#THE EXPRESSIONS ARE EXACTLY WHAT I ASKED FOR……

[reysdriver]

Apple Of My Eye | E.M.

You and your coworker Eddie finally do something about your longtime mutual crush when he asks you out after a wild day at work — line cook!eddie x waitress!reader fluff

warnings: customer service nightmares, reader cries over it, I think that's it actually

words: 4.8k

The last thing you heard before shutting the walk-in freezer door behind you was a pan dropping to the floor and Eddie cursing loudly at no one in particular. You sat down with your back against a sack of potatoes beside the vegetable shelf. 

The tears that pricked at your eyes were free to run down your face now that you were in the privacy of the walk-in. It’s always been a good place to cry or scream if you were frustrated at work. 

You were slightly startled by the heavy door opening, but you knew you shouldn’t be; other people worked here too, of course. 

It was Eddie walking in, looking frustrated, though his expression softened when he locked eyes with you. 

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asked, letting the door close as he sat down next to you.

You scooted a bit to make more room for Eddie, but still brushed him off.

“I’m okay.” You sniffled, looking down at your feet. “Don’t you have a whole bunch of orders to fill?”

“You know I’m never too busy for you.” He replied, which earned a smile from you. 

It was a true thing, Eddie would always take the time, even in the busiest of rush hours, to compliment you, or make you a special plate of fries, or just let you know that your makeup had smudged in all the haste. 

He never did it with anyone else, not to the same level, at least. All your coworkers used that as proof that he had a thing for you in the same way that you did for him, but you never believed them. 

“So, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

There he goes, using that nickname that makes your heart soar. Now how could you not answer him after he asked as nicely as that?

“Some asshole got mad at me ‘cause I forgot he asked for no vegetables on his burger. He was calling me dumb and saying I’m a bad waitress and—”

“You’re not.” Eddie told you. “Don’t listen to him.”

 One look at Eddie’s pretty brown eyes told you he was being completely sincere, but you were still upset. 

“He was so mean, and he was kind of right.” You protested. 

Eddie shook his head. “Trust me, he’s not. You’re the only coworker I can stand, so you must be doing something right. Plus you just got your degree, so you’re not dumb.”

“It was community college, Eddie.”

“More than I have. Are you calling me dumb?” He nudged you slightly as he teased, and he was finally cheering you up. 

“No.” You shook your head, a bashful smile starting on your face. 

“Good.” He smiled too, happy that his mission of cheering you up was complete. “Now, I would wipe your tears, but my hands are probably covered in oil so I’m gonna need you to do it for me, okay?”

You nodded and used your index finger to wipe the tears under your eyes and on your cheeks. 

The line cook had his eyes trained on you when you looked up back at him, your eyes still glossy but your spirits higher. 

“How are you feeling now?”

“Better.” You admitted with a soft smile. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“Anytime, princess.” He attempted to stifle a groan as he stood up, then stopped before opening the metal door. “I’ll tell Robin to cover your tables for a bit, so don’t worry about getting back to work. You can stay here as long as you want.”

After thanking him again, he flashed you a smile before exiting the freezer room. 

You stayed sitting there, replaying the conversation you just had once over in your head. Once you felt you were composed, you dusted off your clothes and reentered the kitchen. 

Though, as soon as you left the freezer, you could hear shouting coming from the front of house and you knew exactly who it was. 

See, after Eddie left the freezer, when you were busy wiping your tears, Eddie rifled through the receipts to find exactly the guy who made you cry. Not that he needed it anyways, it was obvious who the asshole was when he walked out to the tables and saw some angry looking loser picking at his french fries. 

Now Eddie was in the middle of shaming the man in front of the whole diner. 

Customers had their heads turned to watch the public scolding, and all the staff had paused their duties to stare from the sides of the room as well. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you? You’re a grown man and you can’t even bear to pick some tomatoes off your burger? You need to whine about the lingering taste of fuckin’ lettuce and make your poor waitress feel like shit?!” Eddie shouted at the guy you were serving. “You better give her one hell of an apology, you hear me?!”

The man nodded pathetically, clearly shaken by the cook’s rant. He probably couldn’t muster up an agreement even if he tried. 

Robin, who you had stood next to while watching Eddie chew that customer out, turned to you. She hardly looked flustered at all, since she was used to the diner’s usual activities. 

“And you still doubt that he likes you back.” She whispered with a smugly raised eyebrow. 

Eddie looked around the room for a moment and noticed you were there. With an outstretched hand and a soft voice, he beckoned you towards him and the man at the booth. 

“Sweetheart, can you come over here for a second?” He asked, ever so politely. 

You obliged and walked over to him, holding your breath as the threat of crying again was still there. 

Standing at the end of the table, Eddie’s gaze panned from you to the slightly terrified man sitting down. 

“Now’s the time for that apology, dickwad.” Your coworker gritted. 

The man struggled to look you in the eyes as he stuttered out some words of regret. “I’m sorry— Er, I’m sorry for complaining about the burger and saying all that rude stuff, too. I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you.”

The line cook looked over at you, gauging your reaction. “How was that?”

You nodded and flashed him a tiny smile, then told the customer that you accepted his apology. 

“Good.” Eddie declared. “Now I’ll go make you a plain, boring burger. And if you’re really sorry then this pretty girl better see a damn good tip when you finish your meal, got it?”

The man nodded meekly once again, and Eddie seemed satisfied with that. He walked back on over to the kitchen while you made your way to your other tables, and the rest of the diner resumed eating and conversing—definitely discussing what just happened.

For the rest of his meal, the man was nice to you. Avoidant for sure, but nice nevertheless. And when he paid, he left a whopping twenty dollar tip and left in a hurry. 

Now that the lunch rush was over, you checked the kitchen for Eddie, then Jonathan informed you that he was out back taking a smoke break. 

You thanked him, and headed to the back exit of the building where you knew the cook spent a part of every shift. Sure enough, he was standing right next to the door with a cigarette in hand. 

“Hey, princess,” Eddie said, exhaling a cloud of smoke away from you. “what are you doing back here?”

You smiled at him and fished the twenty dollar bill out of your pocket to display it. “That guy you yelled at left me a pretty nice tip. Here, it’s yours.”

He shook his head and held out a hand to gesture that he couldn’t take it. “No way, you deserve it. Fuckin’ least you should get after having to deal with that asshole.”

You laughed at his dismissal and tried offering again. 

“Come on, you practically mugged that guy to get this money, you have to take it.”

He looked at you with a slight grin, but you couldn’t decide if his expression was that of smugness or entertainment. 

“You can hold out that cash until your wrist falls off, I won’t take your money.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, sincere but still purposefully overdramatic. You put the bill back in your apron and quickly counted out ten ones that you had earned from other tables, then held those out instead. 

“You should at least have half. I can’t let you leave with nothing. If you don’t take it now, I’ll follow you around all day, begging you to take it.” 

Eddie cocked his head to the side and smiled. “As tempting as that is, sweetheart, I can’t steal you away from your job like that. I’ll take that money, but I’ll be spending it on you.” 

Your heart fluttered at Eddie’s flirting, which was far less subtle than usual. You had to bite the tip of your tongue to prevent yourself from grinning ear-to-ear. 

He reached out to take the cash, but he was still grinning mischievously. 

“With my half of the cash, I wanna take you on a date, if you’ll let me.”

Holy shit. You never thought he’d ask. And you had expected even less that he would ask in such a gentlemanly manner. Eddie was the type of guy to accidentally tell his boss to fuck off after coming into work hungover, not use the phrase ‘if you’ll let me’. 

“I’d like that.” You responded, way more chill than you had expected your reaction to be. “Anything you have in mind?”

“You trying to expose the fact that I’ve thought about this before?” Eddie smirked, which in turn caused you to blush even more than before. “What time do you get off work tonight?”

“Seven, and you?”

“Same. We can rent a movie and I can make you dinner at my place?” 

Shit, Eddie thought, I don’t remember the state I left my trailer in. 

He tried recalling how messy he left his home, quickly so he could take back the offer if needed. 

“Yeah, sounds great.” 

Too late now. But as nervous as he was for you to walk into his trailer and see a bunch of dirty dishes and laundry piles, the feeling of glee he felt because you said yes was trumping that a hundred times over. 

“Perfect.” Eddie said, stamping out his burnt cigarette. He opened the door back to the restaurant and held it open so you could go first. “After you.”

“Thanks.” You said, barely able to hide your giddy grin. “I gotta get back to my tables, but I’ll see you at seven.”

You both parted ways with matching smiles, hoping the rest of your shifts fly by faster than usual. For the rest of the day, you seemed to have an extra pep in your step while you waited tables. 

As seven o’clock approached, you passed off all your tables to other coworkers, told Steve and Robin you wouldn’t need a ride home, and headed to the washroom to fix your hair and touch up your makeup. 

Once you were satisfied, you headed to the locker room, where Eddie was standing casually against his own locker. His bored expression morphed into a bright look when he saw you walk in. 

“Hey.” Eddie said as you opened your locker and put away your apron. “Ready to go?” 

You nodded, and he opened the door for you once again. Such a gentleman when he wants to be. 

“So, any movie ideas?” He asked as you both got into his van. 

“Something fun.” You told him. “Maybe something like Ferris Bueller's Day Off or Splash?” 

“Anything you want.”

For the ride over to the video store, you listened to the radio—a station with both pop and rock—and chatted about everything under the sun. 

Once you got to Family Video, you headed towards the comedy section whereas Eddie got distracted by a display of staff picks near the front. He called your name, and you turned around to see him holding up The Texas Chain Saw Massacre with a simper. 

“This can be fun, don’t you think?”

You shook your head. “Not if we’re eating tonight. I’ll throw up everywhere. And that’s not the kind of thing that earns a second date.”

He put it down and walked towards the aisle you were standing in. “So you’re already thinking about a second date, huh?” 

You rolled your eyes and went back to browsing the shelves. Your eyes landed on a familiar favourite, so you grabbed it and held it up to show Eddie. 

“Clue, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you couldn’t do murder movies?”

“No, I just said I couldn’t do that one. This one is hilarious and agreeable.”

“Alright. Hand it over, I already promised to pay for whatever you want.”

You give the tape to him like he asked and you both walk over to the cashier, a teenager who looked extremely disdainful about his job. Eddie pulled out some of the cash you had made him take earlier and placed it on the counter. 

Once the transaction was over, you thanked both Eddie and the bored worker, then you headed back out to Eddie’s car. 

“So, what meal are you going to spend the remaining five dollars and something cents on?” You asked him, buckling yourself as he rolled out of the parking lot. 

Eddie always hated his seatbelt, but he put it on after you—’cause of that damn new law they put in last year.

“I’ll put that in my pocket and save it for the next date. I already have all I need for dinner at home.”

You hummed, slightly surprised. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “I just wouldn’t have pegged you as a chef outside of the diner. You always seem like you’re done with cooking forever when you clock out.”

“You’ve got me there.” Eddie responds. “I only cook at home when it’s for someone else. When I’m alone, my meals are mostly toast and canned pasta.”

“So who else were you planning on cooking for? You said you have all those ingredients.” That was half teasing, half genuinely curious about Eddie’s personal life. 

“My uncle, actually. I cook him dinner once a week, mostly ‘cause it proves to him that I can eat healthy.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“What can I say?” Eddie shrugged dramatically. “I’m just a sweet guy.”

Once you arrived at Eddie’s trailer, he was relieved to open the door and see that his place hadn’t been left in shambles. The place wasn’t as neat as he would like for a first date—especially one with you—but it was good enough. 

“So, this is it.” Eddie said, arms outstretched like a real estate agent. “You want a tour or is that just for stuffy old people?”

“I’ll take a tour.”

Eddie was kind of hoping you didn’t say that. The trailer was small and he was a little embarrassed. But he supposed it was his own fault for asking in the first place. 

“Alright. Here’s the living room, it’s where I smoke and watch TV.” 

You let out a giggle at the bluntness of his tour. He was glad his joke (half-joke) didn’t fall flat. 

“And you can follow me three feet to the kitchen, which is where I make good meals for others and crap for myself.”

He opened a cupboard full of canned food and snacks for the realtor effect, then did the same with the fridge. He waved a hand near it like a magician showing off a box that no longer contains a woman in a sparkly leotard. 

“We can then move on to the bathroom. It’s got a shower with mediocre water pressure, a pretty average toilet, and a sink that’s covered in toothpaste—don’t look at that, actually.”

You kept walking to the only other real room in the trailer, his bedroom. It was about the size of the kitchen area, and it was very distinctly Eddie. All the walls were covered floor-to-ceiling in posters for metal bands and movies he likes, every surface was covered in snack boxes and ashtrays, and he had one incredibly cool guitar hanging in the middle of his wall. 

After staring at the room for so long that you probably had at least one wall memorised, you and Eddie both realised you hadn’t spoken in a while. 

“This is where the magic happens.” Eddie said, not quite as smoothly as he was going for. 

“The magic?” You teased. 

He thought for a second, then clarified. “Not that kind of magic. I just make music and write Dungeons & Dragons campaigns.”

“That can be pretty magical.” You shrugged. 

“Yeah, but not as magical as the dinner I’m about to make for you. If you’re not excited already, you should start.”

You both left his bedroom and Eddie instructed you to relax in the living room and turn on the TV to something you could use as a backdrop while Eddie cooked. 

While he made dinner, you sat comfortably on his couch and chatted with him from the other room. You got to know each other, more than you do at work. Eddie told you about his band and how they play at The Hideout, you told him about your time at community college and your friends outside of the diner. 

“Alright, soup’s on.” Eddie announced, setting two plates on his kitchen table and inviting you over. “Actually, it’s not soup, it’s chicken parm.”

“I appreciate the clarification.” You sat down in the seat closest to you. “It looks good. Smells amazing too.”

And it really was as amazing as it seemed. Although you were no stranger to Eddie’s cooking, all you’ve ever had made by him was diner food. Of course, the diner food was great, but this was another level. You weren’t sure what set it apart; maybe it was just the quality ingredients and lack of yelling while cooking. 

Once your plate was almost empty, Eddie asked if you wanted dessert too. You were slightly confused as you hadn’t seen him make any dessert to go along with the meal, but you agreed anyway. 

“Did you make dessert?” You asked after he stood up. 

“Nope, but I’ve got all the ingredients, so I can make it now.”

“Oh.” You suddenly felt bad, even though he already offered and went through with making you food. “Well, I don’t want to put you out. We can just watch—”

“It’s okay. I don’t have the ingredients for anything fancy. Just the simple stuff.”

That made you feel a little better. You were still curious, but for a different reason now. What could Eddie make quickly to pair with that fantastic dinner. 

You watched as he pulled out Oreos and gummy worms. Was he making a child’s favourite snack as your dessert?

“What are you planning there?” You asked him. 

Then you saw him open the fridge and pull out chocolate pudding cups, then it all clicked in your head. 

Holy shit. Worms and Dirt. 

That was absolutely not what you were expecting, but it was definitely a welcome surprise. 

“I was thinking about just serving up sliced apples and peanut butter along with some cheesy pick-up line like ‘you’re the apple of my eye’, but I figured that would scare you away.” 

“I don’t think that would scare me away.” You told him. “In fact, I would have found it cute. But I’m happy with the pudding.”

Eddie was quite flattered by that, though he tried hard to not let it show. You could definitely see a blush on his cheeks and the corners of his lips turning upwards, as much as he covered it up.

“You ever had Worms and Dirt?” He asked, opening up the Oreo pack. 

“Yeah.” You answered from your seat at the table while he scraped off the cookie filling. “My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid.”

Eddie stopped preparing the food for a second as he turned and gave you a genuine smile. 

“Me too.” 

After that, Eddie went back to making the dessert, the happy expression still lingering on his lips. 

“I’m almost done, do you want to pop the movie in while I’m finishing up?”

You nodded, then waltzed over to the living room to start up Clue. While the opening credits rolled, Eddie took a seat next to you on the couch and spread out a couple bowls and several pudding cups on his coffee table. 

He handed you a spoon and gestured to the setup in front of you two. 

“I figured we could do like a make-your-own thing, just ‘cause I always find one is never enough, and then you can choose your portions, you know?”

You hummed in agreement. “It’s a pretty good idea.”

Eddie then pointed to the bowl in between the cookie crumble and gummy worms. Inside that one was the creme filling he had just scraped out of the Oreos. 

“Oh, and that’s for you.” 

Just like Eddie earlier, you were super flattered but didn’t want to show your cards. You thanked him for saving you the best part, and then the two of you made your desserts and brought your attention to the movie. 

Somewhere along the way while watching it, you and Eddie had moved from your spots on opposite ends of the couch to meeting somewhere in the middle, wrapped up with each other. 

You were pressed against his side with a hand on his back and an arm around his abdomen. He had his arm slung around your shoulder, and you liked it. He liked it too. And truth be told, you had both pictured yourself before in this exact position—among others. 

As Wadsworth dramatically ran through each murder and event of the night, Eddie subtly looked down to see your entertained expression trained on the TV screen. 

Even though Eddie quite liked the movie you were watching, he liked you more. He was trying to think of a way to make a bigger move on you instead of actually paying attention. 

He was about to do it too. Just as his hands started to wander, there was a knock at his front door that caused you both to back off of each other and turn your heads that way. 

“It’s probably just some kid looking for weed. I’ll be back in a second, you don’t need to pause it.” Eddie told you as he stood up.

“Okay. Hurry up or you’ll miss the ending!” You told him. 

He opened the door and sure enough, it was a kid looking for weed. Some high schooler, maybe seventeen years old. In one hand, he had a couple crumpled bills, and the other one was in his pocket. 

“Someone told me to come here for… stuff.” The kid said to Eddie. 

“Okay, how much do you want?” Eddie replied. 

The boy looked confused, thinking it through. 

“I don’t know.” He finally answered. “I was just told to bring money.” 

“Okay, well I’ve got someone over and you’re wasting my time a little bit. How about you just hand me that money, and I’ll bring you whatever that’s worth?”

“Okay.” 

The kid handed over the cash and Eddie told him to stay at the door while he counted the money and walked over to his bedroom. 

He came out with a small baggie in his hand and flashed you a quick apologetic grin before facing the kid again. 

“There you go. Enjoy.” 

Eddie shut the door behind him and walked back to the couch to sit with you again, just as the movie was wrapping up. 

“I’m sorry about that. I was hoping tonight could go interrupted, but that’s never the case, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s alright. I didn’t know you still dealt.”

The staff at the diner was pretty close-knit, and you had heard lots about Eddie selling drugs in high school, but you had figured that was in the past. You weren’t judging, though. People do what they can to pay the bills—you were both working in a diner at the edge of your crappy town, you know all about that. 

“I don’t really. Just from time to time, I guess.” Eddie shrugged. “Does that bother you?”

“No. Everyone’s gotta do what they can in life. I don’t have a problem, as long as you’re okay with it.” 

“Cool.”

You both just looked at each other for a second, not sure what to say now. Eddie missed the perfect opportunity to make the move he wanted to make on you earlier, and now the movie was over. 

You both silently cursed yourself for not doing what you really wanted to do earlier, but the mood was interrupted by a kid at the door wanting to get high. 

Although you wanted to stay at Eddie’s place for longer, you knew the night was coming to a natural end. 

“I should probably get home soon. I have work in the morning.” 

Eddie was mentally kicking himself for not doing anything earlier, but he definitely wasn’t going to try and convince you to stay since he was aware how that could make him seem. 

“Yeah, okay. I can drive you home.” He stood up and grabbed his car keys from the counter. “You know, Steve’s probably already getting his beauty sleep or something.”

You thanked Eddie and strolled over to him, who was holding the door open for you. 

The two of you walked out to his van, and you slid into the same seat where you had begun the evening. Eddie sat down next to you and flashed you a quick smile before starting the car. 

The ride back to your place was, for the most part, quiet and awkward; it was a sad change from the chemistry you were feeling just an hour ago. 

When you arrived back home, Eddie stopped the car, but you spoke before you got out and the night would be officially over. 

“Thanks for tonight, Eddie. I think we should do this again.”

He looked flustered for a moment. It was no more than a second, but you caught it anyway.

“Well, thanks for saying yes, sweetheart. Are you doing anything Sunday?”

“I have a shift in the morning, but I’m done by the early afternoon.”

“Perfect.” Eddie smiled. “I’ll think of something for us to do then.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt as you badly masked a grin. 

“Okay. It’s a date.”

Eddie opened the door on his side, and so you followed suit. 

“You want me to walk you back?” Eddie offered. 

You stood a foot and a half away from Eddie beside his van and looked back to your apartment building. 

“Steve and Robin are probably pressed against the peephole right now, so I don’t know.”

Eddie ran his hand through his hair and shook his head amusedly. “Ah, I see. You’ve already got people looking out for you?”

You hummed, biting your lip softly. 

“So…” You trailed off. 

“So?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. 

That’s when you finally took your chance. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s cheek, just by the corner of his mouth. 

You backed away, and Eddie seemed flustered but happy, so you knew it went well. 

“Thanks again. I’ll see you at work, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie said quietly. “See you.”

It wasn’t often that Eddie flustered like that. Usually he was calm and collected, or at least yelling, if we’re talking about being in the kitchen at the diner. But very rarely did Eddie blush, and that’s exactly what he did after you kissed him. 

He guessed that it made a lot of sense that you could be the one to make him feel things that no one else can. 

Eddie watched as you walked over to the front of your building and gave him a wave before going inside. His thoughts were moving so fast, he can’t even remember if he waved back. Damn, he hopes he waved back. 

Then, as soon as you were inside and you were both out of each other’s sight, Eddie had to let out his excitement. He took a step out and threw his head forward, shouting at the top of his lungs. 

He stopped the moment he realised you might be able to hear him, and quickly went back into his van. Then he started shouting inside the privacy of those metal walls. 

Eddie was really excited about seeing you tomorrow. 

Little to Eddie’s knowledge, you were just as excited as him, if not even more.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑺𝒏𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 936

Warnings: none

Summary: Alexia steals your snacks. [Request]

Notes: Yes, I say crisps. I am British. That’s what we call them here.

It was a rare evening off, and you were sprawled out on the couch, enjoying the peaceful comfort of home. The TV was on, tuned to a match you’d been eager to watch all week. A bag of crisps rested on your lap, your hand occasionally reaching in for another bite. It was your favorite flavor, and after a long day, the simple pleasure of good snacks and football was pure bliss.

Alexia sat beside you, her legs tucked beneath her. Her attention flicked between her phone and the TV, though she seemed far more interested in you than the game. Every now and then, you caught her glancing at the bag of crisps in your lap, her brown eyes narrowing slightly, her expression one of calculated determination.

You pretended not to notice, knowing exactly what she was up to. Alexia had a habit of stealing your snacks, despite having no shortage of her own. It had become a game between the two of you—a game you usually lost, because Alexia was nothing if not persistent.

The first move came just as a corner kick was being taken. You were glued to the screen, anticipating the shot, when Alexia shifted closer. Her hand darted out, fingers brushing against the edge of the bag.

Without looking away from the TV, you tilted the bag out of her reach. “Don’t even think about it,” you warned, your tone light but firm.

Alexia’s lips curved into a playful smirk, her accent thick as she responded. “I am not thinking. I am… what is it? Doing.”

Her hand shot out again, this time a little bolder. You blocked her with your arm, finally turning to give her a mock glare. “Get your own,” you said, holding the bag protectively.

“I don’t want my own,” she said, leaning into you with a pout. “Yours taste better.”

“They’re the same crisps we bought together at the shop,” you replied, laughing. “You literally picked them out.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said stubbornly, her Spanish accent making the words sound far cuter than they had any right to. “Yours are better. Always better.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart melted a little at her antics. Alexia was the picture of focus and discipline on the pitch, a leader through and through. Off the pitch, though? She was your biggest menace.

As the match continued, so did her attempts to steal your snacks. She tried sneaking her hand into the bag during a particularly tense moment on the field, but you swatted her away. She tried distracting you by pointing at the screen and exclaiming, “Goal! Look!” even though there was no goal. When you didn’t fall for that, she resorted to whining, her head dropping dramatically onto your shoulder.

“Why do you not share with me?” she asked, her voice laced with exaggerated sorrow. “You are so mean.”

“Mean?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “You’re the one trying to steal from me. That’s mean.”

Alexia sat up straight, crossing her arms. “It’s not stealing if we share everything. We are girlfriends.”

“Oh, is that how it works?” you teased, grinning at her. “Then why didn’t you share your churros with me last week, huh?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she avoided your gaze. “That was different.”

“Sure it was,” you said, laughing as you took another crisp.

For a moment, she looked defeated, slumping back against the couch with a huff. You thought you’d won. But Alexia was nothing if not determined.

Her next move was more elaborate. She grabbed the throw pillow beside her and tossed it onto the floor. When you bent down to pick it up, muttering about her being messy, she seized the opportunity to grab the bag. By the time you sat up again, the crisps were in her hands, and she was grinning triumphantly.

“Hey!” you protested, reaching for the bag.

Alexia held it out of reach, her long arms giving her an unfair advantage. “Too slow!” she sang, giggling as you tried to wrestle it back.

You lunged for her, and the two of you ended up in a full-on tug-of-war. She was laughing so hard she could barely hold onto the bag, but she refused to let go. “I win!” she declared, though her words were muffled by laughter.

“Like hell you do,” you shot back, climbing onto her lap in a last-ditch effort to reclaim your snack.

The two of you toppled over, landing in a heap on the couch. The bag of crisps fell to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere. For a moment, you both froze, staring at the mess. Then Alexia burst into laughter, her face buried against your shoulder as she shook with amusement.

“You’re impossible,” you said, but you couldn’t help laughing too.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “And you love me.”

“Unfortunately,” you said, but the smile on your face betrayed your words.

Alexia leaned in, pressing a quick, playful kiss to your lips. “You are lucky I love you more,” she said, her voice soft but teasing.

The match on TV was long forgotten by now, the crisps scattered across the floor a minor inconvenience compared to the warmth of Alexia’s laughter and the way her arms tightened around you. In that moment, as the two of you lay tangled on the couch, it didn’t matter who won or lost your silly little game. All that mattered was her smile, her laughter, and the undeniable fact that she was your favorite kind of chaos.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @wileys-russo @mead-iocre @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[froppy-butterflyfan2000]

Hiraya produced one energy sphere then another at ease. There is a smug written in her face. Janaya rolled his eyes towards Hiraya’s boasting attitude. Hiraya and Janaya are taught how to use energy magic by their father in the magic training room of their family home. Janaya is having trouble in making an energy ball.

“You’ll get it. You just need to try harder.” Said Kyle.

Janaya scowled and side eyes at Hiraya. “I am trying. I’m trying harder than anyone else. Do you know how humiliating it is to struggle with something everyone else can just do?”

“You are not, concentrate son.” Said Kyle, ignoring Janaya’s feelings. Janaya frowned. He saw how Nebula demonstrate herself in creating an energy ball (only because she has the power of the Royal Wand) and she did give tips to him. It is always concentration!

Janaya gritting his teeth out of anger. A burning rage inside in belly. He gather all the energy from his surrounding and the mana in his body as much he could. Especially his own anger, converting it into Noir Fuel Spirt. He finally made a energy ball. It is a blue colour that look exactly like a kill ball. Janaya lashes out, throwing it to the wall, sending it flying and disintegrating and splitting the target. Hiraya flinch, seeing another one of her brother’s angry outbursts. Next thing Hiraya and Kyle knew, they watch Janaya fall down to the floor. All Janaya know after he fell, are the the black dots form in his vision and soon he passed out.

“Janaya!” Said Kyle, letting out a gasp. He picks up his son and makes attempts to wake him up. He checks for concussion as well. Kyle realize that his son is not waking up as he check his pulse, still alive but slow due to exhaustion.

~~

Janaya lifts himself up from bed, he rubs his eyes in circle motions. He realizes he is in his room. Janaya see his mother, sitting on a chair, next to her son lying in bed.

“Mom?” Janaya asked. “What happened?” He said confused.

“Your dad says you have a hissy fit during magic practice again.” Janna explained. Janaya nodded.

“Did I unintentionally started a fire again?” He asked another question.

“No.” Janna replied with an answer, relieving Janaya of his anguished thoughts. He did not start fire, that means he is making good progress with his magic.

“After what happened, we can deny it no longer. Me and your father decided that he won’t be your instructor in energy magic. Since you are magically disable in this attribute.” Said Janna.

“But… I wants to be a master wizard likes dad…” he said, looking at his mom in pleading eyes and fear that he disappoints his dad.

Janna felt sympathetic towards her son. “You will be just like him Janaya, just not wielding energy magic.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

That was a back then when he was a child, Janaya watch from afar to see Second Summer Campers casting spells in The Arena of Camp Synonymous Island. In his time in Townsville, as a part of his magic journey, he had met many magic users. Some are super heroes. Some as civilians. Some as superheroes. He has seen some who have potential to be master wizards. A few who would become Sorcerer Supreme in Eugenia’s eyes.

“You okay Jan?”, Ethan asked.

“I confirm that I am fine with my emotions,” Janaya replied, maintaining his pace and volume and express openness and gratitude to not get caught up on something that bother him. “I appreciate you asking; thank you.”

Janaya out on a half smile, Ethan respond in silence, looking at Janaya’s half smile.

“Trying to get the cat to catch my tongue?” Said Ethan. “Nice try. I know that you are staring at the campers from afar. They won’t be catching up to us anytime soon. Our time right now is young. Don’t be so negative and hard on yourself.”

“……I don’t know what you are talking about.” Janaya lied.

Ethan Corduroy and Nebula Butterfly-Lucitor (mentioned) belong to @ej-cappy-universe

Eugenia Maximoff (mentioned), Hiraya B.C. Bloodworth-Thomason and Janaya A. Bloodworth-Thomason belong to @froppy-butterflyfan2000 (me)

"You'll get it. You just need to try harder."

"I am trying. I'm trying harder than anyone. Do you know how humiliating it is to struggle with something everyone else can just do?"

[bookwormjust]

Pickup Duty (established relationship with Azriel, a little demand by your nephew)

The warm afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the townhouse, casting a soft glow across the room. You were sitting with Feyre, sipping tea and chatting about your latest projects when Nyx bounded into the room, full of energy as usual after spending the day outside.

“Mama!” Nyx called, his small wings fluttering excitedly behind him as he ran over to Feyre. His violet eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked between you and his mother, clearly with something on his mind.

Feyre smiled at him, brushing her fingers through his tousled hair. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Nyx glanced up at you, his expression bright with curiosity. “Can Auntie come take me from school tomorrow? Please?”

His request caught you by surprise, and you exchanged a quick glance with Feyre, who raised an amused eyebrow. Nyx’s innocent, hopeful expression was impossible to resist, and you could feel your heart soften at his excitement.

Feyre chuckled softly, pulling her son into her lap. “You want Auntie to pick you up from school?” she asked, teasing him gently. “Why not me or your father?”

Nyx grinned, his little wings flapping as he giggled. “Because Auntie is fun! She promised we could get sweets after school if she picked me up.”

You laughed softly, realizing you might have mentioned something along those lines during one of your previous visits. “Ah, I see. So that’s why I’m the favorite today.”

Azriel had entered the room by this point, his shadows trailing behind him as he crossed the threshold. His hazel eyes softened when he saw you, but his expression quickly shifted to one of amusement as he took in Nyx’s excited demeanor.

“What’s this about sweets?” Azriel asked, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

Nyx turned toward his uncle, his wings giving an extra flutter of excitement. “Auntie’s gonna pick me up from school tomorrow!”

Azriel’s brows lifted, and he shot you a look, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Oh, is she now?”

You shrugged, unable to keep the smile off your face. “Apparently, I’ve been chosen for pickup duty.”

Feyre looked between all of you, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Well, if it’s all right with your aunt and uncle, then I suppose I don’t see why not.”

Nyx cheered, clapping his hands before launching himself toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Thank you, Auntie!”

You laughed, ruffling his hair affectionately. “All right, little one. But you have to behave in school tomorrow if you want those sweets, deal?”

“Deal!” Nyx agreed enthusiastically, his eyes bright with excitement.

Azriel watched the scene unfold, his shadows swirling around him in a slow, lazy dance. His gaze met yours across the room, and despite his calm demeanor, you could see the fondness in his expression. He stepped closer, gently pulling Nyx off you and hoisting him up onto his shoulder with ease. Nyx squealed with delight as Azriel’s wings flared slightly, steadying the boy as he balanced on his uncle’s broad shoulder.

“And what happens if Nyx doesn’t behave tomorrow?” Azriel asked, his voice laced with teasing.

Nyx pouted playfully, shaking his head. “I’ll be good, I promise, Uncle Az!”

Azriel chuckled, casting you a sidelong glance. “I’ll hold him to that. Though I have a feeling you’re the one spoiling him more than his parents.”

You smiled innocently, leaning back in your chair. “Well, what are aunties for if not a little spoiling?”

Feyre laughed at that, clearly enjoying the playful exchange. “Exactly. Besides, Rhys and I could use a little break sometimes.”

Azriel gave Nyx a final toss in the air before catching him again, setting him back on his feet with ease. He turned to you, one eyebrow raised as his lips quirked up into a half-smile. “Seems like you’ve got yourself a busy day tomorrow. Don’t let him con you into too many sweets.”

Nyx giggled, running back to Feyre, but not before giving you one last enthusiastic wave.

You looked up at Azriel, who was now standing beside you, his wings folded neatly behind him. His eyes were warm as he gazed down at you, the smallest smile lingering on his lips.

“I think you might be his favorite person now,” Azriel said softly, his voice laced with amusement.

You grinned, reaching up to gently touch his arm. “He knows how to work his charm, just like his father.”

Azriel chuckled at that, leaning down to brush a soft kiss against your forehead. “Well, just don’t let him talk you into too many extra sweets. Otherwise, Rhys will have something to say about it.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him as his arm wrapped around your shoulders. “I’ll do my best.”

As you stood there together, watching Nyx babble on to Feyre about his plans for tomorrow, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. This was your family, and moments like this—filled with warmth, love, and laughter—made you appreciate it all the more.

And tomorrow, as you picked Nyx up from school and indulged in a few treats together, you’d know that you were making memories that would last a lifetime.

[xoxxbilliexoxx]

Friends? Just Friends?

After years of being friends with Billie, the sexual tension comes to an all time high and can’t be ignored any longer. You finally let her teach you exactly what it feels like to be with a woman

This is super long but I promise it’s worth it ;)

Y/N Pov

I walk over to the speaker, turn it on, and ask Billie what playlist she wants to hear. It’s a chill Sunday afternoon, and after Billie and I woke up around noon, we’ve been lying in bed watching TikTok and yapping. Billie slept over last night after a late night at a friend's party. It seems like these days I don’t spend many nights without Billie in my bed, or me in hers. We’ve been friends for years but a while ago we both expressed how bored and lonely we each had been, and started hanging out almost all the time. Now a few months later, she's definitely my best friend, always attached to each other's hips. I finally pulled myself out of bed a little while ago, and now it is unfortunately time for my Sunday routine. Billie knows it well by now since she’s been forced to be a part of it week after week.

“Let's do some bossa nova this week, I’m in the mood to move my hips” Billie laughs back at my question. We’ve bonded over our love for international music and it has been slowly added into the Sunday routine, choosing a different type each week once I finally force myself out of bed, cleaning up my room while Billie's lazy ass stays under the comfy sheets goofing off on her phone and telling me all her crazy thoughts. She starts seductively moving her hips beneath the blankets as she laughs and hums to the Brazilian guitar purring through the speaker. I look over at her as I lean down to pick up the dirty clothes that have accumulated in the corner of my room, laughing back at her.

As I stand up and try to turn around, I feel my foot slide out from under me, seemingly having been planted on a dirty pair of underwear I missed. I hit the floor with a loud thunk and Billie darts to the corner of the bed, not even trying to hide her laughter as she tries to calm down long enough to ask if I’m okay. I turn my head to follow her voice, and all I can see is her head extending off the bed, hovering over me, leaving me laughing just as loud as she is. “Oh my god, I will never not make fun of your clutsy ass ending up on the floor” she yells out between her giggles, trying hard to catch her breath as she points down at me laughing more as she mocks my fake hurt face.

I grab the first thing I can find next to me and throw it at her face before pretending I’m mad, yelling for her to quit being a bitch and help me get up. She dramatically dodges whatever it is coming for her face then leans her hand up catching it. As she opens her hand and realizes it's my black thong I wore last night, she acts as if shes absolutely disgusted before she laughs and throws it back at me. “Bitch don’t you ever throw ur crusty ass panties at my face again,” she says with a tight smile, letting me know she doesn’t actually care. I open my mouth gasping at her words, “crusty? Whose panties you calling crusty cuz they sure as hell aren’t mine” I say, before standing up from the floor and grabbing them to add them to the laundry bin. “My kitty is nice and clean, and so are my underwear,” I add, as I turn to her, knowing she hates when I call it my kitty.

“Yea yea,” she laughs, before jumping off the bed, “I bet it is,” she whispers, leaning her head close to mine before winking and walking to the bathroom. I take a second to look for something next to say, not coming up with anything. Billie and I have always walked a fine line of flirting and just joking around as friends. It's clear we both do it, but we’ve never acknowledged it. Instead, it just stays in our presence, like a thick tension we pretend we don’t feel. I feel it all too well though, always holding an intense attraction to her, since the day I met her. Quite honestly it was even before that, when I was still just a fan of hers and never thought I’d end up her best friend. That is another whole story though.

Ever since I told Billie I thought I might be gay, the tension has only grown, yet we continue not to recognize it, like we are both terrified of what might happen if we do. I decide in a split second to be bold, regretting the words as soon as they come out of my mouth, “Nice and clean and with no one to show it to,” Billie whips her head back at me with a smile, toothpaste spilling out the sides as she laughs and wipes it away, rubbing it shamelessly on the big t-shirt she slept in. I giggle a bit before finding my confidence again. Maybe this damn bossa nova is getting to my head but I feel the tension as thick as its ever been. I catch a look in her eyes that I haven’t seen before, like shes thinking about what I look like under these boxers. “No *girl* to show it to”, adding emphasis to my words as I correct my previous statement.

I turn around and walk towards my desk as silence falls between us. I begin picking up all the makeup on my vanity, continuing on with my cleaning, letting the bossa nova fill my head again. I can hear Billie finishing in the bathroom, clinking her toothbrush on the side of the sink before setting it back in the cup and walking into my room again. She settles on the edge of the bed in criss-cross, watching me clean and hum along with the guitar.

“So you’ve thought more about it then, huh?” she asks me delicately, knowing we haven’t talked about it in a while. I look into the mirror and find her eyes on the bed behind me, eyes that have already found me. I turn around to face her before I shrug my shoulder. “I mean I think about it constantly, I just feel so nervous about it all. I really think I’m into women but I don't know where to go from here” I answer her, but continue on after a brief pause. “Actually, I know I’m into women, regardless it's scary as fuck…. Women are scary as fuck” I laugh out. “You’re cute,” Billie says with a little giggle. It comes out in a friendly way, but the way she continues to stare at me after she says it doesn’t match the solely friendly tone of voice. I pick up a shirt lying on the bench of my vanity and throw it at her head, harder than the panties this morning. It hits her right on the forehead and she sprawls out on the bed dramatically, acting far more hurt than she was. “Oh stop being dramatic and get ur lazy ass up, it's time to go downstairs and clean the kitchen,” I say as I walk over and pull her up by her arms. As I let go and walk out of the room with Billie following behind me, I turn to look at her, “at least it wasn’t another pair of my nasty crusty disgusting thongs” I saw with a big mocking smile, puckering my lips sending her fake kisses like we always do when we are making fun of each other. Yet again we have managed to completely ignore the tension we are both choking on.

TIME JUMP TO THAT NIGHT

Billie and I are sitting on the couch waiting for our postmates to arrive and watching some shitty rom com on that we both picked from the image alone. We already had cold vegan pizza for dinner and are on our second bottle of wine. This is just another classic sunday evening, junk food, wine, and a postmated dessert to finish off the normal routine. When I first met Billie I watched as she drank her sodas and water while everyone else around her drank mixed drinks and beer. She made it clear publicly that she didnt drink, and when I finally asked her why she told me she had no problem with alcohol or the idea of drinking she just hated every drink she ever tried.

One night when we very first started these constant sleepovers she tried a taste of my favorite wine and loved it. A few weeks later she and I shared a bottle and I had the privilege of watching her experience the drunk world for the first time. Nowadays, we usually each have a glass every Sunday night, and occasionally we will have a girl's night and drink more than a few glasses while we watch shitty movies. Tonight was turning into one of those nights, having just stocked up on our favorite when I went to Target earlier. I walk into the kitchen to pop open the second bottle and ask if Billie wants more. She excitedly grabs her glass and runs into the kitchen after me, purposely sliding with her socks on the kitchen tile as she laughs.

The couple of times Billie has ever been drunk have all been with me, and it’s very clear she is a goofy drunk. This girl is already the funniest person I know when she is sober, but being around her while she's drunk has my abs hurting from laughing. She is quite a lightweight, with her infrequent drinking and her tiny body, so usually we just finish a bottle and a half, before we get messy drunk. We both enjoy being just past tipsy, still in control, still with a filter to our thoughts, but just a little more light-hearted and silly.

When we finish the movie and go in for a refill before starting a new one, we look at each other shocked when we pour out the last drops of the second bottle. “Did we drink all of that?” Billie laughs, her cheeks rosy and her eyes big. “Ruh roh” she yells out before laughing and lifting her glass to take the last sip. “I think we just broke our pathetic previous record,” I giggle back at her. “Should we open another??” she asks me, her words making it clear she is leaving it up for me to decide. I can tell she’s never been this drunk, yet I know she’s nowhere near dangerous drunk, or even messy drunk. “Fuck it let's do it” I shout a little too loudly before I grab another bottle out of the fridge.

TIME JUMP (Smutty time)

Our empty wine glasses are sitting on the coffee table in front of us as we lay under the blankets and watch the movie the TV put on automatically after our first movie finished. We are about 20 minutes in and it's becoming incredibly clear this is not at all similar to the cheesy straight rom-com that came before it. I feel my breath catch in my throat and all the wine-filled blood run to my center when the TV fills with the images of two women making out, one being thrown on the bed while the other climbs on top of her. As the sex scene keeps going, I remember that this is Netflix, and they are putting straight-up soft porn in their movies now.

I feel the pool forming in my underwear as I watch this graphic, incredibly hot lesbian sex scene play out in front of me. My drunk face must not be hiding what I'm feeling well because as Billie turns to look at me, she lets out a loud laugh. “Baby you look like a deer in headlights,” she says, still quietly giggling, her drunkenness showing through in the sound of her laughter. I swallow loudly before looking at her and then back at the TV. The moans get louder as we watch one of the girls reach her peak, the other continuing to go down on her. I shift awkwardly on the couch, trying not to make it too obvious how much that affected me, how turned on it got me. The combination of the wine, the hot lesbian sex in front of us, and the sexually charged tension Billie and I shared earlier is making it impossible for me to look Billie in the eyes, too scared of what I might say or do. Billie is still staring at me as my eyes stay glued on the screen, the scene still playing out. I feel her torso lifting up from the couch and getting closer to me before smiling and whispering, “You wish that was you, huh? Sitting here wondering what it must be like to get fucked by a girl… or fuck a girl yourself” she stays close to me, swallowing and giggling before continuing. “It's fucking incredible, better than you could even imagine,” she says matter of factly. The tension is as thick as it could possibly get, almost like I could see it taking over my entire body, and just by looking at Billie it's clear she feels it too.

Before I can stop myself, I spring towards Billie. My momentum picking up as I get closer. Realizing what I’m doing, I pause, scared to move at all. Billie grabs my face, pulling me the rest of the way to her and our lips crash together. Months of building tension all explode at once as our tongues slide against each other, eagerly slipping between one another's lips, no longer hiding how badly we want each other. “Show me, Billie,” I say, pulling back enough to get my words out and swallow. “Show me what it feels like to be with a girl,” I finish. “you have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say those words” she confesses as she stands up, pulling my hand to follow her to my room. We both lightly stumble down the hallway, giggling from the wine and the anticipation of what is to come.

As we make our way into my room I turn on my favorite lamp- it has a dark pink light bulb that glows so nicely in my room at night. I throw myself onto the bed and land right next to Billie, both of us taking a second to laugh at my ridiculous jump before getting quiet again. She turns on her side to face me and I do the same. My hair falls in front of my face as I turn. Billie’s hand comes up, brushing it out of the way before kissing me again, pulling me in tight against her as our legs dance together. Her leg finds its way between mine and as our kiss gets heated again she pushes up against my core. I let out a slight whine as Billie’s hands hit my waist, pushing me harder against her thigh and pushing her tongue into my mouth.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so horny, been so wet, or wanted someone more in my life. Billie’s head finds its way to my neck as she begins placing light kisses against my skin. When she bites down and pushes her thigh against my clit harder, I let out a deep moan that I swear has been growing in me for months. “Mmmmhhhmm, Billie…” I huff as I begin grinding my hips shamelessly against her thigh, begging for any pleasure at this point. Billie's shorts have slid all the way up her leg, leaving her thigh bare and able to feel my soaked shorts gliding against her as I move my hips faster.

I feel her wet lips hit my ear, biting it gently as she breathes out. It is as if my body is on fire, every single nerve ending I have lighting up at once, every touch suddenly feeling sexual. I am melting at her every move and she hasn’t even touched me yet. If this is what it feels like to be with a girl, I want it forever. “Billie please” I whine out, desperation filling my voice as I grind my core harder against her. My wet shorts rub tightly against my clit with every move I make and I feel like I could cum from this alone. A slight embarrassment creeps up, slowing my hips as I realize how close I am to cumming, just from her thigh against my pussy. I grab the back of her head as she continues sucking and biting on my neck. Quiet moans continue spilling from my lips as my head begins to race. Is this a thing in lesbian sex? Am I crazy for doing this? Should I stop?

As my mind continues to take control and ruin my pleasure Billie interrupted the thoughts, almost as if she could hear them out loud. “Don’t stop grinding on my thigh until I feel your cum drench my skin, keep going for me Y/N I know it feels good” Her words are exactly what I needed, making my pussy clench tightly. I grab her chin and pull her into a deep kiss as her hands snake under my shirt and reach my bare chest. She squeezes my big boobs hard before pinching my nipple, giggling as I yelp into her mouth. She continues toying with my hard nipples as I pull away from her lips, too caught up in the pleasure to keep kissing. Each time she pinches and pulls at my bud I groan louder and move my hips faster. Billie catches on quickly, continuing her fun on my boobs, dragging me closer and closer to the edge, flooding every part of my body with overwhelming pleasure. I find my way to her neck, needing to feel closer to her, placing open-mouth kisses all over. I earn a quiet gasp from her when I hit a sweet spot, and latch on tighter.

As I kiss her harder, biting on her skin, continuing to pull moans from her, she suddenly pushes her thigh in a new angle right as I speed up my movements, throwing me over the edge. I grab her tight, pulling her as close to me as she can possibly be. My head is still nuzzled into her neck, my mouth hanging open as loud moans pour from my lips, lips that continuing lightly connect with her skin. My legs shake as she grabs both my hips and continues to move them for me, allowing me to ride out my orgasm for as long as possible. I hold my breath, shocked at the pleasure I am experiencing just from her thigh on my body. A light hum sings from her lips as I finally come down from such a powerful orgasm. I hold her tight as I catch my breath, needing to feel her close to me, trying to process the feelings I am beginning to understand, feelings I felt for her for a long time. Billie giggles as she rubs my back, helping ground me and letting me take my time with my descent back to earth. I finally pull my head from out of her neck and grab her face, needing to kiss her hard before anything is said, trying to gather my thoughts. I let my back fall onto the mattress as I laugh and breath out, still shocked at what was happening, shocked that Billie, my best friend, the girl I’ve secretly been attracted to for years, just pushed me to the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.

“there ya go baby,” Billie says as she climbs on top of me, grabbing my chin, pulling me in for an intensely hot kiss before placing her lips on my forehead. “now let me clean you up” she whispers in between kisses, kisses that started as pecks and are now becoming more and more sloppy. She lifts my shirt up and I grab it, pulling it over my head needing to be free. “Can I see you too Billie?” I ask, a slight innocence and vulnerability peaking out of my words as I hold my fingers at the base of her shirt, slightly sliding it up. She smiles and sits up, tugging the shirt over her head and reaching behind her, immediately taking off her sexy black lace bra. My heart skips a beat when I watch her perfect big boobs drop to their natural, beautiful position. I lay myself up on my elbows pulling her closer, needing them in my mouth. I kiss lightly before wrapping my lips all the way around her nipple, circling my tongue around her bud as one of my hands plays with her free boob. “Ooo baby fuck… y/n mmmm” she sings, her hands pushing my head towards her as I continue on exploring her breasts.

She pushes me away and lays her own lips on my chest, eagerly moving down my body. “I need to taste you, mama, take these slutty little shorts off for me” She pulls at the waistband as I lift my hips up, helping her slide them off of me before laying back down. Her words make my pussy clench, pushing out more of my juices. She grabs both my thighs gripping them hard as she spreads them, groaning loudly as she sees my wet core for the first time ever. I swallow hard, the vulnerability of my exposed pussy hitting me all at once, wanting to hide from her, covering my face with my arm. Billie clearly senses my emotions, knowing me all too well. She places a light kiss on my upper thigh, then another on the other side. “Oh y/n you’re so perfect… sexier than I could have ever imagined,” she kisses my upper thigh again before continuing, “and I’ve thought about it a lot” I whine at her words, the hunger pushing away the vulnerability, and right as I’m about to beg for her tongue, she latches on. Still so sensitive from my last orgasm, I’m unable to hold in any of my moans, immediately drunk from the pleasure yet again. I grab her hair hard and push her against me as my hips buck. “Fuck Billie your tongue feels so good” my moans interrupt my own words, throwing my head back as her tongue circles my swollen clit. “oh baby, fuck Billie please don’t stop, fuck” my words fuel her on as she gets even more intense. It feels like she’s devouring me, eating me alive like she's been starved forever. She comes up for air and we make eye contact. I swallow back my drool as I stare at her, unable to process just how sexy she looks. Her eyes look black from her massive lust-filled pupils and her chin is covered in my cum, dripping down as she licks her lips. “Your pussy tastes so fucking good, mmm I can’t get enough of you” and with that her tongue is back on me, flicking and slurping, swallowing and circling, tasting every inch of my core.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get better, two fingers pump into me, filling me perfectly. I gasp and shake underneath her, beginning to feel overstimulated by the pleasure she gives me. I feel as if im floating, like this is all just a fever dream, it cant be possible for sex to feel this good. “God, fuck, baby. Fuck Billie yesssss” I struggle to get my words out as my hands dart around the bed, trying to find anything to grab hold of, something to anchor me to this bed as I feel my stomach contracting. “I feel you pulsing on my fingers mama, let go for me, cum on my fingers like the good girl I know you are” Her voice is raspy and low, sexier than I’ve ever heard it before. Her nasty words flood my mind and I scream as I feel her lips wrapped around my clit again, sucking and licking as she curves her fingers upward and hits my g-spot. She keeps devouring me and moaning into my pussy as she speeds her fingers up and I feel like I’m about to black out. Thank god I live alone because I don’t think I’ve ever been louder in my life. “Billie Im about to cum, fuck it feels so good please don’t stop” She smiles into my cunt as she flicks her fingers inside of me, doing a come here motion as she pumps them in and out, stimulating me in a way I have never been stimulated before. It feels like she knows my body better than I even do, like shes been fucking me like this for years. She keeps up the motions of her fingers as she flattens out her tongue and pushes it hard against my clit, moving her head side to side. “Oh my goddddd” I scream out as I begin shaking underneath her, being hit with my second orgasm, one that is somehow twice as strong as the first. “Fuck Billie yes fuck” I can’t get all my words out before needing to scream and moan again. “Im cumming baby fuck, f-fuckkkkkkk”

the last of my sentence turns into a deep moan as she keeps going. Keeps plowing her fingers into me, keeps moving her tongue side to side on my clit, keeps lighting me up with intense pleasure. I feel a new sensation as she continues to overstimulate me. It’s something I’ve never felt before and it's stronger than any orgasm I’ve ever had. “Wait billie, fuck, please oh god” She lifts her head up from my clit but speeds up her fingers. My eyes are squeezed shut and my lungs are frozen, unable to breath. I feel like my body is full of stars, like im no longer all the way here. My knuckles ache from how tightly im grabbing the sheets but somehow the pain fuels my orgasm more as it continues to take control of my body. “Billie stop I think i’m about to—” I can’t get my words out fast enough before the gates open and I pour out all over her chest and fingers, squirting hard. I try to move my hips but she grabs me, holding me where I am as I continue spilling out onto her. Screams meet with the wet sounds of my pleasure and I can’t take it any longer. “Okay okay billie fuck im done, im done” I say as my back returns down on the bed and I feel air fill my lungs again. My legs continue to shake and my pussy clenches around her fingers in a rhythm, like it has a heartbeat of its own.

She lays her head down on my thigh as she slowly pulls her fingers out of me. The movement causes me to groan and shake again, a clear indication of just how overstimulated I am. She looks at me, making sure I’m watching as she licks her fingers clean, moaning at the taste of them. As I sit up on my elbows and watch her lick her lips I look down to see her boobs covered in all my juices, wet and dripping, as sexy as they could possibly be. She catches me looking and smirks. “If I wasn’t so fucked out I would be licking my juices off those sexy boobs” I say with a new found confidence. She crawls up me and kisses me softly, letting my tongue slip between her lips and around hers. “You taste good don’t you baby” she moans, before pulling me tight against her naked wet chest. Our boobs rub together and our connection feels electric. “You know I’ve never squirted before, you’re the first” I say, glowing from all the pleasure I just experienced. “I didn’t even know sex

could feel that good” i laugh admitting it then feeling embarrassed. “Welcome to sex with women” she giggles as the words come out, “I feel lucky to be the first of many for you baby, I’ve been wanting you for so damn long, I gotta admit it” she kisses me on my cheek and grabs my nipple playfully making me yelp. “I been dreaming about this for a long time too, Billie” I confess with a smile, looking back at her. “Good things there’s a whole lot more firsts for me to have” I say playfully as I grab her boob again.

I pull her closer to me, both of us back on our sides facing eachother. I crave a type of intimacy with her that I have avoided with every one of my partners for years. Maybe I really am gay and it’s just because shes a woman. Or, maybe, if I let myself really think about it, its because its Billie. My hand falls over her body onto her bare back and my fingers begin lightly dancing over her skin. She snuggles into me tighter and humms. Being in Billie’s arms feels like home. My cheeks flush as I realize that the love I feel for her is not the love you feel for a friend, it is so so much more than that. Its the type of love that terrifies me, or at least it has in the past. For some reason I don't feel scared at all right now, I feel quite the opposite actually.

I continue rubbing her back as our breathing slows, both melting into one another. She breaks the silence with a silky voice, “I think I could stay like this forever” my heart skips a beat at her confession, bringing a calm warmth throughout my body. “I’d like that a lot Billie” she lifts her head from the crook of my neck just long enough to place a kiss on my forehead, before snuggling back into me tighter. We lay like this for a minute before I interrupt. I giggle quietly to myself and she looks up with a curious expression, her eyebrows knit together but a smirk on her lips, “what the hell are you so giggly about?” she says, laughing with me now. “Does this mean,” I giggle again slightly more bashfully this time, before I continue. “Does this mean I get to learn all about lessssbbiiann sexxxxx with you?” I can’t help but say it in a goofy, slightly mocking tone, emphasising my purposefully ridiculous word choice. “Sure does baby girl, sure doesssssssss” She laughs out, matching the playful energy. “Ooo la la” I sing, pulling a laugh from both of us as we lay back down. I can’t help but feel overwhelming excitement for whats to come.

Should I continue on with the story??

[sm-baby]

CRYING

OKAY I FINALLY GET TO RESPOND TO THIS HEHEHEH

THE FIRST ONE IS SO CUTE THE WAY THE WATER FLOODS IN SO SMOOTHLY AND THE CHARACTERS ARE FITTING CARNI GANGLE IS SO LOLA OH MY GOD

Also hehe,,, ablee,, my guy,, abee thats my UAGHSHWW YOU DREW MY LITTLE MANN ❤️❤️COBBIEEE

The way she plays with the bells is somehow so satisfying even if it is just two frames 😭 SHES SO CUTE HOW DID YOU MAKE HER SO CUTE OH MY GODD 🥺 the way you do her expressions are so satisfying theyre so perfectly expressive and just communicates EXACTLY her personality and feelings

Also the ribbons oh my god 😭 so many to keep track off! This must have been a pain to storyboard!

The second one is also so comical but i LOVE the way you make Kinger look so high and mighty WOAHH its so fitting to the sound too CAINE BEING A LITTLE DORK I LOVE IT

Jax is going through it 😔 YEAHHH BAHA CAINE AND POMNI WAITING FOR HIM TO LEAVE I IMAGINE THATS WHAT THE LEVEL IS GOING TO LOOK LIKE TBH THATS SO FITTING I LOVE IT

I FINALLY GET TO SEE THE JILLZ ONE IVE BEEN HAVING IT AS MY PFP FOR THE LONGEST TIME MY LITTLE CUTIEEE AUGHH how did you have the strength to COLOR THAT SECTIONNN 😭😭 MY LITTLE CUTIE i need to make another frame a pfp hehe SHES SO CUTE AND THIS IS SO IN CHARACTER HOW ARE YOU SO IN CHARACTER WITH ALL OF THESE

I know this section isn't for me BUT THE FREAKSHOW ONE ALSO MAKES ME SO HAPPY LMAOOO I LOVE GANGLE AND AINGLE THIS IS SO THEM

" go on kyle ask him for your little brother back" NOOO THIS FITS SO WELL BAHAHA THIS ENTIRE SECTION IS SO GOOD the way bubble pops and reappears in Pomni's hat is the CUTEST THING EVERRR AND ZOOBLE LEAVING IS GEN SO FUNNY

GETTEM CAINNE GET EM when Caine started cursing and we see the other's expressions pomni's scrunched up face AND ZOOBLE'S LITTLE SURPISED PIKACHU FACE WAS SO FUCKING FUNNY BAHAHA

AAAHHH THE FUCKING ONE WHERE DHJAKFOWOD ABLE'S IN THE CUBE AND THE LAST ONE AS WELL I ADORE THE ENVIRONMENTAL STORYTELLING THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I IMAGINE ZOOBLE'S ROOM TO LOOK LIKE AND YOU DJWKOROW GAVE IT SUCH CLEARANCE AND FLAIR I LOVE THIS SO MUCH IT GIVES ME SUCH INSPIRATION TO THINK OF HOW ZOOBLE'S LEVEL WORKS

GIGGLES the little shakes Caine does when he screams ' JUMPPP" gets to me hehe my humor is broken

ABLE'S JUST CHILLING BAHA HES COMFORTABLE THERE YEA THIS IS PRETTY ACCURATE

Overall... In conclusion.. oh my god this is all so crazy cobbie... The pacing, your use of keyframing, THE WAY THIS ALL CLEANLY LINED AND SHADED TOO?? THE PACING DRIVES ME INSANEEE IN SUCH A GOOD WAY! NO WONDER THIS TOOK YOU SO SO LONGG COBBIEEE THIS WAS SUCH AN AMAZING GIFT I LOVE AND ADORE THIS SOOO MUCHHH!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUU FOR MAKING THISSS i love your work and I SWEAR TO GODDD YOURE GOOD TO GO SO FAR!!

Mwah mwah!! LOVE THIS!!

Just a bunch of sketches. I had a large audio list and initially there were more scenes, but I got stuck on it for too long and got lazy.

@sm-baby

@hootbon

@tadc-harlequin-au

[n0vazsq]

Prank Wars | CS55 x Reader

pairing . . . carlos sainz x gf!reader

summary . . . In the midst of your prank war with Carlos, you notice that your favourite handbag has gone missing

request . . . no!

word count . . . 813

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . got this idea in the car and HAD to write it!! hope you guys enjoy <33

. . . The sun was beginning to dip, painting the poolside in hues of gold and orange as you strolled back from the coffee shop. Your favourite drink in hand, you felt the familiar dread of the ongoing prank war you and Carlos had been engrossed in. You’d only stepped away for twenty minutes tops to grab your drink and take a break from the relentless back and forth of your pranks. But as you returned to your lounge chair, a sinking feeling set in.

Your towel was still neatly folded on the chair, your shoes exactly where you’d left them. But your handbag, the one you adored, the one that had survived countless trips, spills, and memories, was gone.

You glanced around, your mind immediately jumping to the prime suspect.

"Carlos!" you shouted, spinning in a slow circle to catch sight of him. Nothing.

Your suspicion only deepened when you remembered the way he’d been acting earlier: too innocent, too calm. That man had 'up to something' written all over him, and now your favorite bag had mysteriously disappeared.

Marching toward the house, you pushed open the sliding door. "Carlos!"

"In here!" His voice spoke from the courtyard, overly casual, overly cheerful.

You rounded the corner and found him leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t have a care in the world. When he glanced up at you, his expression was so innocent it was downright incriminating.

"Hey, hermosa," he greeted cheerfully. "You look a little tense. Everything okay?"

"Don’t you dare," you warned, pointing a finger at him. “Where is it?”

"Where’s what?" he asked, his voice dripping with fakke confusion.

"My bag, Carlos. My favorite bag. Don’t play dumb, you’re bad at it."

He shrugged, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you lose it?"

You stared at him, eyes narrowing. "You are the worst liar I’ve ever met."

He shrugged again, his smirk growing wider, and you spun on your heels, storming back toward the pool area. If he wasn’t going to confess, you’d find the evidence yourself.

As you scanned the area, something caught your eye. Floating peacefully in the pool, bobbing along the gentle waves, was your handbag.

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me," you muttered under your breath, your blood starting to boil.

"Carlos!" you yelled, turning to face him. He had followed you outside, and the second your eyes met, he burst into laughter.

"Okay, okay, listen to me!" he said between fits of laughter, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Carlos Sainz," you said through gritted teeth, "if you think this is funny-"

"It’s not like that, hermosa! I swear!" He stepped closer, his grin still plastered across his face. "Just wait a second, okay?"

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. He jogged over to a lounge chair on the other side of the pool and picked up a beautiful shopping bag with an unmistakable designer logo.

"What is that?" you asked suspiciously as he approached you.

"Well," he started, looking a little shy as he handed you the bag, "I thought your handbag was looking a little… tired, and a bit old. So, I got you a new one."

You blinked, staring at him and then at the shopping bag in your hands. Pulling out the tissue paper, your jaw dropped as you revealed the stunning, elegant handbag inside. The very one you’d been eyeing for months but never had the heart to buy. Or never had the heart to replace your old bag with.

"Carlos…" Your voice softened, the annoyance melting away.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his grin turning a bit sheepish.

You glanced back at the pool, where your old bag was still floating like some abandoned pool float, and then back at him. "Carlos, you dunked my bag in the pool!"

"I’ll take it out!" he promised quickly, holding his hands up again. "But come on, admit it, you love this one."

You bit back a smile, running your fingers over the expensive leather of the new bag. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. It was perfect.

"You’re lucky you’re hot," you muttered, shaking your head.

He laughed, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you. "You know, hermosa, if this is how I win the prank war, I think I deserve bonus points."

You shoved him lightly, but your grin betrayed you. "This isn’t over, Carlos."

"Not until I get your bag out of the pool," he teased, kissing your lips gently.

And as you stood there, new handbag in hand and his arms wrapped around you, you realized that no matter how ridiculous his pranks got, you’d always let him win in the end.

How couldn't you when he made all your dreams come true?

[zylusmusings]

"what do you think our wedding will be like?" she asks, and rafayel feels his heart still immediately. he gives it a second, letting the two sides of his heart battle it out.

a part of him feels giddy - she wants to be his bride again. it will happen again, because they are fated mates! all of the worrying was for nothing because look! she wants to get married, bonded to him again. sure, the "sanctity" of marriage amongst humans on this earth is laughable and ludicrous compared to the solemn oath he literally has embedded to his chest... but he'll take it nonetheless. he'll take anything she has to offer, honestly.

albeit the other part of him wants to sulk and throw a tantrum. because this question is simply yet another reminder of what was left to be forgotten. the fact that she was already his bride, but the fact to be so horridly and devastatingly taken away from him. ripped away from his clutching fingers. sea of god he may be, but the strength of fate has no competition. what a painful reminder that question is, to be reminded, oh yeah you were my bride... until?..

rafayel doesn't realise that dancing around the two emotions has taken some time. purple eyes swirling with mixed emotions as his lips are pursed to the side in silence. this reaction causes her to shift nervously, afraid that she's made him uncomfortable with the question.

she clears her throat soon after, sitting up after spending hours on the couch with him, slouching against the backrest as his purple hair splays out against her chest. the movement shakes him out of his trance, a brief moment of confusion (and a dramatic look of "how could you!”) plastered on his face as he turns around, sitting up for the first time in 2 hours as well. he faces his blushing partner who is clearly flustered at his lack of response.

"um.. i mean - i'm not saying we will definitely get married or like whatever, it was just a question. i don't even know if you wanna marry me. again, it was just a question, you don't have to answer it if you-"

he gasps dramatically, brows furrowed deeply as he scoots away from her in bewilderment. "did you say you don't even know if i want to marry you?" he scoffs, standing up and begins to pace around the room. "is my devotion and quite frankly obvious and constant yearning for you not enough? for you to even question that?"

"rafayel, i-" "maybe the hunter's association should put you on bed rest if your brain's not functioning properly. oh perhaps, it's not the brain, it's your heart and its inability to feel the love i have for you. is that right, hm?"

"rafayel," she repeats louder this time, sighing. "that was not what i meant - i just. you went completely silent on me when i asked the question, so i thought you felt uncomfortable with the topic of marriage." shrugging, the red on her cheeks deepens as a replay of the scene comes to mind. she shrivels into herself, crossing her legs as she begins to play with the loose threads of her sweater. "and i know we’ve never talked about it either, so i shouldn't have just sprung it on you like that."

his face softens immediately, guilt pricking his chest as he watches the vulnerability she was expressing. while she wasn't exactly wrong - the topic of marriage does make him uncomfortable. as much as he wants her to be his bride, it’ll undoubtedly open new doors for pain all over again. but as uncomfortable it is, rafayel knows that she is someone he'd carve his own heart out for (well....).

"you have nothing to apologise for." he tells her gently, the tone contrasting the loud rant he performed earlier, and he's back on the couch, crawling onto the space next to her. his fingers are careful, he reminds himself he's holding onto his reason of being, his kyrptonite, the atoms of sunlight itself. he feels his stomach flip, and the soft warmth that begins to exude from the side of his chest tells him that if she peeked underneath his shirt, she'd bear witness to the physical embodiment of his sacred vow. "it threw me off guard, yes. but only because i've been keeping it myself for far too long, cutie." he smiles, still ever so gentle as his thumb caresses the smooth of her cheek.

"i’ve known that i have wanted to marry you for years now," and while she'll take that as a mere dramatisation (rafayel being rafayel), he means that as literally as it gets. only he knows about the pain, humiliation and fear that comes with the wait and for a moment, he's grateful that she doesn't know. he doesn't want her to be burdened with such hardship-filled emotions, so he'll carry it for the both of them.

"you won't be in white - maybe a light shade of blue. i'll obviously wear the best suit ever to be worn. we'll have a ceremony by the beach," he's speaking straight from the vision he's replayed in his mind countless of times, the smile on his face unconsciously growing as he mindlessly twirls a piece of her hair. "you'll have your hair down, and it'll probably get caught in the sea breeze - but it just makes sense to me."

"and," he pauses for a moment, hesitating before he continues. "we'll say our vows twice. one for everyone to bear witness to, and one just for you and me." a vow so sacred and intimate, rafayel refuses to share with the world. he refuses to taint it even a little bit, it should simply be meant only for his lover and him, and his pure everlasting love for her.

"oh." he has rendered her speechless, and now it's rafayel's turn to be nervous, fearing he has made her uncomfortable. hiding the embarrassment behind a scoff, he pulls away with a pout. "y-you were the one who brought it up first!" immediately, she shakes her head and pulls him back into her chest and rafayel doesn't fight his body when it relaxes immediately. "i was just a little surprised, raf - in a good way. didn't think you would've had all these little details in mind already." her voice mirrors his previously gentle one, and rafayel feels his eyes flutter shut, coaxed by her fingers running through his hair.

she hesitates, but braves herself to say it. time and again, once peeling off his layers, she's beared witness to his endless courage so why not walk in his footsteps? "i do hope we get married." her voice is quieter, but it speaks volumes to him. he feels a lump form in his throat at the emotions that begin to overflow within him. he reaches out to catch onto her hand that's combing through his hair and brings it to his chest in attempts to quell the tears that threaten to form behind his closed lids.

shakily, his lips whisper against her knuckles, "in my mind, we already are."

in his world, they already were. how lucky was he to get married to her, again and again, and again.

god, he'd do it a million times over.

[thebiggerbear]

This was the very first thing by you that I ever read and I fell in love with it as well as your writing!!! One of my favorite Dean scenes in the later seasons is the dream Sam has with the pizza and pie, and Mary calling him "little piglet...with love". Plus you included the Latin flair on one of my favorite holidays, girl, my heart was bursting at the seams as I read this while also drooling while also slightly jealous of Dean LOL. (you should know as I'm typing this I am daydreaming about the flan, you should just straight up know that LOL)

The rich custardy goodness is calling to him like a siren song.

I am happily being led while pushing Dean out of the way to get to it first. Lovingly of course lol.

“You’d also be 300 pounds,” Sam remarks, taking a sip of his beer. You eye Sam with a frown. But Dean just laughs it off and cuts his little brother a slice.

Not going to lie, I'd be giving Sam a little bit of the stink eye myself. What is so wrong with Dean enjoying himself a little? Besides...give me ALL the flan!!! Sam doesn't know what he's missing.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. His voice is a quiet, deep rumble washing over you. You know what he’s thanking you for: good food, and a small, but warm Christmas.

This made me smile because it is so sweet and so Dean. ❤️

“He ate half his weight in pig,” Sam says. You can’t exactly deny that, but you cross your arms and turn to him, leaning your hip against the counter. “So? It’s Christmas. Let him be happy,” you retort.

Exactly. Let the man enjoy it.

“Even though you guys didn’t have enough money at times, your brother always made sure you were fed,” you explain. You meet Sam’s gaze, squeezing his arm. “Sometimes he went without.” Sam’s expression slowly slackens, contemplative and dismayed at what you’re implying. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and rubs at his mouth, like he’s reeling back the years of evidence in his mind and trying to confirm if you were right. “You don’t remember?” you gently ask. Sam shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things were tight. I remember him taking care of me, obviously. But…” He doesn’t remember his brother going hungry. It carves a hole of remorse in his chest.

This right here is perfection. It made my heart break for Dean as well as Sam for their childhood, what Dean had to sacrifice at times to take care of Sam, how Sam never realized it before...just so perfectly written and so on point.

You slide into bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. He groans deep and slowly lowers his arms. One of them wraps around your frame.

Okay, this is just beyond sweet. Literally made me

Moments like this are worth melting for. 😉 (seriously though, I'm pretty sure I have to call someone to get the wetvac to get me up off of the floor)

The whole ending scene just makes my heart glad, especially with her offering to go for a walk with Dean, most likely keeping in mind what Sam said (while Sam is keeping what she said in mind - like I said, perfection!) , but I especially loved the ending sequence right here:

Dean makes a sound of mild interest in the idea. “I guess, if you like stringy trees and frozen lakes.” It’s winter in Lebanon. Not much to look at. You smirk and press a kiss to his chest. “I mean, that, and you in some little Richard Simmons shorts.” Dean gives you a look, and you giggle so hard it shakes your whole body against him. “Honestly, I think that’ll really do it for me,” you tease. You walk two fingers across his thigh, where a cute pair of ‘80s-style exercise shorts would cut off. Dean grabs your hand and rolls you over, pinning you underneath him on the bed. His thigh slips between both of yours, causing friction against your jeans. And he smirks down at you. “Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.”

Oh, Dean, nice try. We all know you do. 😉

This was just beyond sweet and it was something I very much needed back when I read through it the first time. (I'm sorry I didn't leave feedback until now! I'm trying to be better about that these days) I love the way you write the Winchesters and this one shot cemented you as one of my favorite writers I've come across in this fandom (as well as a few others 😉).

I definitely cannot wait to dive into the Midnight Espresso verse and get more of these two. You did a beautiful job here, lovely!!! Well done!!! 😊💖💖

Get Stuffed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Summary: Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @iprobablyshipit91: Sam making the usual digs at Dean about his diet, and how much he eats, and the reader pulling him aside and telling him to back off as he doesn’t realize how much Dean went hungry as a kid to make sure Sam was fed.

Word Count: 1,800 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, innuendo, tinge of angst

**This story can be read as stand-alone, but you can also check out the full masterlist of one-shots below. ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

“Aw, hell yeah,” Dean mutters. He rubs his hands together and surveys the immovable feast that’s about to get shoveled into his mouth.

This Christmas marks roughly your first year living with the brothers Winchester in the bunker, and a few months after your first anniversary with Dean.

He’s made it very clear that he enjoys your cooking, especially of Cuban food. So you’ve gone all out for Christmas: white rice and your grandmother’s recipe for black beans, boiled yuca with plenty of garlic, bread drizzled with more garlic and olive oil, and Dean’s favorite…

“What’s this part of the pig called again?” he asks. And he uses a large fork to spear into the mountain of roasted meat that you’ve already cut and piled onto a platter.

You come in from the kitchen with the bread in hand, placing it on the dinner table. You sidle up behind him, where he's seated.

“The shoulder,” you say, squeezing both of Dean’s. He hums in interest as you press a kiss to the side of his head. “It’s called pernil. Marinated with garlic, mojo, bunch of good stuff.”

He predictably steals a juicy piece of meat, plopping it into his mouth. He grins while he chews and makes a happy sound.

“Ohoho, yeah.”

You share an amused look with Sam, who sits beside his brother. By the time you’ve found your seat on Dean’s other side, he’s already serving you and Sam the same hefty portions he serves himself.

You know for a fact you’re only going to eat about half of your plate. Sam manages to polish his off. Dean does as well…and serves himself twice more before you break out the dessert.

“Please tell me that’s a flan,” Dean says, drumming his fingers on the table.

“How the hell are you still hungry?” Sam asks.

The look on his face says he’s half entertained, half disgusted. Dean is still sucking on the crispy skin on a piece of pork. He licks the juices off his fingers.

“Have I taught you nothing?” he says. “There’s always room for dessert.”

He tosses you a wink, followed closely by a suggestive smirk. You glance at him with a smile as you set down the metal pan.

“It is a flan,” you affirm. “I tried my hand at coconut this time.”

“Ooh, tropical,” Dean says, waggling greasy fingers. He wipes them on a napkin before he reaches for the pie cutter, which is usually reserved for his favorite dessert. Although, flan is rapidly becoming his second go-to. The rich custardy goodness is calling to him like a siren song.

“How can I get you to make this more often?” Dean mutters while carving out a generous slice.

Your lips curve. You rest your chin on your hand and lean towards him, earning his gaze. “If I made it all the time, you wouldn’t savor it, now would you?”

Dean smirks. His gaze lowers to your lips, like he’s contemplating some persuasive maneuvers.

“You’d also be 300 pounds,” Sam remarks, taking a sip of his beer.

You eye Sam with a frown. But Dean just laughs it off and cuts his little brother a slice.

By the end of the meal, all three of you are stuffed. Dean groans and leans back in his seat. A gurgle mounts audibly from his stomach.

“Jesus. Are you erupting?” Sam says.

Dean holds up a finger. “Wait for it.”

You give your boyfriend a bemused look. You know exactly what’s about to happen. As does Sam, who’s grimacing.

A few seconds later, Dean does erupt, with a truly legendary belch.

“Nice,” you say wryly. Dean squeezes your soft, thick thigh and backs his chair away from the table.

“Well, since I roasted the pig and you did the rest, I’d say it’s Sammy’s turn on cleaning duty,” he says.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a wan smile. Yours is more jovial, even as Dean’s hand toys with a curl of your hair after he stands.

“I’m gonna shower off the meat sweats,” he says.

You giggle, but you nod. “You do that. I’ll help Sam a bit, put away the food at least.”

Your smile becomes more genuine when Dean drops a kiss on your forehead from above.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. His voice is a quiet, deep rumble washing over you. You know what he’s thanking you for: good food, and a small, but warm Christmas.

You reach up and give his cheek a tender touch, before he withdraws and makes his way to the bedroom he shares with you. It leaves you and Sam to collect what’s on the table and bring it all into the kitchen. While Sam does the dishes, you start to put away the leftovers.

Something has been nagging at you all night, though you’ve tried to stamp it down time and time again. You don’t know if it's your place to say something. Especially if Dean doesn’t seem bothered…but it bothers you. And you’ve never been one to hold your tongue.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you begin, even as a small bit of trepidation niggles inside you.

Sam looks over at you. He’s quick to catch the serious note in your demeanor.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he replies. You okay? his eyes also ask.

“Why do you get on Dean so much for enjoying his food?” you ask.

Sam blinks. Then he scoffs a little. “There’s enjoying, and then there’s gluttony.”

“He’s not that bad,” you argue.

“He ate half his weight in pig,” Sam says. You can’t exactly deny that, but you cross your arms and turn to him, leaning your hip against the counter.

“So? It’s Christmas. Let him be happy,” you retort.

Sam levels you with pinched brows. “He’s not in his 20s anymore. All that crap he eats is going to catch up to him someday.”

“What, you expect him to down some kale smoothies?” you reply, giving a pointed brow raise and a teasing smile. “Get up at the crack of dawn for a bare-chested run?”

Sam shoots you a dry look.  

“My point is, I’m not gonna survive hundreds of monster attacks just to get taken down by cholesterol,” he says.

You sigh a raise a placating hand. “All right. I get what you’re saying. I’m just saying…have you ever thought about why he loves food so much? Why he overindulges sometimes?”

Sam's brow quirks. It’s a question you know you need to tread lightly in order to answer. You uncross your arms to lay a hand on Sam’s wrist. He stops washing dishes and turns off the sink to give you his full attention, sensing your shift.

You look up at him, and you steel yourself.

“He might’ve mentioned once…that you two sometimes had a hard time growing up. With John taking you guys from motel to motel while he was working a job, and every now and then, leaving you guys alone longer than he meant to.”

Dean had been more than a bit drunk when you’d gotten this out of him. Hearing about that aspect of his upbringing had upset you, not just as someone who cared about him, but the caretaker in you smarted.

“Even though you guys didn’t have enough money at times, your brother always made sure you were fed,” you explain. You meet Sam’s gaze, squeezing his arm. “Sometimes he went without.”

Sam’s expression slowly slackens, contemplative and dismayed at what you’re implying. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and rubs at his mouth, like he’s reeling back the years of evidence in his mind and trying to confirm if you were right.

“You don’t remember?” you gently ask.

Sam shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things were tight. I remember him taking care of me, obviously. But…”

He doesn’t remember his brother going hungry.

It carves a hole of remorse in his chest.

This isn’t the first time he’s had to reexamine Dean’s role in his life, and not the first time he’s felt this flavor of guilt. But he sighs and really doesn’t know what to say.

You seem to realize that, and you squeeze his arm one last time.

“Just keep that in mind,” you implore.

You soon leave him to venture upstairs, but there in the kitchen, Sam makes a resolution before the new year. One that includes having a conversation with his brother.

You find Dean in your bedroom. Now in his most threadbare sweatpants and an old black shirt, he lays over the covers on the bed. His eyes are closed and his arms are folded behind his head, but he hears you when you come in.

You slide into bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. He groans deep and slowly lowers his arms. One of them wraps around your frame.

“Think I overdid it a bit,” he admits, cracking his eyes open. You smile and gently pat his stomach. 

“Wanna go for a walk tomorrow?” you ask. “We can go down to the park.”

Dean raises a brow at you. “You hate walking.”

“Not true,” you shake your head, before you rest more comfortably against him. He tucks you in beside him and begins to run his fingers down your arm. It’s a bit distracting.

“Could be nice, with the right view,” you add, though you shiver a little at his touch.

Dean makes a sound of mild interest in the idea. “I guess, if you like stringy trees and frozen lakes.”

It’s winter in Lebanon. Not much to look at.

You smirk and press a kiss to his chest. “I mean, that, and you in some little Richard Simmons shorts.”

Dean gives you a look, and you giggle so hard it shakes your whole body against him.

“Honestly, I think that’ll really do it for me,” you tease. You walk two fingers across his thigh, where a cute pair of ‘80s-style exercise shorts would cut off.

Dean grabs your hand and rolls you over, pinning you underneath him on the bed. His thigh slips between both of yours, causing friction against your jeans. And he smirks down at you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.”

AN: 😂 A little callback to S1 at the end there. I hope you guys liked this! Just in time to prepare for my Christmas cooking! ❤️💚

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "A Wish to Build a Dream On":

Summary: Dean has been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for weeks now, putting a strain on your relationship as you struggle to help him. When Dean makes a wish that accidentally brings his father back from the dead, you get to meet the (in)famous John Winchester. But as always with magic, your boyfriend’s wish has unintended consequences.

▶️ Next Story: A Wish to Build a Dream On

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Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictear @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

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[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

P.S. Do You Still Love Me Pt2

Han Jisung x Fem!Reader

Pt1

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ

Body Paragraph: I made a mistake.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ

No matter how much time passed from you and Jisung's breakup, you weren't able to shake the immense amount of affection and love you still had for him. Maybe it was because three months was barely enough time to even begin considering moving on, or maybe it was because you knew deep down that you might never fully move on. Yet, you couldn't stop yourself from watching his lives, his promotions, his every appearance. Each time, it was impossible to ignore just how sad he looked.

The way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes anymore- how his usual spark seemed dimmer. Even the fans noticed. The comments under his videos were filled with concern: "Jisung, are you okay? You've lost weight…" and "Stay strong, Han, we’re here for you!" It made your heart ache. You knew that expression on his face, the one that tried so hard to look okay but didn’t quite make it. You could see through the mask, and it only made you miss him more.

With a heavy sigh, you sank back into the cushions of your sofa, staring at your phone's screen when a notification popped up, making you jolt.

Kyungsoo. A colleague and friend.

You swallowed hard, feeling the guilt settle like a heavy weight in your chest as you opened the message. After your breakup you had gone out with him to a few dinners- and those were not considered dates at all by you considering they were company events. But even so you felt weird hanging out with another man; and although your friendship was extremley strong- the year you spent with Jisung you decided not to focus on it as much to show respect to Jisung. And now that you were "free" as Kyungsoo put it, things felt different and the thought unsettled you.

Kyungsoo: Y/N, you need to go out tonight. Meet me at 7.

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate his efforts; you just weren’t sure you had the energy to plaster on a smile and pretend that everything was okay. But your hubae was persistent, and you knew he wouldn’t take "no" for an answer.

You: I don't know if I'm up for it.

His reply was almost immediate.

Kyungsoo: You need this, trust me. I’ll be there with you the whole time. Please, just come.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Maybe he was right. Maybe a distraction was exactly what you needed to stop yourself from spiraling even deeper.

You: Okay. See you at 7.

Setting your phone aside, you let out a long breath, your heart still heavy. You had to do this. For yourself. Maybe even for Jisung- because if he was moving on, then maybe, just maybe, you needed to try too.

It wasn’t about forgetting him. It was about surviving without him.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, feeling that familiar pang of uncertainty creep up. The same old doubts returned, and for a moment, you almost wanted to cancel. But Kyungsoo’s message echoed in your mind: “You need this.”

You shook your head, brushing off the weight of it. You could do this. It wasn’t about moving on completely but about taking small steps forward.

At exactly 6:57 PM, your doorbell rang.

You grabbed your jacket quickly, heading towards the door. When you opened it, Kyungsoo was standing there, holding a small bag of snacks in his hand, his usual smile soft but genuine.

"You ready?" he asked, his voice full of concern but laced with warmth. He placed the snacks on your table by the door and gestured to them, just to make sure you knew they were for you for later.

You gave a small nod, trying to hide the unease that still lingered in your chest. "Yeah, let's go."

He didn't waste any time, leading you down the hallway, his presence a calming force that eased the tension you hadn't even realized was building. The walk to the car was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. Kyungsoo didn’t push you to talk, and somehow, that made it easier to breathe.

As you settled into the passenger seat of his car, he shot you a glance before pulling away from the curb. "I know this isn't easy for you, but I want you to remember that you don’t have to be okay right now. Just take it one step at a time, alright?"

You nodded slowly, feeling a flicker of relief wash over you at his words. He had always been the kind of friend who didn’t force anything on you, but when he spoke, it felt like he always knew exactly what you needed to hear. The car ride passed quickly, filled with light chatter that made the time slip by unnoticed. Kyungsoo was good at distracting you.

When you arrived at the cafe, it wasn’t as crowded as usual, just a few people scattered here and there. He parked and turned to face you. "Let's grab some coffee. Everything on me tonight."

As you stepped out of the car, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of the background music. You weren’t sure what all Kyungsoo had planned, but the quiet vibe of the place felt comforting- almost like a shield against the memories of Jisung that lingered in the back of your mind.

He led you inside, ordering your usual without asking, and you couldn't help but smile at how well he knew you. He handed you the warm cup of coffee, the steam rising and soothing the cold air around you.

You took a sip, expecting your favorite drink to wash a nice feeling over you but instead you found yourself wincing at the flavor.

It's bitter...

"Jagiyaaaa, try this! I know it might be sweet but doesn't that make it just like me?" Jisung wiggled his brows at you. "Its no fun to drink bitter stuff all the time try this its called- a caramel mocha latte! Its warm and delicous." He held his cup out to you and you took a sip.

"Mm. It sweet. And very warm...it is just like you Oppa~"

"Ah...I'm old enough to be your Oppa? No, No, No. Don't remind me. Seungmin will call me old if he hears you say that..."

"Seonbae?" You looked at Kyungsoo who was looking at you adamantly.

He's younger than Ji...

"Hm?"

"I said I think we both needed this, but the real fun part comes later."

You raised an eyebrow, slightly curious but still cautious. "What do you mean?"

Kyungsoo’s grin widened, and with that, he pulled out two tickets from his jacket pocket. "Karaoke. We're going to sing our hearts out. You can thank me later." He said with a wink. For a second, you were taken aback. You hadn’t sung in front of anyone ever, really. Just Jisung and and Seungmin by accident once. But Kyungsoo’s determination was contagious. He handed you a ticket, his expression turning serious, if only for a moment. "You’ll feel better, I promise."

You hesitated, the inner turmoil warring with the quiet anticipation of trying something new. After a beat, you nodded. "Okay."

The sound of music and laughter spilled from the karaoke bar as you arrived, and it sent a small jolt of nervousness through you.

The room he had rented was intimate, just the two of you. Kyungsoo picked the first song, and to your surprise, he chose something lighthearted, an upbeat tune that had your foot tapping before the first note had even finished.

He handed you the microphone, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Your turn."

You looked at him, and despite everything, despite the ache that still lingered, you smiled- just a little. "You’re lucky you’re my friend, Kyungsoo." As you sang, you felt the tension begin to melt away, replaced by a sense of freedom that was slowly returning.

It wasn’t about forgetting Jisung. It was about remembering that you still deserved to smile, to laugh, and to feel alive again.

The night at the karaoke bar flew by. You agreed to just a few drinks to lighten your mood, to forget the weight that had been pulling you down for months. But a few drinks turned into a few bottles and everything had taken a turn you hadn't anticipated.

The alcohol had hit you way harder than expected, numbing your senses and making you laugh at things that weren't even funny. And you realized this night that had meant to be fun, became a night of self pity. Kyungsoo had stayed by your side all night, a little too close, a little too eager, and you barely noticed how his eyes lingered on you in a way they never had before.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the warmth of the room, or maybe it was the pain you were still trying to hide. But suddenly, Kyungsoo leaned in, his lips brushing against yours before you even registered what was happening.

But in an instant you knew.

It was wrong- everything about it was wrong.

Your heart was pounding, your mind a mess of confusion. You pulled back sharply, stumbling a bit in your drunken state, your voice slurring as you pushed him away.

"No… I can’t-"

But the words caught in your throat, your thoughts spinning. You turned on your heel, barely able to see straight as you bolted out of the karaoke room and into the cool night air. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you needed to get away. Far away. From Kyungsoo, from the kiss that shouldn’t have happened, from the memories that haunted you.

You didn't know how the night could turn to this.

You could hear him calling your name, his voice desperate, but you didn’t stop. Your feet carried you away, down darkened streets and unfamiliar alleys, the city lights blurring as tears stung your eyes. The alcohol made you reckless, made you forget where you were even headed. All you knew was that you needed to escape.

Kyungsoo watched you disappear into the night, his heart hammering in his chest. He had messed up- he knew that the moment you had pushed him away, the look in your eyes a clear sign he had crossed a line. Panic set in as he rushed back in and fumbled for his phone, the alcohol making his hands shake. Your phone was still on the table where you’d left it. He grabbed it, his fingers shaking as he scrolled through the contacts.

Jisung.

Kyungsoo hesitated for a second before pressing the call button, his pulse racing as the line rang. It was late, and he wasn’t sure if Jisung would even pick up, but he had no other choice.

After a few tense moments, there was a click. "Hello?" Jisung’s voice was groggy, a mixture of confusion and irritation. As if he was just woken up. "Who is this?"

"It’s Kyungsoo," he blurted out, his words spilling over each other. "I - messed up, man. Y/N’s gone, she just ran out, and I don’t know where she went. She’s drunk, and I-"

"Where are you? Why do you have Y/N-ah's phone?" Jisung’s voice cut through the panic, suddenly alert. Kyungsoo could hear the rustling of sheets, the creaking of a couch- the sound of movement.

"We were at the karaoke bar near downtown," Kyungsoo said, his voice shaking. “She just took off, and I don’t-"

"I swear to God if you hurt her I'll end you." Jisung snapped, his tone cold and controlled. "Don't go after her. Leave her phone at the front desk. I’ll find her."

The call ended abruptly, and Kyungsoo stared at the phone, his stomach churning with guilt. He knew he had overstepped, and he could only hope that Jisung knew you well enough to find you quick.

Meanwhile, Jisung was already out the door, his mind racing. His instincts kicked in as he navigated the familiar streets, the bitter cold biting at his skin. He knew you- he knew where you went when you were overwhelmed, where you hid when things became too much. And if you were as lost and broken as he feared, there was only one place you would go. The playground. The one you guys had claimed as your own secret spot. It was the place where you'd laugh until your sides hurt, where you’d shared quiet conversations under the stars, where you had been the happiest.

His heart pounded as he rounded the corner, the familiar sight of the deserted playground coming into view. Relief washed over him when he saw a figure slumped on the swings, barely visible in the dim light. It was you- your shoulders hunched, head bowed, a picture of defeat and loneliness. And your eyes were red and puffy as you frowned at a pile of your throw up- causing an audible sigh from Jisung.

How'd she get so shitfaced...?

"Y/N," he called out, his voice hoarse with emotion, and you looked up, your eyes red and glassy, confusion crossing your face as you saw him standing there.

"J-Jisung?" you mumbled, barely able to focus as the alcohol fogged your mind. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of pain crashing over you, and you choked back a sob. "Why are you here?"

He didn’t answer right away. He just walked over, his expression a mixture of anger and concern, as he knelt down in front of you, his eyes searching yours.

"You disappeared," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Kyungsoo called me. He said you ran off. Why didn’t you call me? Did he hurt you?"

You shook your head, unable to find the words, unable to explain the turmoil inside you. Everything hurt- your heart, your head, the betrayal you felt when Kyungsoo kissed you, the betrayal you felt when Jisung left you.

"He kissed me which was gross. And you left me which was...also gross." you finally managed to say. "You left, and I don’t even know why. Pabo." You pouted.

Your eyes were half-lidded, and your face was flushed from the alcohol, but he couldn’t help but smile at how ridiculous the whole situation was. You were a mess, and it was breaking his heart while simultaneously filling it.

"Y/N," he called gently, his voice full of concern as he knelt down in front of you. “Can you stand up for me? Or do you need help?"

You blinked at him, your eyes unfocused as you swiveled your head side to side, the world tilting and spinning. "I’m… I’m fine," you slurred, shaking your head like you could shake the dizziness away. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself and stand, but the next thing you knew, the swing tipped just a little too far forward, and you were flung off, landing face-first into the mulch.

The crunch of the wood chips beneath you was the only thing you heard as you felt the rough ground scrape against your cheek. "Ughh…" you groaned, spitting out a few pieces of wood chips from your mouth. You sat up and wiped your face, blinking like you didn’t quite realize what had just happened. You pouted and looked up at Jisung.

He stood there, frozen for a second as he took in the sight of you sprawled out on the ground, covered in mulch, with a strange combination of tenderness and amusement. "Are you okay?" he asked, kneeling down to gently pull you up by your arms.

You squinted at him through the fog of drunkenness, your face twisting in confusion. "I…I’m fine. I’m just…It tastes like dirt." You spit out a few pieces.

Jisung let out a small breath as he pulled you up. "Alright lets get you-

"What’s a squirrel’s purpose in life, huh?” you blurted, your words slurring together as you stared at him intently.

"A squirrel?" Jisung repeated, blinking in confusion.

“Yeah…" you exclaimed earnestly, tapping your head dramatically. "Do you think squirrels...feel stuck in life?"

He stared at you, utterly bewildered by the random thought, but then you laughed, and it was like all the confusion melted away.

"You know…I think squirrels must get stuck, because…they run around all the time looking for nuts…and that's all they do. They do the same things over and over again...and it's sad to watch...because nothing changes. They stay sad and by themselves..." you trailed off, your eyes suddenly going glassy and melanchoy in thought as if you were some 21st century philospher. "Just like…just like…you."

"Me?" Jisung blinked, the mention of his name snapping him back into focus. “What do you mean by that?”

Your eyes became wide and you stammered. "UM- I'm not saying youre a squirrel or like comparing you to a squirrel I just meant uh...I like you...and...you’re like a squirrel not one just like one- but with…more hair and less fur." You reached to pet his head but instead accidentally slapped his face lightly.

Jisung’s mouth hung open for a moment as he tried to process the sheer absurdity of your drunken ramblings. "Y/N- you’re drunk off your mind and have no ideas what you're yapping about. Lets go home-"

"But I’m not ready to go!" you whined, stumbling as you tried to walk, but you couldn’t quite keep your balance.

"I know you’re not," Jisung said, holding your arm so you wouldn’t fall again. "But we’re going to get you some food and water, then go home okay? You can sleep your craziness off."

You let out a half-hearted protest, but in the end, you let him lead you.

As Jisung led you into the convenience store, your stumbling steps and flushed face made you look like you were on the verge of collapse. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a stark light over your disheveled appearance.

The store clerk, a young guy who looked barely out of high school, watched the two of you enter, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He eyed your unsteady gait, the way Jisung was holding your arm to keep you from falling over, and the slurred way you were giggling to yourself.

"Uh…is everything alright?" the clerk asked, his tone hesitant, glancing between Jisung’s worried expression and your obviously inebriated state. His gaze was sharp, like he was assessing whether he needed to call the authorities.

Jisung quickly picked up on the guy’s alarm, his face turning serious as he tried to explain. "She’s just drunk. We’re fine, I promise," he said, his voice soft and calm. "I’m just trying to get her home safely."

The clerk didn’t look convinced, his brow furrowing even deeper. "Are you sure she’s okay?" he pressed, looking pointedly at your droopy eyes and swaying posture.

"She’s my… girlfriend," Jisung said, his voice catching slightly on the word. "She had a bit too much to drink, but I’m taking care of her." His expression was so genuine, so protective, that it seemed to ease the clerk’s suspicion, though he still looked wary.

You, blissfully unaware of the awkward exchange happening just a few feet away, had spotted a shelf of snacks and suddenly veered off in that direction, nearly toppling over in the process. "Ooh, chips!" you exclaimed, reaching for a bag with unsteady hands.

"Y/N, come here," Jisung whisper shouted, guiding you away from the snacks and back toward him. The clerk seemed to relax a little, nodding slowly, but his eyes still lingered on the two of you as if unsure whether to believe Jisung’s story.

Once you were safely by Jisung’s side again, you suddenly reached up and tugged at his hat, a playful grin spreading across your face. "Sungie, why are you wearing this dumb hat?" you asked, your voice a little too loud for the quiet store. "Take it off! It’s hiding your cute face."

Jisung’s eyes widened, and he quickly grabbed your wrists to stop you from pulling the hat off. "No, no, no," he said hurriedly, his cheeks flushing as he tried to keep his voice low. "I need my hat, okay? People can’t see who I am."

"Why not?" you pouted, tugging harder. "Are you hiding something? Are you like…a secret agent?"

Jisung let out a sigh, trying to keep his grip gentle despite your drunken insistence. "No, I’m not a secret agent, Y/N," he said with a strained voice. "I just…don’t want anyone recognizing me right now. Can you please let me keep my hat?"

You paused, your brow furrowing in deep, drunken concentration, before you finally relented with a dramatic sigh. "Fiiiine," you said, letting go of his hat, but not before giving it one last tug. "But only because you asked so nicely."

Jisung breathed a sigh of relief, releasing your wrists as he gently guided you toward the back of the store, away from the curious gaze of the clerk. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice full of affection even though he was clearly exasperated.

You just giggled, seeming entirely pleased with yourself, as if you’d just won some kind of small victory.

As you guys stood at the drink cooler you pressed your face to the glass.

"Chocolate milk…" you sighed happily. "I want chocolate milk."

Jisung’s smile faltered. "Y/N, I don’t think thats the best option. How about cucumber water?" he suggested, pulling a bottle from the cooler.

"NO!" you screeched, looking up at him with an exaggerated pout. "I want chocolate milk! It’s my favorite!”

Jisung sighed, shaking his head. "Chocolate milk it is."

As he made his way to the counter, you looked around, your gaze landing on something that made your eyes widen.

"What… what’s that?!" you pointed, half-shouting, and Jisung followed your gaze to see what you were looking at. His eyes immediately widened.

"Y/N," he said, his voice tight, "Don’t-"

It was a box of condoms, sitting on the counter in full view. You stared at them for a moment, your drunken mind processing the absurdity of the situation. Then you looked up at Jisung with wide eyes.

"Wait…they're condoms!" you said way louder than you knew you were speaking. "You…you think I should get those?"

Jisung’s face immediately flushed red, and he shook his head in panic. "No, Y/N, don’t-"

“Why not? Are we…not doing it?” You blinked, slurring your words. “I mean, we’re both…um…we’re both virgins, right? So...don't we need..."

Jisung’s cheeks burned brighter as he desperately tried to change the subject. Looking at the cashier frantically. "Y/N, please. Don’t make this weird. Lets just get you to bed."

You looked at him for a long moment before bursting into uncontrollable giggles. "I think squirrels need condoms," you said randomly, then paused, as if considering it deeply. "But…I dunno. Do squirrels even have…sex? Or do they wait until their married, too? Or do they not wait- do you think that they love the same squirrel forever?" You looked at the box in a daze. "Extra small- Ji what siz-"

Jisung’s face was now entirely red, his hand clamping over your mouth.

"Okay, that’s enough of that. Put those back." he said through gritted teeth, flustered, as he quickly led you away, throwing the box on some odd shelf. His heart was pounding, his embarrassment sky-high. "Y/N, we're leaving- now." Jisung said, slamming a random bill on the counter and grabbing you and your milk, dragging you out the store.

What the actual fuck is going on right now...shes a completley different person hammered. And why does she keep talking about squirrels? Is this her drunken habit?

You looked at the bottle of milk, frowning as you stared at it. "Why did I want chocolate milk? This is so dumb…I want strawberry milk," you said, your voice starting to quiver with drunken frustration.

Jisung couldn’t help but groan. "Y/N...Just… let’s get you home, okay? We can order strawberry milk when you're sober."

You nodded with a pout, but then suddenly, your face contorted. "I’m gonna throw up again." you muttered, and before Jisung could react, you were turned to him, your stomach heaving as you suddenly emptied the contents of your stomach all over his zipped up jacket.

"Oops, sorry Jisung...you were the closest..." you slurred weakly, looking up at him with a trembling pout. "I-I'm sorry-" You cried wailing as Jisung took a deep breath.

Lord Almighty please help me.

Jisung closed his eyes for a moment, summoning every ounce of patience he had left. The smell was already starting to hit him, and he cringed, but when he opened his eyes again and saw your tear-streaked face, his annoyance melted away. You were a mess- an adorable, chaotic, and incredibly drunk mess- but a mess he cared about more than he wanted to admit at the moment.

"It’s okay," he said, his voice soft despite the situation. "It’s just a jacket. Don’t cry, okay?" He said petting your hair softly.

"But it’s your favorite jacket!" you wailed, your voice breaking as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. "You always wear it in your lives! Stay will notice!"

Jisung suppressed a laugh, not wanting to embarrass you further. "I think they’ll survive, jagiya. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up."

He glanced at the jacket and sighed, carefully pulling it off and draping it over a nearby bench, knowing there was no saving it tonight.

As you walked- or stumbled -alongside him, you hiccuped, clinging to your half-empty milk like it was a lifeline. "You’re so…nice, JiJi," you slurred, resting your head against his arm as you walked. "Why did you have to be so nice? It makes it harder to…try to hate you."

Jisung’s steps faltered for a moment, your words hitting him like a sucker punch. Hate him? Did you really try to hate him after everything?

I guess I deserve that...

His chest tightened, but he pushed the thought aside. This wasn’t the time to unpack that.

"Let’s focus on getting you some rest, okay?" he said gently, avoiding your gaze as he led you toward his apartment.

When you reached his building, you perked up slightly, pointing at the intercom like it was some fascinating discovery. "JiJi! It’s like a robot but for your door! Beep-boop!" You giggled, pressing random buttons as Jisung struggled to input his code.

"Stop- hey, stop pressing things, you're making it hard baby-" he said, trying to stifle his laughter as you giggled uncontrollably. His breath caught on the last word, and he couldn't deny how natural it felt to call you that again.

Finally, the door buzzed open, and he guided you inside. As soon as you stepped into the warmth of the apartment, your voice rang out loud enough to wake the neighbors.

"MINHO! MINHO-YA! MINHO-OPPA! MINHO MINHO MINHO!" you yelled, stumbling toward the living room.

A door down the hall flew open, and Minho emerged, looking half-asleep and fully annoyed. "What the hell is going on-" His eyes landed on you, and his irritation faded instantly. "Y/N?" There was a smile in his eyes and he turned towards Jisung. "What happened?"

You hummed as you hugged Minho, and he let you hang onto him like a koala. "Minho-oppa can you beat up Kyungsoo for me? He kissed your little sister and it was gross." You said.

Minho rubbed your shoulder and looked at Jisung with a look that could only translate to:

What the actual fuck?!

Jisung sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. She got drunk. And then she… uh…threw up on me."

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly amused despite himself. "She threw up on you? Man, that’s love."

You, completely oblivious to the tension, beamed at Minho. "I missed you."

Minho smiled, patting your back as he shot Jisung a pointed look over your shoulder. "I missed you too, you little goblin."

"Shouldn't she have missed me more...?" Jisung muttered, avoiding Minho’s gaze.

Minho studied him for a moment, then nodded, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Alright. Let’s get her to bed before she destroys the place."

He helped guide you to Jisung’s room, where you flopped onto the bed with zero grace. As Minho pulled the blanket over you, you suddenly turned to him, your face serious despite your bleary eyes.

"Minho… do squirrels get lonely?"

Minho blinked, caught off guard. "Uh…I guess? Why?" He asked making sure you were tucked in properly.

You sniffled, your voice cracking as you mumbled, "Because JiJi’s just like a squirrel…and he left me all alone…and he looks lonely too..."

Minho froze, his gaze snapping to Jisung, whose face was unreadable. You didn’t notice, too busy hiccuping and wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, like an upset toddler.

"I…I thought I did something wrong," you confessed, your words slurring but still heartbreakingly clear. "I thought I broke him…so he broke me instead. But I didn't want to ask but I needed to know...so don't tell him I asked you this but-

"Does Jisung get lonely? Does he miss me like I miss him?"

Jisung felt his heart shatter all over again, guilt and regret flooding him as he watched you curl into a ball on his bed. Minho sighed, patting your head gently before standing.

"I'm sure he does...he's just too stubborn to admit it."

"So, squirrels are stubborn?" You murmured, sinking into Jisung's pillow.

"Very. But squirrels can be very passionate too. And kind and loving. They also can make mistakes..."

"Hm...they...do..." You barely managed to ask, your eyes unable to stay open.

"Yeah, but they can fix them too." Minho got up and looked at his younger member, who was staring at you with a 1000 emotions swirling through his eyes. "She’s your problem now," he murmured to Jisung, his voice soft but firm. "Fix it."

And with that, he left, leaving the squirrel-esque boy, the one you had been asking about all along, alone with the weight of your words; and the realization that he couldn’t keep running from the truth.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

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ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ

[cuubism]

Covetous

E | Dreamling | 6.6k

fishbowl rescue, hurt/comfort, sex as a reward, dub-con, the intricate rituals that let you have touch and intimacy without admitting you need it

“Dream,” he says carefully, sitting down on the coffee table across from him. It’s new to him still, this name. Pulled from his stranger’s hoarse throat on their way out of the manor. Dream. His poor friend. Dream looks up at him. His expression is guarded. Wounded. “I owe you,” he says, in his low, sibilant voice, “a boon.” As a reward for his rescue, Dream offers Hob what he's always wanted most. Dream himself.

--

Hob’s beloved stranger is free. Miraculously imprisoned, and then freed by Hob’s hand. And never has freedom looked so fucking awful on a person.

He’s sitting on Hob’s couch like a crumpled bird, wrapped loosely in one of Hob’s shirts. It’s so oversized on him, even more than it normally would be on his narrow frame. His knees are knobby, his cheekbones sharp, hands pressed together in his lap in a mimicry of the way the manacles had bound his wrists. Bruised wrists, bruised throat, shadows under his eyes. God. Hob should have chained up Alex Burgess and thrown him in the glass cage for a change.

“Dream,” he says carefully, sitting down on the coffee table across from him. It’s new to him still, this name. Pulled from his stranger’s hoarse throat on their way out of the manor. Dream. His poor friend.

Dream looks up at him. His expression is guarded. Wounded. “I owe you,” he says, in his low, sibilant voice, “a boon.”

“For what?” Hob says. Dream continues looking at him meaningfully. “For rescuing you? No, you don’t.” He really thinks Hob’s that much of a profiteer?

“We are not even friends,” Dream says lowly, and ouch, that one hurts. “And you have risked the secret of your immortality to aid me.”

Hob refrains from saying that he considers Dream his friend, even if the bastard doesn’t return it.

“I will not leave that debt hanging,” Dream says, voice gaining strength. “Long have I been bound for use of my power and I will not have the same from you, Hob Gadling. Demand something of me, that this debt may be cleared and we be free of each other.”

“Okay, okay.” Hob raises a hand to placate him. He really wants rid of Hob that badly? That’s some gratitude. Insisting on transactional payment, when Hob rescued him because he cared about him? Assuming Hob must want some grand favor from him, when all Hob’s ever wanted is a second of his time and attention?

He lets out a long breath to calm himself. He’s so… frustrated. And angry, though it’s really more anger on Dream’s behalf, now without outlet as his captors are all dead.

“All I’ve ever wanted from you is you,” he says.

“Indeed?” says Dream with a bitter little laugh. Hob has never known him to have a particularly charitable view of things, but his imprisonment seems to have twisted that even further, carved him into a shell that only knows what it is to be hurt. “Not even your immortality?”

“You offered that,” Hob says. “And I would have gone after it whether you were there or not.”

Dream lets out another awful, dry laugh. Hob’s always wanted to hear him laugh, to know if he ever did, but not like this. “Seized it,” he agrees. “Demanded it. What was never for men to have.”

“That’s never stopped me,” Hob says. Dream is not the cause of him wanting to live, even if it was that chance encounter with him that enabled it, in the end.

“No,” Dream agrees. He meets Hob’s eyes again, challenging. Echoes Hob’s words: “All you wanted was me.”

“All I wanted was you,” Hob says. Some of the truest words he knows.

“Why?” says Dream, brow pinching. Genuinely asking. “I have given you little enough.”

Exactly, Hob thinks. Because I get minutes of you every century. Because being with you for those minutes is like touching another plane of existence entirely. Because you’re the most gorgeous and interesting thing I’ve ever seen and your attention, your interest, your approval is like a drug to me.

Instead, he says, “You know me. Greedy to the core. Given enough time, there’s very little in this life that I can’t manage to get. Except for you. Your time. You’re always at a remove. So high above.”

Dream nods as if this makes sense to him. A more acceptable explanation than that Hob might simply want to be with him. And it’s not untrue. But it’s certainly not the whole truth.

“It is agreed, then,” Dream says.

Hob frowns. “Sorry. What is?”

“All you have wanted was me,” Dream says, as if Hob should obviously know where he’s going with this. “Let the boon be sealed.”

“I don’t understand—”

Dream glares at him. He has always been quick to anger, but now it leaps off his tongue, smolders and burns for the slightest opportunity to rage. Well. That makes two of them. “Do not toy with me. I am not oblivious. I have seen the way you look upon me—”

Hob chokes.

“—so do not play at ignorance. If I am what you want in reward, then let it be done.”

Hob feels himself pale. Is he actually suggesting…?

“Dream—” He starts to reject him out of hand. To suggest some other favor if Dream is so hell-bent on it. Information, maybe, about Dream’s life, all the things Hob’s always been obsessively curious about. But.

Dream is not wrong. When Hob had said, all I ever wanted was you, he had meant it more broadly, but Dream’s interpretation of the statement is not incorrect. Hob does want him. In his bed. In his life. Has since he first saw him. Definitely has since Dream had looked at him from under his lashes like that in 1789, given him that damned smirk. He’d thought, in that moment, that Dream might want him too—it was one of the things that had given him the boldness to claim friendship a century later.

Hob wants him, wants to touch him, and have him, and see what he looks like when he’s losing himself to pleasure. Wants it feverishly. Painfully. And the way Dream is looking at him— there’s want there. In those shadowed eyes. In that body, bent and forced into an unnatural shape. He’s not looking at Hob with revulsion at the prospect. He did come up with it himself. And. Hob’s not sure he’s a good enough person to turn down his one chance at that offer. He’s not sure he’s a good person at all.

“Fine,” he says, and Dream looks briefly surprised, and then resigned, accepting. Like he had, fleetingly, thought better of Hob, but was not wholly surprised to be proven wrong. That hurts, too. But if Dream won’t even let them be friends, with the understanding and care contained therein, well, so be it. If Dream’s angry enough to do this to himself, then maybe Hob is, too.

He expects Dream to tell him how exactly this is supposed to work—presumably he has specific rules defining it as a debt and marking it paid—but for a long moment he just keeps sitting there in the aftermath of Hob’s agreement. Crumpled. Hands twisted together, bruises on his fingers. So Hob takes his hands, pulls them out of their violent twist. Dream lets him, going limp. That resignation. That, Hob doesn’t like.

He leans down and kisses Dream’s knuckles, then turns his hands over and kisses his palms. If he’s going to live out the long-held fantasy of having sex with his old stranger, then he’s going to do it the way he imagined. Not whatever way Dream expects of him.

When he looks up again, the cold touch of Dream’s hands lingering on his face, he’s just quick enough to catch Dream looking at him not with resignation, but with longing. It flees his face as soon as their gazes meet, but the afterimage lingers behind Hob’s eyes. Slides under his ribcage like a knife.

“Come on, darling,” he says, the endearment slipping out like that very knife pulled from a wound. He stands, pulling Dream to his feet with him. Now is probably not the best time to do this, but he suspects Dream will insist on it, wanting to be free of Hob—of their debt—as soon as possible so he can carry on his business unimpeded.

Hob leads Dream to the bedroom well aware of the blade he’s hanging over his own neck: if he does this, Dream won’t come back. He’ll clear their debt and that will be it, he’ll return to his mystical world and cut contact, end their prior agreement, knowing well exactly what he can expect from Hob, and that Hob really hasn’t changed at all.

Unless. Unless Hob can give him a reason to come back.

Dream is silent as he follows. He stops in the middle of the bedroom, feet bare on the carpet, Hob’s shirt hanging loose on him, face set in a harsh frown that trembles and wavers when Hob turns to him and, instead of pushing off his shirt and dragging him forward, takes his face between his hands.

Hob’s never had Dream this close. He can make out each strand of Dream’s hair, and the precise shade of his eyes, sea-storm blue. There’s defiance, there. Fire. Challenging Hob to take what he feels he’s owed. If he dares.

Challenge. Not resentment. Not revulsion.

So Hob kisses him.

He’s not a saint.

He’s not a saint, he’s exactly what Dream thinks him to be, greedy, and hungry, and unchanging. And he has wanted Dream for a very long time.

It’s easy to kiss him, the way it’s easy to slide a razor across one’s skin, the blade so sharp it barely stings. It’s easy to take his mouth, press inside, bite at his lower lip, hook his fingers around the sharp hinge of Dream’s jaw. Catch him. Gather him. Press warmth into his skeletal frame. It’s easy. It feels natural.

It feels natural like hunger. Natural, like seeing Dream standing over him in the inn that very first time, and the bright exploding sense that all before this had been obscured by smoke, and now for the first time he was seeing.

Dream makes a sound low in his throat, a moan quickly bitten off into a growl. Hob half-expects him to be passive, to decide he just wants to get it over with, but he’s not. He kisses back. Angrily, as if to punish Hob for his audacity, bites at Hob’s lip, grips his hips hard, the sharp points of his fingers digging in. It’s the intensity Hob always expected of him, when he fantasized about his stranger wanting him; it’s the low curl of his voice around Hob in the inn — you… dare? — grown claws.

Hob dares. Hob’s always dared. He dares to push the shirt, his shirt, off Dream’s shoulders, and he dares to pull his own shirt off over his head. He dares to walk Dream back towards the bed, and guide him up onto it, and to kick off his shoes and to follow him. He dares to study Dream’s bare form, laid out before him, but that is not a sharp dare, that is… a caress. A dream, in which he might hold his stranger close and trail fingers along every inch of his skin and his stranger none the wiser but feeling it, maybe, as a far off breath over the back of his neck. Stolen, that dream, but given back kinder.

Hob studies the gorgeous, bruised, sharp lines of him, the smudge of his hair, the shadows of his eyes, elegant fingers and sprawling legs and precise, round nipples, the stillness of him in repose, mouth slightly open, watching. Dream is more charcoal sketch than man, a memory of a lover drawn in the late hour, strong, pressed lines, and careful shading. If this all goes terribly wrong, if he can’t convince Dream how he really feels, that’s how Hob will remember him. As a shadow, a daydream, a vision filtered through the prism of the past.

He leans down from his place between Dream’s legs to kiss his sternum, then his belly which shivers at the touch, then low on his pelvis. Dream doesn’t move. When Hob looks up at him, he’s watching intently, eyes gone dark. With a measured touch he lays his fingers along Hob’s temples, dragging them to the corners of Hob’s eyes, nails sharp like claws, a sheathed threat. God, the audacity of Burgess to think he could keep this thing chained. Hob closes his eyes and, shivering with dangerous pleasure, lets Dream run his fingers over them, then retreat.

Dream’s sharp nails frame his cheeks. His voice rumbles above Hob, the turning of clouds, his tone fond, almost, but dangerous too. “My rescuer…”

Yes, Hob thinks, always.

“You have saved me,” says Dream. “You have returned me to my realm. And to myself.” The words have a sense of finality. “Now. Seize your prize.”

Seize, no, Hob thinks, but prize, yes. Dream is a prize, every second with him is. One Hob’s done little enough to earn, but takes eagerly either way.

“Take your reward of my body,” Dream continues, thumbs stroking Hob’s cheeks. “But know this.”

Hob opens his eyes and looks up at him. Dream’s voice is portentous. His eyes are swirling pits, dark, shadowed, and alluring.

“Know this,” he repeats, holding Hob’s gaze, “one cannot have a dream and remain unchanged. And to be so close to the Endless…” he runs his thumb over Hob’s lower lip. “Even more so.”

“Good,” Hob says. He doesn’t have to think about it; what more could he want than to be changed by Dream? He already has been.

Dream’s eyes flash with surprise, but slide quickly into satisfaction. It’s sick, almost, that look, like he would see Hob made twisted and wrong for what he wants, for what he’s taking. Fine. Good. Maybe Hob deserves it. The thought doesn’t make him want to stop. Dream can pierce him with his claws and undo him and Hob will only keep looking for him in every shadow.

He feels blissfully on edge from the danger. He ducks his head, Dream’s hands slipping off him, and goes low on Dream’s body, pressing his lips to the base of his cock, where he’s half-hard. Interested.

In Hob’s earliest fantasies of getting his mouth on his stranger it had not been like this. Dream had been powerful and strange and Hob had wanted to worship him, and to have Dream’s touch in his hair speak approval. But this Dream has no haughty approval left to offer him, only ashes and rage. And all Hob wants now is to taste him. Touch him, as Dream said, and be changed.  

He kisses his way up Dream’s cock, swipes over the head with his tongue, wraps his fingers around Dream’s bony hips. Then takes the head of his cock fully in his mouth, pulling a shallow gasp from Dream. His thighs tremble, his hips twitch up into Hob’s mouth. His stranger, always so controlled, must be terribly sensitive after having no pleasure at all for so many years. The thought causes an undeniable thrill.

He relishes in the weight of Dream on his tongue. In the shivering sighs of Dream above him, even more. His hands come to Hob’s hair, and his grip is not hesitant, it’s sharp. But he doesn’t try to move Hob. Only connects them through that point of pain.

He tastes metallic—not only his prick, or the drop of pre Hob pulls from him, but his skin too, when Hob pulls off and kisses his inner thigh, and the crook of his hip. There’s a tang to his skin that sticks to Hob’s tongue. He thinks it’s a relic of the magic that captured him, or the magic that had gotten him out. He wishes he knew the true taste of Dream’s skin.

Hob raises himself up on his arms, goes back up Dream’s body to capture his mouth. Dream tips his head back, baring his throat. Gentle now, instead of fighting. Hob bites under his jaw, wringing a cry from Dream’s lips. He adds his own bruise to the ring of them already painting Dream’s neck, then kisses over it, and the others besides, kisses pressing just hard enough to edge into pain.

Dream moves under him, legs wrapping around Hob’s hips. Hob gets one hand between them and finally unzips his trousers, takes himself out, grinds his cock against Dream’s. Rough fabric drags over Dream’s skin. Hob finds he likes the thought of it showing on Dream’s thighs later, the raw friction of them. He doesn’t like to see Dream battered, bruised, but with his bruises—well. That’s a different matter.

Dream catches his jaw and turns Hob back to his mouth, pulls him into a biting kiss, his tongue sweeping over Hob’s teeth. Then he meets Hob’s gaze, a hint of that dark imperiousness that Hob knows so well back in his eyes.

“If you intend to claim me for yourself,” he says, voice frayed at the edges and dripping shadow, “then do so fully. I will have all of your passion for me. Or nothing.”

Hob swallows hard, throat sticking. “That is quite a lot of passion, my friend.”

If anything, that only makes Dream seem more satisfied. “So it seems.”

Does he know what he could get Hob to do for him, in another situation? Here, now, Dream is for him—or so he’s set the bargain. But there is little Dream could not twist Hob’s passion for him into, if he only asked. It’s a dangerous thing to feel, and yet Hob is not afraid of it. There are worse things to lose oneself over than obsession with a strange, dear friend.

“I’ll have you, then,” he says. “If you insist. For now. But, you should know: if you find yourself trapped like that again, you can call on me. All of that passion also means that I will come for you.”

Dream’s eyes flash. “I will not be trapped like that again.”

Hob takes his wrists and presses them down into the bed, mimicking the circles of bruises bestowed by the manacles. “You were trapped once.”

Tendons flex under Hob’s hands. “Now you will bind me yourself?”

You bound me first, Hob thinks. As fast as a dog on a chain, as firm as a dog coming back and back again to the house where it was once left. Waiting. It’s a miracle he doesn’t want to force Dream to stay, just to stop waiting. It’s a miracle, given everything, that he finds the thought more sickening than anything else.

“We went over that, didn’t we?” He kisses each of Dream’s wrists, over his pulse, then releases him.

For a long moment, Dream leaves his hands where Hob pressed them, studying him. “I suppose so,” he says, considering.

That pain returns, what had first pierced him through when Dream proposed this ‘trade.’ You don’t think better of me? Perhaps Hob doesn’t deserve being thought better of. You don’t trust my friendship? It hurts more than anything, to think Dream believes Hob could do that to him. For not believing it to come as a surprise.

It hurts so much he nearly abandons this whole exercise, this pretense that— that he could actually want to take something from Dream, could want some reward from him, no matter how tempting it is when dangled before his face. The thing is that Dream is the great love of Hob’s life, and he isn’t Dream’s and he’s had to try to come to terms with that, and Dream’s body under his is making it harder, not easier.

“Hob.” Cold fingers find his jaw, and Hob realizes he’s closed his eyes, head hanging low. Dream tips his face back up, runs his thumb over the corner of Hob’s mouth, and Hob opens for him. There’s a new look in Dream’s eyes now, but he can’t quite read it. “Seal the bargain.”

The intensity of him bolsters Hob’s confidence, sets the want stirring in him again. He knows Dream doesn’t mean a kiss, but Hob kisses him anyway, sealing them together. Dream burns under him. His fingers frame Hob’s face, fire in each point where their skin touches. Dream wanted Hob’s passion. Well, he can have all of it.

He digs in the bedside drawer for lube, Dream tracking him with his gaze. He looks curious as Hob pours some out on his fingers, hitches Dream’s leg up further and reaches between them, pressing a finger to his entrance. Dream opens easily to him, gasping as Hob’s finger slips in.

“You needn’t— go to this trouble,” he breathes, unsteady. “Surely you need no reminder that my form is not human.”

“I’m not interested in your pain,” Hob says. Clearly, in this form, Dream can be hurt, the proof is all over his skin. Hob’s fantasies about him are myriad and sometimes dark but none have ever involved Dream hurt so Hob can take his pleasure. “I think you’ve had quite enough of it already, don’t you?”

Dream’s eyes flash in offense, and he opens his mouth to speak. Hob just holds his gaze, daring him to say that he wants to be hurt. But he doesn’t. His mouth closes again. The look on his face slips to something softer and hesitant, another crack opening in his assumptions about what this is. It’s almost trust.

Hob thinks that Dream would claw the expression away if he could see his own face. Better, then, that only Hob can see it, so he can hold it close, treasure it for longer. This is what Hob really wants, his real prize. Dream’s trust.

Even when you give me license to do something horrible to you, he thinks, I won’t.

Hob is a selfish man, but his most coveted treasure, often lost, always lusted after, is Dream’s regard. He doubts he’ll ever truly have it, but each flicker of new belief Dream shows him is a precious gemstone and he clings to them.

“Very well, then,” Dream finally concedes.

His body shivers, then sinks into the mattress as Hob starts moving again, working in and out of him. Dream is so serious and stoic that Hob had thought it would be difficult to get him to relax at all, but Dream just gives to him. Hob pushes a second finger in, and Dream groans, arching his back, gripping Hob’s shoulder with bruising fingertips. God he is beautiful like that, leaning into pleasure.

Hob meets his eyes, then, as he works him open, and catches, briefly, that look again. And that look—oh—it’s wanting. He wants.

It’s revelatory and exhilarating to see. Hob would do horrible things for that look. Anything to make him feel good.

He works Dream open like that, breathing in his quiet moans and the flex of his body under his hands. The way he tenses and relaxes in lengthening waves, played like a song at Hob’s fingertips. Then he settles between Dream’s thighs, Dream’s legs bent up around his hips. Such a vulnerable position he’s let Hob bend him into after so long curled in that sphere. It makes his breath catch; he has to treasure it.

As he lines himself up, he seals their lips together again, wrapping himself over Dream and pressing him under his weight, kissing him deeply. Dream gasps against his mouth as Hob pushes in. Hob breaches him so easily. Dream just opens to him.

Hob moans, overcome by the heat of his body. His grip tightens in Dream’s hair and Dream tilts his head back, exposing his neck for Hob to kiss. Hob kisses under his jaw, tastes his hammering pulse, drags teeth over the vulnerable skin of his throat, wrapped in bruises. Gives an experimental thrust of his hips and relishes in the way it punches Dream’s breath from his lungs. It’s delicious the way he responds, the way he feels, how sensitive he is, the sense Hob gets that if he could just play him right he could bring him out of his cage and make him feel, could be the first in a very long while to have and hold this creature and bring him pleasure—a gift, a privilege.

So this, then, is getting everything he’s ever wanted, and nothing at all. Dream delivered to his hands but as a sick prize, a one off trade for friendship. It makes the rising pleasure congeal in his throat, but Hob can only do what he always does. Make the most of it. Prove himself. If he can.

He sets himself to that task.

He covers Dream with his weight. Sets up a steady rhythm that has gasps and moans pushed from Dream’s throat. Dream’s body is tight and hot around him but better is each sound Hob can wring from him, those pleasured cries that curl through Hob’s belly like magic spells. He must be doing something right, to get those sounds, Dream must want it, must enjoy it. Dream thinks he himself is the reward, but no, it’s his pleasure—if Hob could bottle it he thinks it would make for greater power than whatever Burgess was trying to force from him. If Hob could keep it, he would be the richest man in the entire world.

“That’s it, darling,” he praises as Dream meets each of his movements, fingers gripping tight at Hob’s back. And instead of growling at him for calling The Lord of Dreams darling, Dream just shivers. “There you go, love. Is that good for you?”

“Hob,” Dream says, a ragged breath. Hob kisses him, catches that sound, and all that Dream shows him, that Dream gives him, pours all of it back into how he fucks him, steady, powerful rolls of his hips saying, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. Familiar, if now sweeter, to stepping into a vaulted basement, finding a well-known stranger through a haze of violence, chained hands and twisted limbs, and sure, strong touches, I’m here, I’m here, can you hear me? I was dreaming about you.

All that and Dream thought he wanted a reward.

All that and Dream made the reward his own starving body.

Hob pulls him close, wraps his arms around his back, presses his nose into Dream’s throat and breathes in. That way they’re pressed all together, skin-to-skin, he can feel each rise of Dream’s chest and the shivers still running through him and Dream’s fingers finding his hair and digging in. He was down there for decades, Hob thinks. Decades.

“Do not stop,” Dream orders. Hob hasn’t stopped moving, though he has slowed, now that they’re pressed so tightly together. But he follows Dream’s word. Doesn’t stop. Keeps rocking into him. Dream’s cock rubs against his belly, pressed between them. Meanwhile Hob kisses up Dream’s throat, over the bruises there, and under the sharp line of his jaw.

Decades.

Hob can’t fix it, but he can fill Dream up with everything he feels. Can rock them together, so close they could be one, can wrap his arms around Dream’s back and feel Dream’s thighs tightening around his hips and Dream’s breath over his ear. He can want, so hungrily, and taste Dream’s skin and hear the slick sounds of their bodies connecting and, in the corner of his hearing, his own imaginings of this moment almost loud enough to actually hear—

No. No those aren’t his dreams. Dream is panting and with each breath Hob feels skin— heat— care— want— these scattered flashes of feelings, and when he kisses Dream again, catching his mouth, Dream tastes like ash, and static, and his eyelids have fluttered shut.

Hob’s breath catches wet in his lungs. He hooks an arm under Dream’s thigh, hitches his leg up and presses in deeper, wringing a cry from Dream’s mouth. With the sight of Dream bent open before him, taking him like he was meant for it, heat rushes through Hob, his thighs and chest and belly burning with it. He bears Dream down hard into the bed, instinct taking over as his hips stutter quick and he comes.

Dream moans, low and ragged as Hob spills in him. Hob struggles to breathe through the tight heat of Dream clenching around him, overwhelming now, Dream’s limbs wrapped around him and heartbeat shaking under Hob’s chest. He almost pulls Dream close like any other lover, driven by the sleepy satiation and the pleasure of touching him. But Dream isn’t like any other lover.

And his erection is still pressed to Hob’s belly, and Hob won’t leave him wanting, whether that was considered part of the bargain or not. He carefully pulls out, and moves back down Dream’s body to take him in his mouth.

Dream goes tense, startled, and comes in his mouth with a gasp. Hob swallows him down eagerly, every drop, then looks up in time to catch Dream with his head thrown back on the pillow, neck craned, eyes closed, mouth open, thrown into in a shock of pleasure. Then he sags back to the bed, tension fleeing him again.

Hob’s very glad he didn’t miss that moment.

The urgency of arousal gone, Hob presses his face deep between Dream’s thighs, inhaling. Just feeling him.

Tentative fingers find his hair.

“What are you doing?” Dream asks, voice low and hoarse.

He seems… surprised, Hob thinks. By the indulgence. What, did he think Hob would get to have him and then cast him aside? Callously decide he’s had enough, declare their exchange completed, instead of devouring everything he might be allowed?

“Feeling you,” Hob says. He strokes a light hand up and down over his hip. Gentle, now, not charged with desire. He’s been wondering, since rescuing him, when the last time was that Dream was touched. Long before that, even: did that strange creature in the inn that first night they’d met have anyone who dared to lay hands on him?

He looks up again to find Dream studying him from under his lashes. “Truly,” he says, and if there’s a bit of a shake in his voice Hob won’t mention it, “you remain quite daring in seizing what you want, Hob Gadling.”

“Try not to do so much seizing, nowadays,” Hob says.

“A better man,” Dream says. The tone is somewhere between mocking and considering, like he can’t quite decide if he wants to be sarcastic about it or not. “Yet, you agreed to the exchange.”

Hob kisses low on Dream’s pelvis, then his belly, which shivers at the touch of his lips. “Are you surprised? I’ve always been a selfish man. And you offered me the grandest treasure I can imagine.”

“I am your grandest treasure?” Dream says, voice faint. “I was Roderick Burgess’s great treasure,” he says, but without the bite in it that there would have been before. He tentatively touches Hob’s temple, then cheek, light fingertips like he could impart some much-needed wisdom into Hob’s brain through the touch. “Would you, too, keep me for your own pleasure, Hob?”

“I’d keep you for your pleasure,” Hob says without fully thinking it through, and Dream’s eyes flash—almost offense, as before, but more so heat. His fingertips scratch at Hob’s skin, sharp as claws. “No, Dream, part of what makes you so beautiful is that you can’t be kept.”

Hob’s stranger is no ordinary lover to be plied with sweets into staying, no ordinary pet to be collared in jewels. Hob well knows what it is to think of him, to want him, to wait for him, to wish, more than anything, for his brief arrival, the sighting of a rare bird, the passing of a once-a-century comet.

“It is the chase, then, that’s compelled you all this time,” says Dream, like he has all of it figured out now. And like he’s maybe a bit disappointed by what he’s figured.

“It’s the wishing,” Hob says. I always knew I couldn’t keep you, he thinks, pained, but that didn’t stop me from wanting you. Dreaming about you.

Dream’s expression softens, ever so slightly. “What does it mean for you, then, that you’ve had me? Fulfilled this dream? Will you grow bored, and move to other pursuits?”

Hob can’t help it, he laughs. “Does the sun get bored of chasing the moon across the sky? You’ve only made me hungrier. Now that I know what it’s like, how will I ever be sated?”

Now that I know what it is to touch you in pleasure, he thinks, how will I tear my mind away from having you as my lover? How will I ever stop thinking about having you, about being with you? It’s a devil’s bargain he’s struck, in more ways than one, and his throat clogs with anticipatory grief. He no longer worries Dream will disappear on him forever, for he seems to have enjoyed himself, but when he leaves for a time to wherever it is he goes in the eons they’re apart he will leave behind a gaping tear in Hob’s heart that may one day scar over but will never fully close.

Dream’s fingers frame his jaw, surprisingly gentle. He tips Hob’s head up to face him. “Hob,” he says. That low voice is a caress. His expression is… almost fond. Hesitantly so. “Truly you are so intrigued by me?”

“Intrigued? More like in love with you,” Hob says, then immediately wants to cut out his own tongue.

Dream blinks once, twice. Says, “…Oh.” And Hob thinks, for the first time, he’s not only surprised him, but truly made him speechless.

Does he truly not know it already? Perhaps Hob has not said it in so many words, but he has never exactly been reserved, never subtle about his emotions the way Dream is, has never bothered to try. He’d thought Dream could read it plainly on his face all these years, and had only taken offense once Hob voiced it, once he implied that there might be reciprocity, for it couldn’t be offensive to be worshiped, could it? But to imply that his vaunted stranger might care for him in return, that was a presumption that could not go unpunished, or so Hob had thought.

“You freed me,” Dream says, working through it as he speaks.

“And I told you I didn’t want a reward, but you insisted.”

“All you wanted was me,” says Dream.

“Your attention,” Hob says. Cards on the table now. “Your interest. Your time.” Your care.

“Oh,” Dream says again. Hob’s really managed to strike him dumb. Is he so used to people only wanting things from him that he can’t possibly fathom it?

“I wasn’t trying to insult you when I called you my friend, all those years ago,” he says quietly.

“No,” Dream agrees, contemplative. “I suppose not.”

His questing fingers trace Hob’s throat. Hob swallows hard.

“Guess you’ll vanish back to your duties now,” he says. Too bitter. “Boon granted and all.”

Instead of vanishing, Dream says, “You… love me.”

“Don’t need to keep saying it if you’re just going to tear it up,” Hob says. “Yes, I saved you because I love you. I killed people for you because I love you, don’t you know I don’t just go around killing for anyone in this day and age? God forbid it was necessary I’d do it again and that time there wouldn’t be any boon.”

Hob’s not sure he strictly had to kill all of them. Could probably have chased some of the guards away in the end. He wasn’t exactly thinking compassionately once he caught sight of Dream in that sphere.

“Did you kill them to gain my favor?” Dream asks.

“No.” He meets Dream’s eyes. “For the pleasure of it. And I would again— not for your favor, but for the way you’d look at me.”

For the way Dream had looked at him, when Hob had dropped the last guard’s limp body to the ground and had pressed a bloodstained hand to the glass cage. The wonder there, when Dream—still his stranger, Hob hadn’t yet gotten his name—had raised his own shaking, bruised, chained hands to touch back.

Hob had been surrounded by carnage and he’d still felt like he’d done something right. For the arbiter of what felt right was no god he’d ever been taught to worship, but the dark figure who’d granted him immortality. The dark stranger he loved, who could have laid a hand on his forehead and bid him do anything and Hob would have done it, and felt it righteous.

Dream lays a hand on Hob’s forehead. His fingers are cold. Hob takes that hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, warming the skin with his breath.

“I believe,” Dream says lowly, “I may still owe you.”

Hob sighs. “Dream, we went over this, you never—”

Dream covers Hob’s mouth with his thumb, stilling his words.

“Such great services rendered,” Dream continues, solemn gaze fixed on Hob’s, “and at such risk to yourself, surely deserve more reward. Your loyalty, your…” his eyes track over Hob’s body, where Hob’s still half-draped over him, appreciative, “consideration, surely beg a higher price.”

Hob is caught on his expression. Pinned in place, as he so easily is by Dream. “What did you have in mind?”

“When I have retrieved my tools. And restored my realm.” His tongue darts out, briefly, to wet his lips. “Perhaps I might return.”

“Perhaps you might,” Hob says. He’s slow but he’s gradually learning to catch on to how Dream communicates. That’s if he can wrap his mind around the impossibility of what he might be saying. “Perhaps you might… grant me more of your time. As recompense.”

“Yes. And perhaps you might. Consider. What you want of me while I am here.”

“I’m sure there’s plenty I’ll want with you,” Hob says, throat tight. He finally pushes himself up from where he’s still draped over Dream, and instead lies on his side next to him, so they’re at eye level. He pushes an unruly strand of Dream’s hair behind his ear. An act that still feels somewhat daring, but less so with each passing moment. Dream studies him, eyes wide and dark. Oh, Dream, Hob thinks.

“Maybe I’ll take some of that payment now,” he says.

“Will you?”

“Too greedy not to take everything on offer.” He uses the hand still dug into Dream’s hair to draw him in close, press their bodies together, wrap his arms around Dream’s back, palms flat over the sharp edges of his shoulder blades. Dream’s heart beats quick under his fragile ribcage, uneven breaths ghost over Hob’s shoulder, and tentatively, Dream’s bony arms come up to grasp onto him. He presses his face into Hob’s throat. His hair tickles Hob’s cheek. And Hob thinks, with a deep, throbbing pain, no, actually, there are greater rewards than his pleasure.

He holds Dream for some moments, until Dream’s skin, perpetually on the edge of cold, has warmed at all the points where they’re touching. Hob draws a blanket from the base of the bed over them. Dream shivers, the shake of cold leaving the body, then settles back against him.

“I hope this shows some measure of thanks,” Dream says quietly, face still buried in Hob’s skin, “for your service.”

Hob breathes out hard, chest heavy, but steadies his voice before responding. “How about I let you know when we’re even?”

Dream lets out a long sigh. “Very well. I will trust you to carry the scale.”

Dream’s trust alone is worth more than gold, in Hob’s estimation. But he thinks Dream might not point out if Hob measures it in pyrite. He thinks, as he runs his hand up and down over Dream’s sore, bony back, as Dream sighs again, melting into him, that neither of them might mind if that scale stays tipped for a very long time, indeed.

Perhaps, Hob hopes, until there’s no more need for it at all.

[koenigami]

'cause my love, is mine all mine. tags : fluff, fem!reader, child!reader, reader accidentally turned into child, a little angst and brief mention of his past wc : 2k synopsis : a failed commission leads to wriothesley having to take care of a mini-version of the love of his life - Laughter and squeals echo through the large hall as Sigewinne leisurely skips her way up to the Duke’s office, the sight that awaits her at the top of the staircase planting a soft smile on her face. 

A slightly out-of-breath Wriothesley chasing a little girl around his desk, her h/c hair bouncing and flying back and forth as she tries to evade the man’s arms all while giggling and grinning as if there were no tomorrow. 

To anyone else, this would seem like any other normal afternoon on which the Duke spends time with his daughter, a carbon copy of you, and entertains every single wish of hers because he’s physically unable to tell her no. 

However, many things that occur in the Fortress of Meropide should not necessarily be considered normal. Because in fact, you and Wriothesley don’t have a child that looks exactly like you. Because said child is, as a matter of fact, actually you yet simply a younger version of yourself. How is that possible, anyone would ask? 

Well, let’s just say that your last commission with the adventurer’s guild didn’t exactly go the way you had hoped it to. While on expedition, your team had found a yet unexplored cave and stumbled upon a variety of ancient artifacts. 

By your colleagues’ reports, it seems like a look into a small hand mirror was all it took for your body to shrink, and your features to turn younger by two decades.

It has been almost 48 hours since Monsieur Neuvillette had visited him in his office, the young girl that had been tightly holding onto his hand immediately running up to Wriothesley as soon as her eyes fell on him. All it took was one single look at the Iudex’ apologetic expression, as well as one look at the child’s too familiar face to know that something must have gravely gone wrong during your mission. 

“Sigewinne!” You smile when you notice the Melusine quietly standing across the room. With an equally kind face, she waves at you before motioning Wriothesley to have a word with her for a brief moment. So, dejectedly, you watch as the huge man with messy black and greyish hair leaves you to your own devices. 

With a little pout, you settle down on his big fancy chair, fish out the markers that he had let someone bring for you, and continue the drawing that you started earlier while he was busy with some paperwork. 

You aren’t entirely sure what it is about him, or the other man with beautiful long hair who had brought you to Wriothesley in the first place but- Amidst the chaos in your head, and the fact that you can’t remember a single thing that happened before the past two days, something about them was comforting and provided you with a sense of safety. Especially the wolf-like man. He was nice. 

There’s a sudden warmth that settles on top of your head. With big, sparkling eyes, you peer up at Wriothesley who’s analysing the lines of your colourful drawing while his hand nearly engulfs the entirety of your head. “Is it okay if I leave you alone for a few minutes? There’s some stuff I have to check with Sigewinne. I won’t be too long, I promise.” 

He notices your eyes widen briefly before you start gnawing on the inside of your cheek and contemplate over his words. Ever since you’ve come back like this, Wriothesley has not been able to leave you alone for even a second, which you’re more than happy about because spending time with him is fun! Of course he doesn’t let on that the reason behind it is his worry about something happening to you, or you getting yourself in trouble, or someone else using your current state as an opportunity to hurt you. 

That’s why it pains him even more when he sees the brief look of reluctance in your eyes before you nod silently and go back to your drawing.

With a sad smile on his face, he sighs once he realises that even your younger self seems not to be any better at voicing her true feelings, instead opting to just swallow every negative emotion like a bitter pill. 

With a caress over your soft hair, Wriothesley leaves, and the sound of his thick boots as he descends the staircase echo through his office before the door falls shut behind him. 

-

True to his word, Wriothesley returns a quarter of an hour later, a small flacon in his hand which is supposed work as an antidote for whatever kind of higher power has cursed you. As much as he has gotten to enjoy your younger self’s presence, there is no denying that he misses the actual you. And the longer you’re staying in your current form, the more he frets about the possible consequences it could have for your body and health if you’re not turned back into an adult as soon as possible. 

Climbing his way up to his office, he can already tell by your panicked little murmurs that you must be up to something. If anyone else so much as tried to snoop around in Wriothesley’s sanctuary, the consequences would be grave. Yet the simple thought of little you stomping around, your eyes sparkling with curiosity as your small chubby hands open and close drawers, and pry open insignificant boxes and chests- He can’t help but smile with a little headshake. 

However, his smile immediately falls when he sees your slumped figure kneeling on the floor, surrounded by books and other objects that must have fallen out of the shelf and crashed down on the floor. 

You startle when he softly calls out your name, the picture in your hand shaking the slightest before you clutch it to your chest and turn your head to face him. 

Oh, you’re going to be in so much trouble. All you wanted was to have a look at the framed picture on the shelf, yet in your attempt to jump up to reach it, you accidentally knocked it over with other books and a little vase. And now everything’s broken. The vase, the frame. He’ll be mad. 

“Hey, what happened here?” 

“I-I’m sorry. I wanted to see the picture b-but-” Your lips wobble, tears fill your eyes, some of them already spilling over your cheeks, as your little body starts to quake with each sniffle and sob. 

Comforting words are already on his tongue, but when his eyes catch the broken pieces of porcelain and the glass shards, he immediately feels his blood pressure rocket before he gathers you in his arms. The cushions of the leather couch creak as he sets you down on it before his hands trail over your arms and legs, making sure that there aren’t any cuts or shards lodged into your delicate skin. “You didn’t hurt yourself right?”

Confusion etches itself clearly on your face, because why is he not yelling at you? 

At the light shake of your head, Wriothesley’s shoulder visibly sag as he sighs in relief. “That’s good. You have to be more careful, sweetheart.”

Your nose wrinkles as you sniff and wipe the snot off your face with the sleeve of the overly large shirt that you’ve got on. He seems anything but upset. He smiles gently at you, large and warm hands brushing over your cheeks to wipe the remaining tears away before he throws himself on the couch beside you. 

“You’re not mad at me?” You sound like a little mouse, and shyly look up at him through your wet and clumpy lashes. Instead of a scowl and disappointed expression, you’re met with gentle blue eyes and an expression that radiates so much reassurance and comfort that it only confuses you even further. Though, at his next words, you think you understand his reaction a little bit better. 

“Of course not. I mean it’s not like you knocked those things over on purpose, right?” 

The quick shake of your head earns you a thorough ruffle through your hair, paired with a content See? No biggy then, which finally loosens some of the tension and fear in your body. And as the thick paper in your hand crinkles the slightest bit, you realise that you have completely forgotten about the initial reason for this entire ordeal. You hold up the picture in front of your face, and decide to show it to him. 

“She… she’s really pretty.”

“Yeah?”

You shoot him an earnest expression, lips pressed tightly as you nod eagerly and hum. Wriothesley cocks a brow at you and a wide grin stretches his mouth, his hand again resting on your head. You like when he does that. 

“You know, sometimes she doesn’t believe me when I tell her how beautiful I think she is. Unbelievable, huh?” 

The way you gasp incredulously and look up at him with utter disbelief in your eyes almost makes him bite into your soft apple cheeks. “T-Then you have ta’ make sure you tell her more often. Until she believes it!”

Wriothesley seals his promise by hooking his pinky finger around yours, the difference in size making his heart melt into a muddle. And as you hum satisfiedly and return your attention back to the picture of you and him that has been taken a few months ago, he has to admit that as much as he misses the real you- He won’t miss this version of you any less. 

But the presence of the little flacon in his pocket burns in his pocket, and as Sigewinne’s words echo through his mind, he comes to the realisation that bed time is slowly but surely approaching. 

-

As the sun rises, and the fortress automatically comes to life again, Wriothesley is more than relieved to notice your long legs entangled with his, your arm fully able to reach around his waist and pull yourself closer to him. Giving you the potion before falling asleep just as he has been instructed to do must have done the work. However, as his fingertips brush over your cheek, he’s alarmed at the sudden moisture coating them. 

“Love? What’s-”

You’re awake. He notices when you bury your face further into his neck and refuse to look at him while tightening your hold on him. Speechless and with a still sleepy and hazy mind, Wriothesley instinctively buries his hand in your hair on the back of your head, the light massaging motions of his fingers seeming to calm you. 

With a wet sniff, you eventually pull back and allow him to have a look at you. The same pretty eyes, the same gorgeous smile, the same cute nose that he loves to brush his own against, but this time with slightly less chubbier cheeks and a more mature expression.

“Are you alright?” His body follows yours as you sit up without uttering a word, and instead proceed to wipe your tear stained cheeks. “How are you feeling?” 

The longer the silence between you lingers, the more Wriothesley becomes agitated. Could it be that the potion has any side effects? Physically, at least, you seem to be fine yet-

“I’m sorry. I’m fine, I promise. It’s just-” With a last sniff and brush of your finger along your waterline, you turn towards him with a wobbly smile and throw yourself back into his arms. Yeah, wiping all those tears away was for naught. “Gosh, Wriothesley, I just love you so much, you have no idea.” 

Wide eyed, he accepts your embrace and snorts at your sudden outburst of love. Naturally, he would never dare to complain about it. Instead, his nose buries in your neck, inhaling your scent, his arms tighten around your waist, hands roam over your back and take in each and every part of your body. 

He's truly missed you.

You don’t remember much of the past few days, yet what you do remember perfectly well is the warmth, love and care with which you had been handled. It’s overflowing and filling you with even more adoration for this man because you’re fully aware that it has been him who has taken care of you. Wriothesley, who never truly got to experience the same kind of affection in his early life, who has seen too many atrocities at such a young age. Your heart breaks over the things that he has missed, yet it mends again at the realisation of how proud you are of him. How proud and lucky you are for him to be yours, and you to be his. 

And of course, it goes without saying that after this little incident it doesn’t take long until you and him happily announce that if all goes well, in a few months there will be a mini-version of you and him running around the fortress of Meropide. They will fill the place with joy and laughter, and yours and Wriothesley's life with even more happiness and love.

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 4

Masterpost Ao3

“Cassiopeia,” Danny murmurs, his eyes never leaving the glimmering void above him. “Though epsilon looks dimmer than it usually is. I wonder if it still has a ring...” Around him, the world is shadowed, the distant lights of cities visible on the horizon but not bright enough to truly disrupt his view of the night sky. It had been a bit nerve-wracking leaving the town, but he’d been making an effort to lay low for the last week, and had seen nothing to indicate anyone was coming to search for him. The idea of visiting the firefighters still makes his skin itch, but a little trip to stargaze had started seeming like a reasonable risk to take, and with the calm expanse of void above him, Danny can feel something deep inside of him settle. The buzz of fear that’s been around since before he even got here evaporates, as he counts the stars and constellations. They’re not all the same, Cygnus seems to be mostly missing, and a few of the individual stars Danny remembers seem to be gone, but for the most part, it’s the same. Certainly more familiar than anything else has been so far. The technology here is all far more advanced than anything Danny’s seen before, which is ironic considering the portal.

It’s funny, really that he can be this far away from home (a literally incalculable distance), and the stars are still generally the same. Even the ones that are new are still stars; still the same burning masses fueled by fusion and gravity, and feeding the universe at large with new material. They're still millions of light-years away, and yet they’ve been there for so long, streaming their light into a void, where it can eventually reach this very spot where Danny’s currently standing. All his problems seem so small in the face of the great expanse of space.

“Amazing!” Danny exclaims, letting himself just laugh with delight. Maybe he’s alone here, but has he ever felt this free before? Nobody to drag him away, or force him into fights, or yell at him about the chores he hasn’t done yet. Hell, if he really wanted to, he just take off, go hang out in space, maybe fly until he finds one of those alien planets that he’d seen mentioned on Wikipedia. Sure, it would probably take a stupid amount of time to get there, but he could , if he wanted.

Behind him, there’s a rush of air, and the sound of a person taking a breath, and Danny tears his gaze away from the stars, flipping himself into a fighting stance as he runs through the list of heroes he’d read about, trying to remember which of them could fly. As he turns, his eyes lock on to another boy, though, that looks to be close to Danny’s own age.

“Woah, dude.” The boy says, holding his hands up and floating a few feet backwards. “I’m not here to fight?”

“Then why are you here?” Danny asks. He is just a kid, so like, maybe , it’s safe, but also the symbol on the kids chest is the same one Superman was wearing, so he could just be a recruit or something.

“I dunno, man, I just heard you talking and got curious? Not exactly many people around that can just hang out in the sky, you know. I can leave if you want.” The other  boy’s expression seems sincere. Mostly he looks startled and a bit uncertain, and deeply unlike the weird, heroic, confident posture that Superman seemed to have in every picture. This guy looks like he’s trying to look confident, sure, but not like he actually is .

“You’re not Superman, but you’re wearing his logo.” Danny says. Dropping his stance, but not letting himself fully relax. Just because it’s not a fight, doesn’t mean he’s safe, after all.

“Yeah, uh, I’m Superboy.”

“Superboy,” Danny echoes. “I read something about sidekicks? Is that-” Danny cuts himself off when the other boy winces.

“No, I’m not his sidekick. More like he’s helping to train me. We’ve got the same powers, so... Yeah.”

“Huh. Training sounds... Nice? What’s that like?” Honestly, training sounds downright miraculous. Danny hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the destruction caused by the train crash, and how everyone in Amity had always complained about the damage caused by ghost fights. He hasn’t forgotten how much he’d gotten himself hurt in those early days either, not that anyone else had ever noticed that bit.

“Yeah, I guess it’s nice. I take it you don’t have a mentor, then?”

“I’m not a hero.”

“No? I thought- I mean, you look a lot like the description of the guy who helped with the train crash over in Concord.” Superboy frowns, glancing off in the direction of Danny’s hometown.

“I mean, yeah that was me but I’m not. I don’t wanna fight anyone.”

“Oh, yeah that’s totally fair.” Superboy immediately responds with a laugh. “Honestly most of what we do isn’t actually fighting people, so y’know. You don’t have to be a fighter to be a hero.”

“Oh.” That kinda makes sense. After all, Danny had done a lot of fighting back home, and nobody had called him a hero there.

“Yeah, it’s like. There’s a lot of stuff about emergency response and civilian rescue and stuff. Hell, from what I understand half of what the Bats do is just, like detective work. That’s a lot of what my training’s for, actually. I’m pretty good at destroying stuff, I guess, but Supes says I need better control, before I can be trusted to handle relief stuff, because I might accidentally hurt people with my strength or something.”

“That’s. Cool, I guess?” Danny risks a glance up at the stars. No attack comes with Danny’s split attention, though after a moment, Superboy slowly floats over to his side.

“What are you looking at?”

“The stars.”

“Just, like, in general?” Superboy asks. He sounds dubious, and Danny can feel him glancing between him and the sky every couple seconds.

“What, have you never gone stargazing before?” 

Superboy doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Danny glances over. The false confidence has completely evaporated from the other boy’s expression, and instead he just looks unsure.

“I’ve never really had the opportunity before.” Superboy finally murmurs, quieter than any of their conversation so far.

“Well, I guess you’re in luck!” Danny says, offering his new companion a smile. “Because I’m something of an expert in it!” And Danny begins to point to the different constellations, and tell Superboy as much as he can about all the stars and planets above them.

“You really are an expert, huh?” Superboy eventually says, in the middle of Danny’s tangent about why Pluto isn’t considered a planet anymore. That had been one of his most interesting discoveries in his Wikipedia explorations. He’d been kind of surprised at first when it hadn’t shown up on the list of planets, but he’d specifically searched for it, he’d learned about it’s reclassification, along with all the reasoning behind it. He’d been a little sad at first, but the realization that it came alongside the implication about a whole number of other bodies orbiting their sun had been exciting in it’s own way.

“Yeah,” Danny responds with a laugh. “I, uh, really like space. I actually wanted to be an astronaut as a kid.”

“But you don’t want to be one now?”

“I mean,” Danny hums. “It’d be nice, but I don’t think it’s really a plausible goal anymore. It- the way I got my powers came with some... complications. And anyway I kind of don’t legally exist anymore, so it’s. I can’t even go to space camp, let alone go to actual space.”

“Is that, uh, why you don’t have a normal heart beat? I didn’t wanna ask and be rude, but like, you sound kinda like a really large bee.”

“Yeah, that’s, um. I mean I’ve never been called a bee before, but yeah.”

“Wild. But like, if it’s meta stuff, then aren’t they legally not allowed to discriminate against you for it? They’re not just gonna be like ‘oh you don’t have a heartbeat guess you can’t go to space.’”

“I mean, there was, like, a meta scholarship on the website, but...”

“You’re worried about revealing your identity.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, that’s fixable. I mean, I didn’t have an identity to even reveal until this year, so the Justice League can definitely-”

“I don’t want them to know about me,” Danny interrupts.

“Oh.” Superboy says. “Well, what about just, like one person? Because Robin could definitely make you a whole new identity all by himself, and I know he has no qualms about keeping shit secret from everyone else.”

“Robin.” Danny thinks he remembers that name being referenced in relation to Batman. Something about a boy wonder. “Is he our age?”

“Yeah.” Superboy looks excited. “I could introduce you sometime if you want?”

“I dunno.” Even one Justice League associate knowing about him is concerning, and if Superboy knows about the thing with the train, then probably the adult members do too.

“Well, you don’t have to decide now! I have super hearing so if you call my name I’m almost guaranteed to hear it!”

“You can just hear me anytime?” Danny asks.

“Oh, uh. I mean technically yes? But generally it’s like effort to just tune into one person from a distance. But I listen for anybody calling for me, in case they need help or whatever, so I’m always kind of listening for that.”

“I’’ll keep that in mind, I guess.”

“Right. Uh, do you wanna tell me more about the planets?”

[dorabellingham]

Both

warning: none

characters: jude x jobe x fem!reader

summary: when he introduces you to his family, but it seems like the younger brother doesn't have the expected reaction

request: yes

may contain spelling and translation errors!

It was a sunny Saturday in Birmingham, and the weather was perfect for the lunch Jude had been planning for weeks. He was eager, though he wouldn’t admit it, to officially introduce you to his family. Until now, they had only known you through a few stories and videos that he had shared with them with enthusiasm. Today would be different. Today they would meet the woman who had stolen his heart.

You were visibly nervous as you adjusted your simple but elegant dress in the rearview mirror.

—They’re going to like you, babe. —Jude said, squeezing your hand gently. —You’re amazing, Y/n. It can’t be any other way.

—I just… want to make a good impression.

You replied, your eyes betraying a hint of anxiety.

Jude smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

—You’re going to be perfect, as always.

As soon as you arrived at the Bellingham house, you felt the warmth of the welcome. Denise was the first to wrap you in a tight hug.

—We finally met the girl Jude talks about so much!

She said, smiling warmly.

Mark, on the other hand, was more reserved, but kind. He shook your hand firmly, silently nodding his approval. You felt relief course through your veins.

Then Jobe came. At only 16, he seemed less at ease than the rest of the family. Tall and with the same unassuming smile as your boyfriend, he kept a slightly stiff posture as he greeted you.

—Hi, I'm Jobe. I've heard a lot about you!

He said, his voice slightly shaky.

You smiled, warm and spontaneous.

—I hope good things, Jobe!

The younger brother blushed instantly, looking away.

—Oh, yes, of course. Good things, lots of good things.

Jude watched the interaction closely, his smile fading slightly. He knew that look on his brother's face —it was the same one he used to give you in the first few months he'd known you.

During lunch, you quickly won over everyone at the table. You had funny stories and a light-hearted manner that charmed your in-laws. Even Jobe, who was usually more reserved, laughed at your jokes.

—And then Jude tried to cook for me once. —You said, laughing. —He even burned the water!

The table erupted in laughter, and Jude shook his head, feigning indignation.

—Okay, it was just once, and I was trying to impress.

—Well, it seems to have worked.

Denise commented, smiling at you approvingly.

Jobe, on the other hand, remained quieter, but his eyes were constantly on you. Every time you looked at him or asked him something directly, he would visibly blush, stumbling over his words to answer.

—So, Jobe, how are trainings going? Jude talks about you a lot.

You asked with genuine interest.

Jobe choked slightly on his water.

—Oh... they’re good. Well... intense, but it's... it's nice, you know?

Jude narrowed his eyes, watching the interaction carefully. When you leaned over to pick something up and accidentally brushed against your brother-in-law's arm, your younger brother's face turned red and that bothered the older Bellingham.

Later, while you were talking to Denise in the kitchen, Jude pulled Jobe out into the backyard.

—So, what's going on, huh?

Jude asked, crossing his arms.

—What do you mean?

He answered, trying to sound casual.

—You know exactly what I mean. The way you look at Y/n. —Jude stepped forward, his expression serious. —She's my girlfriend, Jobe.

The boy raised his hands in defense, his face still flushed.

—I... it's nothing, right? I just think she's... nice, that's all.

Jude narrowed his eyes, assessing his brother.

—I hope so. Because I love her, and I won’t let anyone, not even you, ruin that.

Jobe sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

—I wouldn’t do that, Jude. You know that. Just… relax, okay?

He finally nodded, but still kept a warning look on his face.

—Okay, just remember: Y/n is my girl.

Later, while Jude helped his mother clear the table, you found Jobe alone in the living room. He looked uncomfortable, fiddling with his phone as if he wanted to avoid eye contact.

—Jobe, is everything fine?

You asked, sitting down next to him.

He glanced at you quickly and then looked away.

—Yeah, sure, Y/n. It’s fine.

You smiled softly, touching his arm lightly.

—Look, I know Jude can be a little… protective sometimes. But he only does it because he cares.

He finally looked at you, his eyes revealing a mix of emotions.

—You’re amazing. Jude is lucky to have you.

You blushed slightly, surprised by his sincerity.

—Thank you, Jobe. That means a lot.

When Jude entered the room, he saw you smiling at Jobe and his brother looking at you with an admiration that was hard to ignore. He immediately approached, putting his arm around her waist.

—Everything okay here?

Jude asked, his tone casual, but his eyes fixed on his brother.

—Yeah. —He replied, standing up quickly. —I’m going to help mum in the kitchen.

When he left, you looked at Jude, confused.

—He’s acting weird, huh?

Jude sighed, squeezing your waist.

—He’s just… a little shy. Nothing to worry about, babe.

But deep down, Jude knew he would have to keep an eye on Jobe for a while. After all, his girl was irresistible – even to his younger brother.

[sturnsrecord]

CLIMB THROUGH MY WINDOW

— [fuckboy!chris x smart!reader. making out, dry humping, dj on the vj, wanking]. you can’t help but let chris in every time he comes knocking at your window.

ʚ part two ɞ — ʚ part three ɞ

it wasn’t like you were proud of the little situation you had gotten yourself into, messing around with the schools biggest fuck boy wasn’t exactly your greatest accomplishment, nor was it on brand for you. besides, accomplishment was a big word considering how many other girls had also accomplished just about the same thing.

you were the typical ‘head in a book’ type of girl, always focussed on your grades and making sure you were making your parents proud. a boy climbing through your window at 11.30 at night wasn’t exactly something you would’ve expected in your life. at any point.

“your house is a fucking pain to get into.” chris huffs, climbing into your room clumsily.

“maybe that's because you're climbing up a two story building, and using a window.” you retort from your position at your desk, not moving or even glancing his way as you speak, focussed on the work infront of you.

“well maybe, you should let me in through the front door.” he remarks back, slightly annoyed about the way he has to come in. he shuts the window behind him, fiddling with the curtain as it gets caught.

you turn in your seat, frowning as you watch him struggle slightly. he then gives up, turning round to meet your gaze, a nonchalant expression on his face as he tries to act like he didn’t just fuck up the curtain slightly. “it's just uh-” he looks down at the caught fabric. “it’s fine-”

“leave it chris.” you sigh, resisting from rolling your eyes. “yeah ok.” he huffs, slightly embarrassed as he moves to sit on the bed, looking around your room observantly. he'd been in here a few times now, some encounters in the evening, others after school when your dad wasn’t home yet.

you get up, opening the window enough to fix the stuck curtain before you close it again, turning to look at chris with an unamused expression. you then go to saunter back to your desk, hoping to reside in your homework.

he catches you by the hip as you move past him. “why don't you take a break?” he asks softly, the suggestion heavy in his voice.

“chris, c’mon.” you huff, making a small attempt to move away from him despite the firm grip he has on you, holding you in place. you look down at him, a slightly pleading expression on his face. “don't look at me like that.” you grumble, removing his hand from your hip so that you could move out of his grasp. “we have a bio exam tomorrow- if anything you should be revising.” you say in an almost accusatory tone as you make your way back to your desk.

he scoffs dismissively, falling back on the bed as soon as you move away. “for all you know i've been revising.” he retorts, his tone slightly sassy.

“have you revised?” you question, raising an eyebrow as you flick through your textbook, looking for a specific page.

there's a silence between you as soon as the question leaves your mouth. “no.” he mumbles in response, preoccupying himself by fiddling with the tassels of the blanket on your bed.

you smile to yourself, although you knew the answer before you’d even asked the question. he takes note of your cocky expression, sitting up on the bed with a frown on his face. “so what if i haven't?” he huffs. “school isn't everything y’know?” he mumbles, obviously taking a little dig at you.

you ignore his little comment, focussing back on your work. furiously writing notes as your eyes scan over the copious amounts of reading. “can you like, not ignore me?” he says, the frown still evident in his slightly annoyed mood.

“m’not.” you hum, although your attention suggests otherwise.

“then why aren't you speaking t’me?” he huffs, feeling bored and annoyed. “because you haven't said anything to me.” you respond softly, your eyes still fixed on your work.

“yeah, because i feel like i’m talking to a fucking wall.” he huffs, clearly frustrated with your undivided attention towards your work. yet again you don’t respond. he groans in annoyance. “seriously, what the fuck.” he complains, throwing his arms up.

“what?” you giggle slightly at his frustrated tone, this time turning to look at him, sitting on the bed looking all grumpy. “don't get your panties in a twist.” you mock, playing with the pen in your hand.

“i'm not-.” he huffs, not even wanting to repeat your words. “just want you.” he mumbles, looking all gloomy and sad.

the words make your stomach flutter, but you ignore the feeling for better judgement. “give me five minutes, and i promise i'll come hang out with you.” your words turning into a mocking baby voice as you swivel on your seat to face your desk again.

“can you like, not do that.” he grumbles, frowning over at you. “nope.” you respond with a pop, fiddling with your pen as you read over your work.

chris lets out a sigh, falling back onto the bed to look up at the ceiling. there's a silence in the room as you concentrate on your homework and he lays there, staring up at the ceiling while fiddling with the drawstrings of his black hoodie.

“can the five minutes be done now?” he asks, clearly getting bored of waiting. you roll your eyes, finishing up before putting your pen down. you stack some of your books, making specific piles for organisation.

he leans up, holding his weight with his elbows. he watches as you particularly organises your shit. he finds it fascinating. you bring over a stack to your bag that's on the floor at the end of your bed. “the fuck you doin?” he questioned, his brows furrowing and his mouth tugged into a small smile. mostly of amusement.

“packing my bag for tomorrow.” you respond as you put all your stuff into the bag a certain way. he shakes his head slightly. “are you just trying to waste my time?” he questions.

“no.” you stifle a small laugh as you continue to basically tidy your room. he leans over, lying on his side now so that he can observe you. “what?” you question innocently, looking up at him. “m’not.” you mumble, going back to what you were doing.

“can you get up here.” he huffs, fed up of waiting. you nod a little, continuing your task. “c’mon.” he mumbles, getting antsy with you. “m’already hard.” he says, almost too quietly for you to hear.

you roll your eyes at his words, a smile of disbelief on your face. “how?” you question, shaking your head slightly as you zip up your bag.

“from watchin you prance around in your sexy pyjamas.” he mumbles, his gaze very obviously hazy with lust.

“well that's a you problem because these aren't even sexy pyjamas.” you say matter-of-factly, raising an eyebrow at him as you stand up to face him.

he shifts to sit up, a frown on his face. “what d’you mean ‘aren’t sexy’?” he questions, running his hands over the side of your hips. “chris.” you tilt your head, looking down at him. he looks over your outfit, a grey vest and some low waisted navy bottoms that curved over your ass perfectly.

“okay, they ain’t lingerie- but still.” he admits before his hand travels to squeeze your ass. clearly a motion to support his point.

the movement brings you closer so you’re now stood between his parted legs, your hand on his shoulders to hold your weight upright. he grins up at you, his hand shifting to your lower back to pull you even closer. “c’mon, y’know you look sexy.”

you smile, unable to hide the effects of his compliment. but you shake your head in disagreement, closing your eyes for a second.

he makes a fake shocked face as his other arm wraps around you to bring her closer, their faces almost touching as you let yourself lean down. “you're crazy.” he mutters before pressing his lips onto yours.

as soon as your lips connect, it's a domino effect of your bodies getting impossibly closer. he lies back on the bed, bringing you with him. with your body on top of his, you shift to comfortably straddle his lap all whilst you kiss.

one of his hands travels up to cup your face, while the other stalls at your lower back, feeling the soft exposed skin.

you continue to kiss like you always did, the both of you comfortable and confident like this. your hands are either side of his head, keeping you up. eventually he slides his own hand from your lower back up to your shoulder, before going down your arm to gently wrap around your wrist. you take the hint and remove the weight off your arms to move your hands to cup his face.

he adapts to the new position, now both of his hands going to your lower back. he's hesitant to grab your ass, not because he never does or because it's too much, but rather because he'd end up pushing your hips down to grind into him, and he didn’t wanna push you to do that.

instead he keeps his hands on your bare skin, waiting for you to grind your hips against his. you pull away slightly, catching your breath as one of your hands travels up to rake through his hair.

“have you got a new aftershave?” you ask curiously.

chris gives you a funny look. “you stopped kissing me to ask that?” he says judgmentally. you shrug, sitting up slightly to put some space between your bodies waist up. “no. i stopped to breathe.” you say, catching your breath as you spoke.

“your staminas bad.” he comments with a lazy smile, looking up at you, his hands resting comfortably on your upper thigh. “no.” you frown, shutting down the accusation. “your face was squashing my nose.”

he grins, sitting up so that you’re face to face again. “my face was squashing your nose?” he repeats with a questioning look and a sly grin. “yeah. it was.” you say back, a stern look on your face.

“oh really?” he raises his eyebrows, nodding as he speaks. “it was squashing you-yeah.” as he speaks he moves closer, his voice fading to a whisper as he goes back in to kiss you desperately.

in this new position your hands travel up to his hair, pulling at the strands. he lets out soft grunts between kisses. you knew he loved it.

in the motion of kissing chris, you begin to move your hips back and forth, a slow pace, almost torturous for him. that's until his hands finally find their way to your ass, squeezing the flesh through your pyjamas before he gently pushes you to grind into him harder.

your mouth falls open, a mix between a gasp and a whine falling from your lips. “they're really thin.” you whisper, looking down at your pyjamas. he follows your gaze, realising. “does it feel good?” he asks, his voice hoarse as his eyes meet yours. you nod, and he goes back to kissing you instantly, his hands never leaving their position on your ass.

you let out soft breathy moans between kisses, your thin pyjamas allowing you to feel his rough jeans against your heat, as well as the faint hardness of his dick underneath.

his lips leave yours, making a trail across your jaw and down your neck, sucking on the skin in order to find a sweet spot. “don't leave any marks chris.” you whisper, although it comes out as more of a whine. “i won't.” he mumbles against your skin, never taking his lips away.

his grip on your ass softens as he notices the way you’re grinding against him at your own accord. so he lets his hands trail up your sides softly, grazing the small slither of skin between the bottom of your top, and the top of your bottoms.

one of his hands slips under your top, his fingers dancing across your rib cage before his thumb traces your underboob.

sexually speaking, you hadn't done much because you were very cautious about how far you were gonna go with chris, especially considering the situation. a guy whos fucked more girls than you know, and who you’re not in a relationship with. and it's not like they were gonna build up to a boyfriend girlfriend status, chris didn't do relationships and you knew that.

he keeps his hand there, only going further with his thumb as he brushes it over your hardened nipple. you moan out, your fingers gripping his hair tighter to keep his mouth on your neck.

he'd had his hand up your top like this before, but now with the arousal clouding his judgement, he began to ruffle the bottom of your top up, eventually pushing it past your tits.

your grip in his hair loosens as you feel your top lift up. he pulls away from your neck, looking up at you with clouded eyes, practically begging you. you nod ever so slightly, and that's enough for chris to trail his kisses further down, over your collar bones before skipping past your bundled up vest and over your tits.

his kisses are delicate on your boobs, like he's gracing the skin. the anticipation is only making you more horny and needy, which is probably why he was doing it. it was no shock that he knew how to pleasure a woman, that should be the bare minimum considering how much practice he gets.

then he looks up at you with his sexy blue eyes, wrapping his lips around your nipple with a smirk plastered on his face. you want to make a comment, but the feeling of him sucking on your sensitive nipple before flicking his tongue over it is too much. so much that you let out a string of gasps and moans, having to bite down on your bottom lip.

once you get used to the new pleasure, your hands return to his hair and your hips begin furiously grinding against his.

you’re in ecstasy, and yet they’re hardly doing anything. for chris he's more centred on your pleasure right now, knowing that you wouldn’t do what he needs you to do so desperately for him. but making a girl squirm under his touch was just as satisfying to him than his own pleasure, your reactions going straight to his already overly-inflated ego.

he pulls off, looking up at you with a cocky grin. “feel good?” he asks, running his fingers over both your nipples as he spoke.

“shut up.” you breathe out, ignoring his cocky remark as you continued to grind your hips against him.

“c’mon, answer the question.” he coaxes, gripping your hips to still your movements. you groan, desperate to move again. “don't be a prick chris” you whine, practically drunk on the pleasure he was giving you.

there's a smug grin on his face as he feels triumphant, looking at you squirm on his lap. “can i finger you?” he asks, the grin still on his face.

you pause, thinking for a second. he takes note of your hesitation, his hand travelling down so that he can teasingly hook his finger into the waistband of your pyjama bottoms. “c’mon.” he coaxes, pressing soft kisses to your neck in order to persuade you.

you sigh at the feeling of his lips on your neck. “okay.” you hum, grabbing his wrist to push his hand into your underwear. “don't go inside though.” you whisper.

“what?” he questions, a curious, amused expression on his face. “don't.. properly finger me.” you say nervously.

his curiosity peaks at your nervousness, you usually spoke so confidently. “why?” he questions. you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance at his pestering comments. “just don't, okay?”

his eyebrows raise a little, an amused grin on his face. “yes ma’am.” he mocks, before his hand ventures a little further, his fingers taking no time to find your clit.

you can't even make a snarky comment back, your mouth falling agape as soon as his fingers are on you. he rubs slow circles on your clit, drawing out soft moans. he hesitates to go back to kissing your neck, instead watching as your mouth falls open and your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure.

“you look so pretty right now.” he murmurs, his voice slightly hoarse. “shut up.” you breathe out, your hands gripping into his hair to pull his lips back to your neck. he lets out a small chuckle against your skin before he sucks at your neck again, simultaneously speeding up the movement of his fingers.

he temporarily removes his hand, shifting to rub your clit with his thumb instead. the more comfortable position allows him to be more deliberate with his touch, creating a faster more consistent rhythm against your bundle of nerves.

“holy shit.” you whine, your body tensing in pleasure as you drop your head onto his shoulder. “you sure you don't want me to finger you?” he whispers in your ear, smirking to himself.

you shake your head, “why not?” he pouts, looking up at you. you look down at him, “i've just never, y’know-” you say quietly, slightly embarrassed by the fact.

“you've never fingered yourself?” he questions, eyebrows raised as he's slightly taken back by the information. his gaze shifts down to where his hand is, down your trousers, watching his own movements as he gently circles your clit. then his eyes meet yours again. “is it bad that i find that hot?” he mumbles, although he's not expecting you to answer.

you roll your eyes at his comment, of course he would find it hot that no one had ever touched you there, not even with your own fingers. “can you just shut up and keep doing what you were doing.” you huff, annoyed at all the interruptions.

“you're so bossy.” he states, enjoying the way he annoys you. “and you talk too much.” you respond, connecting your lips with his to stop him from continuously talking.

the kiss is desperate and messy now that you’ve picked up the pace, his thumb moving faster on your clit to match the energy of your kiss.

he's painfully hard right now, gently rocking his hips up for some friction against your ass. his free hand moves up to grope your boob, gently massaging the flesh as he occasionally brushes his thumb over your nipple.

your hands are in his hair, tugging at the strands. they venture further, cupping his face and grabbing at his hoodie to pull him closer.

“i'm close.” you mumble out against his lips. previously you never would've gone even this far, but with the overwhelming pleasure, you couldn't care less right now.

“where d’you want m’mouth?” he whispers, face a few centimetres from yours as you both catch your breath.

“neck.” you respond quickly, rutting your hips forward to get back the pleasure of his thumb on your clit. the movement of your hips makes you grind against his hard cock. he lets out a gruntled moan as he begins to suck at your neck again.

it's only a few minutes later of his thumb moving at a ridiculous speed, whilst he nips at your neck, his tongue occasionally darting out to soothe the skin. “oh fuck.” you whine, your hips rutting forward in the rush of the moment as your face scrunches up in pleasure.

he shifts his neck to watch as you come undone, your body shaking as you grab onto him, drawing him closer. you let out breathy moans as he continues to rub your clit, continuing to stimulate you as you ride out your high.

once your body relaxes, you flinch away at the overstimulation, dragging his hand out of your underwear by his wrist.

“you look sexy when you cum.” he mumbles, so turned on it was impossible to think about anything else other than his throbbing dick.

you chuckle a little, smiling at him in your orgasmic haze.”thank you.” you whisper, looking down at him endearingly as you run your hand through his hair, evening out your breathing.

“you okay?” you ask softly. he settles his hands on your thighs, softly rubbing them up and down. “uh yeah. just ridiculously hard.” he chuckles out in a breath, looking down at the bulge in his jeans.

your gaze follows him as your teeth naw at your bottom lip. “could i just grind on it?” you mumble out, going a little red at the awkward wording.

“mhm, yeah.” he nods, not wanting to push you to do anything. he leans back on his elbows, giving you the space to do it.

you grip onto his shoulders as you begin to roll your hips across his. he lets out a soft sigh, mostly of relief. after a few minutes though, it begins to feel uncomfortable, the denim rubbing against his sensitive dick.

he sits up a little, gripping your hips to stop you. your face turns to confusion. “sorry- just hurts a little.” he groans, shifting his hips under you to get rid of the discomfort.

you move your hips back so that there's no weight on his dick anymore, then you move your hand down to unbuckle his belt. “oh.” he sighs in surprise and excitement, watching your hands as he lets you.

you unbutton and unzip his jeans, opening them to reveal the vivid outline of his hard cock behind his boxers. you shuffle his jeans down far enough for them to not be covering his dick anymore, ignoring the way her mouth waters at the sight.

“shit.” he hisses under his breath, watching tour every move in anticipation, letting you do what you want. you then shift forwards again, your weight back on his dick. “mmgh.” he groans at the new sensation.

“better?” you ask, rocking your hips back and forth in fluid motions. “mmh, yeah-fuck.” he moans, lying back on the bed as he lets his mouth fall open.

he can almost feel your pussy against him, only thin layers of material between them. his hands wander to your hips, reaching round to squeeze the flesh of your ass.

he lets out breathy moans as his head falls back against the mattress, giving into the feeling of your body against his. every time he feels the heat of your core rubbing against his throbbing dick, it makes his stomach turn, bringing him closer to the edge.

“i’m gonna cum like this.” he groans, his words catching in his throat. as he feels his orgasm approaching, he shifts under you, pulling the waistband of his boxers down enough for his dick to spring out.

you watch with wide eyes, shifting back onto his thighs. he doesn't notice your startled, curious expression, only thinking about the pleasure as he wraps his hand around his dick. he pumps himself, lips thinning as he concentrates. his face contracts, scrunching up as he furiously rubs his cock, desperate to cum.

“oh fuck.” he groans, using his free hand to lift his hoodie up slightly. “fuck, fuck-” he moans, head falling back as his face relaxes into pleasure.

you watch curiously as ropes of cum spurt out of the tip. you’ve never seen a dick in front of you like this, the erotic scene turning you on more than you’d like to admit.

“shiiiiit.” he groans, pumping the last of his cum out. it's a mess, all over his hand that's now loosely wrapped around his half hard dick, the rest on his lower stomach, slowly running down.

“fuck- could’ya get a tissue or somethin?” he mumbles, snapping you out of your trance. “uh, yeah, yeah.” you mumble under your breath, scrambling off his lap to get some toilet paper from your bathroom. you return with the entire roll, ripping off a bunch and handing it to him.

he takes it from you, cleaning up his hand before attending to the mess on him. he wipes it all off, requesting some more to which you quickly respond, ripping more off and handing it to him all scrunched up.

“thanks.” he sighs, finishing up. you nod a little, returning to the bathroom to put the toilet paper back.

once you return, he’s tucked his dick away, doing up his belt. “sorry bout that.” he apologises, looking over her bed to make sure none of the mess made it’s way there.

“s’fine.” you mumble, standing in front of him. he stands up, fixing his hoodie and his trousers to look presentable again.

“uh, m’gonna go.” he says, pointing towards the window. “m’kay.” you nod, your bottom lip settled between your teeth.

“you okay?” he questions, raising an eyebrow as he gently rubs your upper arms. “yeah, yeah. i'm good.” you reassured him with a soft smile.

“okay, i'll see you tomorrow.” he nods, cupping your face and pressing a soft kiss to your head. he then moves away, opening your window. “bio exams tomorrow.” he says as a reminder, although it was obvious that he was just remembering and reminding himself.

“yep.” you chirp, watching as he climbs out onto your roof. he sends you a sly grin before shutting the window behind him and leaving your house.

you stand there for a second, thinking about what just happened before you push it all out of your mind, settling back to your desk to revise. sitting there like nothing had even happened.

©sturnsrecord

notes . this is a reupload from my previous account @/plan8sturn, and I’ll be continuing the series here

[vervainandspritz]

CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING?—please, don't leave me

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Request by @goblinjnr

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, grieving, angst, suicide

A/N: it's very fucking sad so beware

~~

Her eyes shut tight as her husband pressed a loving kiss onto her lips. Y/N's body involuntarily relaxing into his hands, causing Tommy to smile through the kiss.

”Mrs. Shelby, are you cold? I can see goosebumps on your skin” He teased, leaning forward as he grazed the skin of her neck with his nose, causing her to let out a sigh.

”Very funny” She responded, pinching his side lightly with a grin. ”That's what happens to a woman when her husband finally decides to put business away and give her affection instead.” Her voice was also teasing, as her own gaze completely drowned in his intense blue orbs.

Pulling her even closer, Tommy's nose brushed against hers in a promise of a kiss.

”So I'll have to consider doing this more often.”

Leaving last, strong kiss on her lips Tommy took a step back.

”Do what you have to, and come find me.” Y/N asked, squeezing his hand lightly, her expression relaxed and almost dreamy seeing him in such a good humour.

Bowing lightly, Thomas answered.

”Don't go too far, I'll join you soon.” His voice had an undertone of worry to it, his eyes becoming slightly more cloudy at the obvious allusion.

Giving him a weak nod, Y/N agreed, understanding exactly what he meant.

Don't go anywhere on your own, it's dangerous

Turning around, Thomas slowly walked back to his office, his steps echoing throughout the corridor as the warmth of their lovely encounter disappeared under the weight of reality.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, her heart picking up speed as her hand fell to her belly, causing more internal pain than anything. The mask she had to wear around him was becoming heavier with each passing day.

But she couldn't tell him. Not when the prognosis were so hopeful the last time they visited the hospital together. Not after seeing him gain back the spark he lost for so long.

Letting out a sharp exhale, Y/N turned around, slowly walking back to their bedroom. Wincing quietly she made her way through the corridor before settling on a bed lightly.

The day they found out was the worst day in her life. Rushing to the doctor so hopefully, once she noticed her stomach... Growing. After trying for a baby, could it finally happen? Y/N wondered back then, showing Tommy the swelling on her stomach.

Putting his hand over her belly, he was the happiest man in the world, dimples on his cheeks revealing to their full extent as he smiled so brightly, a rare sight but how beautiful she felt. A family, of her own.

A girl? A boy? They wondered the day before her visit. Chatting away endlessly about names, clothes and toys for a little Shelby.

A heavenly happiness that lasted no longer than three days, before they got crushed by the diagnosis.

Stomach cancer

Thomas' hand fell limp by his side, as Y/N froze completely. It took a longer minute, followed by ”I'm so sorry” from the doctor before tears appeared. Falling faster and heavier, each one a nail to her poor heart, wiping away every dream they managed to talk about in the last days.

All hope, gone, just like that.

...but it wasn't over just yet, as Dr. Wellerman explained the path they will have to go through. The risks of chemotherapy, additional tests and needed medication.

Tommy tried to stay strong, so badly, despite the white colour his face turned. Nausea took over his mind as he listened to each word, listening to the doctor explaining her survival rate. He needed to be strong.

So he was, carrying the weight like a world champion, never letting her carry it alone.

”Don't cry” He murmured in the worst nights, rocking her back and forth in his arms, sitting on the floor by the bed. ”We will bring you back to good health, and then have children. Little copies of our own, eh? A girl with my nose and your smile.” He spoke quietly into her ear, staring blankly at a wall. Whispering beautiful words she so desperately needed to hear, keeping her heart from breaking.

With each week they were both feeling worse, Y/N's physical state worsening visibly throughout the chemotherapy. The pain she felt in her abdomen could be compared to the flames from hell, reaching her ruthlessly and blooming the horrible thought she tried to push away so badly.

I want to die already, her mind would whisper cruelly, hating the way her husband's bones became more visible. His sunken eyes which lost all colour, almost as if he was the one with tumour eating away on his body and mind.

It wouldn't be much different then, because the pain he carried seeing her slowly fade away was easily the most difficult battles he had to fight.

A couple years back, Thomas would never expect to even think that, but the war in France was nothing compared to the unfair war he chose to fight everyday, holding onto his wife at all costs.

On the worst days, he would silently cry against the door of their bathroom, begging her to let him in as she cried so loudly.

”Don't look at me, I'm disgusting!” Y/N kept repeating, looking in the shattered mirror at her reflection. She was a shadow of her old self, her almost completely bald head mocking her, along with the colourless eyes that looked back.

”Y/N, please. Don't shut me away” His voice was breaking, despite the attempts to stay strong. Minutes later he would be on the floor by her side, kissing her temples and holding so tightly to not let her drown.

”You're beautiful, Mrs. Shelby. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” He talked, looking her in the eyes, his deep, honest voice never ceasing to bring her out of misery even just for a few seconds. Rough fingertips grazing over her delicate, pale skin. ”So beautiful I just had to marry you.”

A deep silence following his gentle tone, as his fingers drew random patterns on her skin.

”Am I dying, Tommy?” She asked quietly, her voice so fearful as she held onto his shirt, head resting on his shoulder. Thomas was almost sure she could physically hear his heart shattering at the question.

”No,” He replied confidently, getting her to look him in the eyes. To see the lack of hesitation and the fire he had in him, as her own was slowly getting smaller. She was losing hope. ”You're not dying. I wouldn't let you leave me, after all, eh?” He said, small, weak smile appearing on his lips and reaching her eyes.

”I love you so much” She whispered, slowly nodding off to sleep against his heartbeat.

Y/N remembered every and each of those days when he's been the lifeline. The only reason she was getting up and fighting against the cruel faith, slipping from death's embrace every day, almost like his love was keeping her alive.

...and it worked. Tests started coming back better than before, the cancer responded well to the chemo, allowing life to slowly seep back into their reality.

Y/N could never forget how happy it made them. Made him. The way he laughed and joked, and touched her looking, oh the way he looked at her. Like nothing else mattered, as he brought her flowers and loved every moment they had. Thomas grew to appreciate her presence so much, even the business wasn't able to get a hold of his mind as often anymore.

Life was a dream, until it wasn't.

The pain and swelling grew, sometimes making it difficult to move her legs even. Y/N held onto the thought that it was temporary, that everything was okay, so she didn't tell him. Couldn't bring herself to share her worries, seeing the way he lived and not just survived anymore.

So the secrets began, every letter from the hospital started coming to the rented storage she kept away from everyone. Tests getting more worrying until one, particular one, killed the hope completely.

The cancer no longer remained in her stomach, now spreading to the liver, lymph nodes and lungs, crushing the potential survival rate to 3%.

”Oh God” She cried at first, howling so loudly her throat grew sore and voice weak.

But it wasn't the worst. The worst was pretending around Tommy, forcing herself to smile and walk and talk as lively as before.

Be there for him, and try hard enough to smile so it would reach her eyes, because else he would know.

Each day was harder as the pain grew stronger. Eventually she had to start shaving her head every few days, to hide the fact she stopped the chemotherapy.

The pain was too much. The first time was easier, as she mindlessly shared the misery with Tommy. Carrying it together was easier, but with how much he loved her, seeing her in that state was killing him more than cancer was killing her.

So she pretended. Smiling, shaving her head and making sure to keep her expression stoic as the swelling burned hellishly.

So here she was, sitting on the edge of their bed, both hands on her belly in hopes to ease the pain. Unfamiliar pain, one so strong she couldn't breath at all.

”Tommy” She managed to whimper out, fingers wrapping around the edge of the nightstand so hard, her knuckles turned white. Slowly lowering herself to the ground, Y/N felt her legs giving out as she fell down with a loud thump, starting to cough.

Barely opening her eyes, she noticed the drops of crimson red fluid dirtying the clean, wooden floor. Her mind turned hazy, feeling completely out of it as more and more blood splattered the floor.

Only then did she barely register the fast, loud steps approaching.

”Y/N!” Thomas boomed loudly, rushing to her side. His face was completely pale, his shaky hands wrapping around her chest as he pulled her up, completely panicked. ”Frances! Frances call the ambulance!” He screamed in a frenzy, leaning forward to try and help. ”Y/N, I'm here, I'm here.” He choked out as her eyes became cloudy, breaths coming out in short bursts. ”Y/N! Look at me, please fucking look at me!” Tears steamed down his face at the suddenly terrible state she found herself in. She looked at him, but couldn't see.

As he cried, and screamed, pulling all the old medication she used to be taking from her nightstand, spilling them by his side and looking for the particular one that used to help with breathing problems, Y/N was halway gone.

Physically she couldn't see, struggling to breathe enough to keep her brain functioning yet the only thing she could think of was him.

Please, don't take me away. Who's going to protect him from the self-destruction his heart holds?

”Please, don't leave me” He cried out weakly, pushing his forehead against her collarbone, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. Hiding.

The memory of his happy, blue eyes was the last thing she registered, feeling as if he gently eased her into sleep, taking away all the pain. In reality, Thomas couldn't hold in the animalistic howling that ripped from his throat while he held her tightly to his chest, rocking back and forth as the sound of an ambulance pulling up by the Arrow house came to his ears.

From this moment, there was nothing.

***

She was gone.

He lost count of the amount of hours since it happened. Thomas didn't know if it was a night or a day, as he forced the maids to cover every source of light in the house before sending them away. The alcohol combined with opium in his system made him see the most beautiful things in the dark, memories shining so brightly.

His eyes rolled back at the scent of her, as he was holding her nightgown to his chest. Blood was trickling from his fingers, dirtying the pink material because of the destruction he brought upon the Arrow house once left alone.

Rocking back and forth in the middle of the room, he remembered the sight of his wife sitting by the vanity, laughing as she made him roll his eyes with her smart mouth. She fitted so perfectly, so perfectly with the scent he was feeling.

It was all that mattered, as long as he felt her presence around him.

In the next few days Polly threw away all the opium he had, trying her best along with her nephews to support him through the ripping loss. Only if he wanted that help, maybe everything would eventually be okay.

But for him, there was nothing before her, and nothing after her. The story was done.

Once left alone again, he let out a sigh, feeling the pounding headache. The noise was overwhelming, impossible to suppress ever since she was gone.

”I can hear them coming again” He whispered into the silence of his office, as the shovels dug against the walls from every direction. Getting louder with every passing minute. ”They want to take you away from me, darling” His voice was rough from the lack of using it. Opening his eyes, Thomas looked at the portrait hanging on the wall. You and him. Like like he promised. His eyes on the painting were far from reality, not resembling the dark irises, swallowed completely by madness which took over his mind without change. ”I won't let you leave me” He repeated the line from the past, lips wrapping around the familiar words as he pulled out the pistol from his holster. Lazily pressing the muzzle against his head as his lips turned upwards into a heartfelt smile. ”I'm coming, sweetheart.”

His loving words were followed by a loud bang, as the bullet ruthlessly ripped through his skull and brain, only to get stuck in the old furniture in another room.

His body went completely limp as the unlit cigarette fell onto the desk, becoming the last sound of their lively love ever heard in the wall of the Arrow house.

A house which became a cemetery for the undying love, and future that would never come.

Taggin my people: @iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @honeymoon8 @chaimaarouaine11 @hatethis29 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @preparedfruit @emptyvoidofmine