#Also I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to make the coat thingy (I dunno what it’s called) work when tied around the waist

[tamblerdraws]

Behold

Joel of the Smallishbeans variety

[6esiree]

Why Alastor Wanted To Adopt Your Daughter Pt.2

“Mmm.”

“Yes, yes, that’s it! Mmm, and then ama.”

“Mm… aa… dada?”

“Yes—wait, no! It’s mm…ama!”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry, but did she just call you… dada? Like, daddy?” Lucifer inquired over a glass of whiskey from the bar, inebriated enough to tolerate the idea of holding a conversation with Alastor. “You, her dad—or a dad in general? That’s… ha!” He continued, a toothy grin overtaking his features as he watched the man’s ears fall back against his head. “That’s hilarious, honestly.”

The sound of your sweet, little 10-month-old daughter calling the Radio Demon her dad between a series of babbles was just… comical, to say the least. Alastor wasn’t her father, and as far as Lucifer could remember, he wasn’t your partner. While he noticed the way the two of you would gaze at each other from across the room when either of you weren’t looking, your eyes full of longing and an unspoken desire to unite as a blended family since he started looking after your baby, you still remained a single mother with a child without a paternal figure.

“My, my, has my memory failed me?” Alastor hummed from the parlor, his knees digging into the plush carpet as he sat in front of your daughter, holding an open canister of baby puffs in his clawed-hand. “Because I don’t recall asking for anybody’s opinion, better yet yours.”

“Mm…dada?” There it was, that term Alastor had come to dread out of guilt; but he couldn’t stay mad at your daughter, his sharp features softening as she scooted closer to him on her bum, her chubby little hands making grabbing motions at the sweet treats in his grasp.

The sight surely made Lucifer’s drunken heart flutter, but he also despised Alastor. He despised him so much that he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he congratulated him for your child’s first words, and how… interesting it would be if you just so happened to step into the room at the same time. That sardonic smile he reserved for him and him only would probably twist, turn, and contort into all of the unique ways he could smile to communicate how he felt before the corners of his lips ultimately fell as you gasped in shock—or worse… horror.

And almost as if Alastor knew that, his head snapped over his shoulder with a dangerous glint behind those red eyes of his that promised to make the fallen angel’s life a living Hell—or more like a living purgatory—so long as he decided to linger in the Hazbin Hotel. He was trying to make things right, fully comprehending the weight of your daughter’s words and how it could hurt you after she brought back a memory nestled in the deepest, darkest crevices of his mind. A memory of the person he cherished the most and missed oh-so terribly: his beloved mother.

The memory was so fleeting, and yet the way her gentle voice echoed in the back of his mind as he walked away from Cannibal Town and down the streets of Hell, your daughter clinging onto the lapels of his coat like a lifeline, had his stomach churning with guilt. He vividly recalled how much it had meant to his mother that his first word as a baby had been mama, especially after life had treated her so unjustly. So, it only made sense that he believed that you’d feel a similar way as a single mother.

“Here, little one, for being able to pronounce the ‘M’ in mama,” Alastor affectionately hummed to your daughter as he gingerly placed a puff in her palm, trying to ignore the ache in his heart. “Now, unless you have something of use to provide me,” He continued, refusing to look at Lucifer, “I suggest that you resume your ritual display of drunken mediocrity and leave me in peace.”

“Excuse me? Oh, you piece of—look, even if you teach her how to say mama,” Lucifer scoffed before bringing the glass of whiskey back to his lips, savoring the sensation of the thick, warm liquid slowly trickling down his throat, “The moment that precious little girl sees you, she’s going to call you…” and he purposely emphasized each vowel with that forked tongue of his, “…da-da.”

Oh, Alastor had had enough, and he made that known as his tendrils materialized underneath Lucifer’s barstool and traveled up and up and up, till they wrapped around the man’s limbs, twisting and turning on the length of his arm and constricting his muscles much like a snake would before forcing his hand closed just enough to shatter the glass in his grip, whiskey trickling down the counter and staining his pristine white pants. That certainly made Alastor feel a bit better. Just a bit. Although the way his eyes squinted in amusement said otherwise.

“I was going to offer you some help, but now that you’ve stained my favorite pants—“

“Oh, you wear those pants all the time! They were due for a good washing.”

“That’s not true! I have others like—you know what? Fuck you!”

“Ha-Ha! I’m beginning to think that’s exactly what you want to do.”

“Oh, I’d apologize to Adam for taking both of his wives first—which I don’t regret at all—before even entertaining the thought of touching you.”

“Every word that’s seeped past those wretched lips of yours have been completely and utterly useless—come now, little one. Let’s get going.”

“Well, what did you expect? I don’t like you, but—hey, hey! You can’t leave! What if her mom hears that she called you dad—“

“Wait, what?”

Your voice suddenly penetrated the room, the silence that immediately settled between the two squabbling men almost deafening, but at least the sound of your daughter munching on her baby puffs made the tension in the room more… palpable. More palpable than the truth both Lucifer and Alastor thought would be difficult to digest, that the life you had created dared to utter the word ‘dada’ instead of ‘mama’ as her first word; and while you had to admit that you were slightly disappointed, it had more to do with the fact that you hadn’t been able to witness such a huge milestone in your daughter’s life.

“Why didn’t you tell me she said her first word?” You asked Alastor as Lucifer practically scampered out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. In his defense, he had to clean himself up, even though he could easily do that with a mere snap of his fingers. “And that it was—“

“Dada!” Your daughter interrupted you, offering the man carrying her a puff. He accepted the puff, but he didn’t eat it because why would he?

He had you standing right there before him, confusion etched onto those soft features of yours that made his stomach churn with something he couldn’t quite put his claw on. And the way you stared up at him in anticipation only exacerbated that foreign feeling, his heart-rate picking up, his adam’s apple bobbing underneath his collar, and his palms turning sweaty. It was all so strange—everything he was feeling at that very moment, to be exact. Perhaps some sort of illness had spontaneously befallen him?

“I hope you are not upset, darling. I allowed her to call me so out of… well, I’m not quite sure why I allowed it, admittedly,” Alastor stiffly spoke, readjusting your daughter on his hip, feeling her slip from his sweaty grip. “But I can assure you that I tried to fix my mistake, the little one is just rather stubborn—“

As Alastor uncharacteristically rambled on about his initial shock over your daughter calling him dada, you couldn’t find it in you to be upset at anybody in the room, not even if you wanted to. Your baby was… well, just a baby, and the man unconsciously bouncing on his heels in front of you as he slowly dissolved into a nervous mess? He obviously cared for her, and if she regarded him as a paternal figure… well, that was just alright with you. And you made that unequivocally clear by bringing him in for an embrace, your daughter squealing in delight.

You rested your cheek on his chest, your hands splayed across his back as you held both of your favorite people in Hell close to you. With your ear right above his heart, you could hear it beating rapidly against his ribcage, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as his body relaxed in your embrace… but not his heart-rate. ‘Babies do what they want, Al,’ You spoke, moving your head up to look at him, his stare already fixated on you, but the best part was when his pupils dilated. ‘I’m not upset… just, tell me next time, okay?’ Of course he nodded, but he still wondered if—

“Oh, and if she calls you daddy, it’s alright with me,” You hummed, balancing yourself on your toes, your plush lips pressing against his chin in a fleeting kiss that had his tail wagging underneath his coat. Fortunately, you couldn’t see. “Her biological father is a deadbeat, anyway.”

“Duly noted,” Alastor chuckled, finally returning the embrace; and despite how much he enjoyed your kiss, it was the way you and your daughter fit so perfectly in his arms that had that foreign feeling in his stomach—that supposed illness—threatening to consume him entirely.

Want to read part 1? Here it is —> 🤍

[rustedhearts]

just friends (again) (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: you’ve convinced everyone around you that you and steve are just friends. now you just have to convince yourself—but it proves difficult when steve finally admits how he feels.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ just friends (part one) ✶ the library

tags: pining, yearning, they want each other so bad they're so stupid, little angst/hurt/comfort, oh steve harrington the man that you are. didn't proofread so ignore any mistakes oops.

buy me a ko-fi! (my blurb commissions are also still open!)

“I’m having a little carpet picnic.”

Julia Roberts’ voice filled the living room with a familiar warmth. The pinks and whites of the Beverly Hills hotel room from Pretty Woman coated the coach and the surface of your face with a gentle glow. The Chinese food you ordered a few hours ago was starting to stink. Even Ted, who was curled at your feet for most of your movie marathon, could no longer stand the vegetative life and scampered away.

It had been a week since Eddie broke things off. After Steve punched him, you spent the Sunday post-knockout calling and texting, hoping to sort things out. But Eddie never picked up. Eddie never replied. You figured stopping by the shop was a bit too far—if he wanted to talk to you, he would’ve by now.

So here you were, spending another weekend on the couch. Single. Broke. Lonely.

“He thought I was cheating on him,” is the excuse you have for getting dumped.

But the look on Theresa’s face when you told her is the first time it made you recoil. The first time you doubted that Eddie was 100%, entirely out of his mind.

Theresa winced into the overpriced lattes you were drinking at a curbside patio on Wednesday. “Well…I mean…”

And you gasped, mouth agape and heart hammering in your chest. What the fuck did that mean? Because you were just friends. All Steve ever was and is: your best friend. Why did everyone act like you were having a secret affair when the doors were closed on the public?

“You’ve gotta be kidding me—“

“I’m not defending the prick,” Theresa justified. “He was an asshole for talking to you like that. But I can see why he might have thought that. You and Steve are really close. Like…very close.”

“We’re friends,” you insisted.

And Theresa dropped it, holding her hands above her latte with innocent agreement. But her words haunted you the entire week. Every time Steve filled your coffee and had it ready on the counter for your commute to work (he even used your favorite travel mug). Every time he came home with a bag of peanut m&ms when he dropped by the store because it was the little treat you always asked for, but he didn’t even need to be asked anymore.

But like any other Saturday, the apartment was void of him for most of the day. He mumbled some excuse about going to the mall through your door this morning, and when he came home twenty minutes into Pretty Woman with an Abercrombie shopping bag, you knew he’d been date shopping.

“Hey,” he called to you, door clamping closed behind him. His keys jingled on their toss toward the table cluttered with half-opened mail.

Cheek squished against a throw pillow, body splayed flat on the couch, you cut him a glance sideways and adjusted the volume. “Hey.”

Steve kicked off his shoes and set his bag near the door, making your chest tighten when he immediately sauntered toward the couch. He turned to the tv with his hands on his hips.

He asked what he always asked, despite his eyes watching the very thing. “Watchya watchin’?”

“Pretty Woman.”

“Did you already watch Mystic Pizza?”

“Yep.”

Steve sighed. “Damn. Alright, well, scooch over.”

When he plucked your feet up and flopped down under them, he smelled like the sickeningly sweet butter of a soft pretzel, and the overwhelming stench of Abercrombie & Fitch. You couldn’t believe he still shopped there.

His hands were still resting on your ankles, bracing your feet against his jean-clad thighs. His touch was warm, soft, all-encompassing—and suddenly all you could think about even as Richard Gere came on screen. Steve's touch, his heat, the body those hands came attached to resting just inches away. He was wearing blue today. He looked so good in blue.

You swallowed and coughed, cheek rubbing on the pillow. Steve’s finger twitched around your calf.

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you croaked.

His eyes bored into you for a moment before he turned back to Julia Roberts. "Notting Hill or My Best Friend's Wedding after this?"

Your lips parted to reply, but then his finger began tracing shapes into the patch of skin between the bottom of your pant leg and the elastic of your sock. Air choked in your throat. Your eyes bulged on the glowing television screen. The muscles in the center of your body knotted and squeezed like nausea.

In your stock-still state, it didn't even occur to you that Steve somehow knew your entire I'm-sad-and-can-only-watch-Julia-Roberts-movies marathon setlist, but it certainly crossed your mind later on. You and Steve are really close. Maybe Theresa had a point.

"Um..." Your tongue darted out to lick your suddenly-dry lips.

"You good over there?" Steve chuckled, head tipping to gauge the features and their current predicament on your face.

You buried it further into the pillow, as far as it could go without hiding completely. "Yes, Steve, I'm fine."

Steve pulled back, settling into the couch again. "Jeez, oh-kay."

He waited a moment, and you inched free from your pillow enough to bring your eye back to the television, doing your best to focus on the movie you'd seen a million times and not Steve's hand sweeping under your pant leg. He'd done that a million times, too. Touched you. Felt you.

He held your hand when you crossed the road like a child that needed guidance. He braced your back to move you which way he wanted, and to pull you close when public situational occurrences arose that made him uncomfortable. He brushed your hair once when you were victim to an ungodly illness that had you picturing death. He removed your makeup on your birthday last year when you got so drunk you puked in the doorway.

His hands were always so gentle. His touch was always so soft.

But, God, why did it feel so different right now? Why did it feel so good?

"Want a mall haul?" Steve asked, too uncomfortable in the sudden silence of the living room. He was already standing and placing your feet back on their own before you could reply.

In your periphery, he headed toward the door to retrieve the bags he neglected. "Got a couple shirts to try. Also, am I too old for that store? I swear, everyone in there was like a little Taylor Lautner wannabe from 2012—meaning they were fourteen and on steroids—"

"Steve!"

He stopped. Standing at the edge of the rug with both hands on the corded handles of his Abercrombie & Fitch shopping bag to pull it open. The snicker gathering in his throat hitched into a snort, smirk drooping into wide-eyed surprise.

You never yelled. Not at him. Not at anyone that didn't deserve it, like the neighbors when they were arguing too loud again and you were trying to nap. Like the guy that tried to steal Steve's package a few months ago that you nearly tackled down the hall.

But never Steve.

You shot up on the couch, hands flying to your pounding head. "Just...please! I don't want a mall haul, I don't want to talk, I just...—I just wanna be alone."

Steve blinked, cheeks colored pink. He closed the bag slowly, paper crinkling as he went. He took it in one hand and backed up, stepping off the rug foot by foot. He glanced at Ted, who skittered in surprise at your outburst and was standing with an arched back and black pupils near the tv stand.

"Uh...yeah, okay. Sorry," he mumbled, scratching at the nape of his neck.

Your shoulders slumped, deflating into the couch as Steve turned his eyes to the floor and tugged at the back of his hair. That stress tick again—the one you hated causing. He turned slowly, caution stiff in his spine. You watched his finger twist and wind into a lock of chestnut hair as he trudged into the hall. His door clamped closed a moment later.

A heavy, moaning sigh shuddered from your mouth as you flopped back on the pillow. Two arms locked over your head, pressing down on your eyes to blind them and the horror you created.

"Slippery little suckers," Julia Roberts snickered on the screen.

"It happens all the time."

✶ ✶

You ate dinner separately. It was the first time you'd ever eaten dinner separately within the same four walls. Even the night you moved in together, when you were nothing but a pair of strangers gauging how weird it might be to live with the opposite sex without something romantic or sexual in the undertones—even then, you ate a greasy cheese pizza together on the living room floor with an empty box as makeshift table.

He asked all the right get-to-know-you questions, and when he successfully made you laugh with all his snarks and quips, you knew Steve Harrington would be an alright roommate. You never figured he'd become your best friend.

Tonight, you pouted into the salad you regretted purchasing yesterday because a "healthy" lifestyle was born and had died within the span of your forty minute shopping trip. And now, you wanted nothing but another wet, shiny pizza, and Steve Harrington's dumb jokes.

He ate in his room. Shuffled out while you were finishing Notting Hill and made another bland chicken-rice-and-broccoli dinner. And then he shuffled past you, shut his door, and ate it alone. Never even giving you a chance to tease his unseasoned plate for the purpose of "gains." You thought he could remain just as toned and handsome with flavor on his food.

By the time you were showered, redressed, and gurgling with lingering hunger, you were properly sour with guilt.

And maybe the black sweatpants with the bedazzled jewels on your ass were pulled on with manipulative purpose before you shuffled to Steve's door. You lingered there a while, gnawing on the skin around your thumbnail and glancing between the wood grain of Steve's door and the plush surface of your yellow slippers. At this proximity, you could hear the low hum of his radio behind the door. He had a strange affection for the 70s and 80s station.

If only you knew that it was because Steve knew "the all time hits of the 70s and 80s" were your favorite.

The radio dimmed, and a moment later Steve's voice called through the door. "I can hear you lingering out there."

You jumped, stepping away from the door. Your thumb returned to your mouth, teeth piercing the skin to nibble it away. The shuffle of feet and jingle of the doorknob came too swiftly for you to evade, and then the door swung open to reveal Steve in grey sweatpants and a tight red t-shirt. He looked good in red, too.

"Oh. Hi," you murmured, hand instantly dropping to your side.

Steve caged the doorway, biceps bulging on either side. You averted your eyes with a swallow.

He sighed. "Hi."

Steve watched you sweep a slippered foot back and forth like sloshing through water. He tipped his head and bit away a smile when he caught the edge of a jewel on your hip. His favorite sweatpants.

"Are you mad at me?"

Steve sighed again, this time a little shaken with laughter. "No, kid. I ain't mad at ya."

To prove his point, he nudged the door open with his palm and motioned toward the bedroom behind him. "Come on in."

You flopped on the edge of his bed, bounced up and down by old springs. Steve swung the door closed and joined you, easing back against his wooden headboard to reassume his rumpled position. He reached toward the nightstand and turned the knob on the radio to lower the Elton John song playing.

Steve snatched the small plastic basketball from behind the radio and tossed it in the air. "So, what's goin' on?"

You watched the ball soar into the air and come back down into his palm. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I was just...cranky."

Steve quirked a brow, catching your eye over an orange blur when he threw the ball again. "Yeah? That all?"

The corners of your mouth pulled down. "Yeah...? What else would it be."

Steve shrugged, chin turned up toward the ceiling as he watched the basketball fly toward it. Elton John died down and switched to Def Leppard. "Hysteria" was one of Steve's favorite songs.

"You tell me. You were having a Julia Roberts marathon."

"So?" Your thumb returned to your mouth, teeth ripping at the skin.

"You only watch Julia Roberts when you're sad."

"Not true."

Steve fixed his head straight again, eyes narrowing into a pointed look. The basketball sat in his right palm against his chest. You huffed, angling yourself toward the door to glare at it instead of your roommate and his smug, all knowing expression.

He waited a while, like he always did—waiting out your stubbornness and refusing to let it break him. You could talk to him, you knew that. He wanted you to know that.

"I guess..." You sighed, throwing yourself back on the bed with your arms locked over your eyes. "I guess I'm just upset that Eddie still hasn't called. I've been calling and texting him, but...he doesn't wanna see me."

Steve immediately felt every blood cell in his body curdle. Like they were burning and festering, irritated under his skin. He swallowed, bringing the basketball to sit between his knees where he could pick at the design with blunt fingernails.

"And you want to see him?"

You dropped your arms, letting them plop to your sides. "I mean...yeah."

Steve couldn't help it—he scoffed.

The sound had your head turning, brows furrowed his way. His head was shaking, eyes focused distinctly downward to avoid yours. All the smugness of his expression dimmed into something distasteful and angry.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Nothing."

"You scoffed."

"I sighed."

"No, you scoffed."

"Well—"

This time, Steve did sigh. He took the basketball in his hands and chucked it toward the door, causing it to boomerang off the wood and catapult back toward the mattress again. The sharp smack had you jolting upward, and your eyes widened on Steve when he hopped from the bed and stood to his feet.

"What the hell—"

"He's not good enough for you!"

You paused on weak wrists used to push you upward. Steve stood a foot away from the bed with pink cheeks and outstretched hands. They curled back toward him to sweep through his hair and tug hard at the roots.

"Steve—"

"He sucks. Alright? All your ex boyfriends sucked, but especially Eddie. He didn't understand you, he didn't appreciate you. He made you cry, for fuck's sake, and you want him back? I just don't get it."

Your lips parted, but it felt like gulping for water on dry land. And Steve watched, helplessly, as you stammered for words in the face of his impending and inevitable confession. Inevitably painful, he knew, but he could no longer stomach the tireless routine of finding the body closest to yours in another dark bar, hoping she would comfort him enough to soothe the ache he had for you.

You, who slept across the hall and shared the sofa with your head on his shoulder. You, who looked at him like some sort of light source with those little round eyes. You, who made his heart pound and weep endlessly every second that you were near, and every moment you were away—leaving him in a constant, centrifugal loop of torture.

So—knowing it might ruin every bit of good the pair of you worked so hard to keep—Steve stepped closer to the bed and swallowed. He prepared himself to form the words he'd practiced a million times over in his head.

"I just figured that eventually...you'd get tired of all the wrong guys, and realize that...I'm here. That it was me, that you loved me. Because I love you—don't you love me?"

He paused, but it would never have been enough time for your mind to process his proclamation. He had a look of such anguish embedded in his features, all scrunched and screwed together with wet, shiny eyes.

"And I figured it was easier to sleep my way around than sit and watch you waste your time with these idiots. But they were never you. And I never bothered to get to know them, because I only wanted to know you."

Your breath hitched when Steve crowded your corner of the bed, hands clasped over his chest. You had to tip your head back to meet his eye, and you felt your arms shake in their locked position holding you up. The sight of him blurred with the onset of your own hot, salty tears.

Steve sniffed: a wet slurp proceeded by a tear slipping down his cheek. He wiped it quickly and sank to his knees before you on the bed, hands coming to cradle your bent knees.

"I just can't take it any longer," he whispered, and his hazel eyes were like shiny coins gazing up at you.

His lips were wet with his own tears. His tongue swept them away. Every breath inhaled rattled in his chest, and every exhale shuddered his cheeks full. He chuckled when he rubbed his palm into his eye and turned it red, sweeping his forearm over his face to clear the tears again but they just kept coming.

"Fuck, say something, please," he huffed, lacing it with laughter despite its absence of humor.

Your throat felt like it swelled to twice the size. Sickness rolled in your stomach. But it only grew at the thought of breaking Steve's heart with your silence. Because the longer he looked at you with those almond eyes, and the longer he sniffled and massaged your knees to comfort himself—the more your heart crumbled.

"I...I don't know what to say," you croaked.

Steve inhaled again, stuttering through a sniffle. He wiped his cheek on your knee and chuckled again. "Yeah. Yeah, of course—it's okay."

"Steve—"

"It's okay," he insisted, scrambling to his feet. He backed away toward the door and you finished pulling yourself upright.

"Steve, wait—"

"Really, it's okay, honey. I'm just gonna...—we ran out of ice cream, so 'm gonna g-go—go get some. Mint chip, yeah? Okay."

He sniffled again upon his exit, slipping through a small crevice he opened the door to. The front door slammed shut moments later, and you rolled onto your stomach to unleash a scream into Steve's mattress.

"Stay tuned for more all time hits of the 70s and 80s!"

✶ ✶

Steve did not return with the mint chip until nearly midnight. It came in a plastic bag that announced his arrival even before the clamber of keys. Yet, it was the squeal of old hinges that woke you from your couch slumber, and you jolted upright as the door swung open.

Steve closed the door and stood there for a moment, spotting you in the dimness of the living room. You rubbed your eye and he shifted on his feet. Ted scampered off the couch and butted at Steve's calf.

He held up the plastic bag. "Got the mint chip. It's uh...it's all melted now, though."

You wanted to reply, to make him feel better again. His eyes were still pink and puffy, and you hated the thought of him spending hours in his car or another dark bar agonizing over what you might be thinking. Worst of all, regretting any of what he said.

Because you spent the past few hours doing plenty of thinking. You laid in his bed, curled on your side, and looked at all the pictures pinned to a cork board above his desk.

The sepia toned film strip from a wedding last fall where you took him as your date. You were smiling in every one, and to the unbeknownst you might have already appeared as a couple.

The Polaroid from his most recent birthday, where you were sitting on his shoulders and clutching onto his hair for dear life. His sister took the picture.

The black and white he printed from his phone of just you on a park bench, feeding the ducks. You never even knew he had that one.

And when you shuffled to your room, you suddenly stopped. The clack of hard-bottomed slippers caught your attention, and you looked down at the plush yellow footwear around your toes—a gift from Steve.

You stood on the other side of your bed and stared at the windowsill full of miscellaneous yellow items all gifted from Steve. The movie ticket stubs shoved in your mirror and the hundreds thrown in a box on your dresser because you'd probably seen a thousand over the years with Steve, who loved movie theater popcorn and sitting close to you in the dark.

The birthday cards he wrote extensive messages of well wishes and gratitude for your friendship in with terrible penmanship. The purse he bought you for that you said you liked in passing but would never spend that much money on, and the note still tucked inside the zipper that came pasted to the bag on Christmas morning:

Because you deserve it.

Love, Steve

And then you ended up on the couch, falling asleep watching the door and waiting for it to open.

Steve trudged to the kitchen while you were lost in thought, and you hurried to catch up as he swung the freezer open. He wrapped the plastic bag around the pint of the ice cream and stuck it on the top shelf, hand reaching to close the door—when he was pushed forward by a force crashing into him.

And then there was warmth around his stomach: two arms curling around his ribs. Two hands pressing to his stomach and pulling him in. Steve stopped, immobilized in the open freezer door.

"I'm sorry," you breathed into his shirt, eyes closed tight. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything, I was just so stunned. And I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot, Steve, for letting this go on for so long. Of course I love you, of course you love me—God, I just never wanted to ruin everything. But you make me so happy, and I—"

Steve spun around, causing your head to lift off his back. You went to drop your arms, but he instantly brought them around his neck. Two hands, still frozen from melting ice cream, braced your cheeks.

"You mean it?"

You nodded in his hold, happy to see his hazel eyes free and clear of tears. "Yes. Yes, of course I mean it—"

"Oh, thank fucking God," Steve breathed, and then his mouth descended on you.

You curled to the tops of your toes to press into his kiss, whimpering at the warmth and softness of his lips. It felt exactly as you thought it would—anticipating their plushness every time he pressed his lips to your cheek over the years.

It lasted until the pair of you were breathless, and you heaved for air upon release. Steve brushed his thumbs over your bottom lip, smearing spit and hemming your airless grin.

He kissed you all night, and let his hands roam where they could not roam before. You fell asleep in his bed tucked under his arm, and when you woke you shared the refrozen pint of mint chip with one spoon.

And when Steve called his sister while you were showering to share the good news, all she did was laugh.

"Jesus, about fucking time."

[woodland-gremlin]

Summoning Your Secret Boyfriend Pt. 2

Previous AU Summary

This post is dedicated @fanfics-or-dragons who wrote part of the post. I will put their part in bold. I would suggest checking them out, they write some really interesting stuff.

Previously:

The con man opened his mouth, looking like he was losing his mind, before just shutting his mouth and contemplated how his life got to this point. He was just fine conning demons, detective work for the occult, and doing the occasional good deed, but no,  he just had to get involved with the League of Goody-Two-Shoes who have no idea how to handle the supernatural. He was getting flashbacks to the time he realized that the Bats had no idea that they had a city spirit watching over them (he refuses to be the one to explain that to them). Or having to deal with the Flashes saying that magic wasn’t real. He wasn’t paid enough for the shit the League puts him through.

Constantine was always happy that there wasn't a teen version of the JLD cause he didn't want to have to chase kids around a bunch of demons, monsters, and other badies he deals with daily.

He is only now realizing that because there wasn't a teen version of the JLD that the young Justice team also dealt with the supernatural world just without any adult supervision cause none of the JLD or JL knew that they were. It was like they were trying to send him to an early grave. He blames Bats, he was the one to drag him into this crazy fest. You help a guy with something supernatural once and then suddenly you are a consultant to his Do-Gooder Club for anything involving the supernatural.

“And how and why do you know that Pariah isn’t the King anymore?” Constantine asked through grit teeth.

Supernova stills, finally realizing the danger of the line of questioning. He couldn’t lie, his crummy template would tattle on him immediately. But at the same time he couldn’t just avoid the question without people getting suspicious. So that left the last option. Being as vague as possible.

“Someone from the Infinite Realms mentioned it,” Supernova said with false casualness.

“What?”

While most of the League just looked confused, almost every member of the JLD looked like he just told them he invited Trigon to a tea party. Constantine especially looked pale, similar to how Danny looked in human form. Half-dead wasn't a good look on him.

“You’re saying that a citizen of the Infinite Realms, which is literally the glue of the multiverse, just told you that Pariah wasn’t their King anymore?!” the sad trench coat man asked desperately.

“Well, it was more like an example of how some of their rules work,” Supernova stated with no filter.

“That makes even less sense!” Constantine screeched, “Most of the citizens of that realm are beings of emotion that literally come into being knowing how things work. They don’t work by our rules and certainly don’t explain theirs. And you're telling me that they sat down and explained the rules without you losing your soul?! And that you understood what they were explaining too?! The rules that have been driving those in the occult crazy trying to figure out so they can avoid them without offending them??”

Supernova laughs nervously. “Well when you put it like that it sounds insane.”

“Because it is!” Constantine screams, “They literally say ‘hi’ by fighting each other. Not to mention even if they don’t try to purposely hurt you they often do due to how fragile we are compared to them. Even their weakest would be a challenge to our heavy hitters!”

To be continued . . .

Next

[midnightorchids]

I am kinda curious

What would Jason be like if the coffee Cafe owner!reader built in a small library in her Cafe just for him,like she saw he liked reading and went like 'yup. I am building a small library for him'

This is such a fun idea, but omg please forgive me, I went a little overboard. Once I figured out what to write, I couldn’t stop. I apologize for how long it is. But omg also, I was literally kicking my feet and giggling writing the end lol, Anyways enjoy!

Owning a cafe was a difficult job, there was always much to do— customers to attend to, drinks to make, and maintenance to do. You were always busy, but you loved your job.

You had spent a lot of time curating the perfect atmosphere for your beloved customers. The lighting was warm, with fairy lights and lanterns dangling from the ceiling. There was wooden furniture and two old couches that sat by the glass windows. The tiny space smelled of freshly brewed coffee and sweet bread. The cafe was always inviting. 

You had many regulars at the coffee shop, each one with their own story, a different purpose.

For the past six months, twice a week, every Thursday and Saturday morning, a tall man walked in. Jason, you recalled his name from the many times you prepared his drinks. He’d order the same thing every time, a small London fog and a walnut banana bread.

He’d sit at the table nearest to the entrance, his back never towards the door.

Every morning, he’d come in with a new book. You had seen him read Franz Kafka, Oscar Wilde and Jane Austen; he’d read a lot of Austen.

He was a mystery and you wanted to know more. 

You found Jason quite handsome. His skin was scattered with scars and you often found yourself staring at the permanent wound near his lips. You wanted to run your fingers along it, to trace it, to kiss it. 

His eyes were always kind, a deep shade of green, forest-like you’d think to yourself. 

He spoke with kindness. His voice velvety and rich, much like the espresso you’d brew everyday, except his voice was never bitter, almost always doused with honey. 

Sometimes you’d catch him looking over at the counter, at you, you’d hoped. 

Your coworkers were afraid of him, telling you to stay away, but you couldn’t help yourself. He was like an enticing book, waiting to be read. They’d warn you, “do not engage in too much conversation with the strange man.” But it was as if they were talking to a small child, their words would go in one ear and out the other.

“Strange,” you would never use that word to describe him.

From the small talk you had with him, to his choice in books, to even his taste in tea, you’d never describe him as strange.

Gentle was the word you’d choose.

He was huge, all height and muscle, terrifying to most, however to you, he was everything but that. You saw an angel and you didn’t even know him… yet, you’d tell yourself.

There were days, where you almost gained the courage to ask for his number, maybe ask for small detail, perhaps get a glimpse of his life. But each attempt was futile. Why was it so hard to speak to him for more than five minutes, you’d curse your inability to speak to attractive men.

-

You were beginning to give up on your dreams of getting to know the beautiful stranger, when he walked in through door.

The conversation began as per usual.

“Morning Jason, what can I grab you today,” you asked politely. He smiled softly in return and you stare at the scar by his lip as he begins to speak.

“Uhh surprise me,” you look at him confused, he’s never done that before and he finds himself smiling harder. “Just kidding, I’ll just the take the usual please,” he says as he places his copy of Jane Eyre on the counter to take out his wallet.

“Brontë, why am I not surprised,” you reply, gazing at the book. You take the cash from his hands and your heart drops. Shades of purple and crimson coat his skin. They’re bruised, again.

“What can I say, I’m a man of taste,” he smirks. You roll your eyes and giggle.

“Now who told you that,” and he shrugs. Then there’s a lull, you don’t know what to say now. It isn’t awkward, but you find yourself starting feeling a little uneasy. God, if you only you could come up with something else to say. You shake your head slightly and begin to warm up his banana bread.

You turn around and wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t walk away to his usual table this time, instead he takes a seat next to the counter. Odd, you thought.

Jason’s gaze doesn’t leave you for a second, he watches you in admiration, you don’t quite catch on.

If you thought Jason was handsome, then he thought you belonged in a museum. You were a work of art in his eyes. The kind of beauty they wrote poetry about. Absolutely stunning.

He wanted to get to know you, speak to you, but he was afraid. If you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, then he may never be able to see you again. The trips to the cafe would no longer be necessary and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

However today, Jason pushes his fears aside, he feels bold. He finds his confidence and he speaks.

“Do you read much,” he asks suddenly. You place his cup of tea and bread in front of him, and nod your head.

“I do, but not what you read,” you reply and he stares into your eyes, curious. “I mostly read magazines, you know Vogue and stuff,” his smile drops a little, he’s trying really hard to not look judgemental. Cute, you think. “Kidding, I read fantasy mostly,” and his face lights up again.

“So like J.K. Rowling,” he questions.

“No, Harry Potter’s good, but I’m not really a fan of her, you know as a person. I’ve been reading a lot Neil Gaiman recently though,” you say.

“Oh fuck, yeah, she’s said some pretty crazy stuff huh,” and you nod again. “Gaiman though, I don’t think I’ve ever read his stuff before, he any good,” he asks and your eyes go wide, you’re excited.

You spend the next hour of his visit speaking to him about books, about the things that you both like.

You only part from the conversation when there was a customer.

You’ve never felt this way before, all the assumptions you made about him were true. He was an angel, a kind and gentle one.

-

A month goes by and you notice your relationship with Jason change. Now, instead of sitting by the entrance of the cafe, he sits near you, back against the door. A sign of trust, you assumed. He smiled more, he showed his teeth and he laughed, hard. You loved the sound of his laugh. His eyes looked brighter, greener, emerald-like. He still walked in with a new book, but when the conversation began, it was long forgotten.

You watched his bruises heal and you watched new ones appear, you were always curious, but never had the courage to ask. He’d tell you when he was ready.

As time went by, you found yourself wanting to do something for him, you wanted him to know that you cared. You thought that if your words were going to fail you, then maybe your actions would prove otherwise.

-

Working a closing shift at the cafe on a gloomy Tuesday evening, you find yourself thinking of different gestures you could do.

Ideas came and left, nothing felt good enough. He deserved the best. Trying to busy your mind elsewhere, you begin to sweep the floors and that’s when inspiration hits you.

There, in the coffee shop, lies an empty corner. An odd spot, not necessarily small, but also not large enough either.

A perfect fit for a decently sized bookshelf. A library, for the community, but most importantly for Jason. You smile to yourself, proud at the thought. He’d love this, you knew he would.

The next morning you find yourself drilling holes into the pale walls of the cafe, trying attach the large shelf you lugged down to the shop.

Once everything was fixed into its rightful place, you begin adding the books, by genre and then by the authors’ last names. You add many of Jason’s favourites, multiple copies of Austen. You add children’s books, comics and something for yourself.

The shelf fits right into the ambiance of the cafe, elevating it honestly. The corner looked cosy and you found yourself wanting to sit by one of the couches with a book and a cup of hot chocolate.

You stare at the shelf once more, proud. Now, you just had to wait.

-

Jason walks into the cafe the next day, he’s late. He arrives near closing time. It’s just you and him in the cafe, most of your staff left for the day and not many people stayed this late. It’s quiet, the only sound coming from the machines on your side of the counter. He’s holding another book in his hand, but he has no intention of reading tonight.

His hair is slicked back, and there’s a small cut on his forehead. He’s dressed in a white dress shirt and black pants. He looks like he’s coming back from a big event or maybe he’s going to one later. Either way, he looks pretty like this, his arms look more defined and you can make out the muscles on his back when he walks around the room, waiting for his drink.

His eyes wander around the cafe before settling on the bookshelf nestled in the odd corner. His eyes soften, he’s never noticed that before, it must be new, he thinks.

“When’d you get this,” he asks, his fingers running along the spines of the books. He’s smiling, there’s so many books.

“Yesterday, it’s for you,” you say, holding your breath. This is it, the moment you’ve been preparing for.

“For me,” he looks over at you as you settle his tea on the counter. You begin walking over to his side, slowly, riddled with nerves.

“Yes, since you’re always here, I thought you’d like having a book shelf here. It’s like a library, you take a book and then you-“ he cuts you off suddenly.

“You made a library for me in your cafe, are you serious,” he’s trying to hold back a smile, you can tell. His scar gets more prominent when he does that. “Why,” he as asks, his voice is soft, it feels like warm milk with honey, comforting.

“You’re gonna make me say it,” you can’t see your face, but it feels hot, you can tell you’re blushing.

“Yeah, say it. Why is there a library in your cafe for me,” he says, enunciating the words “your” and “for me.” He’s smirking now. He knows the answer, he just wants to hear it from you.

The point of the library was to not have to say anything, for your actions to speak for you, but here you are. Ears burning and palms clammy.

“I…,” you trail off, you look around the room, anywhere but his face. He notices and walks closer, his hands gently make their way around your waist.

“Say it,” he exclaims, it’s not forceful, he’s smiling and shades of pink dust his cheeks.

You close your eyes shut, fuck, you’re going to have to say it.

“I really like you jas-,” and with that, his lips find their way to your own. You move in harmony, much like matcha and oat milk. His lips are sweet, he tastes like the banana bread, he decided to eat while pacing around the cafe. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, you pull back and smile. You peck his lips. Once where the scar is and once more on the centre. He grins.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that from you,” he mumbles against your lips, waiting for you to kiss him again.

And you do, you kiss him again and again.

[mvltisstuff]

going, going, gone pt. 2 - c.f

summary: y/n leaves to do what susannah always wanted for her boys.

conrad fisher x conklin!reader

a/n: gif is not mine, but i was so so happy to see how much everyone loved part one!! i’ve never had to tag people, but i will try and do that at the end of the story <3 this is also not following the books, that i haven’t read because i’m the worst reader 😭

y/n stood on the opposite side of susannah’s bed, visiting her in boston after she was waiting to see her girls. her connection to laurels daughters was always something susannah felt from the moment they were born. she always wanted girls of her own, but she was still blessed with her two sons.

belly was sitting on the bed, a bright blue dress as susannah looked into her eyes. laurel had gone out to run errands for her friend, so the girls had stayed with susannah.

it was clear that her condition was declining, and rapidly. her face didn’t have the usual sunshine look, and she appeared weaker than y/n and belly were ever used to. her skinny hands trailed to theirs and wrapped together. her touch went from a warm comfort to as light as a feather. somehow, through the cloudy day, the sun poked through and her angelic smile blessed the girls.

“i’ve been missing you so much,” susannah grinned, placing a hand on belly’s thigh and grabbing y/n’s hand with the other. “i’m so glad you came to see me. i needed to see you girls.”

the look on belly’s face was almost coated with uncomfortableness, her naïve self not used to seeing people in this condition. y/n didn’t want susannah to see her fall apart in her grasp, so she made herself blend with tranquility.

the time had passed where they wanted to attempt to save susannah. now, they knew it was only a matter of time until they lost her. they may not have physically lost susannah, but they lost the spark in her a long time ago.

“the boys love you, you know,” she tells belly, and then turning her head to y/n. “both of you.”

“i know,” y/n replies, seeing belly trying to find the right words.

“promise me something?” she asks, looking at belly who’s head perks up. “look after them for me.”

“you’re going to do that yourself,” belly remarks barely over a whisper, moments away from letting the dam break. y/n’s cried enough tears for susannah, but somehow they don’t seem to stop. watching her whole family experience this grief makes her feel less alone, but seeing her baby sister fall apart is near unbearable.

she watched as belly crumpled on the bed into susannah’s arms, and her once warm grasp felt lighter than ever.

ever since her death, y/n wants to look at belly the same. her actions make it so hard. she promised susannah to take care of her boys, and she failed. she let jeremiah sit around knowing he wasn’t the one she truly wanted. afterwards, she made conrad watch in heartbreak her new self with jeremiah.

that scares y/n, knowing that she’ll never truly be able to pick between them. in the long run, no matter who she “picks”, she’s hurting more people than she thinks.

she figures the best thing she can do is be there for conrad, as belly and jeremiah don’t think it’s necessary.

as she drove further and further away, the music she normally sings to turned into static. conrad would probably still be in cousins, not wanting to face his family back in boston. the traffic had quieted down, for people would be home with their families.

she pulled up the the house that had gotten it’s life back before julia took it all away. conrad and y/n were the main ones trying to save the house from being invaded by another family. even if they couldn’t, the cousins house would always have the fisher’s name on it. when y/n walked up to the front door, she slowly turned the doorknob and stepped in.

her footsteps lightly echoed due to the emptiness of the house, some of the front rooms still looking lifeless. y/n walked around, picturing everything exactly how susannah had it, all the portraits and loving decor she had around. she knew, though, that’s how conrad will set everything up.

the sun was just starting to dip down below the horizon, and when she spotted conrad sitting with his feet dipped in the pool, he looked lower than the sun ever could get.

she quietly stepped out onto the back, not saying a word until he noticed her. his head slowly tilted around, feeling her sweet eyes burning through him. he felt more relieved. she’s the only person he wants to see. she’s the one person who hasn’t ripped his heart out and used it.

“what are you doing back?” he questions, keeping his collected expression.

“i didn’t think you really wanted to be alone. you can’t fool me, conrad,” she smirks softly, moving over to sit next to him on the edge of the pool. she dips her feet into the cool water, not yet graced by the hot summer air.

“i don’t need you to be here for me, i don’t think i’m too good of company right now.”

“i think that’s exactly why you need me,” y/n says as conrad looks back to her. he’s always noticed y/n’s beauty on the outside, but he never got to really appreciate the inside. her mind was just as beautiful as her hair when the wind blows it, or the dimples on her cheeks when she’s happy. “you don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

“yeah,” he sighs, swaying his feet in the pool. “i thought jere would at least help me.”

“i talked to belly,” y/n tells him, seeing him quickly freeze and lean his head back.

“it’s not a big deal, y/n, really,” conrad says.

“it is to me. i never thought of her like this, but i don’t understand how she could do that to you.”

“it’s a me problem, clearly jeremiah’s better than i am.”

“that’s not true. belly’s young and thinks she’s innocent. she doesn’t deserve someone like you. she’ll never take the time to know you, but she’s going to jeremiah because he’s ‘easier’.” y/n replies. “you’re perfectly fine the way you are, and you never have to change for her, or me.”

“my mom always saw me with belly. i think that’s the worst part.”

“but your mom didn’t see what belly’s done to you. susannah would never want you to change in order to be with her.” y/n says, clearly to him. “susannah asked belly to be there, and she failed.”

“what do you mean?”

“when belly and i went to visit, she asked us to take care of you and jeremiah. belly barely looked after you, and i don’t even know if she’s helping jeremiah.”

“i get it, though. i left her at prom, and broke her heart.”

“was it shitty of you? yes, i’m not gonna lie to you. at this point, she’s taking it too far by playing with you and now it’s jeremiah’s turn.”

“maybe my mom was wrong,” he looks away, connecting his eyes back with the minute waves in the water. “i miss her. she was like a breath of fresh air, and i feel like i haven’t gotten that since she died.”

“she’s still here,” y/n tells him, seeing the corner of his mouth turn up a bit.

“i still feel her sometimes. if i’m home and i hear a noise, i’ll think she’s cooking, or painting. i don’t need people to see me fall apart.”

“you never have to hide, conrad. not anymore, and not from me.”

the next time he locks eyes with y/n, he can majorly see the sincerity in her face. there’s still a hint of when they were young in their eyes, memories swimming back into conrad’s head. every time she talked to him, all the time she spent with him. every party she skipped because conrad didn’t feel up to it, and she didn’t want him to be alone. he never felt nervous around y/n the way he did with her sister. they always had a complex relationship, but never once did y/n fail to be next to him. conrad let his inch closer to y/n’s, letting her hand lay on top of his, leaving solace in him. he never noticed how soft her hands were, literally and figuratively. she never once used him and glued his pieces back together. it’s then that he realizes that’s something belly never did.

impulsively, he moves his body more toward y/n, trying to get all the gladdening she can give. she’s more than happy to give it to him, letting conrad hold onto her and have her help him. the world around the boy became lighter, almost forgetting about his former despondency caused by belly. the closer he got to y/n, the more he thought that his mother had mistaken belly for the one.

he brushes a stand of y/n’s hair behind her ear, placing his hand on the side of her neck. she breathes lightly, knowing what conrad wants from her, but not knowing if he needs it.

“conrad,” she whispers, his name coming across incredibly from her lips. “you know i love you.”

“of course,” he says back, his hand trailing down her arm.

“but i won’t be a redemption because you cannot have belly. i’ve been the second choice once and i destroyed myself. i won’t do it again.”

“belly’s not who i want. i don’t think i’ve ever loved belly the way i have for you.” it all felt so sudden, the tension growing thicker between them as conrad only wanted to deepen the connection. y/n was just so horrified of hurting him more. she knows that she could help him and love him how he should, but she needs to know that he’s not just trying to get belly back.

“i think we need time, conrad. please?” she asks, and he nods, slipping his hand back down and grabbing her hand. “but trust me when i say that’s it’s not over with us.”

the meaning behind her words is stronger. in reality, she just wants to dive into conrad and accept anything he has to give, but he needs to strengthen his own heart first. he needs to know what he wants. if y/n needs time, he will wait for her.

tags: @historygeekqueen @am-i-shit-or-am-i-the-shit @celesteblack08 @parkerdayaa @shelby-x

[navia3000]

Under the Stars - T. Riddle

Pairing : Tom Riddle x Slytherin!Reader

Warnings : Slight use of Y/N, use of the word ‘damn’

Genre : Fluff, or, in which reader and Tom go on a much unexpected date

A/N : Part two of Amortentia is here! Thank you to @vivisandg @cats-and-sheep and @kenobi-baby for requesting a part two! I really am proud of this, so I hope you guys like it as much as I do! Also, two posts in one day, I feel so proud 🥲

Part 1

Masterlist

Requests are OPEN

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⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

It had been a week since Y/N’s fate was revealed to her, a fate which led her straight to none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle. They had talked now and then, he would wait for her and walk her to class, but she felt awkward around him, as though her lips were sown together by the string of her shyness. He noticed this, of course, yet he still put in the effort to talk to her, a fact she greatly appreciated; one which would make butterflies express their wings in her stomach.

It wasn’t until she sat in the library studying, when an opportunity for more arose. As she flipped through her Charms textbook, a folded piece of parchment fell onto her lap.

Confused, she glanced around, yet the library appeared empty. She plucked the note from her lap, and gasped as she read it.

‘Meet me in the Astronomy Tower at 10.

Your dearest,

Tom M. Riddle.’

She didn’t know what to think. He wanted her to break curfew to meet him, but, as she thought about it, she couldn’t help but be curious as to the nature of the meeting. Is this a date? Should she dress nice? Damn him for being so ambiguous in his note.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

Her hands shook as she ascended the steps to the Astronomy Tower. She didn’t know what to expect, nor what would be waiting for her. Her fingers tugged her coat tighter around her frame, a shield against the cold and the nerves.

As she went up the final step, her eyes found the back of Tom Riddle, his figure turned away from her and leaned against the railing. What caught her eye, however, was the hundreds of candles which littered the floor.

He turned to face her, her gasp alerting him of her presence. She was left speechless as her eyes adjusted to the tiny flames, his eyes trained on her and her reaction.

“Do you like it?” He asked after a moment.

“Yes, this is,” she took a beat to find the words, “it’s beautiful,” she spoke as she stepped closer to him.

“I’m glad.” He held out his arm to her, which she gladly took, as they settled on the railing of the tower, his grip on her steady to give her a sense of safety.

The pair stood in silence for a couple minutes, both enjoying each other’s presence too much to speak.

“You know, I- I once read a book in which there was this boy who was in love with this girl, and she tells him that if he wants to be with her, he has to catch a falling star for her, and so he spends the rest of his life trying to catch a star, but, every time they reach the earth, they shatter. And, in the end, she marries someone else and he dies while chasing stars. It’s quite tragic, but, every time I look at the stars, I can’t help but think about how they represent his devotion and love for her, yet it will never be enough, cause every time, it shatters.” She turns to look at Tom, and finds him staring intently at her. “Anyway, that just came to mind.” He kept staring, the corners of his mouth turning up. “What?” She asked, becoming self-conscious by his staring.

He shook his head, “nothing, you’re just,” he paused, “you’re incredible.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she had to break his gaze to keep from melting in front of him. It had only been a week since their discovery, yet she felt as though she had known this introverted boy her whole life. He was nothing like she expected him to be. And she loved it.

“Thank you.”

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

The rest of their night was spent talking; they shared anecdotes and discussed literature, and the seconds turned into minutes and the minutes turned into hours.

They found themselves sitting in the middle of the candles, facing each other and laughing constantly.

Once a comfortable silence fell over the two, Tom felt compelled to speak. “I want to ask you something. You are absolutely in your right to say no, I respect you and your answer.”

She began to get nervous at his words, wondering what on earth could be so important for him to word that way. He was always so well-spoken, something she deeply admired, however found intimidating in the moment.

“I would like to take you out. On a date. Again, you can say no. I know it’s only been a week since we began to get to know each other, however, I can’t stop thinking about you ever since that class. It’s as though you have enchanted me, and I welcome it with open arms. I want to court you, if you’d do me the honor.” His words melted her heart as though he was the sun and she was the snow. She was sure she was falling for this boy, and she didn’t want any parachute to soften her landing.

“I would love that,” her words were like honey to him, her soft hand covering his. He took her fingers in his, bringing them to his lips, leaving what can only be described as a most gentle touch, and moving them to his chest.

Serenity took over the two. As he committed her features to memory, he thought he would gladly spend the rest of his life putting together the pieces of a fallen star if it would make her smile.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

[writtenbymoonflower]

Hello!! I literally finished Ted Lasso and am IN LOVE with Jamie Tartt (this may or may not have to do with the amount of fics I’ve read recently). Would you be up for writing a Jamie x reader where they’ve been secretly dating for a while and the team finds out, perhaps with a reader that works for AFC Richmond as like they’re photographer or something?

Omg babe I need more Jamie fics in my life. Jamie Tartt x fem!reader

cw: swearing, hickey, jamie tartt being a smug asshole

776 words

You can't stop subconsciously rubbing your neck, likely from the anxiety of wondering if your makeup is doing an adequate job covering the smattering of love-bites on your neck. When your fingers came away with a chalky coating of powder, you kept your hand frozen by your side, your free hand jotting down notes as your boss kept rambling, careful to filter the necessary information from the side tangents. 

“You get all that, babe?” Keely looked up from her computer, half apologetic. “I’m so sorry my brain has been all over the place lately.” 

“You’re okay Miss.” You looked up, eyes catching on the man winking at you from across the room. He was looking nearly sinful with a towel slung over his bulky shoulder, skin gleaming with sweat. You stiffened, handing the clipboard to your boss. “Does this all look right?” 

She mumbled as her eyes scanned the page. “Perfect! Thank you so much, Y/N. I'm serious when I say I would be a complete shitstorm without you.” She glanced at the clock. “Oh, bugger! It’s gone 1. Why don’t you take your lunch, I’ll figure the rest of this mess out.” Her perfectly manicured hand shooed you from the office. 

“Thank you Miss.” You contained your smile, glancing at Jamie. He was still looking at you, brown eyes burning into your form. You scampered off, closing the door to Keely’s office on the way out. 

The hallway was oddly barren of players and staff, excepting the boy leant casually against the doorframe of the gym bearing lazy smile on his face. You walked up to him timidly, looking around the room to make sure there were no suspicious eyes. 

“Hey cutie.” He said, running a hand through his blonde hair. Your legs felt like jelly, only made worse from the pinching heels on your feet.

“Hey Jamie. Are you okay? Why aren’t you in practice??” You looked over him for injuries, expecting to find some blooming bruise or irritated scratches. He smiled at you. You could tell he wanted to reach for you but didn’t want to risk the exposure. 

You were the main reason the relationship between you two was a secret. Jamie would shout it from the rooftop if he could, but you were still unsure. You weren’t ashamed by any means, but you couldn’t help but feel pressure. You were dating one of the most well-known Richmond players. (one who was also on a dating show made entirely up of very attractive people). Nevertheless, Jamie treated you like a rare diamond. 

“You can stop checking me out, babe. I’m alright. Coach is just havin’ us run laps. I finished first.” He was sickly sweet, if not a little boastful, looking you up and down, smirking like a cat who got the cream. “How long do you have on your break?” 

“Just under an hour.” You subconsciously glanced at a watch that wasn’t there. His grin grew as he pulled you towards the locker room. “Jamie, what if someone walks in?” Even as you protested you couldn’t help your own smile from spreading over your face. 

“Trust me, love. The lads are slackin' today. The only one who is going to finish in the next hour is Dani, and that chipper prick will stay and chat the Coaches to death.” 

You sighed, letting James tug you into his arms. He smelled like grass, rain, sweat, and himself. It was intoxicating. “I missed you.” You mumbled into his chest. 

“Missed you too, lovely girl.” He chucked, pulling you up for a kiss. No sooner did he deepen it than you heard a crash behind you. You tried to jump away from Jamie but he held onto you. You turned around to find a sheepish-looking Sam slowly backing away from the door. 

“I- I am so sorry.” Sam looked like he was trying to shrink down to bug-size. “I’ll just, I don’t want to interrupt.” 

“You’re ok-” 

“God, Sam, mind your fuckin' business.” Jamie faux-scolded. Sam slightly smiled. 

“I am.” He put his hands up in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. “And don’t worry, your secret is safe with-” 

Right when he said that, a crowd of about ten players scrambled into the locker room, all pausing when they took in the spectacle in front of them. You could see them looking between Sam, you, and Jamie who still had his arm wrapped around your waist. The room was dead silent, until someone spoke up from the back of the group.

“Well now we know why Y/N comes to practice so much.” 

“Shut the fuck up Jan Maas!” Upwards of five people shouted.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Summer Breeze 6

Warnings: age gap (reader is 22, Andrew is mid 40s), dad’s friend, Andy being Andrew, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You sleep sitting up. Aside from the stiffness in your muscles, your stomach is gurgling from the greasy meal. The night fraught with worry and restlessness leaves your head even more cloudy than before. It’s real, you know it, and yet you just don’t want to accept it. 

The doctor comes after 8am. He checks your father’s vital and makes some notes on his chart. Andy asks about his condition as you can’t bring yourself to speak. He looks ragged and tired, you must not come off any better. 

“We’ll have to wait until he’s stable to make any further determination. We’ll need to test his cognizance along with his physical capabilities. The injury like has caused a TBI, meaning the effects will vary. He’ll need to be monitored well beyond his time here,” the doctor explains as Andy listens intently. You cling to every word but your mind is reeling. “Best to discuss what sort of therapies would be covered by insurance.” 

“Yeah, I figured,” Andy says, “thanks, doctor.” 

“Of course. You did a good job getting him here quickly,” the man in the white coat pauses and sends you definitive look, “keeping pressure on him. You both saved his life.” 

Your eyes sting and your nose burns. You can't cry. Not yet. Once you crack, you know that’s it. You won’t be able to stop. Your cheeks tug and you thank him, swallowing down the swell of horror.  

“Andy,” you eke out as the doctor leaves, “I couldn’t get through to my mom. Do you mind if I try again?” 

“Hm, I haven’t charged my phone,” he slides his cell from his pocket, “I’m at twelve percent. Could do the trick.” 

“Oh, maybe I could ask the nurse’s desk. I think I saw a patient phone around here.” 

“Good idea,” he nods. “I texted Jacob but I don’t think he has service up there. We’ll need to go grab some clothes so how about we do that today?” 

“I... I can’t leave my dad,” you insist. 

“Sweetheart, they said he’s going to be out for some time.” 

“He shouldn’t wake up alone,” you argue. 

“Alright,” he shows his palm appeasingly, “I’ll drive up, grab your stuff, and we’ll get everything else sorted when I get back.” 

“I can do this,” you avow, as much to yourself as him, “you’ve done enough.” 

“Right, I know, you’re a strong girl. But what do you do next? Once you talk to mom. You gotta call insurance, right? Do you have what they need? You’ll need the plan number, that’s probably in his wallet, right? You’ll at least need proof of ID. We brought him in in his trunks and nothing else. All that’s up at the cottage,” he shakes his head, “I don’t doubt you can handle it but a little help can’t hurt.” 

Your eyes widen and you sigh. You drag your hands down your cheek, “yeah...” 

“You can’t think of it all right now. That’s expected. You should worry about him. So I’ll deal with the details.” 

“Andy,” you utter, “I...” you look at your dad and get up, shuffling to his bedside. You take his hand, careful not to tug the tubes and tape, “I owe you.” 

“It’s what people do for each other, right? I’m a dad too. I know if anything happened to me, Jacob would be lost.” 

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” you crackle from your dry throat. 

“Try to rest if you can,” he sniffs and scratches his beard, “I’ll be quick. As quick as possible.” 

“Sure,” you squeeze your dad’s hand, barely hearing Andy. You just want him to wake up, or maybe you can wake up from this nightmare. 

🌅

You force yourself out of the room to ask the nurse about a phone. She points you towards a worn phone down a few halls meant for emergency calls. You punch in your mom’s number and wait for it to dial. It takes six tries for her to answer but you won’t give up this time. 

“Hey, what’s up?” She answers casually. 

You don’t answer right away. You can hear the lightness in her voice and the rustle of unknown movement. She’s busy with something or someone. Probably her latest fling. 

“Mom,” you scratch out, “it’s dad.” 

“What is it now? Tell me he’s not drank himself into the tank again. He’s too old for that.” 

“Mom,” you say firmer than before, “mom, he’s hurt.” 

“Hurt. Well, call the paramedics, I don’t know,” she giggles and you sigh. 

“We’re at the hospital,” you raise your voice, “he’s... he’s not awake. He hit his head. And I... I’m scared.” 

She’s silent. You hear her move around and she excuses herself. A door clicks on her end and she scoffs, “well, what do you want me to do about it? He’s your father.” 

You’re stunned by her callous response. 

“And I’m your daughter,” you insist, “what... you should...” you shake your head and deflate. “Well, mom,” your voice cracks, “I’m sorry I interrupted fun for something so stupid as this.” 

“Honey, please, I’m a bit shocked is all,” she squeaks, “I mean what can I do from so far away. For my ex-husband of all people? You’re an adult. You need to learn how to handle these things.” 

“Gee, thanks, mom,” you sneer and slam the phone on the hook. 

You don’t know why you expected any different. You’re not at her house because she told you plainly that she didn’t want you spoiling her fun. She gave up trying to be a parent the minute you turned eighteen. 

You roll your eyes back against a new wave of tears; these one angry. You guess you just need to grow up. It’s your turn to take care of your dad. 

[pombeom]

okay thighs but w chubby reader 🤭

the thighs that call to me part 2 | ot5 x chubby!reader

nsfw, mdni!

a/n: i like the way you think! also changed it to an ot5 piece so each scenario is different from the first part. p.s. 100 bash announcement

warnings: pussy eating, thigh grabbing, marking, strangling with reader’s thighs, fantasising about reader’s body, thigh fucking, thigh job, licking cum, life drawing mentioned, public setting, creampie, insecure!reader, thigh riding, thigh garter, dollification, thigh slapping

soobin:

the movie couldn’t have ended sooner because he was so desperate to get his hands on your curvy body. he’s stripping you of your clothes at lighting speed, your skirt and top coming off within seconds, leaving you exposed in your underwear. he slides his hands up to your waist grabbing the flesh as his other hand is swift in removing your panties. soobin pushes you to sit on the edge of the bed and he kneels down below you, almost as if he were worshipping your goddess-like figure. he plants kisses along the inside of your thighs, sucking at the skin and leaving bruised red marks. “these thighs are fucking mine, yeah?” you grab soobin’s hair, almost slamming his face into your core, strangling his head in between your legs. he sucks at your clit, as your mind blurs at the instant pleasure. your hips naturally start grinding against his face when he dips is tongue in and out of your hole whilst his nose rubs against your clit making your squirm at his touch. as his speed increased, so did the orgasmic wave that crashed as you release your load onto his tongue. he licks up any remaining liquid that has run down your thighs, squeezing the flesh as he sucks up your wetness.

yeonjun:

yeonjun loved that you were confident in your curvy body. in fact he fantasises about being able to touch you at the most inappropriate times. leaving the dinner with your parents early, he has you both rushing to strip yourselves as he showers your body with kisses, moaning after each one. he grabs the plush of your thighs, digging his fingers into them, leaving little red crescent moon marks from his nails. yeonjun pulls you on top of his seated position, holding your waist to support you and his dick slides through your chubby thighs. “look at how my cock disappears between your thighs.” he pumps against your thighs faster as the slick from your core drips down your leg, acting as lubricant as yeonjun fucks your thigh, the both of you grunting and moaning with each move. you squeeze around his throbbing cock a little tighter, milking him until he reaches his high, coating your thighs in his white cum, throwing his head back in pleasure. you rub your thighs together, spreading his release and your finger dips in for a taste, moaning as you lick off every last bit.

beomgyu:

you were hired for an adults life drawing class and needing the money, you took the job. you were a little self conscious at first as you removed yourself of your articles of clothing, particularly as one keen eyed student stared intently, observing each and every part of your body as you stripped yourself. he continued to gape at your figure a little more than the other students which you found flattering. the minute the class comes is over, he makes his way to you and introduces himself. “i love your figure. especially your thighs. can i touch them?” events then spiral instantly and he’s gripping onto your thighs as he’s fucking into your hole, both of your moans escaping freely and echoing in the empty room. his hands struggle to grip your entire thigh so he moves them around constantly trying to feel up every part of your leg before settling on the underside of your thigh. he uses this opportunity as a leverage to lift your leg up over his shoulder, hitting deeper into your throbbing cunt. the squeezing on your thigh tightens as you feel his hands move towards the inner, most sensitive part of your leg. he only manages to pump into you a few more times until he’s spurting his white cum inside you as you feel your own orgasm hitting, your thighs trembling against his neck.

taehyun:

taehyun being a supportive boyfriend, always has your back: especially when it comes to finding ways to help you with your insecurities. your self body image was never the best but taehyun found new ways to appreciate it each time. today he has you looking at a mirror as you ride him, your back facing him. “see how pretty you are riding my cock like that? see the way your thigh bounce against my legs like that? it’s beautiful.” his grip moves from your waist onto your thighs as he spreads them apart, giving you a better view of your cunt sucking up his dick, taking in each and every inch. he gives your thighs a firm squeeze as you jolt as the sudden sensation, throwing your head back into the nape of his neck, feeling his grunts trickle down your shoulder. your thighs quake each time you slam down onto his cock as your thighs slap against his. the vibrations from this only have you seeking your high which shoots out onto the mirror, the clear liquid trickling down the glass as you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection. taehyun wraps his arms around your waist, peppering kisses of affection along your shoulder as you collapse into his body.

kai:

the both of you had decided to spend your anniversary at home this year, opting for a quiet night in. however, things were only quiet until you opened your gifts, each one revealing a different part of an outfit. the baby pink lingerie dress paired with the white lace thing garter and thigh high socks had kai getting rock hard just from imagining you wearing it. when your returned from changing into it, his jaw almost dropped at how stunning you looked. the dress hugged all your curves and revealing every bit that mattered, whilst the thigh highs and garter only emphasised the beauty of your chubby thighs. “now you look just like one of my pretty dolls.” he strips you of the dress, leaving the thigh accessories on as he admires you, gaping at your figure intensely. he pulls out his dick and instantly rams it into your wet folds, not caring to prep you as you were already so evidently wet. grabbing onto the garters on each thigh, he uses it to push into you deeper and deeper, pressing against the plush of your thigh with his knuckles. your whines and moans travel around the room, filling it with screams and grunts upon your release, as your cum infuses with his inside your pussy. kai slaps the side of your thigh watching it jiggle against his cock, before hesitantly pulling it out and dropping down beside you.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Whatever It Takes (Homelander)

Description: Homelander killed Y/N’s parents years ago and when she meets Billy Butcher she tells him she’ll do anything to kill Homelander and she has the ultimate weapon. But things don’t go as planned.

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 1,790k

Author’s note: I do plan on a part two of this soon! Also send in requests for The Boys!

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” She said with a straight face to the man across from her. Billy Butcher. He looked at her like he was trying to figure her out. What was her purpose and what could she do? “You plan to help kill Homelander?” He asked. “I plan to kill him with or without help.” He wanted to laugh. Did she think she could do that all by herself? “What makes you think you can do that all by yourself?” He asked, amused. “I have an advantage.” “Tits and Vag? A lot of people have that.” She rolled her eyes, “more than that.” 

Y/N was a copy of Billy. From the attitude to the button up shirts the boys called her the female Billy. The only difference is that she doesn’t need a team and she wouldn’t put someone’s life in danger that wasn’t hers. Y/N was a supe herself and she had an odd power but she knew that Homelander would love it so she was going to use it to her advantage. Billy smirked as she told him and knew that she would be a perfect member of The Boys. 

The others stared at her as she introduced herself. She dressed just like Billy but she seemed nicer and not as demanding. Annie and Kumiko were excited to have another girl in the group. “We could use her to take down Homelander.” Billy said and the woman nodded. “What do you got?” MM asked her. “I have something that we can use against Homelander.” She said. “What’s that?” Y/N unbuttoned her top causing the guys to look at her strangely.

She took it off to reveal a bra. She took that off and on display were her boobs. “Tits?” Frenchie asked. Y/N chuckled, “Hand me that glass.” She said and MM did without looking away from her chest. She held the glass up to one of her nipples and milk came out and into the glass. “So you’re pregnant?” Hughie asked. “Nope, that is my power.” She shrugged. “How’s this supposed to help kill Homelander?” Frenchie asked. “Homelander loves Milk. He has some weird obsession with it and it makes him horny.” She reveals to the group. Everyone was wondering how she knew this but didn’t ask the question. She put back on her bra and shirt, “I plan to use it to my advantage to get on his good side.” She said, though Butcher didn’t like that idea at all. 

“You can’t fuck him.” Billy told her as she walked out of his room in her red lingerie. “Who said that? I’m gonna tease him.” She said. Billy saw MM and Frenchie staring at her so he gave her his trench coat. She sighed and put it on, “You don’t have to worry Billy. But this is my advantage and I’m gonna use it to get my way.” She said. 

Y/N walked to the Vought tower in Billy’s trench coat. She figured since he gave her this she didn’t need to put on anything else. She walked in and acted like she knew what she was doing. She had scoped out the place a few times and knew where everything was. She got in the elevator and in there with her was FireCracker. Y/N hated that bitch. She actually wanted to fuck Homelander. The bitch was obsessed and Y/N couldn’t see why.

They didn’t talk but she kept glancing at Y/N. Y/N got off on the floor that Homelander’s room was and Firecracker watched before the elevator closed where she was going. Nobody was in the hall considering it was getting late. Y/N knocked on the door and she heard him groan. He opened the door and she gave him a smile. “Who the fuck are you?” He asked, annoyed. “We can talk about that when you let me in.” She said. 

“So let me get this straight, you want to be a part of Vought and maybe the Seven so you came to me?” He asked. She nodded and he chuckled. “Why not Stan?” He asked. She walked up to him and cupped his face, “Cuz you’re the big man. He’s not.” Y/N said seductively. “So you think fucking me will you get you what you want?” She sighed and stepped back from him. She opened her trench coat to reveal her lingerie. He stared and sniffed the air making her smirk. “You give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want.” She said.

She grabbed a glass that was sitting near and pulled her bra down a bit to reveal a breast. He watched as she milked herself in the cup. His jaw dropped, so that’s what he was smelling? She was lactating. She held up the cup and he felt himself almost drool. “You want it baby? Come and get it.” She said, He walked up to her but she stopped him from grabbing the cup. “On your knees.” She whispered and he dropped to his knees. She held the cup up to his mouth and tipped it so he could drink from it. She watched him drink the milk like it was the last time he ever would. She ran her other hand through his hair, “That’s it baby. You’re such a good boy.” She cooed as he finished the milk.

She saw he was rock hard through his suit and smirked. She back up against a table that was in the room and motioned him to come over to her with her finger. He crawled over to her and did not break eye contact. She looked down at him as he began kissing her thighs. She ran her hand through his hair again and called him a good boy. He smiled against her thigh. “Make me cum and I’ll give you some more Milk.” She said. He stands up and pulls the trench coat off her body. She lets him and lifts her hips to take off her panties. He bit his lip and watched as she did so. “Can I fuck you?” He asked.

She almost forgot that she hated him for a second and told Billy that she wasn’t going to but this was going so well. She cupped his face and looked at him, “You better.” She said and bit her lip. She pulled him closer and took off his pants letting his dick free. She undid her bra and let it slide off. His mouth watered at the sight of her tits. “Fuck me and I’ll let you suck on them until you cum.” She whispers in his hair and he moans at her words. Within seconds he was inside her. He was very big and filled her up causing her to gasp. “Fuck.” He groaned at the feeling.

She wrapped her hands around his neck and bit her lip. She was incredibly sexy and he didn’t know what he needed until now. His hips started thrusting hard into her, knocking the table. Her head fell back and soft moans left her lips. He shoved his face into her neck and let out some of the hottest noises she’s ever heard. Her hand reached up and gripped his hair as he fucked her. All she could hear was his breathing and moans. He didn’t even know her name. He felt himself twitch and pushed her down on the table.

She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I’m close.” He warned and she nodded. She pulled him down and his face was in her chest. “Suck them.” She moaned and he didn’t have to be told twice. His shaky lips wrapped themselves around one of her nipples causing her to moan out. He began to suck on it and moaned at the taste of her milk. “Fuck Homelander. I’m so fucking close.” She whined and him sucking her nipple helped it.

He groaned and she gasped as she felt herself release all over his cock. Before he could cum she pushed him off her and he was surprised by her strength. She smirked and sat up pulling his head to her boob again. Her hand found his cock and began jerking him off while he drank her milk. She looked down at him in pure hate as he moaned and hummed as he drank her. She felt him twitch in her hand and she smirked.

He came all over her hand whining against her tit as he came so hard. She milked him as he did her for every last drop. She sighed and pushed him away. Neither of them said a word as they thought about what just happened. She got up and got dressed. “Well that was fun John.” She said and put the trench coat back on. “How do you know my name?” He asked. She smirked up at him. “I know my ways.” She said and left him standing there in shock. 

This was something they did a lot and Y/N learned a lot about the man. He liked taking risks and one of them being eating her out in the seven’s headquarters. He was in his chair, pussy shoved in his face as she ran her hand through his hair cooing at him. She had on Billy’s trench coat and this time blue lingerie. It was almost time for a meeting so FireCracker had walked into the room and almost gasped at what she saw.

Jealousy ran through her body as she saw Homelander eating out the girl she was in the elevator with a week ago. Y/N smirked at her and her jaw dropped at the good feeling. “Fuck John you’re so good.” She moaned and her eyes rolled back. FireCracker was glaring and pissed as Y/N moaned his name and told him he was amazing. That should be her. She left the room pissed and Y/N almost laughed but started whining instead. 

FireCracker glared at the woman as she came out of the room. “Who the fuck are you?” She asked, clearly mad. Y/N stopped and looked at her. “FireCracker right?” She asked and walked up to her. “You’re the one that’s obsessed with Homelander.” FireCracker glared at her. “It’s truly pathetic and it’s so sad that he doesn’t want you.” she fake pouts at the woman.

She leans in and whispers, “He’s fucking me. His dick is in my pussy going in and out until he cums. And that is satisfying to know isn’t it you conservative bitch.” She pulls back. “Also you said something about how you didn’t even have to blow a guy for a place in the seven? That’s because you can’t.” She smirked and walked away leaving FireCracker who was pissed and embarrassed.

[feelingquacky]

Back To You

summary: y/n came to Japan for the vibes, cars, and freedom. she even thought that maybe she’ll get the peacefulness she’s been looking for all her life. spoiler, she didn’t. but would she trade that for anything else? not.

pairing: han lue x reader

author's note: this will probably be a multi-part series! feel free to request :) also, this is my first fic, please be nice!

warnings: none as of now. but please do tell me if there’s something that i missed!

You could break my heart in two But when it heals, it beats for you I know it's forward but it's true

October 2007, Tokyo, Japan.

Y/N pulled up into the parking building in her Acura NSX. This was what she missed, the adrenaline, the bustle, and the stares. She drove slowly, spotting the parking her friend saved for her. She parks and gets out of the car, attracting stares from multiple people around the area. She figured out that the community must be close, considering that they almost immediately figured out that she was a new face. She roamed her eyes around the place until she finally spotted Neela walking towards her.

“Welcome to Japan!” Neela laughs, pulling her into a hug. “How was the flight?”

“It was shit. I’m never flying anywhere that long ever again.” Y/N rolls her eyes, walking over to the hood of her car, and opening it.

“Well maybe, you could’ve afforded better tickets if you didn’t spend your whole fortune on this damn car!” Neela sneers, with her eyes on the setup her friend managed to snag while she was in the US.

“When Papa died, he said in his will that I should spend what he left me on something that I will be happy with. I should spend it on something that I’m passionate about. And I’m not passionate about business class plane tickets. Plus! Dom got me a good deal on this, who am I to pass on that?” Y/N reasons, leaning on the side of her car.

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, Y/N,” Neela says while rolling her eyes. Y/N laughs as she spots two guys walking over to them. One of the guys with a leather jacket wraps his arms around Neela while kissing her cheeks.

“Oh! Y/N, this is Takashi,” Neela says, pointing at the guy with his arms wrapped around her. “And this is Marimoto, Takashi’s assistant guy.” Neela points to the other guy with blonde hair. “And guys, this is Y/N. She’s new around here!”

“Nice to meet you!” Y/N smiles meekly. Takashi and Marimoto eye her car and setup, until they are interrupted by another guy.

“New face?” The guy raises his eyebrows. Y/N eyes him up and down until Takashi speaks up.

“This is Han Lue. I work with him. Han, this is Y/N. Neela’s friend.” Takashi points to him. Han Lue raises his right hand, offering a handshake. Y/N takes it, with a confusing look. Is it a habit in Japan to only shake hands without the thumb and index finger?

“Sorry, wouldn’t wanna get crumbs on your hands.” Han laughs. That’s when she acknowledges the fact that his thumb and index finger do have cheese dust on them, and she’s thankful he did that. Han eyes her car and set up with a knowing look until Takashi breaks the silence.

“Nice build, Y/N! I’m impressed.” Takashi smiles. Y/N smiles back feeling proud until Marimoto comments.

“I bet that you had someone else make it for you. Do you even drift?” Marimoto chuckles. Y/N raises her eyebrows at him. “I do know how to drift. How about you? Do you even know how to drive?” Y/N says, tilting her head to the side.

“Hey, watch your mouth. I’ve been here for years. I’m a good ass driver.” Marimoto says, walking towards her.

“Then walk your talk,” Y/N says, while taking out a roll of money, and putting it in front of his face.

“Oh, I will!” Morimoto says as he tosses his money to a guy with a coat on. Y/N does the same thing as she watches him walk away. She gets into her car and closes the door. Neela walks towards her door and Y/N rolls down her window.

“Just couldn’t keep your mouth shut even just for one night huh?” Neela rolls her eyes, looking at her worriedly. “He was talking shit, Neela. I can’t let him do that. I also get to try out my setup tonight! Isn’t that good?” Y/N smiles, starting her car.

“Just stay safe, yeah? He’s kind of an asshole driver.” Neela sighs, backing up. “I will, Mom!” Y/N smiles, rolling up her window and driving to the starting point of the race.

Ready, Get Set, Go!

Y/N arrives on the rooftop with prideful glee. A guy comes up to her window and hands her the money she won from the bet. She hears Morimoto’s whines, but that’s the least of her worries right now. She’s enjoying the celebration happening right outside her car, not until Han comes up to her window.

“Congrats,” Han says nonchalantly, currently chewing his snack of choice, Pepero. “Thanks,” Y/N says awkwardly. Han looks around the inside of her car before speaking. “Toretto built this for you?” He asks.

Panic. Panic builds up inside Y/N. How did he know? He wasn’t supposed to know. You’re fucked, Dom is fucked, and everyone you’ve hanged out within the past few months is fucked.

“Who’s that supposed to be?” Y/N shakily laughs, slowly preparing to pull away from the building. “I have to go,” Y/N says with a shaky voice. She rolls up her window and drives out of the building, not knowing where to go.

Once Y/N was convinced that no one was following her, she pulls up to a convenience store. She takes out her flip phone and quickly dials Dom’s number.

“Y/N. Why are you calling at this hour?” Dom answers, with a confused tone. “Look, I don’t know how he recognized the car, hell I didn’t even explain anything! I just raced and suddenly he just knew! I’m so fucking sorry Dom, I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Y/N explains hurriedly.

“Woah woah, slow down kid. What happened?” Dom asks worriedly. “There was this guy, Neela’s boyfriend introduced me to him. He was quiet, he was just looking at my setup like any person would. I didn’t even get to talk to him that much. I won a race and he suddenly came up to my car again. He looked around and suddenly asked if it was you who built this car for me. I don’t even know how he knows!” Y/N explains, with a shaky voice.

“Okay, it’s okay Y/N. I want you to describe this guy.” Dom asks calmly. “He has long hair, he’s very nonchalant, and he eats a lot I guess? His name is Han, I think.” Y/N answers.

Dom chuckles at her. “You know kid, you do drink too much coffee,” Dom says with a teasing tone. “What’s so funny about this situation, Dom? We’re fucked!” Y/N says, frustrated.

“Calm down, kid. Do you remember the stories I told you before? Me and my past jobs? I told you about a guy who lost his girlfriend in one of our jobs, right?” Dom explains. “Yeah, the girlfriend’s name is Giselle, right?” Y/N asks.

“Mhm,” Dom answers. “So what the fuck does that have to do with our situation right now?” Y/N questions.

“He’s the guy in question. The Han Lue you just met, is the guy I worked with before.” Dom says. You can almost see the smile on his face.

Y/N’s fucked, again. As soon as Dom and Y/N’s conversation end, Y/N dials Neela’s number, hoping she can fix her mistake tonight.

“Y/N! Why’d you run off? I was worried about you!” Neela exclaims. “I’m sorry, something came up. But do you know where I can find the guy you introduced to me earlier? Han’s his name.” Y/N asks.

“Ooh! Is it a crush?” Neela teasingly asks. “Oh God no! I just need to talk to him about something. Can you send me his address or something? It’s urgent.” Y/N pleads. “Okay okay! I’ll text you the address. It’s a garage, so just pull over. You should find him there.” Neela says.

“Thanks a lot, Neela! I owe you one.” Y/N says.

As soon as Y/N receives the text containing the address, she starts her car and speeds to the garage. She pulls over and turns off the engine of her car. She gets out and walks into the garage. She looks around until she is greeted by a guy that looks like he’s in high school.

“Perfume? Nice smell! Nice American smell!” The guy says, bringing out a Victoria Secret cologne. That was very American.

Y/N chuckles. “No thanks. I’ve smelled enough of those.” Y/N declines.

“Oh, shit girl! You’re from the US? I’m Twinkie, nice to meet you!” He says, offering his hand. Y/N shakes his hand.

“Nice to meet you! Do you know where I can find Han Lue?” Y/N questions. Just before the guy in front of her was able to answer, he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Twinkie, what did I say about selling products here?” Han says, coming down. “That’s who you’re looking for,” Twinkie says, pointing at Han. He smiles meekly at Y/N and Han, then walks away.

“What brings you here, new girl?” Han smirks, walking towards her with another pack of Hello Panda. Y/N smiles meekly. “I know. I’m sorry, I panicked. I didn’t realise who you were.” Y/N says, looking down.

He looks up at her, chuckling. "All good. Wanna look around?"

[dusterbishop]

you believe me like a god (i'll destroy you like i am)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 3.8k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. once again, i'm so grateful for the likes and kind words! it means a lot to me! this chapter is long, but the next one is going to be heavy and i needed to get it all out here.

part one. || part two. || part three.

Come’on, chér, just hold on.

Playing the odds?

Non, I’m bettin’ all on you.

Gambit talks for a long, long time. He tells you about Cassandra Nova, and the Resistance's intent to cripple her center of operations. He tells you about the other mutants he allied himself with. He tells you about the climate of the Void, which is dry and barren and desolate. He tells you about his liquor collection, even as he laments how he won’t be able to indulge in it for a while.

This version of him is dead-set on a suicide mission, you quickly realize. Nova and her power sounds far beyond the scope of Gambit’s abilities, and you doubt his allies could overtake her, either. They are all hopelessly outmatched.

Then again, they are also decaying in the Void. Void is a good name for it; the earth is desolate and menacing as the pair of you travel. Your powers flicker at the edge of your vision in a blurry mirage of recollection, like a film played backwards. You can taste the metallic tinge of blood in the back of your throat. Your body still simmers with feverish fatigue, even though you are five days deep into this timeline. You haven’t been using your abilities beyond necessity, but each time you wonder what would happen if your intended time-object doesn’t appear at the command.

C’mon, Wildcard, don’ get skittish on me now.

Just deal me in, Cajun.

They are all outmatched on their own. You stare at the broad expanse of Gambit’s back as you walk, taking in the way he walks over the uneven terrain, the idle twirl of his bo staff slung lax in his hand. The travel has worn him down at the edges; his hair is mussed and dirt-streaked, and his coat is weighted and torn at the hem. Five days of trekking through the daylight and camping through the night has taken a toll on his body, but he still hums to himself as you both walk.

You know this song. It’s the one Tante Mattie would sing to him when he was young and couldn’t sleep. Or at least, that’s what your Remy told you. Perhaps this version of Remy LeBeau found it through another source. You can’t imagine the man in front of you as a little boy needing comfort.

No. That isn’t quite true. You have seen photos of a younger Remy while visiting New Orleans, much to his dramatic announcements of utter embarrassment, and you never forgot just how small he seemed. How unfair that his life was wrought with pain and fear, even as that little boy, just for the color of his eyes. Abandoned by one family only to be raised in crime with another.

You know what your Remy went through. You just can’t bear to think about what this one has suffered with. Not now. Maybe not ever considering the terror Nova has been spreading across the Void.

“Okay,” you say suddenly. It’s nearly nightfall. You should find a place to settle for the night, then scrounge up enough from your rations to feed his burning metabolism and soothe the disquiet ache in your stomach. Despite the fever, you should eat something of substance even if the thought alone makes you feel nauseous.

“Go’on, chér,” Gambit says. He’s eyeing the horizon with a calculating look, no doubt thinking the very same thing you are. You don’t know how far the makeshift headquarters are for the rebel cause, but you can figure it’s still some ways off by the frown on his face. Just how far did he go wandering alone? You don’t allow yourself to wonder why he seemed to be looking for you, either. That would lead to more questions than your mind could handle.

“You want me to fight Nova,” you say. That catches his attention. He jolts as if you charged him with his own kinetic wave, his pitch-dark eyes sliding to lock on yours. He looks like he’s ready to argue, or maybe to sweet-talk, so you add, “I’ll do it. Fight her.”

“Suicide, chér?” His mouth is twisted unhappily. “Nobody tell you to do that.”

“Didn’t need you to, Cajun,” you shoot back. “No other reason for you to go hunting across the Void for me.”

“Mebbe,” he drawls out, his smile temptingly coy, “Gambit like what he sees.”

You don’t take the bait. “I can kill her, but where does that leave you? All of you?”

His smile grows just a little brighter at the misstep. It takes every nerve in your body to resist the urge to sigh in exasperation. You don’t have to remind him you care about his wellbeing. This Gambit isn’t yours to protect.

“Don’ worry ‘bout us, chér,” he says, nearly a purr. It sends a thrill down to the base of your spine. “We talk it out, eh? Our hand t’deal.”

“With a suicide mission?” Your laugh is strained. “You really know how to raise the bet, Cajun.”

“Playing de odds,” he agrees. In the half-light of the sinking sun on the horizon, his profile is cast in shadows, and yet you can see the faintest twitch in his mouth. Almost a frown. Then he turns his face away from you entirely, hiding back behind the facade of his relaxed shoulders. “We gonna get out dis place.”

He sounds so sure that you say nothing, taking in the moment of staring at the setting sun. It would be much easier to leave entirely, even with the heaviness of your limbs from the fever. Who knows how much time you have left in this place? Something about the timeline here has you untethered from reality. You keep swallowing back the taste of blood.

Part of you almost tells Gambit, right then, that you don’t think you have time to talk about plans. You can’t just wait for the right opportunity to land in your lap like a wounded bird.

But you don’t. The two of you quietly settle down around a fire and divide your meager rations. It’s a strange collection of his preferences with the oddity of your Void self’s miscellaneous tastes. It’s an unspoken agreement to swap the night watch while the other is asleep. Gambit takes the first watch. You pretend to sleep curled next to the heat of the fire, your mind flashing through broken images of different times, like watching broken sunlight filter in from under the surface of the ocean.

Remy used to think it odd that you didn’t dream. You would joke to him that you had enough of dreaming when you found him. Still, some part of you feels a hollow curiosity towards the thought of dreaming. How could your mind conjure images of desires only for you to wake up without them? There was never a time that you could remember where you didn’t just wave your hand and hold the world in your palm.

Yet the memories that flicker across your mind from the darkness behind your closed eyelids are strangely nostalgic. Thwarting a burglary attempt as your mutant debut, celebrating Jubilee’s birthday at the mansion, visiting New Orleans for the first time as a LeBeau. Waking up to Remy’s arm slung over your waist as if he was trying to keep you secured in this timeline, even as your mind traveled right in plain sight, gone beyond his reach.

It rends a heart-wrenching ache in your chest. You have to fight to keep your breathing steady. The memories are still there, rushing past you quickly enough to make you dizzy.

Marrying Remy and nearly missing on your cue to kiss because you were staring up at his eyes. Desperately reaching out to him as your power stuttered, nearly sending you tumbling over the edge of the roof. Discreet shuffling around in bed to avoid waking the cats piled around you two, with Remy sleepily pressing a kiss to your temple. Losing days at a time, flickering in and out of your life like a specter, only to watch him grow more and more desolate in the wake of your disappearances.

Growing sicker for all the time-summoning your body forced you through. Reaching out for Remy’s hand to kiss it. Laughing at the way Remy pulled you up out of your chair to waltz in the kitchen in the middle of the night, despite him supporting most of your weight. Staring at the abandoned costume hanging in your closet, no longer your size due to the weight loss, knowing you could not wear it again in this lifetime. Accepting that, to be with Remy.

Accepting it all, just to be with Remy. Playing the odds with your own sort of suicide mission, just to keep a life with him. To earn your title with the X-Men and get dispatched on missions with them again. To be able to cuddle with the cats without scaring them with a violent waking. To go to sleep next to your husband with the knowledge you could see the same version of him in the morning.

Deal me in, LeBeau.

Eyes, mon cuore.

Warmth burns the back of your eyes. You open them slowly to stare at the blur of the fire crackling quietly in front of you. You can taste the fresh warmth of blood coating your tongue and sticking to the back of your front teeth. There’s something small and rectangular in your hand, but you don’t shift out of your curled up position to see what it is. You hadn’t intended on bringing something out of the timeline.

How strange, to dream and wake with nothing to show for it?

“C’est tout un sucre,” Gambit says softly. You flinch at the sound of his voice. You had nearly forgotten that he was there. “Not gon’ go ahead an’ ask what’s got you so scared.”

It takes effort to swallow back the swelling emotion in your throat. “I can take watch.”

“I s’pose you jus’ want some quiet, eh?” There’s the whispering shuffle of fabric, and then Gambit is settling down to lay next to you, leaving a near-imperceptible gap between you. In another life, you could reach out and touch him. Just not this one.

“Not really,” you sigh. He lets that lie for a heartbeat, letting you collect the raging tempest of thoughts scrambling your head. It would be awfully convenient if a wandering pack of mutants tried to attack you, or if Nova herself descended from the sky to kill you. Anything to spare you from the grave you were preparing to dig yourself into.

“Gambit,” you start, still staring resolutely ahead at the flickering flames, “I told you what happens to me.”

“Reset,” he muses. You can hear the gentle rustle of fabric, then the soft flicker of shuffling cards as he takes them from one hand to the other. He thinks best when he’s in control, and so he has his cards poised for action. You don’t look at him, but you’re not entirely sure if it’s for the sake of your control, or for his.

“What I said,” you agree. “It’s not a suicide mission if I go after Nova.”

“No,” he says.

“Even if she destroys the Void version of my body, I keep traveling,” you continue. “I can — ”

“No,” he repeats. The edge in his tone makes you pause, but it’s the hand that grips yours that makes you turn to stare at him. He isn’t wearing his gloves, and the warmth of his skin against yours makes the heat of the fire feel insignificant. It’s his eyes, though, that make your lungs seize up. All night-black pupils with hardly the rings of red. His eyes are his only tell that he’s terrified out of his mind.

You blink back at him, stunned. 

“Don’ be a fool,” he finally says. Slowly, reluctantly, he takes his hand from yours. The cold air in the wake of his touch burns just as much as uncontrolled wildfire. “We all gon’ get out dis place. Nobody dyin’.”

“I can’t die,” you shoot back. “Don’t you understand? I will always move on to another life. None of this matters to me! Not the Void, or Paris, or fucking New Orleans! If I go and blow up Nova, then I can move on and live my life in another timeline without dealing with any of this.”

“Movin’ on,” Gambit notes. He’s smiling, but there’s an edge to the curve of his mouth. “Dat’s jus’ called runnin’ away.”

“And Gambit never folds, is that it?” You hold up your other hand, the one with the playing card, and toss it to him. It flutters in the breeze before resting on his chest. He narrows his eyes at you, but his curiosity wins as it always does. He was always too easy to bait. A gambler never gives up the promise of a winning prize.

You don’t have to look to know what the card is. If you were dreaming of Remy, it only makes sense that you dreamed of his favored card. Gambit studies the Queen of Hearts with an inscrutable gaze. It’s not the version that Remy gave you; that one was likely consumed in the same blast that destroyed your body. This one is unwrinkled and vibrantly colored. Brand new.

“You don’ know, do you?” Gambit says. The flatness of his tone makes you pause, though you can’t bring yourself to look at the expression on his face. Your gaze locks onto the card he’s holding so delicately, as if he’s holding onto your heart rather than a piece of pressed painted cardboard.

“You kno’ me, hein?” He turns his head to look at you, and you have to force yourself to release the breath you’ve been holding in a slow, controlled sigh. Still, you feel stripped raw by his gaze. You wrap your arms around yourself to avoid the impulse to summon a staff and fend him off from his next words: “You recognize me.”

“Seen a lot of you lately,” you say. It’s meant to be dismissive and unaffected, but even you can hear the hitch in your breath when he shuffles an inch closer, eyes burning black into yours.

“You and Gambit meet before,” he half-laughs, not happily.

“Many times.”

“Then you know Gambit’s never forgotten a beautiful woman.”

Like that, he’s up and crouched above you, his hands clasped tightly to your upper arms. You’ve forgotten how quick he can be when he’s lost in the lure of a gamble. His warmth leeches through the thin fabric of your coat, time-stolen to match the beige wasteland around you and offer some hope of camouflage. It’s nothing like the armored fabric woven into his, and his touch reminds you of just how vulnerable you truly are right now.

You’ve met a few Gambits that have tried to actively kill you, before. One had plunged a sharpened edge of his staff right into your chest, aiming with precise calculation to slip it straight through the soft skin between your ribs. Another had taken you down as collateral in pursuit of more satisfying prey, stepping around your fallen body as he continued his game. And, of course there had been Remy, too.

This Gambit doesn’t tighten his grip, though you can feel the tension humming like hornets beneath his hands, kinetic energy pulsing in anticipation.

“Gambit,” you warn him. You don’t try to pull away. You don’t even reach for the veil of time that whirs at the edges of your vision, even if it would be almost easy to summon some method of distraction and escape this sudden intervention.

“He ain’t forget,” Remy repeats. He squeezes you, just once, eyes darting over your expression with intent tenacity. “Listen to me, eh? I promised you, chér. Even if you don’ remember it, I mean it. We gonna get out dis place together.”

Something metallic tastes spoiled in the back of your throat. You blink at him, struck suddenly by the realization that you have been hiding in plain sight. The Void must be more of a well-fitting title for this place than you initially assumed, as it’s given you nothing but barren territory to let your power meander. It gives you space to let the timelines mingle in a blurry mirage of recollection at the edges of your vision, like a film played in rapid reverse.

You thought you had been desensitized to meeting Gambits, and perhaps you were right. You couldn’t even recognize Remy LeBeau until he was right in front of you. How else would you explain finding your Remy here, and not recognizing him sooner?

One of his hands flickers, almost too quick to follow, and the cuff of his sleeve unravels to reveal a card. It’s not one of the suit of aces.

It’s your Queen of Hearts.

“Is dis your card?” His words are meant to be wry, but there’s a catch in his voice where his breath stutters, so soft you might miss it if you weren’t struck senseless at the sight. The edges of the card are singed black, no doubt remainders of the kinetic energy, but the crease down the middle is undoubtedly from your nervous fidgeting during missions with the X-Men. You kept it in your pocket as a good luck charm only to fiddle with it during downtime. Folding it over and over, running your thumb over the lines to memorize every feeling.

You can’t speak. It feels like being dragged into a violent undertow, the waves of memories flickering at the edges of your vision threatening to drown you. You suck in a shuddering breath, nearly a cry, and finally succumb to the urge to reach out and touch the curve of his jaw. He’s warm and familiar beneath your touch.

“‘M all in for you, mon coeur,” he says, and then he leans in and kisses you.

Warmth burns the back of your eyes, the telltale harbinger of the tears that start trickling down your cheeks in a slow caress. He’s kissing you with reckless abandon, and you open up under his touch, unwinding your arms from your sides to reach up and clutch at the lapels of his coat. One of his hands wraps around your waist, tugging you impossibly closer, the other moving up to cup your salt-streaked cheek. You can hardly feel the rough pad of his thumb wiping away the tears beyond the whir of power buzzing in the back of your throat.

You have to pull back, breathless, though Remy is holding you tight from retreating too far.

“I’m the kinda man that don’t leave,” he tells you. His voice is just as hoarse as you feel. “I don’ care if it hurts, mon coeur. Dis place can’t have you. We gonna get out.”

“I care, you idiot.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, pulling back before he can turn his head to steal a proper one. He makes a soft noise of indignation, but you can’t let him think that any more sacrifice will fix the gaping wound festering between you two. “I don’t know how we can fix what’s broken between us, Remy. I’m terrified that you’re going to end up dead trying to fix it yourself.”

“Non,” he shakes his head, though he can’t hide the way his body tenses up beneath you. “Since when you talk that way, mon coeur? Gambit has a plan.”

“He knows the odds, is that it?” You tug him down to kiss him again, and he goes willingly to your silent command, his mouth warm against yours. You can taste the salt from your tears, only to pull back and see the shine in his eyes, too. How long had it been since you two were separated for good? You don’t remember. You have lived far too long outside of this time to remember when. You hope that Remy, however he ended up in the Void, doesn’t remember either.

You can’t bear the thought of him waiting to see if you would return, following in the wake of this Void version of your face. Counting the days, over and over, just to see a stranger wearing your body every time the sun rose.

“In this, he do,” Remy agreed. There’s a furrow in his brow, and you marvel at the way you reach up and smooth a thumb over the wrinkle, only for him to scrunch his nose at you in familiar distaste. “I taste blood, mon coeur. You hurt?”

Even as he asks, his hand runs down your side, checking for hidden injury. The memories at the edge of your vision flicker to a time where he had done the same thing after a particularly rough mission sent you crashing into a wall. You had cracked two ribs and spent some downtime on mandatory bedrest while he fussed over your every movement and tried to keep the cats from sleeping on your chest.

You don’t realize how long it’s been since you’ve seen him fuss over you, but the back of your eyes start to burn again. “I’m okay, Cajun. Just adjusting to the timeline.”

He lets you kiss him again, this time keeping your mouth closed to hide the taste of your blood, but he’s still frowning when you break apart. “Six days.”

You’ve never had to spend so long adjusting. You didn’t think Gambit would notice your lack of time-summoning, but then again, you hadn’t realized Remy was silently cataloging every action that confirmed your identity. In some instances, you would only spend a minute or two in a timeline. Six days counts as practically permanent without a reset.

God, how the hell had you not noticed him watching you? Of all the Gambits for you to return to, it had to be him. And out of all the versions of you that cross-trek the known universes, he had to get the one that is too goddamn tired of losing him. He had to get the version of you that was too tired to pretend that this life was worth wrestling with every moment of the day.

No wonder he broke his silent watch to admit the truth to you. Even if it broke his heart to watch you leave the timeline, he couldn’t sit there and listen to you act willing to destroy yourself again.

Which is why you can’t tell him you’re dying, anyway. Time doesn’t exist in the same capacity in the Void. The memories overlapping your vision are nothing more than ghostly shrouds of a past life. However your power works, it doesn’t have the same support in this place. Staying here will kill you.

“Listen,” you tell Remy. His body burns hot above you, a livewire of kinetic warmth. Alive and real. Your Remy, alive. “I promise we’ll get out of here, okay?”

I promise I will save you, you think as he kisses you, his hands cupping your face as if you are something precious to protect. No matter what.

[soxcietyy]

Suspicions

Yuta x reader

Pt2

˚₊‧꒰𓆩 ♱ 𓆪꒱ ‧₊˚ : Your husband has always kept a low profile of himself. Not saying much about anything, especially his profession.

The day that you met him was the day when you thought you met the one. He was kind, sweet and very caring towards you. He was the type of man that any female would swoon over. That was you until you stumbled upon something interesting. You remember that one day you snuck into his office, you were looking for a letter from your mom that she said she sent you days ago. Not being able to find it in the mail box or in the house you decided to look in his office. His desk was a hugemess full of papers and books. While searching your eyes landed upon a tan folder. You slowly open it up to make sure your husband didn’t accidentally slip it in there. This was the worst mistake you could if done, or could it have been a wake up call.

Inside you could see a list of names with pictures next to them. They seemed to be pictures of people out in public going by there daily life’s. Some names were crossed out but you couldn’t figure out why. You found it odd that he had such papers until you flipped the page to see a picture of a tree with coordinates written next to them. You raise your brow and flip back to the first page.

You suddenly identify a face from the missing people adds that came up on television. Slowly turning the page you realize something. All the pieces came together slowly making you drop the papers. You stood there frozen in disbelief. This had to be a stupid misunderstanding of yours. But if that was the case why did your husband never talk to you about work? About how all his income was made? Why was this missing persons name next to the picture of the place where the news reported his body. Before you could think more into it you hear a familiar voice.

"Darling im home, and I come bearing gifts." He said loudly.

Your breath hitches as you quickly put everything back and run to the door. But before you could open it you see him swinging the door open.

"May I ask what you’re doing in my office?" He says looking down at you. You didn’t know if you should have been shocked on how fast he got here or how he found you.

You scan his face trying to identify if he was mad or not. You already knew he had forbidden you from entering his work place. Obviously he was going to be furious seeing you couldn’t obey simple commands.

"I was about to look for a letter that my mom should have sent me. Usually you get the mail and take it to your office. So I thought it would be here." You say maintaining eye contact with him.

He slowly leans down inspecting you before his hand reaches for your chin. "Next time ask me darling," he says as he plants a kiss on you.

Days after you couldn’t help but think of you were crazy for thinking your husband was a murderer. It was hard to tell seeing how Normal he acted. How loving he was towards you and the way he showered you with affection. No psycho would do something like that.

Though tonight might of sealed the deal for you. You sat next to your husband in the dining table. Both of you ate dinner like always but you suddenly lost your appetite. Yuta had came home late and requested to eat dinner the second he arrived. Clearly he was in a rush due to his messy clothes and the red blood stains on his cheek. Obviously he hadn’t had time to look at himself yet.

If that wasn’t enough he also arrived with a gun peaking out of his coat, a swollen arm and dirt on his white dress shirt.

"Is something wrong? You’re hardly touching your food." He asks concerned.

You shake your head afore taking a bite of your food. Finding it imposible for swallowing because of the lump in your throat. You see how Yuta tries to read you but fails. He wasn’t an idiot so he knew something was wrong he just didn’t know what.

If he found out that you discovered his secret what would happen? Would he make you be quiet? Or would you end up like the people on the list?

"You seem quite distracted recently. Is it because you spend a lot of time at home alone? If so I think I have quite an easy fix for that." He says as he stands up and approaches you. It takes him two long strides until he’s behind your chair. Wrapping his arm around you and resting his head on your shoulder.

"Maybe it’s time I give you a little one so you can keep yourself occupied no?" He whispers into your ear.

Only an idiot would agree to that in this situation. Having a kid with a murdere? Actually wanting to make a family with someone that could kill you? Having to pretend nothing is wrong for the rest of your life? and that you were an idiot. You turn around to look at him and nod at him quickly. Maybe he was right, thats what you needed right now. He hasn’t harmed you and he probably never would. He was madly in love with you and treated you like a queen. He bought you anything you wished and whatever you said goes. It was something you didn’t want to lose.

You plant a kiss on his lips and then licked your thumb to wipe the blood off his cheek.

He looked at you socked for a second before you said,

"You had food on your face sweetie. Now about that kid-"

[rinstaro]

Reader living their best life wearing a lil skirt n some thigh highs and sky cant take how cute they look and can’t resist making a creamy mess all over them while the reader begs him to hurry up and make them squirt but he js wants to take his time telling them how pretty they look in that lil Lacey top

Hella overstim

sky can rut into me like a dog

man can hit me with a bus and I’d thank him

that’s all thanks for coming to my Ted talk 🫡

this is so much good god 😭 first the time anon being in heat and now this akjjfcnjajns

how are the stans of the sweetest boy the absolute horniest. WHO ARE U HORNY SKY STAN

also sorry ive been taking so long with these! i havent been in a writing mood lately haha

cw: reader wears feminine clothes, clothed sex, coochie eating, overstim, fingering, he asks for explicit verbal consent, squirting, a little praise, he's pussy drunk!!! yay!!! not proofread, reader has a vagina no pronouns

minors do not react.

to say you looked good enough to eat was an understatement.

sky couldn’t get enough of staring at your lace trim cami and short little skirt. not to mention the thigh high socks you had on. so instead of just staring at them, he put himself in between them.

“f-fuuuuck! gonna cuuuuum!” and not even a few minutes after he’d been on you, you’d already creamed on his fingers and his face once, the milky substance coating his tongue and making him crave more. he hadn’t bothered to remove any of your clothes, your skirt hiding his face from view.

your legs began to tremble when he refused to stop moving his fingers. you pushed at his head as he bullied your cunt, needy moans turning into weak sobs. "l-lemme go, quit it! 's too much!"

your boyfriend only moaned into your cunt, relishing in the feeling of your clit throbbing against his tongue. moments later he rose to press his lips to yours. sky's fingers crooked upwards and he broke away to laugh at how your legs tried to close in on him.

"'m sorry, sweetheart. you're just so pretty. dressed so fuckin' cute, look at you." sky swears he could drool at how you looked. his favorite place to be was between your thighs. he's had to look at how your thigh high socks complimented your figure perfectly, hugging the soft flesh. he wasn't sure if he wanted to rip them off you or just keep staring at them. while he ended up going for the latter, he couldn't just stare at you.

no, he needed to feel you or he was gonna go crazy. his dick was throbbing, only getting worse when you clenched around him and called his name. sky let out a shaky moan as you came again. "you feel so good around my fingers, sweetheart," he sighed. he finally stopped his movements, staring at you as you tried to catch your breath. your tiny shirt was pushed up your chest, pebbled nipples on display for him. all that sky bothered to get rid of was your underwear.

"can i fuck you, sweetheart? please, i need to feel you," he murmured, never breaking eye contact. you shuddered at his request. his voice sounded so raw and you hadn't even touched him. you could only nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. "need you to say it, (name)."

"yes, i want you to, link. please."

he wasted no time in pushing your thighs back, forcing your knees to your chest. it happened so fast you dont even know when he got his dick out, but in the next moment he slipped into you with ease. sky groaned loudly when he bottomed out, arms trembling in an effort to hold himself up. you felt so fucking good, he felt like he could cum already.

well, why not, he thought. he'd have you to himself all night.

sky slammed his hips into yours with no remorse, the sound of both your gushing cunt and your hips meeting his filling the room. your back arched, body still sensitive from the first couple orgasms. you whimpered weakly as he growled into your ear.

"so good, so good- fuck, gonna cum already-" he panted, his thrusts only becoming rougher. your toes curled as grabbed your hips, angling himself to where he knew he'd hit that spongy spot inside you every time. you keened when he did just that, determined to make you cum with him.

a few more thrusts and he was gone, throwing his head back as he filled your needy cunt. his thrusts wouldn't stop, sky hissing at the overstimulation. you felt so good it hurt, but he couldn't stop, not now. he was gorgeous above you, and you felt your own orgasm approaching fast.

"c-come on, cum," he demanded, somehow picking up his pace. you yelped at the sudden increase in speed. both of your moans increased in volume. "w-wait, mmm, slow down, i'll-"

"do it."

your body seized up, almost unable to handle the force of your orgasm. you sprayed all over the both of you, every thrust forcing more out of you. you cried out, tears falling down your cheeks at the overwhelming pleasure. sky was still going, letting his moans fall freely out of his mouth. "s-so good, pretty pussy's so good, cant stop," he groaned.

"link, too much! slow- fuck! please!" you begged, the overstimulation becoming too much for you to handle. your lover couldn't leave you like this. no, he needed you stuffed to the brim. only then could he be satisfied.

"if i can- fuck, fuck- if i can do it, you can too, sweetheart. don't give up on me now. dressed up so pretty for me, let me reward you for it, yeah?"

[salty-croissants]

Could you write headcanons fluffy/romantic of rayman or Ramon please and thank you

Thank you so much for the request , it’s actually my first one :D

Hope this turned out well ! 

I ended up splitting up the headcanons given how different both personalities are , hope that’s okay ! 

Details : use of gender neutral reader ; 

established relationships ; 

some swear words are present in Ramon’s part , but other than that no warnings are needed

Rayman 🧡

Given the fact that Rayman has felt incredibly lonely pretty much his whole life , as soon as you showed him genuine kindness and interest in him without focusing on his fame he immediately took a liking to you : 

despite his seemingly very smooth demeanor , he was actually very nervous about confessing his eventual feelings for you , terrified of being rejected yet again … 

But that wasn’t the case , and let me tell you , Rayman will forever treasure the moment you told him those 4 words he was so afraid of never hearing from anyone in his life . 

He wants to know everything you like , and by everything I mean absolutely everything : 

Rayman loves to listen to you gushing about your passions and hobbies , and if you ever need something specific you will find it on your desk with an almost unnatural quickness …

< Wh - are those the acrylics I mentioned just a few minutes ago ? > 

< They sure are ! I also made sure to get you all the colors I could get my hands on , now you’ll have no trouble finishing your piece . > 

 < Ray , thank you so much ! You shouldn’t have … > 

< Anything for you , honey ~ > 

Whenever the two of you go out on a date , Rayman definitely doesn’t waste the opportunity to bring you to the most amazing ( and low key expensive ) places in the city , and this especially happened during your first dates : he really , really wanted to leave a good impression on you , though if you tell him that you’d rather spend time with him in a more quiet place he definitely won’t be unhappy to hang out either at his lounge or at your place … 

He wants you to be comfortable with him at all times .

I like to think that Rayman loves to receive kisses on his nose : whenever you walk by him and surprise him with one , this man will positively melt … 

You will definitely earn a cuddling session for when he’s done with his shows . 

He loves to hold your hand whenever you go outside , also as a way to show everyone around that this lovely person is with him , JUST him .

Some might see this as a bit excessive , but regardless of how long you two have been together Rayman is deep down still worried that he might not be good enough and that you might leave him someday , so if you reassure him on this you will definitely make him happy …

< You know I won’t ever leave you , right Ray ? You’re the only one for me , this won’t ever change . > 

< Heh … I know y/n … thank you . > 

Ramon 🖤

Now that he knows that he’s been used by Eden all these years , Ramon’s once cheerful demeanor has definitely changed a lot … but his love for you didn’t : 

the fact that you’re choosing to stay by his side despite the dangers that you two might have to face just makes his adoration for you grow even more , and he wants to make sure that no one will dare to hurt his sweetheart .

He might need to be comforted more often … 

Ramon feels horrible about letting all those terrible things Eden did just slip by him , so when the guilt becomes too much he just walks over to you and buries his face in your chest , your genuinely loving words and the sound of your heartbeat giving him a peace that nothing else is able to make him feel .

< You couldn’t have known , love … if Eden tricked you , it’s not something you can blame yourself for . We’ll figure this out , I promise . > 

< … thank you y/n … I … really needed this . > 

< Don’t mention it , Ram . >

If you’re feeling cold , no matter how many degrees it is outside and how much you protest , Ramon will cover you up with his coat .

< Stop it ! It’s freezing out here , you can’t just - > 

< I can … and I will . > 

< Uh , I don’t think so ! 

Here , give me a second … 

There , we can just share it , no reason for you to be cold . > 

< I … 

Pfft … I love you so much y/n . > 

< I love you too , Ram ~ > 

If you ever do get actually hurt by someone ? 

Ohh boy , whoever did it is in trouble … 

Ramon is going to track them down no matter how long it takes , and you better believe he’ll blow so many holes in them that not even their corpse will be remotely recognizable .

< N-no ! PLEASE HAVE MERCY !!! > 

< Heh … should’ve thought about that before putting your hands on y/n , you FUCKING BASTARD ! > 

After he’s done with making the person resign from life , Ramon is going to immediately come back to you to stay by your side if you’ve been badly wounded , constantly apologizing for not being able to keep you safe and also telling you to never ever do something that dangerous again . 

Ramon loves you so much , he just doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if you were gone …

Ramon has grown to become even more physically affectionate than before , and whenever the two of you have are alone for a moment he will just hold you in his arms , giving you loving kisses while whispering sweet nothings in your ear , his deep voice rarely failing to make you blush …

< y/n , you’re so beautiful … I never want to lose you , you’re the one thing keeping me sane in this goddamn hellhole … you’re my everything … > 

He keeps this to himself , but the reason Ramon does this is also because he isn’t even sure if the two of you are going to survive your mission of getting rid of all the oppressors of hybrids in the city .

He wants his moments with you to be engraved in his memory , because if everything were to fall apart the next day he would at least remember his beloved before the end …

You’re his very own ray of hope , after all .