie really get to know one another, and the friendship blossoms quickly. So fast, Steve can’t keep up with his own feelings, even in the face of an emergency.

WC: 8.6k+

Includes: angst, hurt/comfort (like, a lot), internalized ableism, language, PTSD, revolving around Hawkins/the Upside Down, discussions of chronic pain/illness and disabilities, a teensy bit of fluff and flirting if you squint, medical emergencies, etc.

series playlist ⋮ masterlist 

here, here and here - meg & dia

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“I’m a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me / I laugh often so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine”

A/N: hey there! Wow. I didn’t think this would really gain any attention— this fandom seems to hate OCs (y’all’s loss tbh), but the support I got on the last chapter, though small to some major blogs, means a fuck ton to me. I don’t want to tag everyone, but thank you to whoever sent me a kind message or pep talk after posting the first part— I really am glad this is relating to others with chronic health concerns, one way or another. Even if it relates to one person, it means more than meaningless notes. Also, may 12th is Fibromyalgia Awareness Day! So, consider this my contribution lol. As previously stated, for anyone with fibro, or without, but living with a chronic illness/condition, mental and/or physical, I am sending all my love, and this is for you <3

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The next morning, Steve’s up early; if he can’t push past the pain, he’ll try working with it. He refuses to let the opportunity to get to know Frankie slip away. 

And the opportunity for a possible job. That’s important, too. Just… not right at this very moment.

What the hell do I wear? 

He glances at the pair of glasses he’s been neglecting lately, just annoyed he needs yet another tool of assistance to help him function; his vision blurs easily these days, especially with migraines. And while it’s not severe, he’s been warned to wear the glasses to prevent further deterioration of his vision.

To Steve, it’s another reminder of how broken he feels. If this was about anyone else, he wouldn’t feel that way, but when it comes to himself, the internal ableism never ends.

Just like the day before, everything hurts terribly. It’s one of those days where even certain fabrics and elastics add to the widespread ache, and it’s not like he has to dress up, but he doesn’t want to just show up in sweats, either.

At least I don’t have to wear that ugly, stiff uniform anymore.

He opts for a well-worn, loose cardigan with a pair of jeans that he ripped at the knee years ago; the tear is conveniently over his bad knee, making it easier to wear the brace he has on his bad joint days. And today, he really needs it. 

Steve also needs a boost of confidence and a way to shake his nerves; the thought of seeing Frankie again and possibly getting another job have him on edge.

Too bad there’s no medical device to assist him on that one.

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Noticing the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door of the record shop, Steve hesitates, realizing he should’ve asked Frankie about the hours; a tiny note taped to the bottom of the sign catches his eye. “Unless your name is Steve,” is scribbled in disheveled handwriting, with a small smiley face drawn at the end.

Entering the record shop, he first sees Frankie, sitting criss-crossed on the checkout counter; her cane is laid over her lap while she’s meticulously applying stickers to the aluminum. The door’s chime goes off, and her head pops up, immediately breaking into the warm smile Steve had thought about since the last time they spoke. 

“Steve!” There’s an urge within her to hop off the counter and greet him with a hug, but she holds back, reminding herself that they’re barely even friends. “Hi,” She opts for a wave instead, eyes falling to the coffees, one in each hand.

He shyly nods with a sweet smile, all bundled up in layers most folks would consider unnecessary. For him and his temperature intolerance, the obnoxious amount of warmth is very necessary.

“Hi, Frankie,” He hands her coffee over to her, in all its icy, sugary sprinkled glory. She takes it, eyes crinkling as she smiles wide. Steve can’t help teasing, “Cade’s right, you really are sick for liking iced coffee in the winter.”

Her smile flips into a comical frown before snarking, “He’s never getting that damn tape now.”

“The one about dinosaurs?”

Frankie snorts just as she takes a sip of her coffee, covering her face with her sweater bundled arm.

“Robin told me you’d say something like that.” 

“… So it’s not about—“

“Steve, it’s the name of a band,” She giggles, moving her arm away from her face. Steve notices the way her sleeves cascade over her hands completely; the sweater she’s in is way too big, but with that and her flowing skirt, she looks comfortable, and warm. 

“Right. I knew that!” He tries playing it off with a shrug, “They’re great.”

“You’ve never listened to them before have you?”

He laughs at the knowing smirk Frankie gives him, shaking his head, “Yeah, no, not at all.” If this was high school, he’d be trying to save face right now, to look cool, pretend he knew what he was talking about. Mid-twenties Steve is able to let it roll off his back, poke fun at himself, move on.

Plus, Steve knows this interaction wouldn’t happen at all in high school. Labels and useless popularity would keep them far, far apart. He’s alright with that; Frankie definitely didn’t need someone like ‘King Steve’ and his bullshit to deal with. 

“Okay. What about Jawbreaker?”

“… The candy?”

Frankie giggles, shaking her head, before running down a list of bands off the top of her head; The Cure, Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Strawberry Switchblade, Sonic Youth, Nirvana, the list went on. Steve says most he’s heard of, but never listened to. Some, he’s heard some of their singles on the radio.

“You’re into all that… punk stuff, right?” He’s a little lost, but he’s headed in the right direction. Frankie doesn’t tease him for it, though. 

“To an embarrassing degree,” She smiles, crinkling her nose, and oh, god, Steve’s not expecting the way that sets off butterflies in his stomach. “And new wave, grunge, honestly some pop, too— oh! Dolly Parton! Just her, though, can’t get into any other country otherwise. I’m a mess when it comes to music interests.” She shrugs.

He shakes his head, shrugging his jacket off before unwinding his scarf; Frankie catches on immediately, pointing to the coat rack behind the counter.

“No… it suits you.”

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“O- oh, no, I meant that in a— it’s a— nice way, promise!” Frankie smirks as he stumbles over his words. “So… got any recommendations on what to start with?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Steve. I’m gonna make you a mixtape later.” No pretentious undertone can be found in her words; Frankie’s just really excited to introduce someone to music they haven’t heard. “What do you listen to, then?”

Steve sits on the stool behind the counter while Frankie still hangs out on the countertop, kicking her legs over the side now. He watches as she continues sticker-bombing her cane; it’s got quite the variety of holographic stars sprinkled about.

“Uh…” He shrugs, tugging at the edges of his sleeves before shoving them in the pockets of his cardigan. “Whatever sounds good, I guess.”

Frankie narrows her eyes at him, “C’mon, you can do better than that.”

Steve nervously laughs as a hint of red creeps across his face.

“Okay, uh… Queen, Springsteen, some of Bowie’s stuff—“

“Some?”

“I just- I can’t get into it all!” He stammers out. Frankie dramatically sighs, throwing her head back with a hand over her forehead, pretending like she’ll faint. When she levels her gaze to him again, she gives a teasing smirk, and he carries on, red in the face. “I like U2’s last album… uh, shit. What’s it called?”

“Achtung Baby?” She’s so quick to answer in a nonchalant tone, like this is common knowledge.

“Yeah! That one.”

“Oh, you’d really get along with my dad, then,” She teases, watching Steve’s expression flatten in a playful annoyance. “That’s not a bad thing! Bring it up in your next appointment— actually, don’t. He’ll talk about it for hours.”

Steve laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose with his pointer finger, “Alright, I’ll try to remember that.”

“Might want to write a reminder with the brain fog,” She quips, and it easily earns a chuckle; if anyone else tried to joke about his symptoms, he’d be bothered. To laugh it off with someone else equally as sick as him, though, is weirdly… cathartic. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Go on.”

“Okay, don’t make fun of me, but Blondie’s got some good stuff, too.”

“Yes!” Frankie throws her hands out excitedly. Steve admires how animated she can be.

“I like a lot of other stuff,” He’s becoming more comfortable talking about this, not as afraid of rejection. Frankie didn’t give that kind of attitude off, but he second guesses himself always these days. “But it’s just singles and stuff.”

“Gimme a list one of these days, I’ll give you some recs.” She looks up from her sticker work on her cane, warmly smiling, but it falters seconds later. “Not pushing that on you, but it might— you don’t— don’t be afraid to tell me no—“

“Frankie.” Her name comes out of Steve’s mouth like the night before, a combination of reassurance and teasing. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Dusting over her cheeks is a tint of rosy pink as her smile returns, ever so slightly. “Okay, cool.” She plucks a star sticker off the page, leaning towards Steve to stick it on his forehead. Her touch makes Steve’s heartbeat quicken, but it’s over as soon as it began. “Congrats, Steve, you’re hired.”

Brows furrowing, he doesn’t bother to remove the sticker. “What? Seriously? That was the interview?”

Frankie nods enthusiastically. “You already seemed nice, and got a good review from your best friend—“

“Seriously, what did she tell you?”

She pretends to zip her lips shut and shrugs, holding back giggles. 

“I’ll get you all that boring ass paperwork later, but yeah, I’m serious.” She holds her cane out, rolling it in her hands to make sure the stars are placed the way she wants. Her tongue pokes out while she’s focused, and Steve thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world. Directing her attention back to him, she continues, “I don’t wanna work with someone I just tolerate.”

Though Steve’s flattered to find he’s more than just tolerable to her, he’s still skeptical; not of her, but how this friendship is growing so easily, so suddenly. “Frankie, we barely know each other.”

“I don’t know anyone else my age that’s disabled, and you just… you get it. I wish you didn’t, but you do. If you don’t wanna work here, no hard feelings, but I want to continue getting to know you.” Her words, her tone, even her facial expression, they’re all sincere. “If you’re up for having a new friend, that is.”

Steve nods embarrassingly fast, but he doesn’t care. “My friends get it to an extent, but I don’t have to explain shit to you, and it’s… well, I don’t want to say nice, ‘cause like you said, I wish you didn’t know what this was like, either. But it makes me feel a little less alone, I guess.” His fingers grip the edge of the stool between his legs, arms straight, as he looks away shyly. “And I- I’d like to make you feel a little less alone too— jesus, that makes me sound like a douche. You get what I mean, right?”

“I get you, Steve, don’t worry,” Frankie picks up her coffee, holding it out to Steve. It takes a few seconds, but he catches on, grabbing his own coffee to hold out to her. “To a sick friendship. Get it. Sick? ‘Cause we’re both—“

Steve knocks his cup against hers, smirking, “Yikes, I thought my humor was corny.”

“Fine, no more jokes at all, then.” She deadpans, but her expression immediately cracks, breaking into a laugh, one that scrunches her nose and crinkles the edges of her eyes. It’s contagious, pulling Steve into her fit of laughter, too. “Yeah, I got a good feeling about you, Steve.”

“Huh? Like what?”

“Oh, we’re not that far in the friendship, buddy.” She props her cane onto the floor, sliding off the counter. The proximity between her and Steve when she’s on her feet is a little too close for him to handle, breath hitching in his throat. “Gotta earn the sappy moments, man.”

With that, Frankie rounds the counter, heading towards an aisle of vinyl records. She turns back to him, “Well, you want a tour?”

Steve’s eyes widen as he scrambles off the chair, “Y- yeah, that’d be— I probably need to know where things are.” Frankie resists teasing him further, leading him around the shop.

The pair walk slowly as she points out the main sections, split into three— vinyl records, cassette tapes, and CDs. 

“I still can’t get behind ‘em. They’re too flimsy for my clumsy self.” Frankie’s lips curl in a snarl as she eyes up the racks of the shiny discs, tucked away in their jewel cases. 

“At least they’re not LaserDiscs,” Steve murmurs, cringing. “I hated those things.”

“Yeah, never was a fan myself,” Her brows crinkle. “They’re like frisbees.”

“But vinyl… isn’t?”

“No. And I’m not elaborating.”

“Francesca, you’re something else.”

She scoffs playfully, “Can’t believe you just called me that. You’re fired.”

“Mhm, sure.” He smirks before glancing around the shop; it’s on the smaller side, but jam-packed with nearly anything and everything music related. Beyond CDs, tapes, and records, are band shirts, Walkmans, headphones, record players, tape players and boomboxes, useless novelty items, and so on. “So, when’d you open the store?”

“Oh, I didn’t. It’s not mine, only running it for now… kinda took over when the owner had to take a sick leave.”  Frankie begins leading Steve towards the back, through a worn, beaded curtain. She points to an open door, “Stockroom,” Then, to the door across the hall. “Break room.”

Steve acknowledges her directions with a nod before asking, “Oh, are they okay? Well, wait. Shit. I guess not if they’re on— my bad.”

Frankie gives him a half-smile, more for the sake of reassurance, along with an answer, “Dementia. So, uh, yeah. Probably not coming back.” A pained expression washes over Steve’s features. “The own— Mr. Fisher wanted to close the shop when his health continued declining, so I told him I’d keep it going for him. This was before the diagnosis, he just knew something was wrong and warned me he’d most likely shut down.”

“That’s… fucked.” 

“Yeah. He actually lived a few floors up, now he’s in a senior living home.” She wanders into the break room, falling onto the worn couch hanging out in the heavily used space. Steve sits on the opposite side, not wanting to invade her personal space as he listens intently. “Cool dude, hired me years ago, and he was really into jazz when he was younger. Like, used to play the sax for a living. He knew nothing about punk music, but he loved asking me about it. I learned a lot about jazz from him, too.

“He was empathetic with my pain, too. The couch is back here ‘cause he felt bad I had nowhere to rest on break.   Then he ended up using it more than I did.” Frankie’s a little dazed as she retells the circumstances. “I knew he’d never get better, and he knew it too, but I told him I’d love to watch over the business until he’s ready to come back. Couldn’t stand watching this place close, so… yeah. S’why I asked you.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.” It’s all Steve can come up with, but it’s genuine, and she can tell.

“I hope it doesn’t come off like I’m telling you this so you’re guilted into being here, ‘cause if you wanna find another job, don’t feel like you have to st—“

“You do that a lot,” Steve blurts out, but it’s not mean-spirited. He stammers, “N- not that— it’s not bad— sorry—-“

“And you do that a lot,” Frankie observes bluntly. “Guess we’re kinda similar in the whole ‘overly apologetic’ department, huh?”

Steve glances at her, sighing with a hint of a sad smile. “Guess we are.” He rests his head on the back of the couch, blowing air between pursed lips as his eyes fixate on the ceiling. “Anyway, you’re not guilting me. I’m staying.” Then he sits back up, narrowing his stare at her. “Unless I’m still fired.”

She sits up, shoving her hand out towards him. He grabs it as she shakes it obnoxiously, snorting, “Steve Harrington, you’re re-hired.”

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“Fibro’s just like… a bag of jellybeans.”

Steve scoffs out a laugh, lost on Frankie’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”

At the end of the day, Frankie and Steve wound up at a diner, still caught up in the excitement of getting to know a new friend.

“Y’know, it’s always a mystery over what color and flavor you end up with ‘til you get it.” Frankie begins to explain, hands on the diner’s table; Steve’s noticed she talks with her hands, a lot. She’s always so animated, even talking about the most mundane subjects. “And you might have ‘em all, but there might be more of one flavor, or another. Fibromyalgia is just a bag of symptoms, ‘cause you don’t know what’s gonna hurt that day ‘til it does— does that make sense?” 

“Oh, like, I get a lot of headaches, sometimes ocular migraines— the first few times, those freaked me out, and joint pain the most, but the other symptoms still exist, too, just not as frequently.” Steve scrunches his eyes shut with a nod, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Right? Or maybe I’m way off—“

“No, that’s exactly it! 

“That’s actually… a really good analogy,” He tucks the comparison away in his mind, for future use. “Wait, so you also have fibromyalgia?”

Frankie’s about to answer, until the waitress brings their milkshakes and fries to the table. Her smile over something as simple as a milkshake is contagious, and Steve finds himself grinning along with her.

“Yeah, but we found out lupus was a bigger concern,” She shares casually. “Y’know, I wouldn’t wish fibro on anyone, but I’m pissed you have to deal with it.”

Steve’s face distorts into confusion. “Why d’ya say that?”

“It’s such a fucking mess of a disability. Tests come back normal, x-rays show nothing, MRIs are clear, too— shit is so infuriating. You’re living in constant pain and most people don’t believe you. Then ya’ got these fuckin’ misogynistic doctors who see it as a “woman’s disease”— yeah, it’s more prevalent in women, but men get it too, and it’s like y’all are told to just… suck it up. “Man up”. Deal with it.

“Honestly… not sure which sucks to be told more, that you’re just “hysterical and attention seeking” for being sick as a woman, or being told you’re just a “whiny baby” if you’re sick as a man.”

Steve only stares at her; Frankie feels warm under his gaze, sinking into the booth.

“Sorry, I— you’re so spot on, I have nothing to add.” Steve’s shaking his head, fidgeting with his napkin. “But I can’t get over that someone my age fucking gets it.”

Frankie sighs, relieved to hear she wasn’t overdoing it with her rambling.

“Steve, I hate that we’re both in pain, but it’s… it’s nice not having to struggle alone, for once.” She stretches her legs under the booth, resting her boots on the cushion on Steve’s side. He mirrors her, sneakers kicking up to  rest next to her. She smiles, nudging his shoe with her elbow. “Copycat.”

“You really lucked out having a dad who’s a doctor,” Steve softly chuckles, and Frankie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Immediately, he panics he might’ve said the wrong thing. “I- I don’t mean that in a bad way—“

“No, I know you didn’t. He—” Frankie looks off, eyes fixating on the bustling traffic out the window, despite the two of them being seated in the far end of the diner. She looks back to her milkshake, swirling the straw mindlessly. “He wasn’t always a doctor. He wasn’t in the medical field at all, not ‘til I got sick as a kid.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yup. He got tired of taking me to specialists for them to always say I was being overdramatic, or “Oh, she’s a girl, she might just be faking that for attention.” I guess what I was going through made him realize shit had to change for the sake of us sick folks. I don’t know how anyone would be able to juggle a full time job, full time med school, and raising a kid on their own, but he did it. Even if shit is terrible most of the time, I’m grateful to have a dad as incredible as him.”

Steve let Frankie’s words sink in before curiosity took its hold, “He’s a single parent?”

Frankie sips from her milkshake, looking back at Steve as she sits back. “Wasn’t always, but yeah. Never met my mom, she, uh, she was sick, too. Cancer. Passed before my first birthday.”

“Jesus, Frankie… I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs, trying to let the everlasting sting roll off her back. “I heard she was really sweet, and funny. My dad showed me some home movies a few years back, and it was the first time I heard her voice. She was so pretty, and happy, and—“ She shakes her head, scoffing at herself. “God, I’m sorry for rambling.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. If you ever wanna talk about this… or anything, I might not know what to say, but I’ll always listen.”

“Right back at ya’, Steve,” She murmurs, gaze friendly before sipping her milkshake.

“I don’t think you want to know my story,” He tries shrugging it off, as if a chuckle would follow, but never does.

“I do, and I mean that.” She firmly states, locking eyes with him. “But only when you’re comfortable sharing it.”

Steve nods, “Yeah. Maybe someday. Kinda hard to even talk to my therapist still about it.”

“You’ll get there eventually. On your own terms.” Frankie can tell he’s uncomfortable, searching for a change of subject. She looks back at his legs, still next to her in the booth. “Isn’t your leg cold?” She nods to the hole in his jeans, right above his knee.

“Yeah, but I needed to wear my knee brace today.”

“I can sew loose, stretchy fabric in, and snaps to remove it, if that helps,” She slurps down the last of the milkshake. “You cool with hanging out longer?”

Steve can’t suppress the grin that graces his face.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

Frankie’s apartment is in a repurposed warehouse; a large studio, cluttered with art supplies scattered all about. An easel hangs out in the wide open room near a window, with canvasses, both finished and unfinished everywhere surrounding it. Cups and cups of paintbrushes, tubes of paint, pastels, graphite pencils and drawing pads strewn atop nearly every surface. A sewing machine rested snug in a corner of the open room. 

Among it all was the kitchen and living room; down a hallway were the doors to the bathroom, and her bedroom. 

After Steve changes into the sweats Frankie found for him, he enters the main room, holding the sweatpants up by the waistband awkwardly, handing his pair of jeans over to her.

“Sorry, I knew they’d be kinda big, but not that much.” She has jersey knit fabric already cut, sewing snaps to the edges. As she works, she elaborates, “I keep a buncha sizes in clothes, ‘cause my weight fluctuates all the time with flare ups.”

“That’s actually… really smart.”

“Yeah, I got tired of buying and donating the same several sizes over and over. Just easier, and cheaper, to keep ‘em all on hand.” Frankie’s zoned into the impromptu project, so Steve wanders around her apartment, stopping at the kitchen table, blanketed with multiple sketches. 

“I didn’t know you could draw.” He wonders aloud, glancing over the sketch pad papers. There’s a certain style he can’t quite put his finger on with her work; for plain subjects and ideas, they’re incredible.

 Steve turns to the easel with her latest work in progress. It’s a portrait of a woman weeping, holding a mask of her face that’s smiling over her real expression. It’s gorgeous work, but he feels a pang in his chest, wondering if Frankie feels this way more often than not.

“Holy shit, Frankie…” He breathes, recognizing his own struggles through the piece; how often he feels as if he needs to bury his own pain to keep everyone else comfortable. Then again, who hasn’t felt at one point or another they need to cover up how they truly feel?

“I hope that’s a good “holy shit”,” She responds as she continues sewing.

“Your work is amazing,” He’s still staring at the painting, admiring how her art style is slightly unkempt, and leans toward traditional tattoo-style art, but she makes it work somehow; some of the paint bleeds outside the lines, or speckles in random splotches, like watercolors, but it adds character. “Do you just paint as a hobby?”

“I actually had plans to become a tattoo artist, did an apprenticeship and everything,” She murmurs, loud enough for him to hear, but still weighed down with disappointment. She pulls the denim away from the sewing machine, trimming away the loose threads. “Can’t really tattoo when you’ve got unpredictable hand tremors, though. S’why the paintings are such a wreck.”

Oh.

“Shit. That’s…” Again, Steve can’t find proper words of empathy. “I’m sorry.”

Frankie finally glances over her shoulder at him, “Kinda normal for folks like us to leave behind our dreams. Mourn what our lives could’ve been, and what they used to be.”

The familiarity of surrender in her voice hits Steve hard. He might not have had the same dreams to give up to prioritize his health, but it’s still an experience similar to hers. Giving up any dreams or goals he had to accept they probably wouldn’t, couldn’t, come to life. He’s watched his life’s potential slip through his fingers, and has no way of stopping it from vanishing completely.

Mourning what your life was isn’t easy, either. Reminiscing on better health in earlier times of your existence, proof you’ll never be that happy, that healthy again— even if Steve was unhappy deep down in high school, he wishes he had the energy to still fake it.

“Yeah. Fucking sucks.” He mutters. At the same time, Frankie turns to him, holding his jeans out for him to take.

Steve glances over her handiwork, grateful to have soft fabric that’ll finally work with his knee brace, while being removable when it’s too warm out.

“On the bright side, at least you’ve got a friend who gets it now.” She’s speaking softly, with so much, too much, understanding. It helps to finally have a friend who can relate, but with that comes sharing the same emotional hardships, ones that feel endless. 

Still, it’s better than navigating that all on your own.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

It’s been a handful of weeks— maybe about a month and change— since Steve’s life began to feel good again. He’s not sure how long exactly, he just knows since finding a doctor that sincerely cared for his patients, and befriending Frankie, someone his age he could finally relate to, he doesn’t care to keep track of time like a dismal countdown.

He’s not counting the days he feels like a prisoner in his own body anymore.

Timing, though, is always perfectly unfortunate when it comes to Steve’s luck, and life.

On a dull Wednesday night, he and Frankie are closing up the shop before their plans to meet up with Robin at the diner. Steve has had a muted ache in his head since the previous night, but it wasn’t enough to keep him in bed, thankfully. He took some Tylenol earlier in the day, and that helped with staving off most of the pain. Any relief he can find, he happily takes.

The sun isn’t setting as early anymore, a sign winter’s almost at its end; he’s been looking forward to spring, because this cold has done no favors to his aching joints. Until then, he’s still bundling up ridiculously to keep from violently shaking in the cold.

“Hey, Frankie?” He’s looking behind the counter, puzzled. His head feels heavy, thoughts settling in a thick fog. Pushing past it, he asks, “Have you seen my scarf?”

Frankie returns from the tiny stockroom, keys swinging lazily on her finger. “Is it the blue one?”

“No, it’s—“ Steve pauses, hands on the counter to hold himself up from a sudden bout of dizziness. He gives a weak laugh, “I can’t even remember if I wore one at all. Maybe I didn’t.”

Frankie’s quick to notice something’s not right when Steve practically white knuckles the edge of the counter; her firsthand experience with chronic illness is setting off alarms in her head.

“Steve, you should sit down—“ She rushes around to him, pushing the stool towards him. Grabbing his shoulders, she pushes him gently into the chair. “What’s going on?” 

“S’blurry,” Is all he mutters to her. She lifts a hand to his forehead, and he shivers, speaking up a bit more, “You’re always cold.”

She keeps her panic to herself, and rolls her eyes with a tiny smile, pulling her hand away to reach into her bag on the floor; straightening back up with a heavily sticker-bombed water bottle, she hands it to him.

“When’d you last eat?”

Steve shrugs, weakly sipping out of the bottle. “Uh, a few hours ago, I think.” He’s struggling to stay in conversation as the vision in his one eye blurs. “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye.” He points to the right side of his face, hand nearly limp.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Been hurting all day, actually,” He waves his hand in front of his own face, repeating, “Yeah I- I can’t see a damn thing out of this eye.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wasn’t a big deal ‘til now— shit—“ Steve clutches his head; everything’s too overwhelming. The lights are too bright, the buzz of electricity is too loud, and he feels nauseous. The dizziness is only growing stronger, too. Curling into himself, he doubles over, head in his hands as he leans towards his legs. “God, I hate this.”

Frankie rushes to the light switch across the room, turning off all the lights inside; the only light available is what wanders in from the city outside through the windows. 

There was one crucial detail Steve left out when he confided in Frankie about his ocular migraines: the pain is so intense, it works in tandem with his anxiety, triggering flashbacks of those miserable last few years in Hawkins.

They roll through so quickly in his mind; the first time he fought off a demogorgon with Nancy and Jonathan.  When Steve became a personal punching bag for Billy nearly one year later, the same night he had been roped into fighting off demodogs with the kids, nearly dying multiple times before the sun rose again. The fucked up elevator in Starcourt that plummeted to an artificial hell that also nearly killed him and his friends. He could picture the fists flying at him, his honest answers for the countless times he was asked “who do you work for?” never enough for his captors. 

“Stop, stop, stop—“

Frankie hears Steve whimpering while his flashbacks drag him deeper into the past.

Because who can just forget nearly dying far too many times with your friends before turning twenty? Why forget it when the past just continues to help you survive even further carnage?

His lungs burn while he recalls swimming down to the bottom of the lake, in search of the gate, only to be pulled back down after resurfacing to his friends. It’s not easy to erase the way he fought for his life once dragged into the Upside Down, especially not when the scars refuse to fade, continuing to keep the nightmare alive. Even if his scars blended into his worn, tired skin now, the proof lies in each and every person in the group. Hell, the proof is in anyone from Hawkins.

“Steve—“ Frankie’s voice breaks through to him, only for a moment, too quick to pull him out of this traumatic loop of memories. 

Vecna. Stumbling upon Eddie, nearly dead, in Dustin’s arms. The “earthquake”. Max deep in a coma in the hospital. Watching the Upside Down bleed into reality on this plane of existence. The ultimate downfall of what was once his hometown— once a haven of memories, good and bad, ones that taught him life lessons, ones that he still reminisces on to this day. Leaving behind everything he loved in that shitty little town. Goodbyes with everyone as they all split their separate ways, with hopes and dreams of making the most of a new life somewhere safe.

Hawkins, Indiana was wiped off the map. Wiped from existence to keep the rest of the world safe.

Hawkins was only a memory, now.

Hawkins was gone. 

“Hi, y- yeah, we need an ambulance, my friend, h- he—“

Everyone made it out alive, but what was the point when everyone was hurting badly, one way or another?

What’s the point in surviving if you continue to live in your own personal hell? He thinks, barely making out Frankie reciting the address for the record store. He blindly reaches out for her, still folded over in agony.

Instead of finding her, he finds himself slipping off the chair, hitting the cold, hard floor before abruptly losing his grip on reality. 

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The first thing Steve sees when his eyes weakly flutter open is Frankie. Everything is blurry, but not like before; his vision slowly comes into focus, while the edges of tunnel vision have faded away. A dim, frail smile appears on his face at her sleeping figure, curled up next to him.

Pressure in his head spreads, like there’s an ache about to begin, but it never does, held at bay. That’s when he notices the IV in his arm, prying his eyes open a little more, baffled and trying to sift through the brain fog.

Frankie stirs, eyes squinting open, but once she sees Steve’s awake, her eyes widen; she sits up too quickly, stumbling out of the chair she folded herself into, catching herself at the last minute.

“Steve—“

“Hi Frankie,” He smiles, dopey and sleepy, like he just woke up from a nap, and not a medical scare. She grabs his hand, and he blushes. Looking down at their hands clasped together, a dazed look covers his features. “Your hand’s not very cold. You okay?”

A laugh slips out of Frankie, “I think all the panic made me overheated.” Her bottom lip wobbles, despite Steve’s lips still curved up lazily, “You’re the one in the hospital bed, I should be asking you that.”

“M’fine, I feel great, actually.”

“That would be the drugs doing their job, buddy.” She’s surprised to hear herself giggle, but it rises a weak yet genuine laugh out of Steve. Her thumb softly swipes back and forth on his hand, still in hers. “You scared the hell outta me, Steve.”

His face drops, beginning to realize the severity of the situation, despite gaps of memory to recall on. “I… don’t remember anything.”

“Do you want me to tell you?”

He wordlessly nods.

“Your head hurt all day, but you didn’t tell me until a migraine started,” Frankie sighs, gently pushing his sweat-matted hair away from his eyes. “I think it was an ocular migraine, ‘cause you told me you couldn’t— well, in your exact words, you said “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye”, and then it— you—”

It all floods back to Steve in a flash— his headache that rolled into a sudden, ocular migraine, making him dizzy and weak. How his right eye went blind, then everything hurt, sent him into a panic, and triggered the flashbacks.

“You fell, too, but thankfully you landed on my bag instead of the floor.” She reaches down to his forehead, just above his brow, gently sweeping a thumb across his skin. “There’s a small bruise, but could’ve been worse.”

That, he ignores. Instead, Steve’s heart drops at the thought of what Frankie might’ve heard or seen. Before he can ask, she gathers the courage to tell him.

“You we’re crying, saying ‘I wanna go home’ a- and ‘stop, stop, stop,’” Her fingers grip his hand, shaking. He squeezes back, sobering up fast from the pain medication. “You kept calling out names, calling for Robin, and I- I don’t know who else, but you sounded so hurt, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Frankie whispers, “oh” and grabs a handful of tissues from the side table, handing them over to him.

“I— goddammit. I’m so sorry, Frankie.” 

“It’s okay—“

He shakes his head, eyes falling shut; he can’t look at her right now, he feels nothing but shame. 

“It’s not. It never will be. I wasn’t trying to hide anything or lie, but I- I- I—“ In the midst of his panic, he remembers the plans they had with Robin.  His bloodshot eyes lock with Frankie’s teary ones. “Shit, does Robin know—“

“She’s on her way. Thankfully she stopped by instead of meeting us at the diner, right when the ambulance came. I asked if Robin wanted to go with you, but she asked if I could instead; she wanted to grab your meds and a few other things.” Frankie reassures him, but Steve can’t shake the guilt, can’t escape the embarrassment. “Robin’s really a great best friend.”

Steve rubs his eyes, nodding as his voice wavers, “Best friend I ever had. I- I’d be dead without her.”

“Give yourself some credit, man.” A familiar voice floats into the room; Frankie and Steve both look across the hospital room to find Robin, along with Eddie and Dustin trailing in behind her.

“It’s definitely that charming stubbornness to survive y’got going on,” Robin teases lightheartedly.

Frankie looks back at Steve, finding his face about to light up, but he just falls apart again. She releases his hand so Robin can hug him. Steve shakes in her grasp, while Robin murmurs “you’re okay, you’re safe”, soft enough for only Steve to hear; Frankie’s still able to catch it, though.

“Wh— what are you two doing here?”

“You picked the best time to go to the ER,” Dustin grins, trying to point out the bright side. “We were gonna surprise you at the diner, but now we get to surprise you here!” Steve’s smile wavers; he wants to be happy to see his friends again, but the sudden visit and multiple voices, louder than Frankie, makes him wince, too.

Still, he finds himself asking, “Dustin, why are you excited about that?” 

“‘Cause, hospitals suck. Unless Eddie and I are in ‘em.” Dustin looks over at Frankie with a questioning, yet friendly look. “Who— oh. Are you Frankie?”

Her cheeks turn rosy while Steve groans, head falling back on the pillow.

Trying to redirect, Eddie teases, “The kid tells no lies, we’re the best free entertainment a hospital can get.” He’s shooting Steve a knowing look that earns a short-lived laugh out of him. 

Now Steve knows how Max felt when she woke from her coma, when Eddie was finally stable enough to leave his room next to hers. How him and Dustin did everything they could, said whatever they could say, to crack a smile on her face.

 It’s the thought that counts, he thinks, grateful to have friends who care. Steve always felt like everyone would forget him when they all left Hawkins behind. After all, he was usually the one looking out for everyone else. Putting them first. Making sure everyone was safe and sound before himself.

How relieved he was to be wrong, for once.

“How you holding up?” Dustin asks,

“Uh… I…”

All of this is overwhelming; Steve’s still trying to process what happened, was in the middle of Frankie retelling details, and now he’s on an emotional rollercoaster from a surprise visit from two friends he hadn’t seen in god knows how long.

On top of all of that, his head is one loud, startling noise or bright light away from kicking off another migraine.

Robin can tell he’s a step away from falling apart, so she jumps in to give him some breathing room. “I think… we should get snacks from the vending machine. Do either of you want anything?” Frankie shakes her head, and Steve only shrugs without an answer. “We’ll be back, ‘kay?” She backs up, gently pushing the two curly heads out of the room despite their protests; the room falls silent once again.

Steve sighs loudly, eyes shutting as he relaxes into the bed. “I love them, but I— it’s just—“

“Bad timing, I get it. There’s nothing wrong with asking for space.” Frankie assures him, then adds, “I should’ve asked too, do you need me to leave?”

“Don’t,” Steve’s cursing himself inwardly for answering so quickly. “Un- unless you wanna leave—“

“I wanna stay,” She answers at an embarrassing speed, making Steve smile. “I— I can stay overnight, if you want. But don’t feel obligated to say yes.”

“They’ll let you do that?”

“Usually, no, but I know the nurse on shift tonight, and she’s incredibly sweet. Told me already I can stay if I need to.” Frankie smirks. “One, tiny upside of being a hospital regular. Honestly, everyone’s nice here, at least who I’ve met.” She stops herself from rambling, glancing at Steve with concern. “You need anything right now?”

Steve murmurs, “No, just cold,” and releases her hand to pull the covers over himself, shivering. As he does, Frankie catches the scar around his neck while the flimsy hospital gown shifts along with him, exposing a sliver more of him than she’s seen. 

He notices her stare, hand flying to his neck in a pathetic attempt to cover it; he’s quick to stammer out an excuse, “Oh that’s, uh, from— it’s actually a long story, but it’s not— it’s—“

Frankie shakes her head, reaching for Steve’s hand to squeeze softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything, not unless you’re ready and want to. Whatever your story is, Steve, it’s for you to tell on your own terms.”

Again, she watches him relax from a tensed state. 

“Thank you, ‘Key.”

She smirks, “Y’know, I only let people I’m close to call me that.”

“Oh- oh, shit, I’m—“ He sits up, about to stammer out an apology, but her free hand gently stops him before pushing him back down slowly. 

“That includes you.”

“Really?”

“Just one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You tell me if you’re in pain. I know that’s nearly all the time, but if you can’t come in, or can’t hang out, you tell me. Hell, if you need, you can call me if you’re home alone and just need to talk about it.” She softly demands and suggests. Steve nods; it’s only fair, especially after tonight’s scare. “Or even if you still come to work or want to keep plans, don’t be afraid to ask for what you need. I’d rather you take care of yourself than push your body past its limits.”

Steve’s mind races around for the right words to return to her, but all he can respond with is a sincere, “Thank you, Frankie.” Then he adds quickly, “All of what you just said, that applies to you too. Got it?” He tries coming off stern, playfully, of course; instead, his lips crack into a smile, but the sentiment is still true.

“Got it, Stevie,” She tries winking, but it looks more like a twitch, and the two burst into giggles. “You make it look so easy whenever you wink!”

Steve just shoots her a smooth, quick wink. In return, he gets her playful eye roll. He finds comfort and safety in the harmless teasing between one another.

Things might’ve gone to hell tonight, but at least Steve didn’t go through it alone.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

When everyone returned to the hospital room, they made sure to keep their tones quiet, soft, and Steve felt some guilt over that, but he reminded himself too that he’s lucky to have friends who accommodate his needs.

He catches Robin, Dustin, and Eddie up to speed, leaving out the gory, telling details of his flashbacks; Robin must’ve warned Dustin and Eddie to not speak about the Upside Down, for Frankie’s sake. And really, for Steve’s sake, too. After his mind ran through every event, every memory, down to the very last detail, he was exhausted. The last thing he wanted to think or talk about was Hawkins, and all the horrors it once contained.

And once proper introductions were made, Steve admired the way Dustin and Eddie automatically included Frankie into every part of the conversation, making sure she felt welcomed among them, too. 

Steve needed this. He needed the distraction, needed the laughter, the inside jokes, with stories explained to Frankie to keep her in the loop. The longer the visit went on, though, the more Steve realized at some point, he’d have to explain everything to Frankie. She told him to take his time, that he wouldn’t ever need to talk about it if he wasn’t ready, but he’d rather get it out in the open sooner rather than later. 

This friendship was something Steve never had with anyone else before, and he was quickly growing attached to the dynamic. He never expected to grow attached to Frankie so fast, either. Or at all.

Visiting hours end, with Dustin hugging Steve a little too tight, apologetic as he loosens his arms when Steve grumbles in pain. Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, repeating a sentiment from the time they were stuck in the elevator in Starcourt. “If you die, I die. So don’t die.”

“Oh, we changed that one up a bit? Alright,” Robin snorts, and Dustin flips her off.

Meanwhile, Steve only shrugs. “Okay.”

“Some things never change,” Robin mutters, shaking her head.

The older two out of the trio say their goodbyes, too, with Eddie reminding in a sing-song voice, “Gonna bother you again tomorrow, Big Boy.”

“Please, for the love of—“ Steve sighs, sinking under the covers, embarrassed. “Stop calling me that.” Frankie’s lost, but still giggling over the exchanges; he points at her, “No, don’t— do not encourage his nonsense”

“Respectfully, no, I’ll never stop.” He grins while Robin shoves him out of the room. As he’s nearly out the door, he waves and shouts, “Nice meeting you, Frankie!”

Alone, yet again, Frankie bites her lip to contain her laughter, and Steve narrows a glare at her. “Oh, I can already tell you’re gonna be trouble with them.”

“Listen, it’s not my fault your friends are funny and charming.”

“They’re anything but—“

“Oh, I’m telling ‘em tomorrow you said that.”

“Where’s your proof, Amato?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Harrington.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

Laughing, his brows knit together, “I would!”

He tries to conjure a better comeback to throw her way, but his thoughts fizzle out while watching her set up the chairs into a makeshift bed.

“Frankie.”

She spins around, watching Steve lean up on his elbow. “Huh?”

“You’re not sleeping on those chairs. That’s gonna kill your neck. And your back.” Steve deadpans, pulling his glasses off to set them on the nightstand. “And every other joint in your body.”

Frankie snorts, holding her arms out, “Then where am I sleeping, Steve?”

“Up here,” He’s even surprised by his own boldness, but carries through. “With me.”

If one could hold someone’s gaze in a death grip, Frankie would be doing that right now with Steve’s stare; disbelief and skepticism floods through her thoughts.

“Unless that’s too— if you’re not comfortable—“

“Steve,” Frankie pushes past the way her round cheeks flush red, “We gotta stop second guessing ourselves like this.”

“Yeah, but I just don’t want to assume—“

“When you’re close with someone, assumptions are kind of a given. When someone gets you, it’s not offensive.” She holds the extra pillow a nurse gave her earlier to her chest. “I’m okay with it, if you are. And I’m going to assume you are, because you asked—“

“Demanded—“

Her mouth falls open at his bluntness, “Okay, Big Boy, slow down—“

“Francesca,” He groans, falling back onto the pillows, “please do not call me that.”

She laughs softly, tugging the edges of Steve’s lips into a soft smile; he’s a goner. He knows he is. He’s known for awhile now, but her laugh, her smile, solidifies it. 

“Okay, Steven.”

Waving his arm out towards the uncomfortable hospital bed, he sasses, “Will you shut the hell up and get up here?”

“Didn’t know you were so bossy in bed, Steve,” Frankie waggles her brows at Steve, and while he tries rolling his eyes, his face falls back into a deep shade of red she’s been so easily able to pull out of him these days.

“Christ, Amato, do you ever sh—“

“Shut it, man. I’m moving as fast as a cripple can,” She teases, rounding the bed to climb into the empty side. Kicking her boots off, she swings her legs into the bed. There’s just enough room for her, but only if she presses against Steve by just a touch. “If this is too close—“

“It’s not—“

“Okay, well—“

“‘Key?” Steve’s voice wavers, soft and unsure of himself, despite the habitual teasing. “Can you— shit, this is stupid—“

“Whatever it is, it’s not stupid.” She reassures blindly. “Ask me.”

Steve takes a deep breath, nerves seeping through the overly confident demeanor the drugs gave him. “Can you… can—“ He sighs, frustrated with himself, before blurting out, “Can you hold me?”

Frankie doesn’t answer, not verbally; already on her side, she winds her arms around Steve’s torso, hugging him lightly from behind.

“This okay? You’re comfortable?”

He just nods definitively.

“Steve… your gown is open.”

He panics, shooting up and throwing a hand behind himself to try closing the opening, until he feels Frankie shake against him with laughter.

“You’re such a— quit laughing!” Steve laughs as he tries demanding this of Frankie. 

“M’sorry, it was just— the opportunity was there, I had to take it.”

He sighs, suppressing his grin, his chuckles, laying back down. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Best place to have one though, no?” Frankie settles down, snuggling closer to him; her position is certain, yet leaves room for Steve to distance himself if he wants. 

He doesn’t answer with words, just tugs her arms closer around his body, her hands to his chest.

“Hey, Frankie?”

“Mhm?”

“Thank you. I know those migraines aren’t exactly life threatening, but…” He trails off, closing his eyes before admitting the truth, “They make it so… so hard to want to be alive. I’m grateful for your help. I’m sorry you had to witness that, but I— you—“ Oh, fuck it. “I didn’t expect to become so attached to our friendship, to you. But… I’m one lucky, unlucky son of a bitch to have someone in my life like you.”

Frankie feels her tears well her eyes; her and Steve are both so easily emotional— it comes with the territory of being sick on a regular basis. Who wouldn’t be? Realistically, how can you expect someone in the depths of internal and external pain to navigate this life with ease?

Neither of them are cured from the security of this friendship, but it’s reassuring to both that neither are alone in this fight against the bodies they pilot, day in, day out. No definite future for either separately, but at least they can navigate it together. 

Frankie’s almost sure Steve’s asleep, so she speaks up to make sure.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

She sighs, pushing her sentiment into words, solidifying the security of their friendship, at the very least.

“Whatever hell you lived through,” Her voice wavers while on the precipice of sleep, barely heard under the heart monitor’s routine beeps. “I’m glad you survived.”

He’s half asleep, heart monitor rolling to a steady crawl “M’glad I survived, too.”

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: Finn's sleep deprivation comes to bite him in the ass. The issue is technically not solved but hey it's angst so :P. Word count: 3031

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

Break

The exam results were out. Finally, after weeks of waiting, the fates of every student of Night Raven College were stamped onto a large board, strung up within the hall of mirrors for everyone to see.

Finn stood amongst the crowd of students clamouring to see their results, wincing at the noise. Azul had wandered off to speak to Riddle, greeting the Heartslabyul dorm leader with a grin and an endless string of compliments, and the twins were nowhere to be found.

Finn didn't mind. He was rather occupied with searching for his own position on the board with heavy, tired eyes. Last term, he had been thirteenth in the grade, but he was no longer there, and he couldn't find-

There. Nineteen. He was still in the top twenty but... he dropped six places.

Finn bit his lip and linked his hands together nervously.

No... no, he studied so hard, he went through so much work dozens of times, he asked Azul to quizz him, he... he...

The noise around Finn faded into a haze, and he stared at the board blankly, his mind running wild with a hundred different thoughts. He barely noticed the students brushing past him and snapping at him to move. He just stood there and stared.

Six places. He dropped six places.

"Finn, the bell went. We need to get to class."

Finn turned his head to find Azul looking at him, then turned back to the board. "...Okay."

Azul frowned and followed his gaze, reading through the list until he got to Finn's name and he started.

"Ah. The... potion didn't work, then?"

Finn nodded, and Azul sighed.

"Why didn't you tell me-"

"We're going to be late." Finn abruptly cut him off and began speedwalking down the hallway to the alchemy lab before Azul could protest.

He had a practical now. Not for marks, but a joint class test run for next term. It seemed Crewel had a desire to make his students suffer one last time before the holidays.

No matter. It was fine. Finn was good at alchemy. Well, he was good at getting the ingredients correct, at least. But he was partnered with Riddle. It would be fine.

He was right. Everything was fine at first. Riddle was already there with the cauldron ready, unsurprisingly, reading carefully through the ingredients with his brows furrowed in concentration.

They exchanged greetings and settled into mutual silence, working in a slow, steady tandem.

Finn enjoyed working with Riddle. There was no hesitation, no umming and awing or trying to make small talk. Riddle worked quickly and precisely, without stupid mistakes, and if Finn were to cut something too large or stir too fast, the redhead would correct him and carry on.

Things were going well. The potion was looking perfect, and they were further ahead than most of their classmates.

There were a few times when Finn's vision doubled, and his hands started to shake, but it wasn't anything to worry about.

Finn winced. His head... felt fuzzy. He wasn't dizzy, but he didn't have a headache either. He wasn't an idiot. He knew it had something to do with his lack of sleep the past few weeks.

It wasn't his fault. Ghostly blank stares and the distant sound of high-pitched wailing wasn't something he could magic away.

Still. It wasn't detrimental. He still had dreamless nights, though those were getting rare, and he made up for it during the day. It didn't affect his work. That was much was obvious by the potion's progress. All it needed was a garlic clove and-

The mixture turned dark red instead of golden brown, and Finn blinked.

He heard Riddle gasp and a pit formed in his stomach.

"Finn, you're not supposed to put garlic cloves in a healing potion-!"

Riddle was turning red but trying to calm himself down through sharp, fast-paced breaths.

"You- the whole potion's ruined, I-"

Finn didn't answer him. He stared blankly at the oily surface of the ruined mixture, stupefied. His own reflection stared back at him, sleep deprived eyes and all, and then... five more.

He caught sight of those empty black sockets, and a sharp spike of fear shot through him. He jumped back with a poorly contained yelp, nearly knocking into the person behind him.

Riddle's nostrils flared, and he took off his safety goggles to pinch the bridge of his nose and draw in a deep breath. He put his goggles on the table next to him and stared at Finn with large grey that shone in a mix of anger, frustration, and... concern?

"Finn, you never get ingredients wrong. Are you alright?"

Finn was too surprised to answer at first, but after a moment or two of staring at Riddle, he shook his head. "I'm fine. I misread the ingredients. I apologise."

Riddle furrowed his brows and crossed his arms, unsatisfied with the answer.

Finn suddenly felt very wrong and uncomfortable because this was not what they should be doing, this was not how things went. They can't sit here chatting. They need to restart, to try again. Why was Riddle looking at him like that? Like he cared about him and not the ruined potion? Like he was worried?

"You never make mistakes like that." Riddle insisted. "That's why I like having you as a partner. You look tired, have you been getting enough sleep?"

The question triggered a hundred different memories of the same sequence at once. Get ready for bed, take a dreamless potion, go to sleep, wake up crying, screaming, or thrashing, spend the rest of the night wide awake and too terrified to look at any reflections, rinse and repeat.

"Plenty." Finn said, sounding calmer than he felt. "Empty the cauldron. We'll start again."

Riddle didn't press further, and with their combined efforts, they just barely managed to finish in time for the bell. The potion was rushed and imperfect, but at least it was finished.

Finn apologised to Riddle once again for his mistake and promised to make it up to him, then shuffled off to take off his lab wear.

"Mister Clearcove, pay attention."

Finn's eyes flew open at the sudden voice, and he looked up to see his ancient curses professor giving him a stern look. Wait. Ancient curses? He didn't even remember coming into the classroom. He was just taking off his lab wear, wasn't he?

Did he fall asleep during class? No, he couldn't have. No matter how exhausted he was, he never allowed himself to fall asleep. ...It seemed he had failed this time.

Finn had to fight to stay awake throughout the rest of the day. Every time his eyelids slid shut, they would stay that way until he forced them open again.

The only things that woke him up properly were the brief glimpses of them in the windows, but even those shots of adrenaline were quick to fade, leaving him exhausted yet again.

Finn usually looked forward to clubs, as it was a quiet, pleasant time for him, but now... it was just another obstacle in between him and the end of the day.

Malleus was talking about... something. The history of gothic architecture and its impact, Finn was pretty sure. It was difficult to concentrate on his words.

"Finn." Malleus said, and Finn blinked at him. "You not listening again."

Finn could see the irritated furrow of Malleus' brows, the way his mouth dipped into an expression far too pouty for that of a prince.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, not for the first time. He sent Malleus a tight-lipped smile. "Please, continue. I'll be sure to pay close attention."

By the time his astrology class rolled around, Finn felt like he'd been run over by a train and then wrung out like a cloth.

Peering through the telescope provided by the school made his eyes ache even more, and trying to concentrate on the constellations above them made his head pound.

The stars kept blurring. He couldn't focus on them. His fingers trembled as he tried to sketch with his free hand.

"Your positions are a little off, Clearcove."

Finn clenched his teeth to stop himself from saying something rather foul and raised his head to send Professor Da Costa a smile.

"Thank you, Professor. I'll correct that immediately."

He began erasing his work with furrowed brows, blinking away another brief moment of double vision.

"Are you alright, Clearcove?"

Professor Da Costa was still peering at him, concern flickering in his dark blue eyes. He was always concerned for the well-being of his students, but really, did he have to pry like Riddle?

"I'm fine, professor." Finn said, gnawing in his lip in an attempt to keep the irritation out of his tone.

The professor raised an eyebrow at him but simply nodded his head. "Take care of yourself, Clearcove." He said, smiling a little, then carried on towards the other students.

Finn huffed and went back to peering through the telescope.

By the time his school day officially ended, Finn was bumping into corners and nearly tripping over himself on the way to his room in Octavinelle.

He collapsed onto his bed as if he'd spent all day running with a relieved sigh, pressing his face into his pillow. He was glad to have a room to himself, for once, with no noisy roommates to bother him.

Finn would have fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow if it weren't for the nagging reminder of his shift at Mostro Lounge in the back of his head.

He peeled himself from his bed and rifled through his bedside drawers for the key to his cupboard. He passed by his dressing table, glad he had thrown a sheet over the mirror the night before. But looking at it now made him realise he would have to deal with the reflective surfaces of bottles, glasses, the glass wall, and more.

Thousands of reflections. Thousands of eyes.

Maybe... maybe he should ask Azul if he could take the night off.

'Don't be stupid,' said a little voice in the back of his head. His voice. 'Just because you're together doesn't mean you should expect special treatment. You're not special. You need to pull your weight.'

But he felt so tired.

'Everyone's tired. They don't even hurt you. They just give you bad dreams. What's next, running home crying to Papa?'

Finn growled something crude and pulled his dorm uniform out of the cupboard. He stared at it, at the suit jacket and bow tie and suspenders that promised relentless noise and too many reflections.

He sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Usually, Mostro Lounge was an odd sort of comfort for him. It reminded him of Azul, Jade, and Floyd, and it was peaceful when it was closed.

Now, though, everything Finn could possibly dislike about it was amplified. The lights were so bright it made his eyes water and his head hurt. The hubbub of voices and people eating was pounding inside his head. There were too many reflections.

The polished floor, the glasses, the bottles, the plates... too many things were just reflective enough for Finn to want to blindfold himself.

His eyes were heavy and sore, and Finn was yet again considering asking Azul if he could just... stop. Hang on, he couldn't think about that right now. He was busy.

...What was he doing again? Drinks, right. That was his job. Make drinks, listen for information. Except he couldn't really hear anything very well. Everything around him was just a blur of noise.

Someone ordered... something. That Pomefiore student, yes, he wanted Azul's new special drink.

Finn sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly. He hadn't felt this exhausted in a long time. The dreams had gotten worse recently. He didn't know why. Did they want something? Were they bored of his fear and decided to bring it up a notch?

The sound of glass breaking pulled Finn back into reality. He blinked once. Twice. Tired eyes drifted in the direction of the sound, which was... right at his feet.

Glass shards lay scattered across the once pristine floor, blue and pink liquid slowly forming a small puddle.

A thousand warped reflections of himself gazed at him, a thousand pairs of eyes, and he raised his hand to cover his face, only to find his gloves stained red.

Finn's vision began to blur, and a sudden high pitch ringing began echoing through his ears, and Finn took a step back.

Staff and students alike stared him before slowly turning back to their tasks when his eyes met theirs, a low chatter starting up again.

"I-" Finn turned to look at the second year the drink was for and swallowed. "I apologise. I'll fix that right away."

He went to clear up the mess, silently hoping he didn't look as embarrassed as he felt.

The blurry shape of a cane came into view, hitting the ground with a sharp thud. Finn wondered if he should just crawl into the ground and fade away.

"Finn," Azul's voice was stern. "That's coming out of your pay. You clearly aren't fit to work tonight. You can make up your shift next week."

Finn picked himself off the ground, glass shards in hand, and stared at Azul. "But-"

Azul gripped his arm and led him to a quieter corner, away from the eyes and ears of their fellow students.

To others, it would seem like the Octavinelle dorm leader, strict as he was suave, was pulling Finn aside with a grip strong enough to bruise to deal a punishment.

But for Finn, Azul's grip was tight but not painful. His voice barely filament-thin whisper only Finn could hear, was both serious and... worried.

"Do you want to stay in my room tonight? Or the twins'?"

Finn shook his head. "No, thank you. That won't be necessary."

Azul's grip tightened a little bit. "You're not sleeping-"

"I'll be fine." Finn said, suppressing the urge to just... hold Azul's hand. "I haven't seen them much today."

Azul stared at him for a while before reluctantly releasing his grip. "Tell us if you need something." He said, then walked away.

Floyd and Jade... weren't there. No, they were in the kitchen. Finn wondered if he should tell them he was leaving. ...No, they could figure that out themselves.

Finn left the lounge in a daze, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest.

'Idiot,' hissed that little voice when he shut his bedroom door behind him and sat at his desk and pulled off his gloves. 'You made him angry. Dropping a glass, really now-'

'It was an accident,' Finn's brows furrowed, and he began carefully removing the tiny shards of bloodied glass from his palm. 'I was tired. I blacked out.'

'And broke an expensive glass that only comes in sets. You think he'll accept that pathetic excuse? '

Finn's fingers curled tightly.

'It's always some problem with you. Too tired, too afraid, too overwhelmed. Nightmares, panic attacks, hyperventilating... do you do anything but make the others stress and worry? They probably question if it was worth choosing you.'

"Be quiet." Finn snarled, slamming the tweezer onto the table with a loud bang. The voice went silent.

Finn began rummaging through his drawers to find his makeup remover. It was always a pain trying to get everything off by himself without using a mirror, but he'd rather have sore eyes than look at them.

Getting ready for bed was... difficult. Finn was used to clothes now, but his exhaustion had him struggling to put his pyjamas on like an idiot.

He made the mistake of glancing out the window to see how late it was. It was pitch black outside, so he locked eyes with his own reflection and caught sight of his personal apparitions yet again.

Finn sucked in a breath and stared at the wall instead, undoing his bun and letting his hair fall to his shoulders.

They were still reflected in the window when he finished getting ready, which just irritated and scared him more because this stupid dorm could install an entire restaurant underwater but not a curtain rail for the dorm rooms.

Finn climbed into bed and turned away from the window, stiff and uncomfortable. His eyes, although sore and heavy, refused to shut. Finn felt the dread crawling up his spine, and he kept turning around to check the window. Just in case.

In case of what?

He struggled with keeping his eyes open all day, and now that he could finally sleep, he was wide awake? What a load of bullshit.

Finn threw off his covers and got out of bed. He pulled open his drawer, grabbed two keys, then left.

The twins' room wasn't far from his. In fact, they were on the opposite side of the hall, two doors over. Finn wasn't entirely sure why he was going there.

Finn found himself rummaging through their cupcoards, feeling a little bit pathetic.

Jade's extra scarf was wrapped around his neck, and one of Floyd's jerseys was pulled on quickly, though it was much too big for him.

He wasn't cold, but the warmth he felt then was nice. He felt better. A little more comforted. The twins weren't actually there, but this was close enough.

He exited the twins' room and quickly made his way to Azul's. It was at the very end of the hall, the only door at the dead end wall.

The next thing Finn knew, he was collapsed on Azul's bed, buried under the covers. He felt warm, and he felt safe. He could smell Azul, and he could smell Jade and Floyd. Azul, Jade, and Floyd meant safe.

Finb wrapped his arms tightly around himself, gripping Jade's scarf as if he feared it would run away. His brain seemed satisfied with this setup, even if his siblings were also reflected in Azul's window.

Finally, he felt himself relax and heavy, tired eyes slid shut at last.

-End

...........................................

A/N: Sorry if the ending is a little off I didn't know how to end it 🥲

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @am0nline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts

[changingplumbob]

Pancakes Household: Chapter 9, Part 10

First night with an infant...

CW: Distressed infant, adoption distress

Since Tiana cannot communicate her thoughts will be in brackets

Eliza: Goodnight little one, I’m so glad you’re here. If you need help in the night Daddy will be on it, okay? Sleep well *kisses*

Eliza leaves and Tiana is feeling how tired she is. She’s feeling sleepy but doesn’t understand where mother has gone. She had a mummy but she hardly saw her before some person in a suit took her away. She was in a stuffy place that was noisy for a while, she didn’t like it there. She likes it here but where have mother and daddy gone? Were they temporary to?

Tiana panics. Maybe they don’t love her either. Maybe they’re leaving her here to starve. Yes she was just fed but that’s not the point. She is alone again! Feeling betrayed she bursts into tears.

Bob: Now now, what’s this? I could hear cries from down the hall

Tiana: *sniffles* (better stop crying, daddy might not like it, might get lady in suit to take me away again)

Bob: Do you want some company? Well daddy can stay here until you fall asleep, huh? How about that. You just lie there and daddy will tell you a story

Tiana: *cries* (I snuggly sleeper, I want company)

Bob: It’s okay honey, shush now, shush. Daddy is right here. Once upon a time there was a very badly behaved girl, and her name was Goldilocks

Bob continues to spin his story of the misbehaved girl who thought it was okay to break into houses. He spends extra time on the food section of the story. Eventually Tiana yawns, stretches, closes her eyes and begins to snore

Bob: And that is why you should never trust blondes. I did it? I did it! Oh, fudge, quiet *switches to whisper* goodnight honey, dream of sweet food

He attempts to tiptoe out of the room, doing his best to stay quiet.

By the time Bob returns with the baking book he’s meant to be studying Ginger has come in to join the snoozefest. Bob smiles and looks over the finer points of crust assembly, he needs to learn this stuff for promotion. After an hour or so Ginger wakes up and Bob ushers her to the lounge before she can start barking beside the sleeping infant.

Bob: So here’s the plan, if Tiana is sleeping we don’t bark, okay?

Ginger: *barks* It’s not me you should worry about, Strawberry is the vocal one

Strawberry: *yaps* What an accusation, some sister you are

It turns out that Tiana hates wake up time! In the early hours she wakes up very sad! She had a bad dream with lots of loud noises and wants some comfort. Looking out she sees an empty nursery and worries. Should she cry for attention or will that make mother and daddy go away? She cried and mummy went away. It’s too much for Tiana and she begins to sob. Luckily for her someone was deliberately listening out for her.

Eliza: It’s okay Tiana, mother is here, it’s okay honey

Tiana: *blubs* (mother came for me, maybe mother does love me)

Eliza: Come with me Tiana, up we go

Tiana: *sniffles* (Go where? Not away from mother)

Eliza: Are you a bit sad? Let’s have a snuggle huh? I love a good snuggle with my daughter. Who’s that? Is that you? Yes it is. You’re my daughter, yes you are

She lays a slightly happier Tiana on the changing table and begins the process of giving her a new diaper. Suddenly a pungent odour hits her about the head.

Eliza: *gags* Thank the watcher life with Bob prepared me for fumes like this

Tiana: *smiles*

Eliza: Does a new diaper make you happy huh? Let’s get rid of that yucky yucky smell

Tiana smiles up at Eliza as she finishes changing her.

After a feeding session that didn’t end in spitting up Eliza gets Tiana in her outfit for the day (it has been clearly marked as day attire by Bob) and settles her onto the playmat.

Eliza: Shall we have some playtime Tiana? What’s this hmm

Tiana: *smiles*

Eliza: It’s a ring and we can play with it. See how mother is playing? It’s fun! You have rings of your own there if you want to join in

Tiana: *smiles*

Eliza spends a good half hour entertaining Tiana and near the end it seems like the infant wants to join in. She eyes up one of the nearby hanging toys and reaches out her arm to try grab it.

Eliza: Are you reaching? Well done my baby *claps*

Tiana: *pouts*

Eliza: Don’t worry, you’ll be able to reach it eventually. Shall we have some tummy time? When you get big and learn to sit up you’ll be able to reach the toys all by yourself

Eliza: Come on now Tiana, can you lift your head for mother

Tiana: *cries* (it’s tricky)

Eliza: Come on honey, keep trying, you can do it

Tiana: *whimpers* (I’ll try)

Eliza keeps providing encouragement and after some time Tiana successfully holds her head up!

Eliza: Oh well done you! Aren’t you clever

Scooping Tiana off the mat Eliza gives her a big cuddle to celebrate.

Eliza: Just you wait until we tell daddy, he’ll be so impressed with you

Tiana smiles and Eliza holds her up to give her a kiss before returning to a snuggle.

Bob: Alright, who’s ready for time with daddy? Where’s my little princess

Eliza: Right here, and I think she’s got a surprise for you

Tiana smiles at Bob as Eliza passes her over.

Bob: Hello beautiful. Is surprise code for dirty diaper

Eliza: *laughs* no, she’s been changed and fed, but put her on the playmat and see what happens

Bob: See what happens. Sounds rather mysterious. How about it Tiana, shall we have some tummy time

Tiana continues smiling and Bob places her down gently while Eliza goes to get another couple of hours of sleep.

Tiana begins to cry on her tummy and Bob worries that she wants Eliza to come back. He knows he can’t go running to Eliza for help with everything though, he won’t build his bond with his daughter by hanging back.

Bob: Can you show daddy what you did with mother huh? Can you do that Tiana

Sniffling Tiana raises her head and looks at Bob.

Bob: You’re lifting your head? Oh that’s great! Come here honey

Bob pulls Tiana up and snuggles her close gently kissing her forehead.

Bob: It sounds like you’ve been up for a while now, would you like a nap? How about that? A nap with daddy

Settling into the rocking chair Bob holds Tiana as she yawns and falls soundly asleep.

Previous ... Next

[coveted-covey]

a/n: minors please don't interact. blank and ageless blogs are going to be blocked. 🚶‍♀️ this was supposed to be posted a month ago but I got stuck 1.6k words in. literally that one bake off meme except it went like "started writing it. had a month's long block. but here it is now so bon appetit." ...anyways!

cw: Cove and reader are 23 (step 4 age!), established relationship, making out, some s*xual tension (note sure if this cw is needed), multiple mentions of alcohol and reader drinking/getting drunk, slightly OOC!Cove, but I totally see him doing it if push comes to shove and so here we are… or maybe I’m just projecting! :D this is also not beta read. but either way, enjoy! let me know if I missed anything else in the tags.

Word count: 2,016

You're 97% certain that you're going crazy. 

That or there's something in the air, but whatever it is you realize that you don't really care. Nothing comes close to the urgency that is Cove James Holden.

With spasming hands, you grab ahold of his hair as you try to breathe in between the small gaps that you afford yourself. When that becomes insufficient, you press yourself further into his personal space.

“[Name], w-wait–” Cove gasps as you bite his lower lip. “Let's go inside first–” 

You stop your assault of his mouth, replacing it with your gentle thumb instead. Cove’s brain is short-circuiting and your rapt attention at his lips is absolutely not helping. You giggle as you tug his lips down with your thumb. “Your lips are so swollen, baby.” 

He lets out a groan of half-embarassment and half-wantonness. “I shouldn't have let you drink tonight.” Realizing that he should use the opportunity of you not pressing your own to his lips as of yet, he quickly grabs his keys from his pocket then opens the door of his apartment.

The low creaking of the door captures your attention, then you dangerously swerve as you snap your attention back to him. “Ahh, here it is! Homeee~” you drawl.

He grabs your waist as you almost bump to one of his floormates passing through the corridor. “[Name], be quiet,” he mutters lowly then quickly apologizes to the old lady, cheeks reddening. If it could go any redder at this point, that is.

He leads you inside and you lean your full weight against him. He didn’t even stagger. You would have marvelled at his strength if had you been paying attention, but alas you were briefly distracted by the little to no light that welcomed you as you stepped into the threshold.

“It's so dark here. Why is it so dark?” You whine. 

Cove shuts the door then puts down your bags beside his shoe rack. He wordlessly flicks the light switch on then turns to you. “Sit down here for a second.” 

“Hmm?” Your eyes blink at the blue lounge chair he's patting. When you make no move, he gently sits you down then moves to take off your shoes.

You stare at him, eyes slightly unfocused. “Hey…”

“Yes, [Name]?” He looks up at you from the floor and you giggle.

You lean into his ear. “You look good kneeling.”

“God.” 

Cove looks up then mutters something underneath his breath. He closes his eyes shut, lips in a deep frown and brows furrowing despite the bright blush on his cheeks. You're going to be the death of him.

A beat passes.

He clears his throat. “I’m gonna help you change your clothes and then I’m putting you to bed, okay? Come on,” he gives you his hand to help you up, but you lightly swat his hand away.

“Nooo, I want a piggyback ride!” 

Cove tries to think back to the first time you got yourself this inebriated. Except nothing comes close to mind. There was that one time your parents let you have wine on your 18th birthday, but that was in the privacy of your own home, and you were not allowed to stay up with Cove with just the both of you. With all things considered, then, this would be the first time. He has half a mind to call the Last’s but didn’t, considering the both of you are full-grown adults at this point and he’s capable of taking care of you tonight.

He is… right?

Your head lolls a bit to the side, then leans back next to his head. “You’re so warm,” you hummed as you tightened your arms around his shoulders.

“You are, too. I’m gonna put you down now, ‘kay?”

Your lips tremble, your intoxicated mind irrationally offended with the thought of him going away from you. You hiccup. “Are you mad at me?” Another hiccup. “Don’t let go, please?”

“[N-name], are you crying? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!” he tries to look at you, but human heads can only turn up to a certain angle. “I won’t go away, I promise. I’m just gonna let you down on the bed.”

You sniffle, nodding despite Cove not facing you. “Okay…”

You feel what you can only assume as his mattress beneath you as he deposits you down onto the soft covers. You come face to face with his worried face as he examines your countenance with his hands on both sides.

“Don’t cry,” he swipes his thumb at a stray tear, his heart breaking at the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips. “I think you’re underestimating your own importance in my life,” he lets out a sad chuckle. “I’ll never, ever, let you go out of my own accord. You’re it for me. My soulmate, the love of my life. I’ll spend forever loving you if I could. So don’t cry, okay? Honestly you would have to be the one to decide if you get sick of me at some point, and only then will I consider leaving you. But until then—and God knows leaving you, ever, is not what I would want—I’m yours.”

He ends his speech with a tender kiss on your forehead.

Being reasonably touched and rightfully overwhelmed at your boyfriend’s reaffirmation of his love aside, it seems like the alcohol is affecting you so much worse than you would have liked. It’s getting embarrassing and sober you would definitely hit yourself upside the head with how ridiculous you’re reacting.

You start sobbing.

“Waaaahh, I love you so, so, so much!” you wail as you bury your face on his stomach, hugging him in a vice grip. Cove can only hug you as tight as your positions can allow him, rubbing your back soothingly as he tries his best to calm you down.

A couple minutes of uncontrolled sobbing and you getting helped by Cove to get cleaned up for bed later, you’re now snug under his covers, waiting for him to come back from the kitchen to get a fresh glass of cold water.

“Here you go,” he puts the glass on the sidetable and you sit up to drink it. You gulp down the refreshing water in no time.

Having calmed down from the blindsiding, alcohol-driven, emotional outburst earlier, you can only look at him sheepishly as you are hit with sudden clarity. “I’m sorry for the, uh, sorry for being unreasonable earlier. I’m 100% blaming the alcohol,” you laugh lightly. You try to ignore the urge to pinch yourself out of embarrassment.

“Are you feeling better now?” he gives you such a heavy look that you can’t help but find the texture of his covers particularly interesting. Great, now you’ve disappointed him.

 “Yes, yes, I do. I’m really sorry about earlier, I was probably being a bother. I’m not sure I will swear off alcohol completely, but I’ll try to keep it to an ultra reasonable amount and not end up being completely hammermpgh—”

Cove leans forward and takes your lips against his own, shutting you up and pushing you back down on the bed in the process. “Don’t misunderstand, you can do whatever you want as long as you’re not totally endangering yourself and I will take care of you, but it seems like we’re still not seeing eye to eye in one crucial thing.”

Your head still reeling from the kiss, you can only open and close your mouth like a silly guppy. “W-what—”

“You’re not being a bother to me. Not ever,” he frowns, peeved at, and saddened by you downplaying yourself. “You never have to apologize for the things that I do for you because I love you and you’d do the same thing for me in a heartbeat.”

“But I—”

The rest of your sentence was interrupted by your beloved boyfriend leaning in once again to capture your lips in another searing kiss. “None of that,” he murmurs from above you, and your heart starts to race at the palpable tension between the two of you. “Do you understand, [Name]?”

You take in his state from above you, his eyebrows furrowed, pupils dilated, cheeks rosy pink, and lips deliciously swollen. You gulp as you feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I-I do. I understand.”

“Good,” he whispers lowly, and you’ve never wanted to shriek so hard in your life. You try to look back in your whole relationship with your neighbor-turned-friend-turned-best friend-turned-childhood sweetheart-turned-boyfriend and try to pinpoint a time he was ever this… this… this INTENSE and HOT and you want to faint.

You think you are going to faint.

Presumably contented from your response, he finally pulls back and you’re left trying to settle your breathing. Before he can step away to get to his side of the bed, however, you abruptly sit up to grab at his sleeve.

“Wait.”

He stops, looking at you with questioning eyes. You almost balk but steel yourself, eyes glinting with newfound (and undoubtedly short-lived?) confidence. “Are you seriously going to leave like that?”

“Like what?” His wavy eyebrows rise and the edge of his lips curls up in a familiar way that basically told you that the jig is up. “Like what, baby? And for the record, you did look good underneath me.”

You can almost feel your ears blowing out smoke out of embarrassment. Did he just—

Well, two can play at that game.

You brace yourself harder then hit him with, “Well, if I looked so good, why don’t you do it again?”

He looks away, and you see the traces of his flush from his ear to neck becoming more and more vibrant.

Ah. There he is.

“A-aren’t you tired?”

With an unexpected gracefulness of a predator stalking its captured prey, you lean in close to his ear. “Not for you, I’m not.” Then you give him the most seductive look you can muster.

 He bites his lip and your eyes follow the movement. You watch as the gears turn in his head debating whether to be responsible and make you get some rest, or to give in to your temptation and give you what you want.

Breathing out shakily, he gently removes your grip from him and puts your hand on your lap. You look up at him in confusion. He smiles apologetically then gives you a tender kiss on the lips. “You need rest, [Name]. You had a long flight coming home.”

You huff and pout, conceding. “Okay… but I want my cuddles.”

He laughs softly at that. “And cuddles you will get.”

Cove then turns the overhead lights off in exchange for lampshade. Once settled under the covers, he also turns the remaining source of light off, and you immediately draw yourself to his warmth. His arms reach around you to pull you in closer. You sigh, content.

“I missed this. I missed you.”

Cove hums then gives you another affectionate kiss on the top of your head. He smiles as he pays attention to how perfect you feel against him, like two puzzle pieces finally being connected after so long of being apart.

“I missed you too, more that you’d ever imagine.”

You laugh lightly at that, giving a soft peck at his skin in front of you. Cove giggles, ticklish. “Not everything is a competition, Mr. Cove Holden.”

“Alright, alright,” he giggles, squeezing you closer to him. “Get some rest, [Name]. I love you.”

You smile to yourself as tiredness catches up to you and your eyelids become heavy. “I love—” You let out a small yawn that Cove also catches. You share another soft laughter, like two lovers sharing secrets under the blankets, a couple finally reuniting after a while of being apart.  “I love you, too.”

And with that, the two of you go into a peaceful slumber, with you vaguely thinking of getting back at him in the morning for not giving in to you earlier. Maybe he’ll be in for a surprise…

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: May 1

"Wicked Old Witch" by John Fogerty

[hihopelessromantics]

BOOM. FANFICTION

We have a dead OC haunting the narrative, we have absolutely soul crushing whump, we have hurt/comfort and a little sprinkle of hurt again at the end! What's not to love!

HELL YEAH! Another entry to the 7-rats-in-a-trenchcoat holy war cinematic universe!!!! Today is a gooood day

when I saw the mail icon I was like I HAVE BEEN CONTACTED YEAAAAAAA

today... is an even better day because we got more Saorise... I'm gonna cry.

You know, I didn't recognize that the "dead oc" was her until I saw her actual name, because in my mind she's still alive and running around as a vital part of the ten commandments. I haven't done anything but gently put her in the background of the daydreams with a cookie of her choice yet, because knowing she was Zeldris's only friend on top of being her own lovable self and now learning that she was a like sister to them both- my HEART 😭

i cannot touch that yet. it is holy. but one day, if I have your approval, I swear I'll make her a happy ending. bc that's what I've been doing since I was little for tragic narratives (Cough, cough, Darkstalker Legends, if you know you know) and now's as good a time as any to step up my game. just the prospect gives my heart the zoomies

me when a writer I love makes an oc and gives them the good angst: 👀 is mine to love? to cherish? to make fictional happy endings for? fictional happy endings that don't exist for the characters that don't exist, that are wonderful and die a horrible undeserved death that fits the themes and story so well my heart is screaming?

oh... so THIS is where that sketch is from...

can you tell I can't write tragedies but enjoy the themes and execution of them so much that I religiously read and corrupt them anyway? yeah 😍

[marcusagrippa]

becoming more invested in one random side character who is fucking dead by the time my main plot starts than the actual protagonist is just a rite of passage for my writing process at this point