#fics i adore beyond belief

[darlin-djarin]

people who make grogu a POC in modern au’s i am kissing you passionately on the lips i love you

[raven-dor]

birds of a feather

In which gwayne's wife misses her friends, and he remedies that by visiting during their nephew's second name day

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: tension between friends, fluff, reuniting, allusions to nsfw, FLUFF

WORD COUNT: 3.9k

AN: this could also be read as part of the come back to me universe, but you do not have to read any other fic to understand the context!!

The familiar view of King’s Landing stood outside the carriage window, butterflies erupting in the young woman’s stomach. After two years, she was back in the place she’d called home for most of her life. She fidgeted with her dress, eager to leave the carriage and see her friends. As much as Y/N loved her husband, she’d missed her friends beyond belief, and when Gwayne had mentioned they’d been invited to their nephew’s second name day, she’d jumped at the chance. 

He smiled, tilting his head. “You seem eager.” 

She grinned, her husband’s teasing would not place a damper on her happiness. “I am. I’ve missed them more than I care to say.” 

He raised an eyebrow, laughing. “Do I really bore you so?” 

“Yes. You are quite boring.” She smirked. “If only I had a handsome, young husband to entertain me. Instead, I am-” His lips attacked hers, and she cackled, throwing her head back. “You know I adore you.” 

“And I you.” He grinned, nuzzling his nose against hers. “We’re here.” 

She squealed, straightening her dress. “After you, husband.” 

The carriage door opened; Gwayne walked out first, extending his hand. “My lady.” 

She smiled thankfully, walking down the steps. With him by her side, she felt like a princess. The way he looked at her made her weak, practically mush. “Thank you, my love.” 

Alicent, Viserys, and Otto stood at the opposite side of the courtyard. The young couple approached, bowing before the king and queen. 

“My lord.” Gwayne nodded.

“Your Grace.” Y/N smiled. “It is most gracious of you to have extended this invitation.” 

Viserys laughed. “Nonsense. I’ve considered you part of my family for many years now.” 

“That is very kind, thank you.” 

Alicent smiled, stepping forward and taking Y/N’s hands into hers. “I have missed you so.” 

“I’ve missed you as well, Your Grace. It has been far too long.” 

The girl's smile faltered at the title, nodding in agreement. “Please, come. We have much to celebrate.” 

“Yes, indeed.” Y/N grinned, walking with Alicent. “How is little Aegon?” 

Alicent’s smile did not reach her eyes. “Well.”

Y/N whispered. “And you? How are you?” 

“I am-” Viserys summoned her across the room. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Of course.” Y/N nodded. “I’ll be here.” 

“So?” Gwayne appeared beside her, hooking his arm through hers. “How goes my dear sister?” 

“She’s-” Y/N sighed. “She seems well.” 

Gwayne hummed. “Perhaps we should go fawn over the young prince.” 

She smiled. “I believe I will take a walk around the grounds.” 

He tilted his head. “Would you like me to come with you?” 

She shook her head. “Stay. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your family.” 

He laughed but nodded. “You are my family now.” 

Her cheeks flushed, and she kissed his cheek quickly. “I love you.”

He grinned, squeezing her hand. “I love you much more, my dear.”  

Music rang from the Godswood, a man’s voice echoing throughout the halls. Strange, she’d thought. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to see who was making the noise. A young man sat by at the foot of the tree, stroking the strings of his guitar while he sang. Not far from him sat a young girl with white hair falling at her waist. Y/N grinned, approaching the princess. “Rhaenyra!” 

Her friend's head whipped, a menacing look in her eyes until she realized who had called her name. “Y/N!” She practically jumped to her feet, running to her friend. She hugged her tightly, emotion laced in her voice. “I’ve missed you.” She let her go, looking her over. “Are you well?” 

Y/N nodded, grinning so widely she thought her cheeks would explode. “Very. I feel as if it’s been decades.” 

Rhaenyra’s face looked melancholy. “It is selfish of me to say, but-” She sighed. “I wish you would have stayed.” 

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. “Has something happened?” 

She opened her mouth to speak but turned her head around, glaring at the man. “Did I tell you to stop playing?” 

“No, Princess.”

“Again, from the beginning.” She turned back, a faint frown on her lips. “I feel as though I am utterly alone here.” 

“I’m sure that isn’t true, Rhaenyra.” She whispered. “Have you spoken to Alicent?” 

 The princess scoffed. “I would rather fling myself off of the tallest tower.” 

Y/N glared playfully, smacking her arm. “Rhaenyra!” 

Rhaenyra giggled. “What?” 

“You mustn’t say such things.” 

“Are you going to run and tell her?” 

“You know I would never do that to you. And I know that you still hold love for Alicent." She smiled sympathetically. “You were once great friends.” 

She nodded. “Yes. Once. Before she married my father.” She turned back to the tree, retreating to her previous seat. “Come! Tell me of your adventures.” 

Y/N laughed, sitting beside her. “There’s not much to tell other than the fact that I am inexplicably happy. He’s kind to a fault and truly respects me and my opinion.” She smiled, leaning back into one of the many pillows that surrounded them. “It’s refreshing compared to the men we came to know in our youth.” Rhaenyra hummed, staring at her book, and Y/N smirked, nudging her. “And has the princess found interest in anyone as of late?” 

She laughed lightly. “The men brought before me are insulting. I want-” 

“Your Grace.” The singer stood, bowing. 

Rhaenyra didn’t bother looking up from her book. “Did I say to stop? From the beginning.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened, but she made no comment. She was severely outranked, and there was no way she could come out of this situation unscathed if she chose to speak up. The man continued yet again. 

“Rhaenyra?” 

The princess huffed. “Yes, my queen?” 

“Your presence is wanted in the outer courtyard. The royal hunt readies to depart.” 

“I’ve decided to stay here and read instead.” 

Y/N whispered, placing a hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. “I only accepted the invitation because I knew you would be attending.” She sighed. “Please.” 

Alicent had evidently had enough of his singing because she cut him off. “You may go, Samwell.” 

“You are to stay by order of the princess.” 

Y/N felt as if she should leave. It was uncomfortable enough being stuck in between the two when Alicent was first promised to Viserys, and the tension was practically visible between the two former friends. She began to stand, and Rhaenyra hissed, pulling her back down. “Don’t.” 

“The queen commands you to leave the Godswood at once.” Samwell nodded, leaving without another word. Y/N honestly wished to thank Alicent; his voice was quite annoying once you heard the same song three times over. “The king wishes for you to join us.” 

“The king has much to celebrate; he does not need me.” 

“He wants for us all to be together. Perhaps the hunt could be… fun.” 

Y/N nodded, looking back at Rhaenyra. “Together again.” 

The princess sighed, looking up from her book. “Is it the king’s command?” 

“Yes, but it-” 

She huffed, standing up. “Then at once, Your Grace.” 

“But it needn’t be.” Alicent looked positively miserable. “None of it needs be this way in truth, Rhaenyra.” 

The blonde girl looked at Y/N once more, nodding. “I’ll see you at the hunt.” Without sparing so much as a look at the queen, she retreated out of the Godswood, her hair swishing as she stepped. 

Y/N sighed, linking her arm through her sister-in-law’s. “Let me help you to the courtyard. I’m sure, being this far along, things have begun to hurt.” 

Alicent smiled. “It is easier the second time, but I would appreciate the company.” 

“So…” Y/N whispered. “Have you thought of any names?” 

“I must admit, I haven’t put much effort into that as I should.” 

“I’m sure you have a busy schedule.” She smiled sympathetically. “If you’d like, we can conjure some up while we attend the hunt.” 

“I’d like that.” She leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder. “I’d like that very much.” 

The royal carriage pulled into the campsite, the courtesans gathering around to greet them. Viserys exited first, followed by Alicent and Aegon. Y/N tilted her head, leaning over and whispering in her husband's ear. “Where’s Rhaenyra?” 

He simply shrugged, clapping loudly. His uncle grinned. “Hail, hail, Aegon the Conquerer Babe, second of his name! Here’s to his grace on his second name day!” 

Viserys smiled brightly, raising his son into the air. Thunderous applause echoed through the woods, but Y/N could not bring herself to be quite as enthusiastic. It seemed as if everything was off, different than how she’d left it. Minutes later, the crowd dispersed, but Y/N stayed, approaching the royal carriage. “May I come in?” 

Rhaenyra nodded, staring at the ground. “I will never understand why father has forced me to come along.” 

She placed a comforting hand over Rhaenyra’s. “Your father has always wished for his family to be happy and together.” She laughed. “Although he has a rather odd way of showing it.” 

Rhaenyra sighed, leaning her head back against the carriage wall. “Must I really go into the lion's den and entertain these lords and ladies?” 

“It is the life of being a princess, I imagine.” She smiled sympathetically. “One day, you will be queen, and you will be able to attend things at your leisure.” 

“When I am queen, we will not have hunts like these, I can assure you.” She smirked, looking out the open door. “I suppose I should leave the carriage.” 

“It would be wise, Princess.” Y/N grinned, nudging her friend. “If you need me, send word, and I will come.” 

She stood, curtsying when Rhaenyra called out. “I need you.” 

Y/N laughed. “Shall I accompany you, Your Highness?” 

“Yes,” Rhaenyra stood, linking her arm with Y/N’s. “You shall.” 

They walked down the steps together, entering the large red tent directly in front of them. Y/N leaned over, whispering in her friend's ear. “It is quite extravagant for a second name day. I doubt your brother will remember this.” 

The princess nodded, walking further into the tent. Voices could be heard gossiping, but one, predictably, stood amongst the rest. Ceira Lannister’s proud tone interrupted Lady Redwyne’s. “Lady Johanna was reported to have been abducted when one of Lord Swann’s ships sailed through the Stepstones.” 

“What will happen to Lady Johanna?” 

“She’s to be sold to a pillow house in the Free Cities if you believe the rumors.” 

A man’s voice spoke. “I fear the gods did not make me for hunting. Might I sit with you, my ladies?” 

“But of course, please join us.” Alicent smiled. She had always been kind-hearted. “Larys Strong, youngest son of our master of laws, Lord Lyonel.” 

“My lord husband says that no king has been able to tame the Stepstones for long. It’s an inhospitable place suited only for savages.” The pair rounded the lobby, peeking in through the curtains. 

“Perhaps the Princess…” Rhaenyra’s eyes widened. “Could provide us with some insight.” 

They stepped through, smiling. Rhaenyra laughed. “I’m not sure how I could; I’ve never been to the Stepstones.” 

“Your dear uncle is the great mind behind this war. Is he not?” 

Y/N smiled condescendingly. “Are we so quick to blame family members for their relative's wrongdoings? I seem to remember, Lady Lannister, not long ago, your son Lord Jason almost burned the city’s sept to the ground.” She tilted her head. “Were you the great mind behind that exhibition?” 

Rhaenyra tensed. “I have not spoken to Daemon in years.”

The Lady Lannister’s face looked sour. “Since you supplanted him as heir, I imagine.” 

Alicent’s eyebrows raised. “Daemon made his choices, Lady Ceira. The princess was more suited to the role.” 

Lady Redwyne sighed. “He’s made a mess, and the King must put an end to it. Send fleets and men and clear out the triarchy for good.” 

Y/N murmured. “I was not aware you were the master of war.” 

Rhaenyra tilted her head. “But the crown is not at war.” 

“The crown is at war, Princess. Though your father refuses to admit it, we’ve been dragged into it by your Uncle and the Sea Snake.” 

Y/N opened her mouth to retort, but Rhaenyra beat her to it. “And how have you served the realm as of late, Lady Redwyne? By eating cake?” 

Rhaenyra waited for no response, dragging her friend outside as she laughed. “Where are we going?” 

“Anywhere but here.” She rolled her eyes. “None of those ladies have any idea what it is like to rule. What makes them think they can speak as if they do?” 

“It is just what they do, Your Highness.” She laughed. “And no one is a better gossip than the ladies we just encountered.” 

They stopped by the fire, staring into it. “I wonder, Princess-” Y/N fought the urge to groan. She was already annoyed, and now completely understood why Rhaenyra acted the way she had as of late. “Was your own second name day as grand as this?” 

 “I honestly don’t recall, and neither will Aegon.” 

The man stood, bowing before her. “Lord Jason Lannister.” Rhaenyra and Y/N smiled politely. 

“I gathered that from all the lions.” 

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” He snapped, ushering over his servant. What a pompous man, Y/N thought. She pitied the poor woman who would have to marry him. She began to pull her arm out of Rhaenyra’s when she tightened her grip, sending her a quick cry for help. Y/N would have laughed if their company was not present. 

“Your twin serves on my father’s council.” 

“Tyland is frightfully dull; Gods love him.” He handed the pair of them cups, smiling proudly. “The finest honeyed wine you’ll ever taste. Made in Lannisport, of course.” 

Rhaenyra smiled back sarcastically. “Of course.” 

“The Kingswood, it’s fine hunting ground. But the best spot is to be found at Casterly Rock, near my home.” 

Y/N fought the urge to laugh. “I beg pardon, my lord, but I believe you are mistaken. The woods surrounding Old Town have been known for centuries for its hunting grounds.” She smiled. “King Jaehaerys himself often visited for the very same purpose.” 

The Lannister man smiled politely, whispering to Rhaenyra. “Might we talk alone, Princess?” 

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Lady Hightower is a good friend, my lord. Anything you wish to say may be said in front of her as well.”

He sighed, going back to his obviously prepared speech. “Have you been to Casterly Rock?” 

“Once, on tour with my mother when I was young, and I honestly cannot recall much of that either.” 

“The Rock is thrice the high of the Hightower in Oldtown,” at this Y/N had rolled her eyes. “Taller still than the Wall in the North. It’s been said that if one were to stand in the tower on a perfect day, one could see clear across the Sunset Sea.” 

“It must be quite something.” 

“I don’t have a Dragonpit, of course, but I do have the means and resources to build one.” 

Seven Hells. Y/N’s heart dropped. He was proposing to Rhaenyra. The Princess tilted her head. “Why would you need a Dragonpit?” 

“To house Dragons, of course.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’d do anything for my queen or lady wife.” 

Y/N whispered. “Rhaenyra, perhaps we should-” 

Rhaenyra smiled, handing him back their cups. “Thank you for the wine.” She stalked back to the tent, practically dragging Y/N. 

“I think I’ll go find Gwayne for a moment,” Y/N called out. “I would prefer not to be stuck in the screaming match between you and your father.” 

The princess simply nodded, letting go of her friend's arm. Y/N huffed, smiling as her husband came into view. “My love.” 

He kissed the back of her hand. “Having fun?” 

“I forgot how exhausting it is to be her companion.” She frowned. “It must be horrible to be put on such a high pedestal.” 

Gwayne mumbled. “Imagine being the queen.” 

She looked over at Alicent, who looked lost in a sea of vipers. “Imagine.” 

Viserys’s voice carried above the rest, and Y/N sighed, leaning her head on her husband's arm. “It’s starting.” 

He looked puzzled. “What is, my dear?” 

She gestured over to the King and Princess, who were in a heated discussion. “The reason I came to find you. I knew they’d start yelling. I cannot tell you the amount of arguments I was stuck in the middle of.” She shivered. “Targaryens have the blood of dragons in their veins, and it is evident when they are angry.” 

The tent quieted, the whole of its inhabitants looking at the royals. Rhaenyra ran off, and Gwayne leaned down, whispering in Y/N’s ear. “Aren’t you going to go after her?” 

She shook her head, smiling sadly. “She always does best when she is by herself, given time to think.” She looked up, wiggling her eyebrows. “Besides, I’d rather be here with you.” 

“Oh?” He smirked, his eyes dark. “That is nice to know.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for his lips. “I live to serve you.” 

He rolled his eyes. “We both know that’s not true. Quite the opposite, really.” 

“Gwayne.” He hummed. “Stop talking and kiss me.” 

“Yes, my lady.” He leaned down, kissing her deeply. “Shall we retire early?” 

She gasped, hitting his chest indignantly. “It is only half past two.” 

“And?” 

“Y/N.” The pair broke apart, smiling at the King. “Your Grace.” 

He grinned. “How have you been, my dear?” 

“Well, my king.” She placed a hand on Gwayne’s chest, smiling up at him. “I have been very well.” 

“Shall I be hearing news of a babe anytime soon?” 

Her cheeks flushed, losing the ability to speak. She felt nauseous. Gwayne laughed. “Hopefully, Your Grace.” 

Viserys laughed along with her husband. “Perhaps you could tell Rhaenyra how rewarding marriage has been for you.” He failed to hide his annoyance. “She is quite stubborn about the idea.” 

“I’m sure she will come around in time, Your Grace.” She smiled. “Rhaenyra understands the importance, and with a kind match, she will be more than happy to fufill her duties. I am sure of it.” 

Viserys nodded. “Enjoy the hunt.” 

“We will. Thank you, Your Grace.” The king walked away, and Gwayne whispered. “Do you really believe she will be so willing?” 

“Seven Hells, no.” Y/N laughed. “I doubt she will marry willingly.” 

He smiled. "Were you once that way?"

"I remember rejecting your first proposal." She raised an eyebrow. "I never thought I would marry."

"I'm surprised."

"And why is that?"

He pulled her closer, a loving look in his eyes. "I'm surprised you didn't have a line of suitors out of the castle."

She laughed, kissing him on the cheek. "How sweet."

Gwayne laughed at the Lords who were shoving food down their throats like it was their last meal. “I thank the gods every day that I am not Lord of Hightower.” 

“And why is that husband?” 

“I would have to go on those dreadfully long and unfair hunts.” He laughed. “You know as well as I that hunting in Old Town is just that: hunting. We do not strap the beast down; we actually track the animals.”

She smiled. “What a kind man you are.” 

He glared. “Are you jesting?” 

She scoffed, acting surprised. “What would make you state such a claim? I am simply telling you how kind you are.” 

“For some reason,” He leaned down. “I do not believe you.” 

“Well, perhaps, dear husband,” She reached for his lips. “You should.” 

“We should retire.” He whispered. “They do not need us.” 

“I would love to retire.” 

He sighed. “But?” 

“But I feel horrible, leaving your sister by herself. Her husband…” She whispered. “Seems more preoccupied with his wine than her well-being.” 

He dropped in head on her shoulder, groaning. “Must you be so considerate?” 

“Yes,” she kissed his temple. “I must. Now remove your head from my shoulder. I want to sit with your sister.” 

He sat up, glaring. “You take the fun out of everything.” 

“That’s not what you said a fortnight ago.” She whispered, a chill running down his spine. “After I spend some time with her, I will be yours. I promise.” 

He smirked. “I look forward to it.” 

She stood up, curtsying in front of Alicent. “My Queen. May I?” 

She nodded eagerly. “Please.” The cupbearer came over, pouring her a glass. “Would you like some?” 

“I believe if I have any more, I will not be able to walk."

Alicent laughed. “Is my brother treating you well?” 

“He is a gracious husband," she smiled. "I wish you could have attended the wedding.” 

“I do as well.” She sighed. “I fear I have less freedom than one would think a queen is allowed.” 

“Surely Viserys understands your need to see family.” Y/N lamented. “Perhaps we could convince him of a trip to the country.” 

“Perhaps.” Alicent did not look hopeful. “He is rather preoccupied.”

“You have the ladies at court to keep you company, I hope?” 

“Yes…” She sighed. “But I find that I have few true friends at the moment.” 

“Alicent…” Y/N held her hands. “You have me.” 

Her eyes watered. “I miss when it was the three of us. Is that wrong to say?” 

Y/N shook her head. “I feel the same. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could go back.” 

“Does Gwayne not-” 

“I love your brother, truly.” She smiled. “But friends are important, good for the soul.” 

Alicent grinned, tears falling. “Please write to me.” 

“Of course.” She nodded. “Of course I will.” 

“Sister?” The girl turned around, smiling at her husband. “Are you alright?” 

The queen nodded. “I missed your wife’s company.” 

Gwayne grinned. "She is certainly something, isn't she?"

Y/N blushed, shoving him away. “I’m glad we made the trip.” 

“Shall I leave you two-” 

His sister shook her head. “I’m retiring.” She looked at Y/N once more. “I will miss you.” 

“I will miss you just as much.” Alicent stood, and Y/N walked into her husband's embrace. “You have made me a very happy wife, Gwayne.” 

“Well, I live to serve you.” He smirked. “You are my joy.” 

“You flatter me.” 

“It is true. I am not a liar, as you well know.” He slung an arm across her shoulders. “Let us go to bed.” 

"I'm not feeling tired." She grinned mischievously. "Are you?"

"Quite the opposite." Once they left the tent, he put his arm under her legs, sweeping her off her feet. Y/N giggled, leaning her head against his chest.

"I'm glad we understand each other."

He pushed through their tent's entrance, dropping her on the bed and hovering over her. "Have I told you how much I long for you?"

She shook her head, blushing.

He sighed, leaning down. "Let me show you."

“Rhaenyra!” Y/N called out, racing towards her friend. She hugged her quickly. “We were worried.” 

“We?” The princess smirked. “Or my father?” 

Y/N frowned. “I will miss you dearly.” 

"Have you not heard? I’m being sent on a tour to find a suitor of my choosing.” 

“That’s wonderful. I knew your father would come around.” 

She squinted. “My father said it was your words that made his mind.” 

“I-” Realization dawned on her. “I said that you would possibly be inclined to marry if you found a kind match you will be more than willing to fulfill your duties.” 

“Well, whatever you said, I am glad of it. One of the stops is Old Town.” She grinned. “I will see you in just a few short months.” 

“I am counting the days.” Gwayne waved her over, and Y/N curtsied. “Princess.” 

She ran over to her husband, and he caught her, laughing at her enthusiasm. “You are quite bubbly this morning.” 

She grinned, whispering in his ear. “I had a rather productive night.” 

“Productive?” He raised an eyebrow. “I would say romantic.” 

She nodded. “Yes, of course.” Walking towards the carriage, she gasped when he shut the door, his grin resembling that of a wolf. “Perhaps I should show you the meaning of the word.” 

Y/N blushed, biting her lip. “Yes." She leaned back. "Perhaps you should.” 

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i hate this title but i LOVE this fic! i had so much fun writing it, obviously inspired by the tik tok trend lol. also when i started this fic last week, the cookies were different but then this week actually did include banana cream pie so i had to change them 😂 and then had to do a little rewrite obviously. but yeah, go check out the isles q&a on their favorite desserts bc they’re all adorable

tw: tooth rotting fluff, extremely minor insinuation of a daddy kink

word count: 2.3k

summary: you take advantage of mat’s sweet tooth to trick him into doing a tik tok video with you

“Hey,” you call out for Mat from your perch on the couch, one foot wedged in between the couch cushions and your phone resting on your thigh. You can hear him rummaging around in the fridge and the noise stops temporarily.

“Hey,” he calls back, “what’s going on?” The rummaging noises start up again and you grin to yourself. If he’s hungry, your little plan will work perfectly.

You crunch up into a sitting position and drape your arms over the back of the couch, watching Mat as he moves things around in the fridge, looking for something to eat. “Do you want to go to Chip City with me?” You ask. “I want to make like one of those TikToks, you know where they rate the cookies of the week?”

Mat’s nodding and closing the fridge before you even finish speaking. “Oh, hell fucking yes,” he grins, skirting around the kitchen island and stopping behind the couch. You reach out and tug at the belt loops on his jeans, laughing. “You know I’m always down for cookies.”

“I know,” you tease, unfolding from the couch and getting to your feet. “That’s why I suggested it. I can always count on you to validate my sugar cravings.”

He smiles his crooked little smile and readjusts his hat, the new Stay GOALd collaboration with Ralph Macchio, raking his hand through his hair before settling the hat on backwards. Your stomach flips a little at how good he looks. “Babe, we need to stop talking and start driving,” he says, totally seriously.

“Chill, Cookie Monster,” you follow him to the front door, stepping into your ratty Forces. The leather is more grey than white now and creased beyond belief, but they’re comfortable and you can slide them on and off without having to do the laces. “I doubt they’re going to run out of cookies in the ten minutes it takes to get there.”

“Never know,” Mat shrugs, tossing your car keys at you. You barely catch them, fumbling a little before your fingers hook on the beaded keychain. “Your car’s behind mine, you drive?”

You wrinkle your nose, when Mat’s home you’d rather be the passenger princess, but you also hate it when he readjusts your seat to fit his longer legs. “Fine,” you mumble, locking the door behind him, “but that’s the last bit of driving I’m doing all weekend.”

He swoops in to press a kiss to your forehead, “your wish is my command, Princess Squeaks.”

With a delighted smile, you hop into the driver’s seat of your car, turning it on while Mat buckles up in the passenger seat. He leans back in the seat, the brim of his backwards cap hitting against the headrest and popping the front of the hat off his head. “Damn,” he mutters, quickly fixing it and sitting forward. “So, wait, if you make one of those videos, what are the chances we get a Chip City influencer deal? Are we looking at free cookies for life?”

“Um, no,” you wince when you take a turn a little too quickly, clipping the curb. Hoping Mat will ignore that, you continue quickly, “I don’t think free cookies for life is a thing? Maybe some like coupons or extra point perks? Honestly, it’ll probably be nothing other than a comment and a like.”

“For life will be a really short period if you keep driving like a blind lunatic,” Mat teases you, laughing loudly when you lift your hand from the steering wheel to flip him off.

“You’re the one who told me to drive,” you counter.

Mat snags your hand out of the air and laces his fingers with yours, settling the back of his hand on the center console. “That’s only because I forgot what an insane driver you are,” he laughs, dramatically letting his body bounce forward and back in the seat when you come to a sharp stop at a red light.

You roll your eyes and make a point of driving exactly the speed limit and taking turns super carefully until you pull into the parking lot. When he hops out of the car, Mat wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close to his side. You snuggle up, wrapping your arm around his waist, car keys jangling in your hand as you walk. “Babe, you can drive like Vin Diesel all you want when I’m not in the car,” he says as you walk up the sidewalk to Chip City. “Lou might consider it a breach of my contract if you drive like that when I’m in the passenger seat.”

“Breach of contract!?” You yelp, pinching his side while he lets loose one of his contagiously loud laughs. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“But you love me,” Mat states matter-of-factly, breaking contact with you to pull open the door and hold it for you. You hum happily, immediately hit with the delicious scent of baked cookies. Behind you, Mat lets out a quiet groan and you laugh at his dramatics. “Jesus, it always smells so good in here,” he falls into line behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“If I worked here, I’d be three hundred pounds from sampling cookies every day,” you comment, turning to the mirror on the wall and lining up your face with the milk moustache decal for a selfie. You nudge Mat into place next to you and he crinkles his whole face up into a cheesy grin just for you. You snap the picture and shuffle forward as the person at the register leaves, moving the line up. Mat shuffles behind you, stepping on the heels of your sneakers and mumbling apologies.

While you wait, you look at the merch on the walls, joking with Mat that you’re going to get him the cookie shaped backpack for him to put his stuff in on game days. Before he can retort, you’re at the case and the worker is asking you how many cookies you want.

“Um, let’s do six?” You say, voice ticking up in a question for Mat. He nods, barely listening to you as he squints at the cookies. They’ll be gone in two days.

“Definitely need the cookies and cream,s’mores and oh, fuck yes, banana cream pie,” he points at each cookie as he names the flavor. “Babe?”

“I’ll do the specialty ones,” you say, “dark chocolate peanut butter, white chocolate macadamia, and brookie, please.”

“I love bananan cream pie cookie week,” Mat comments dreamily, looking like Pepe Le Pew when the cartoon skunk’s eyes turn into hearts when he spots the female skunk. He grins at you when you stick your finger in your mouth, fake gagging.

“Ugh, disgusting,” you shake your head. “Your love for banana cream pie is your biggest red flag.”

The woman behind the counter boxes everything up and you tap in your phone number to get rewards points before stepping to the side so Mat can pay. He smirks at you, tapping his card against the reader, and quietly, so no one else can hear, murmurs, “say ‘thank you, daddy.’”

A laugh startles out of your chest and you shake your head, cheeks flushing hot. “No, nope. I’m not saying that, Mathew.” Your fingers tremble a little around the box of cookies.

Mat’s hand is huge and warm on your lower back as he guides you out of the store, the sudden cool air a relief to your cheeks. He chuckles and flexes his fingers against your back. “Worth a shot,” he teases. “One day I’m gonna get you to say it.”

“It won’t be of my own accord,” you wrinkle your nose at him, stomach flipping a little bit. You refuse to analyze the excitement building low in your stomach and instead march determinedly back to your car. You had a plan for today and it didn’t involve Mat being called ‘daddy’ in a public place. Or any place. Or ever.

“We’ll see,” Mat jokes, pulling open the door for you to hop in and then going around the front of the car to get in on the passenger side. You drop the cookie box on his lap and he immediately picks at the tape holding it shut with his thumbnail, ready to snag a bite.

“Wait for me to get set up!” You chastise him, flicking his fingers away from the box with one hand and pulling up TikTok with the other.

Mat keeps picking at the tape, “no one’s gonna notice, I’ll just break it in half.” He finally manages to get the tape off and pops the lid open, dramatically inhaling the scent of the cookies. “Oh, fuck yes. Babe, what a good idea.”

You grin at him and make sure your phone is set in the holder attached to your windshield so both you and Mat are in the shot. “I literally only have good ideas,” you pull the box of cookies back into your lap, ignoring Mat’s protests. “Ready?”

He nods and you reach forward to start the recording. “Hi guys!” You chirp into the camera. “Happy Saturday, Mat has a rare day off so I decided to rope him into my fun. Say hi, Mat.”

Mat looks up from his phone and parrots, “hi, Mat,” with a shit eating grin on his face.

“He’s the worst,” you roll your eyes affectionately and hold up the cookie box so it’s in frame. “Anyway, I wanted to do something different than the usual Crumbl cookie sampling, and since Chip City is in our town, I figured this was the best thing. I invited Mat, because, well, I’m not sure if you know this but my husband has the biggest sweet tooth.”

You fight to keep your face in a neutral expression, but can’t help the corner of your mouth ticking up when you see Mat’s eyebrows lift nearly into his hairline on screen. His own mouth tips down in a slight, curious frown, but he doesn’t say anything.

So you continue, “it’s not anything like my mother-in-law’s peach cobbler, but Mat will kill a chocolate chip cookie in record time.” You shift in your seat, turning to face him, and keep your gaze locked on a point in the middle of his forehead, because if you look him in the eye, you’ll crack up. “Which do you want to try first, babe? Wait, let me guess, banana cream pie?”

There’s amusement in his tone when he holds out his hand and says, “oh for sure. Hand it over!”

He squints at you and you avoid his gaze when you pass over the cookie. Pretending to think, you look down at the box, “I’m going to try the dark chocolate peanut butter first, I think. Unlike my husband,” you smile at the camera, holding up the cookie while you break it in half to show the melted peanut butter swirls on the inside, “I like my desserts a little less sweet. Lemon bars, carrot cake, cheesecake, that kind of thing. Last week was lemon berry, which is a top three cookie for me.”

You can see Mat jolt in surprise again on screen, his head swinging to look at you. His eyes are wide and his lips are fighting a laugh.

“Yeah,” Mat smirks at the camera, breaking his own cookie in half and taking a huge bite. He chews and swallows before continuing, “the wifey is pretty picky on her desserts.”

Mat’s words sink in and you do a double take, jaw falling open a little. Mat’s grin turns shit eating and he takes another huge bite of his cookie while you blink stupidly at him. “What-?” You frown, ignoring the way your heart is pounding and your stomach is clenching with the echo of Mat saying ‘wifey’ in your ear.

He licks a spot of whipped cream off the side of his thumb and your core throbs.

“Uno reverse, Squeaks,” Mat laughs. “Do you think you’re the only one with Tik Tok?”

“Oooh,” you scrunch your face up at him, “you knew what I was up to?” He nods and your hand shoots out to push at his shoulder.

“Hey!” He yelps, chuckling. “I figured it out when you referred to Mom as your mother-in-law.”

You put your cookie back in the box and tap the record button on your phone, ending the video. “I honestly thought you’d have a better reaction,” you laugh a little, pulling your left foot up onto the seat and turning completely so you’re facing Mat. You shift the box too, so it’s on top of the center console.

Mat talks as he swaps out his banana cream pie for a piece of the s’mores, a string of marshmallow connecting the broken piece from the rest in the box, “why? Not a secret that I’m gonna wife you up in the future. I like hearing you call me your husband.”

He says it so casually, so easily, that it shocks you a little. When you first met Mat, you had thought dating him would be a fun time, but you’d never imagined that you’d be here - with him talking about marriage as if it’s a foregone conclusion.

“Well,” you murmur, feeling warm and content, “for the record, I liked hearing you call me wifey. So I guess we’re even.”

Mat looks up at you, hazel eyes lit up and glowing where the sun hits his face. He looks even more edible than the cookies. “You called me husband twice, don’t think we’re even just yet…” he drags out the pause with a sly smile on his face and you think he may use the w-word again, but he just lets the silence linger, the possibility hanging in the air.

[vidals-harkness]

i got you (alice wu-gulliver)

summary: you get your period, and your girlfriend helps you out.

fic type: fluff

pairings: alice wu-gulliver x fem!reader

warnings: period cramps, blood, nausea

word count: 0.5k

As per usual, you and Alice had gone to your separate workplaces. Her going to her little goth house, and you to the library. A small job, really, but the backbreaking work paid off.

However, today wasn’t the best day to go to work. Because right when you got there, you felt it.

The stabbing pain that came in your abdomen making you wish you were dead or maybe a man. Cramps. Blood. Inner garments soaked.

“Well isn’t this lovely,” you sighed, grabbing a tampon and fixing yourself in the bathroom.

You didn’t want to take a pain med. That would be admitting defeat and displaying weakness. You could handle it.

Until you couldn’t.

Alice had just gotten on break when your call came in.

“Baby…” you whined into the phone, making her eyes widen a bit. She knew that tone.

“Give me ten minutes,” she said, dashing to the cupcake store in the mall, picking up your favourite red velvet ones, along with a sugary peach iced tea, before heading to her car. She immediately gunned it, driving as fast as she could to the public library.

She showed up to see you slumped over one of the desks, near tears and probably in so much pain that it could kill a man. Which it would, in her opinion.

“I’ve got you,” she said softly, rubbing your back. “Come on, sweetheart I’ll take you to the car,”

You allowed yourself to be led to the car, and sat in the passenger seat, whining like a child.

“Darling can we—“ before you could ask, she placed the goodies in your lap, making you smile at the sight. “You’re a saint,”

“Hardly,” she chuckled, backing out of the parking lot. “Snack on those till we get home okay?”

The cupcakes were heaven, your cramps feeling a little less deathly and the iced tea relaxed the rising heat you were feeling in your already bloated stomach.

The house was thankfully clean, Alice having suspected your period was close (she had a secret calendar on her wall and phone keeping track) and kept any form of anxious thoughts of cleaning by away.

“Lie down, I’ll grab the heating pad,” she said, kissing your forehead before pushing the door open to the bedroom.

You lay on your stomach with a dramatic (but appropriately anguished) groan, waiting for her to return.

She worked like clockwork, well aware of the sheer danger of your mood swings if things were even a second late. She pulled out the chocolate from the fridge, grabbed the heating pad and went to the room, handing both things over to you.

“And I’ve kept some painkillers on the bedside table even though you won’t take them you stubborn bitch,” she sighed, sliding into bed behind you, sitting up with her back against the headboard, pulling you into her arms. You lay between her legs, munching on chocolate happily, while she played the first episode of Friends on the TV.

You felt her massaging your head gently, her fingertips working wonders on your aching temple, before she moved her hands into your hair, massaging your scalp as her short nails ran over it.

“I hate that you’re skipping work though, I don’t want your boss—“ you began, but she silenced you with an upside-down kiss.

“My boss is a cishet man and he doesn’t understand how periods work, or how girlfriend duties work, he’ll live,” she smiled, caressing your skin gently.

“What would I do without you?” You asked, laughing softly.

“You’d be perfectly fine, you’re an independent little lady,” she nodded. “But, you deserve the princess treatment, my love,”

Your body swelled with adoration for her, loving every single moment she spent with you, getting lost in her touch and feel.

Alice knew that she would burn the world for you without a second thought, and just seeing you so perfectly happy and content reinforced that thought beyond belief.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too, Alice,” you smiled, cuddling into her, eyes growing heavy.

And so you both dozed off together, letting just the quiet sounds of the television fill the room.

hi hi my bao buns! second imagine of the day, starring alice! do request more and i’m working on the rest currently!

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Idk if you write for them but what about a todoroki and Deku going on a blind date with a Chubby reader🤔 (btw miss ma’am you dropped this 🤲🏾👑)

Your Kind of Men (poly!bi!pro!TodoDeku x Chubby!Black!Fem!Reader SFW One Shot) [REQUEST FILL]

Pairing: Izuku "Deku" Midoriya x Shoto Todoroki x Chubby!Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which you go on a blind date set up by your friend and her pro hero partners, not realizing that you're about to get your chance to meet some pros yourself who are highly interested in having a third...and they hope that it's you.

Warnings: AgedUp!TodoDeku (they're in their late 20s-early 30s); Bisexual!TodoDeku; Polyamory; Sexual Fantasies; Flirting; Reader is Black, Fem & Plus-Sized (but anyone can still read this)

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Thank you for getting my crown for me, babe!! I hope you enjoy this! It's pretty tame except for the sex thoughts lol. Enjoy! -xoxo, Jazz 💋💋

********

“I don’t know how I feel about this, girl,” you sigh into the phone, staring down at your cocktail. “You didn’t even tell me what they do! What if they’re serial killers or something?” 

You feel a nervous sweat coming on despite the cool air in the fancy restaurant and the spaghetti straps of your dress allowing you to stay cool. You took a shower and added as much deodorant to your pits and jiggly inner thighs as you could because of your paranoia of smelling, but that does nothing to stop you from breaking out in anxious perspiration. 

“Would you stop that?” Your friend complains. “I didn’t tell you about their jobs because I wanted to surprise you! If Bakugou and Kiri know them, trust me: they’re good guys.” 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose to avoid an oncoming headache from too much stress. Though the fact that these “guys” are Bakugou aka pro hero Dynamight and Kirishima aka pro hero Red Riot’s longtime buddies, that doesn’t do much to ease your worries or mind. 

”Then they must be fine as fuck ‘cause your boyfriends are!” You groan, earning a giggle from your friend. “It’s not funny! I’m literally having a panic attack and I don’t think this cocktail is helping.” 

You stare down at your Perfect Peach cocktail made with vodka and peach preserves that is supposed to ease your nerves as you sit at the bar waiting for your blind date…or blind dates, rather. 

After further consideration and fantasizing about it for months, you confided in your friend about wanting to try a polyamorous relationship like she has with Bakugou and Kiri. She always seems so happy when she’s with them. You remember a time when you were happy like that with your boyfriend—everyday seemed sunny whenever he called or came to see you. 

But that was a year ago. After a very messy breakup which resulted in him moving away and immediately dating someone else, you did your best to forget him and move on. Getting back into the dating pool was the first step. You recently just started reviving your accounts on dating apps, but so far, none of them have sufficed. 

You often wonder how your friend did it—how she managed to bag not one but two pro heroes. And they’re so hot and sweet! Every time you see their big arms wrapped around your friend or see their smiles directed her way or see them pick her up from your crib and know she’s going to spend her night getting pleasured beyond belief by both of them, you can’t help but be jealous. 

Don’t get it twisted. You’re so happy for your friend! She deserves partners who adore her…but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t bother you that you don’t have that kind of relationship for yourself. 

Your friend’s calming voice pulls you out of your self-deprecating thoughts. ”Just calm down. It’s going to go great! But if it ever goes sideways or if you really feel like you can’t go through with this, just make some excuse, like I almost burned our crib down. Then you can leave!” 

”I’m not doing that,” you huff. “Your men went through all the trouble of booking this blind date for me. The least I can do is try to get through it.” 

Bakugou and Kiri specifically handpicked your blind dates for you tonight. They barely told you anything about them though. The only thing you know is that they’re friends. “You’ll love ‘em, doll!” Kiri told you. “I promise! These guys are super manly!” 

“They’re whatever,” Bakugou said, which didn’t help you at all. But then again, Bakugou was never good at giving compliments…unless those compliments are directed at your friend. 

“Well, to do that, you’ll have to get out of that head of yours,” your friend critically says. “Girl, you’re always overthinking! You like hot as fuck tonight and your dates will think so to. Just think about how they may even take you home tonight to get a piece of that nice, fat a—“ 

”And I’m hanging up,” you immediately announce, cringing at her hysterical laughter. “I just met the guys and it’s our first date! I’m not gonna—“ 

”Excuse me?” A rather familiar voice you can’t place politely asks you. You turn around, preparing to give this man the boot, but all of the words in your throat die when you get a look at who’s standing behind you. 

He is much taller and hotter in person, your embarrassingly large poster in your bedroom not doing you much justice. His gray vest, slacks, and white button-up shirt are rather tight on his toned body, his pecs and biceps pushing up against the fabric. The cutest freckles adorn his cheeks, almost popping out like a pop-up photo in a children’s book due to how green his hair and eyes are. They remind you of emeralds. 

Izumi Midoriya aka Deku, pro hero #1, in the flesh, is your date tonight. He gives you a kind, toothy smile, his hands behind his back. ”Are you Y/N?” He asks. 

Your mind is frozen in a block of ice, all thoughts and words put on pause. Too stunned to speak, you just nod. “Oh, good!” He sighs, relieved. “I thought I’d gotten the wrong person and embarrassed the hell out of myself!” He sheepishly laughs before passing you a bouquet of the most beautiful pink and yellow roses out from behind him. “For you,” he says, a light blush coating his cheeks. “Shoto picked ‘em. He’ll be in here soon.” 

Shoto. As in Shoto Todoroki pro hero #3. Bakugou is at #2 while Kiri is #4. If all goes well, you and your friend will be living the life dating such popular pro heroes. 

Wordlessly, you take the flowers, but not wanting to look like a crazy woman, you give Deku a smile. You just can’t believe this. You feel like you’re dreaming. “Y/N?” Your friend asks. “Helloooo? You there?” 

Brought back down to reality, you keep your eyes on Deku while you speak into your phone that you remember is pressed to your ear. “I’ve gotta go,” you abruptly say. “M-My dates are here.” Your friend just giggles. “Enjoy,” she sings. “Give me all the details when you get back.” 

Once she hangs up, the door to the restaurant opens. In walks your second date and Shoto is just as tall as Deku. He walks elegantly on long legs, his frame leaner than Deku’s, but muscled and toned. His black suit fits perfectly on him, giving him a dashing look that his long, red-and-white-toned hair tied in a ponytail only adds to. He looks like a damn fairytale prince coming to save you. 

His eyes meet yours and you swear he’s just as gorgeous in person. The burn scar over his eye only adds to his appearance, giving him a very sexy but unique look. He smiles at you and the air is immediately stolen from your plump, soft body. 

“You found her?” He asks, coming over to the bar to meet you. “I’m sorry, I was busy trying to find a parking spot. This restaurant is quite popular.” Deku nods, laughing. “That’s what it said on the website!” He chuckles. 

“Y/N, right?” Shoto asks, his silky voice directed at you. “Pleasure to finally meet you. Your friend told us all about you, but she left out how beautiful you are.” He sticks his hand out for a shake, his ringed fingers making you think of nasty things. You wouldn’t mind them wrapping around your neck or sliding inside of your—

”T-Thank you,” you say, finally finding your voice. You tentatively shake Shoto’s hand, shivering slightly at the wave of electricity you feel coursing through you at his touch. “I know who you are. Y-You’re Deku and Todoroki, pro heroes #1 and #3.” 

The duo share a look, both stunned. A mischievous smile stretches across Shoto’s face. “Someone’s a fan,” he teases. 

Deku rolls his eyes, criticizing his boyfriend. “Don’t tease her, Shoto,” he critically says before turning to you. “That, we are! I hope that doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable. We’re really just normal people…who happen to have quirks.” He looks worried that the fact that they’re famous may make you feel weird, but that isn’t even half of it. How the fuck are you supposed to act normal around such hot men?! 

Swallowing harshly and taking a much-needed sip of your cocktail, you start to feel somewhat confident from the vodka. “Well, it’s nice to meet you both,” you giggle. “Should we sit?” 

Deku offers his hand to help you slide off of the barstool with your drink and flowers. You feel his hand lightly ghost the small of your back and your skin suddenly bursts with warmth like it’s on fire. Your dress only somewhat smooths your back rolls which most men aren’t too fond of. But Deku doesn’t seem to mind.

He leads you over to a table near a window overlooking the sidewalk and decorated with two candles. Shoto takes the chair you’re about to pull out and does it for you. “Please, allow me.” He patiently waits for you to sit down before pushing you in and then taking his seat with Deku across from you. 

Such a gentleman. You love gentlemen. They make your heart pound and your inner thighs clench together to avoid the throbbing sensation you feel already coming. 

The two handsome pros sit across from you, their attractive features illuminated by the candlelight. Luckily, your waitress comes over to get your appetizer orders and fetch the pros drinks before wandering off to put in your orders. 

Shoto clears his throat and is the first to fill the silence. “Sooo, Y/N,” he begins, your name sounding like smooth butter on his lips, “how in the world are you single as pretty as you are?” Heat coats your face at his boldness. You’re not used to receiving such compliments. 

“Shoto!” Deku growls, elbowing Shoto in the arm. “We’ve only known her for, like, five minutes!” Shoto side-eyes his boyfriend. “So you don’t think she’s pretty?” He deadpans, smirking at the bright red blush that coats Deku’s freckled cheeks. 

“You’ve got game,” you giggle, earning a proud smile from Shoto. “Well, I recently decided to start dating again after a breakup a year ago. I missed nights like these, getting dressed up and going out with handsome men.” 

You watch surprise alight in the couple’s eyes that quickly melt into something more intimate and passionate. Because now they know that you’re just as attracted to them as they are to you…so far. The shift makes you feel hot all over and you cross your legs. This is going to be much harder than you thought. 

You shift slightly in your seat, clearing your throat. “S-So what about you two?” You softly stutter. “How long have you two been together? How come you’re looking for a third?” 

The two share a look and then a smile that grinds at your insides. You remember smiling that way at your person–so in love and content. ”Well, after five years of dating, we decided to venture into new experiences,” Deku answers. “We’ve both been interested in having a poly relationship for a while now, so we decided to give it a try.” 

He tells you that he and Shoto met in UA High and were friends at first before slowly becoming more. It’s a story fit for a friends-to-lovers book. Concern laces Shoto’s pretty, multicolored eyes. “And this is still okay with you? Seeing two men at the same time?” 

You want to correct him that they aren’t just any men. They’re pro heroes. Celebrities. They have status and notoriety. You would be hella stupid to say no to this. “Yeah,” you reply. “I’ve never dated two guys at the same time, but it never hurts to try something new.” 

Other than their perks as celebs, their easy-going personalities and warm nature make it especially hard to refuse them, so you feel comfortable saying yes. 

Shoto smiles, pleased with that answer, and raises his glass of red wine. “Cheers to new experiences then.” Deku raises his wine glass while you raise your cocktail before leaning to clink glasses and taking a sip in unison. You feel much better already. 

Deku suddenly gasps, his emerald eyes twinkling in excitement. “You have an All Might keychain too?” He gasps, staring down at your phone. “That’s so cute! I still carry mine around as a lucky charm.” Shoto rolls his eyes at his boyfriend, chuckling into his wine. “He can sit here all night talkin’ ‘bout All Might. Just warning you.” 

You giggle and tell Deku that you bought it at Hot Topic when the store was celebrating All Might’s birthday. A text from your friend asking if you’re okay suddenly pops up on your phone sitting face up on the table. You turn it over to be respectful to your dates but realize too late the phone case underneath. 

There, the chibi versions of Deku, Shoto, and All Might stare back at you. It was a gift from Kiri for your birthday, but now, you want to curse him for giving it to you and yourself for forgetting that it was on the back of your phone. 

Your dates catch it immediately and mirth alights behind their eyes. Shoto smirks at you, stifling his laughter. “You weren’t quick enough for that,” he chuckles. You flush with embarrassment and unbeknownst to you, Shoto adores it. Your skin glows increasingly more in the candlelight, making him want to kiss, suck, and lick every part of your beautiful skin. 

Deku is in the same boat as his boyfriend. He’s been admiring your beauty all night, but unlike Shoto, he isn’t as bold or as brazen, so he instead shifts the conversation to something else to distract him from how tight his slacks have gotten. 

“So you are a fan?” He excitedly gasps. “Wow! I can’t say I’ve ever been on a date with a fan of mine before.” Shoto’s lazily shift to yours, peering deep into you. “Me either.” 

You gnaw on your bottom lip, suddenly ashamed. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I’ll put it away if it makes you feel weird.” You go to put your phone in your purse, but Shoto’s hand stops you. You pause, your pulse jumping as you feel his long piano fingers brush your knuckles. 

“No, no, don’t,” he protests. “It’s cute. I just wonder out of the two of us which one’s your favorite.” He winks at you with that sapphire blue eye, teasing you. ”Todoroki, come on,” Deku sighs. ”Don’t embarrass her.” 

Maybe it’s the cocktail or the romantic atmosphere or gaining the undivided attention of the two sexy pros sitting across from you, but something inside of you flares up, filling you with confidence. “It’s actually both of you,” you shyly confess. 

The two look at you, stunned. “I’ll admit, I was more of a Dynamight fan until I saw you two with those kids at that charity event for the children’s hospital. I love men who are good with kids.” You flash them a bashful yet endearing smile that makes them throb and ache down below. 

“Ah, I remember that event,” Deku says, reminiscing. “That was a year ago for Christmas.” He suddenly leans in, a secretive smile on his face. “Don’t tell him this, but you definitely wouldn’t be a fan of Dynamight after learning he’s horrible with children.” 

He and Shoto proceed to tell you about when he was forced to dress as an elf for the charity event and he fussed at every kid who instead told him what they wanted for Christmas and tugged on his fake elf ears. “We had to stop him from blowing up the Christmas tree,” Shoto says, watching with adoration as you laugh into your appetizer. 

The waitress finally returns to take your main course orders and refills your water. When she leaves, Deku and Shoto once again give you their attention. “So tell us more about you, Y/N,” Deku says, and your heart somersaults at hearing your name on his lips. 

Despite their laser beam-like gazes in the candlelight and the vodka making you feel slightly unbalanced, you do as they say. 

You talk about anything and everything, starting with your job. You tell them what you studied in school and what you do now for work. Shoto looks impressed while Deku damn near chokes on his appetizer when you tell him ”An assistant at NASA?” He gasps. “That’s amazing! So if we ever fight an alien from a distant planet or something, can we call on you to fix us up with a rocket?” 

It’s a bad joke and you laugh, finding his boyish nature oh-so cute. Shoto rolls his eyes, popping an oyster into his mouth. “Again with the alien talk,” he huffs. You look away to your cocktail, stifling a smile. “You too?” Shoto asks while Deku laughs. “You really believe in those little green men?” 

You smirk at him, pointing at him with your fork. “This is coming from a guy who shoots ice and fire from his hands,” you retort. Shoto is shocked (and turned on) by your wittiness, as is Deku. They like a girl who is playful like that. “Touché,” he replies. 

Once your dinner finally arrives at the table, the convo shifts to food and drinks. Deku is fond of spicy miso ramen and mocktails while Shoto prefers black coffee and soba. You tell them your favorites and non-favorites, resulting in somewhat talking about bubble tea and how you’ve never tried it before. 

Deku looks like you just admitted to murder, pausing mid-bite with his grilled halibut. ”You’ve never tried bubble tea before?” He gasps. “Oh, you’re missing out. It’s literally one of the best creations in the world!” 

Shoto shakes his head, biting into his plank steak. “He’s exaggerating, but it is quite good.” You take a sip of your cocktail, feeling the effects of the vodka taking over. Everything is bubbly and warm, and a rush of newfound confidence courses your veins. 

“Guess you two will have to teach me then.” You don’t mean for it to sound so suggestive, but then again, you don’t care either. Because the two men are immediately caught on your hook, their gazes intense and warm. 

The flirting doesn’t stop there. Throughout dinner, they are more than happy to show you that they are very romantically interested in their beautiful date—you. Deku is more lowkey and bashful, complimenting the shade of your dress and your earrings, while Shoto flat-out tells you how attractive he thinks you are. 

It takes its toll on you—all of this undivided attention—and you find yourself sweating from it. You’re not used to such genuine flirting and compliments. You don’t know if going home with them is on the table, but if they ask, you won’t say no. That you know much. 

You know deep down that sex on the first date isn’t exactly socially acceptable or appropriate in some cases, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that. However, there is a part of you that is saying “no, don’t”. The voice of reason. The romantic part of you that wants to get to know the two pros and see where things take you. 

Other than flirting, you talk about other things: favorite heroes, their time at UA, favorite missions, vacation spots, etc. They also talk about Warner Bros apparently wanting to make a movie about Deku. “I heard they’re thinking about casting Tom Holland,” he sighs. “He looks nothing like me! But he is a good Spider-Man and is apparently Hollywood’s heartthrob.” 

You giggle, chomping down on your shrimp salad. “He’s cute or whatever, but I prefer my men much bigger and taller, like Jason Momoa.” You practically salivate at the mental image of him. 

Shoto and Deku share a look, smirking at each other. “Is he your type of man?” Shoto asks, a playful glint in his eye. 

The two look at you, quietly eager to know your answer. Your smile fades when you realize you just walked into a trap. But there’s no turning back now…might as well go all in. “Kinda,” you answer, unaware of how airy your voice sounds. “But I do like my men with long hair and pretty eyes.” 

Your eyes trail over Deku’s ever-green eyes that you could stare into forever and Shoto’s long hair you want to trail your fingers through. You want to make it known that you like them. You want them to see the fantasies running wild in your head of you together in bed, in the dark, both of them pressed against you, kissing and touching, all passion and energy transferring from one body to the other. 

Suddenly, you feel shy again and wither slightly. “Sorry,” you giggle. “It’s the vodka talking.” Shoto fixes you with a look that damn near peels you out of your dress. “Let it talk,” he softly demands. “We really like talking to you, Y/N.” 

Deku nods, a slight blush coating his cheeks. “You know, we couldn’t believe we were on a date with someone as gorgeous as you?” He sheepishly asks. “Not that Kaachan and Kiri would fix us up with someone we weren’t attracted to, but seeing you for the first time…” He pauses, blowing air out of his cheeks as if he’s winded. “It was a trip.” 

You flush from his words and genuine tone, knowing that he’s serious. They really think you’re that beautiful? “So would you say I’m your type of girl?” You boldly ask, running your hands lightly over your pudgy sides and down your jiggly thighs under the table.

In Shoto’s eyes, you see nothing but a passion so bold and open that it makes you melt. “I don’t think that even needs to be questioned, doll. You have a beautiful personality. Your looks just add to our attraction for you.” The pet name rolling off of his lips has you ready to get the check and go home with them. 

“Don’t mind his bluntness, but he’s right,” Deku adds. “Anyone would be stupid to have fumbled someone like you.” You see the same genuine passion and enthusiasm in his eyes too. There isn’t a stitch or slip of the truth in their faces. They are dead serious. 

You sit up a little straighter, tightening your hands clasped together in your lap. “Thank you,” you shyly say. “And for the record, any girl would be lucky to have two partners like you two on her arm.” 

They look as if they want you to be that “girl” whose arms they are on. 

The rest of the dinner goes by in a flash. Time really does fly when you’re having fun. You finish your food and they demand you put your credit card away, instead paying for your meal. They then walk you outside and sit on a bench near the restaurant window as you order your Lyft. 

They did offer to drive you home, but you politely declined. Despite your immense attraction to them, they are still strangers…at least right now, they are, but you hope that changes soon. 

While Shoto takes your right, Deku sits down on your left, putting you smack dab in the middle. “We’ll wait here till your Lyft comes. We don’t mind at all! It means more time with you.” You bashfully smile under the moonlight and stars in the clear night sky. The cocktail is starting to fade a bit, so you feel rationality start to sink in. 

A comfortable silence descends upon you three, only filled by the idle chatter of passersby and cars. When you check your phone, your driver is announced to be arriving in five minutes. “I really enjoyed tonight,” you say before clearing your throat. “I think this is one of the best dates I’ve had in a long time.” 

Deku smiles, looking overjoyed to hear this. “We’re happy to hear that. We had a great time with you too.” His fingers, placed on the bench, slightly brush yours. Electricity explodes in your veins at his soft touch. 

Shoto hums in agreement, nodding. ”Hopefully, you’d be up for some more great times with us.” You blink at him, realizing what he means. He wants another date. Deku does too judging from the way his fingers inch closer to yours. 

Taking things one step further, you move your hand closer to his until your hand is on top of his. You hear him physically exhale as if his self-control is jumping out the window. 

“Well, yes,” you answer Shoto, “but you’d need my number for that.” Your tone is soft and flirty, your lashes framing your eyes as you stare up into Shoto’s handsome face. 

Catching on, he playfully smirks down at you. “Then I guess we have a dilemma,” he says, his voice silky and smooth. “So how do we solve that?” You button your lip, mostly because you’re afraid of saying something stupid and ruining the magic of this moment. 

“I guess we’ll just have to compromise, won’t we, Midoriya?” He sighs, acting defeated. Deku catches on to the game and plays the role too, stroking your knuckles with his thumb. “I guess so. After all, we still need to get you to try mochi.” 

You’ve never smiled so wide in your life. By the time the two finish putting their contacts in your phone, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Your heart is thundering and you feel like you can fly, high on the fact that these two heartthrobs want you. 

Your Lyft finally arrives in a white SVU and rolls up to the curb. “There’s my ride,” you breathlessly announce, standing with the two. The window rolls down to show your female driver. “Y/N?” The driver calls. You nod, waving at her. 

Deku and Shoto walk over with you to the car, protective and chivalrous. “Here, I’ll get the door for you,” Deku says, opening the back door for you. You thank him, but before you can slip into the seat, you suddenly feel his and Shoto’s pairs of soft lips on either side of your face. Your brain short circuits and the entire world disappears. 

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N,” Shoto whispers into your ear. 

“We hope to see you again,” Deku adds, his voice just as soft and intoxicating.

’You will,’ you think. You want to see them again more than anything. Already, you’re grieving the loss of such a perfect night, desperate for the chance to have one again with them. 

They then step back and allow you to crawl in, no doubt staring at your ass as you do. But then you stop and look back at them, willing to show some of your cards to end the night. “You know, for the record,” you begin, “you two are my type of men. And I’d really like to see you again too.” 

Suddenly, the air between you shifts. You can feel it in the way Deku and Shoto stare at you like they want so much to get in the car and go home with you. 

But they don’t. Instead, they leave you with something that will suffice you for days to come. Shoto leans in first, his hand on the top of the car as he peers into the backseat and presses his lips to yours in a soft, gentle kiss. It’s enough to send those butterflies flapping haphazardly in your stomach as his thumb softly caresses your cheek. 

But as soon as it happens, it’s over. Then it’s Deku’s turn. He also leans down to kiss you, the taste of wine and mint gum heavy on his tongue as it lightly touches yours. You stamp back a moan, your toes curling in your shoes at the soft, intoxicating kiss. 

Their kisses are the best ones you’ve ever had. 

Finally, Deku pulls away and peers at you, his eyes holding a promise of what’s to come next if you venture down this road with them. “We’d like that,” he pants. “Call us when you get home, okay?” 

Closing your parted mouth to avoid looking insane, you nod and try to recover. “Y-Yeah,” you stammer. “I will.” Deku smiles as Shoto reaches in to kiss your hand. “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

You say goodnight and Deku closes the door, allowing the driver to finally drive off in the direction of your home. You watch the two standing on the curb watching you go, your heart still hammering away and your skin alive with flames. You lightly touch your lips, still feeling theirs on them. 

The first thing you do is put in your AirPods and call your friend, a stupid smile stretching across your face. She picks up on the second ring. “You’re alive!” She giddily says. “So what happened? Did you guys kiss? I got your Lyft notification, so I’m guessing you didn’t go home with them.” 

“No,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “And yes, we did kiss. And I got their numbers.” 

Your friend nearly blows out both of your eardrums as she squeals into your ears. “Ooooh, the boys are gonna be so happy!” She squeals. “So tell me everything! How was the date?” 

With your smile growing wider, you add your two contacts to a group chat to thank them for the date tonight with emojis that you added to their names yourself: 

Deku 🥦💚, Shoto ❄️🔥❤️

Thank you for tonight!

“It was everything,” you dreamily sigh. 

THE END.

[stargirlrchive]

late night talking ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: soon to be dad!jake sully x female!reader, talks of pregnancy and discomfort but its so minimal, literally pure fluff babes i need to carry his babies fr

word count: 718 - short and sweet

syulang (n) - flower

comments: i hate this title w/ a passion, i feel like the vibe does not match? but whtvr, we are pushing through! <3 anyways i was in a silly goofy mood when i wrote this, like yall are gonna see what i mean lol but this can be like a prequel to this other jake fic but can also just be a standalone, kk bye! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Jake woke to the sound of your discomfort, feeling you move around in his arms as you tried to find a comfortable position. The task was proving to be impossible. You let out a long sigh, realizing there was no way you were going to be lulled to sleep again.

“What’s wrong, Syulang?”

Your eyes flew to your mates, unaware you had woken him up, “Nothing, he is just kicking so much tonight.”

Jake's hand instantly went out to sooth your belly, the bump growing beautifully everyday. He began to rub small shapes into your skin, hoping to calm his child down and ease your discomfort.

He whispered quietly to you, as if it was his biggest secret, “I wish we were Seahorses.”

Your mouth dropped in shock, that was not at all what you thought was going to leave your mates mouth. The confusion clear in your eyes, “What for?”

“Well I don’t know how true it is, but once on earth I read that male Seahorses carry the babies. I would do that for you.”

You wanted to laugh, it was fighting its way up your throat, but Jake was looking at you so seriously that you could not dare poke fun at him. His hands had made their way to your back, soothing the knots that had begun to form. “You would not last a day, JakeSully.”

You pressed a kiss to the widest part of his nose, “Besides, I should get used to it. I want more.”

“Is that so?”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his hands trying to massage any area of exposed skin he could find, your body relaxing into his with each swipe of his hand. “Mhm, I want three more after. He needs siblings.”

Your hand rubbed gently along your own stomach, feeling a small thump from within. “Two girls and two boys.”

“Now wouldn't that be perfect.”

He was teasing you, trying not to smile as you shuffled closer to his body. Neither of you spoke for a while, your eyes were beginning to feel heavy, begging to sleep. “You keep referring to the baby as a boy?”

You nodded absentmindedly, practically melting under his fingers. “Because he is, I can feel it.”

Jake's nose scrunched up, “Has Eywa given you a sign?”

He was teasing you again, pure amusement dancing in his eyes as you looked up at him. His hand had fallen back to your stomach, fingers treading over you with a featherlight touch. “She has actually.” You huffed in his direction, noticing his eyes dilated at the new information. “Tell me Syulang.” He was pleading, softly tapping against your belly.

Jake had already adored you beyond belief, swore the sun rose when you smiled, but when he learned you were carrying his child, he practically worshiped the floor you walked on. “Please.”

You decided to end his suffering, laying your hand above his so they both rested on your stomach. “Well-this was only a few days ago, Ma’Jake, but I had gone to the Tree of Souls, I wanted to see my mother.”

Your shoulders caved in a little, pressing yourself impossibly closer to Jake, “There were so many ancestors trying to speak to me that day, but I could not make anything out. There were too many of them.”

Your face pinched together as you recalled the events, “Then, out of nowhere I heard something so clear, only one word. It was a name.”

You nervously played with the beads that fell on Jake’s braid, “What was it, Syulang?.”

“Neteyam.”

Jake blinked rapidly, ears twitching gently. It was perfect. “Do you like it?”

He nodded, unable to form words, suddenly struck with an overwhelming amount of adoration for you. He had to blink back the happy tears that threatened to leak from his eyes.

Silence fell between the both of you, Jake’s hands only stopped moving when he heard your breath even out. “Neteyam.”

He liked the way the name rolled off his tongue, he felt a soft thud from your stomach. Letting him know his son liked it too. His eyes instantly jumped to your face, wanting to make sure you had not woken up.

You remained peacefully sleeping, not even waking as Jake shifted to lay his arm under your head.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

can you write gotham ozzie x reader?? like, their first time together and all; smut obviously, but with kinda feelings (we respect our emotional short king)

‘OFF TO THE RACES,

-GOTHAM!OSWALD COBBLEPOT X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Oswald embraces his rather crude interests.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!oswald x female reader. SMUT! (with feelings) PORN WITH (some) PLOT! I can’t stop writing oswald smut fics to lana del rey songs. Oswald being soft,,,and a bit rough. He’s a gangster, after all.

♫ “My old man is a bad man, but I can't deny the way he holds my hand / You are my one true love” Off To The Races by Lana Del Rey

You stare at him from across the table. God, you love this place, and you know he does too. His luxurious mansion and a banquet full of food parallel to you.

It feels like home to you two. And he’s been riding on a high ever since the both of you aknowledged your feelings. He still remembers it like yesterday- the way your eyes lit up. The way this feeling of sheer adoration, love, admiration; was reciprocated.

But somethings different tonight. You can’t quite place it. He’s at least eight feet away from you, fidgeting with his cain like how he did before you admitted your feelings to eachother. He’s stuck in his own head, and a blush dusts his perfect freckled face. He refuses to meet your gaze, and in his other hand, he lazily stirs a glass of brandy in his palm. Every now and then, you catch him looking into the swirls of the glass.

It surprised you, how much he drinks when somethings on his mind. Not to mention, he typically didn’t ask you to dinner like this. No, not now that the two of you were dating. This type of behavior was reserved for those flustered days beforehand- not now.

Your almost scared he’s going to break up with you. Let you go. Do something rash. Does he think you betrayed him or something…?

You tap your fingers along the side of the table. The food infront of you has gone uneaten, both of you anxious.

Finally, his blue-green eyes look up- and he clears his throat. He looks at you through dazed, hooded eyes. He’s obviously a bit tipsy from his drink, but not over confident. You almost jump at the sound of him. You cross your fingers and pray for the best.

He stares at you and his eyes narrow, feigning confidence. But in a way, his lip quivers, betraying how nervous he is to speak.

“Y/N. A man comes to a crossroads in his life, and he has to make a choice. Does he choose safety and cowardice, or…does he opt for courage, and risk everything?”

You take a beat as you follow his words. It almost sounds rehearsed. Just what the hell was he saying?

You can audibly hear him swallow.

“A man, ahem, also has…needs. So to speak.” He clears his throat again. “I choose courage. What I’m trying to say is-“ He sucks his teeth, almost rolling his eyes at himself. “The thing I’ve been wanting to ask you all day long is…”

His voice gets caught in his throat like a fish out of water. He continues to stare at you incredulously, almost horrified with himself for not being able to speak. You go to prompt him- before the dots connect in your head. The crimson blush on his cheeks. The fidgeting.

A man has needs.

You let out a loud bark of laughter, interrupting his crestfallen scilence. He immediately looks even more terrified, mouth opening and closing in surprise at your outburst.

“Y/N!” He tries to reprimand you, but it wavers. He’s flustered beyond belief, sure he’s made a fool of himself. “Why are you laughing?!” He weakly demands, a clear expression of dread on his beautiful face.

Through soft chuckles, your laugh dies down. “Are you asking to sleep with me, Oz?”

He’s rendered slack-jawed at the bluntness of your response. He immediately goes to defend himself, as to not sound offensive or vulgar.

“What?!? No-“ He quickly denies, before catching his breath and closing his eyes in a huff. “Yes.” He says quietly through gritted teeth.

It makes you chuckle again, and if his pale skin could get any redder it would. He glares at you now, obviously feeling a bit rejected.

“Okay, well you don’t have to laugh!” He squawks. The grip on his drink is so tight you can see his knuckles go white.

You realize that laughing might not have been the best idea. But you can’t help it. The man set up a dinner to ask his own girlfriend to sleep with him. It’s…sweet. Very gentlemanly. You flash him a smile.

“No, Oz. Trust me, I want to. It’s just…we are together now. You don’t have to ask me to dinner like you’re courting me in the 1800s. If you want to have sex, just say so.”

He’s stunned into scilence, obviously still a bit embarassed. He wants to explain himself. That he isn’t used to this. That he doesn’t want to offend you. He doesn’t want to lose you.

You realize you might have to make all the first moves for now. You quickly stand up from your seat at the table, and he watches your every move like a hawk.

“What are you-“ He goes to ask- before you stand over him. You offer him your hand, and nod.

“Bedroom.” You lower your voice to a whisper. Through utterly confused and stunned brows, he stares at you, before standing up in a hurry. He smooths his suit jacket down and spins his cane in his hand; quickly following you in a hurry out the dining room.

It started painfully slow, his hands messily stripping you of your clothes. His nose bumped into yours while the two of you kissed, his teeth clashing against you in a desperate and needy attempt to be closer. But you knew- every moment and kiss and too gentle peck placed against your skin was all out of love.

He got hard almost embarrassingly fast, and he knew it. But how could he help himself? The woman he loved was about to open her legs for him. You two were going to become one. What could be more fitting for his one true love? The amount of pleasure the act could bring you both had been on his mind for days. But he couldn’t necessarily just…ask for it. For one, it was embarrassing. And two, he’s fairly inexpirenced. That much he was sure everyone could see.

His lips ghosted over every inch of your skin, kissing you like his life depended on it. He worshipped you, eyes widening when you laid bare before him. He took in the sight, mouth agape as he stared intently at every curve of your body. You shuffled needily under his gaze, and felt his cool hand trace a long stripe down your chest to your slit.

You gasped when he inserted a finger suddenly. Without giving you time to adjust, he musters a pitiful “I’m sorry,” in a whisper. Oh, you can see right through him. He’s not sorry at all. He’s been waiting for this on the edge of his seat for the past week, you’re sure. And you’re happy to give it to him. Especially when his hand reaches a spot inside of you that makes you mewl underneath him.

The sound of your wet slick fills the room. You can tell he’s smiling at the sound, confidence finally spurring him on.

He hums at you underneath him, and quickly undoes his trousers in a much less elegant fashion than he had undressed you. No, now all of his moments are hard and fast. He keeps his suit jacket on, keeping himself clothed. You don’t see his cock, but you feel it peirce you in a swift movement.

The both of you let out an embarrassingly loud moan at this. You pray Olga is in a room much farther away.

He buries his face into the crook of your neck, soft grunts following as he thrusts slowwwww. You thread your hands in his hair and trace the light muscles in his back, and you hear him panting. He’s already getting close.

Only a few more seconds pass, before his whole body stills- and you know he’s cumming inside you. He becomes rigid in your hold, his hands grasping at the sheets and your body hard. You let out a yelp at the bruising grip, and feel his load in between your thighs as he slips out of you.

He lets out another series of “I’m sorry”’s, and these are much more genuine. He can’t bare to look at you, finishing so quickly. But you felt so good. So tight. And he hasn’t done… this in a long time.

You gently shush him, and feel him press soft ghosts of kisses to your head. Oh, he’s embarrassed. Let him catch his breath.

A few more moments pass and he’s lifting himself up on his elbows, looking down at you.

Your confused as to why he’s staring until he enters you again.

He places his forehead against your own, eyes closing. He gasps, sweat tainting his brow. You let out a loud moan at the feeling of being stretched out again- you know this must hurt for him. He must be overstimulated beyond belief. Not to mention how quickly he got hard again.

…But you think a part of him loves this. The feeling of his partner clenching around him, the feeling of the walls of your cunt grasping onto his cock. It makes him feel needed. The joining of your bodies and minds. After this, he is yours for eternity; like a dog on a leash. Just as you are his.

Prepare yourself, this is just the begginning. He intends to stay up all night claiming you like this, for many more nights to come.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Do It For Me

This fic will cover my Laser-Tag/Paintball Adventure square on my @jacklesversebingo card.

Summary: You really want Ben to get into the spirit of a fun Paintball adventure. What will you have to promise to get him there.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: None really. Bit of kissing, some suggestive language. Ben being a grumpy boy. Versions of Ben, Annie and Hughie that don't necessarily fit canon.

Pairings: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader

Word Count: 1,259

A/N: So this is my next square for my second jacklesversebingo card. The request for this one came from @spnwoman who said this:

Hi me again!! Lol or a “laser tag/paintball adventure” with soldier boy/ Ben with the reader would be really fun for them to let lose and have fun as a couple with promise as something sexy as a reward 😉

I veered a little bit away from your request; it ended up more fluffy than sexy, but I hope you still enjoy it!

The beautiful dividers were created by @firefly-graphics

“This is fucking ridiculous, Y/N. You can’t expect me to put this shit on.” Ben’s voice was sharp, but his face was pouty as you looked up from tying on your knee pad.

You couldn’t help but smile at his annoyance which made his pout turn into a glare. You shook your head. “Look, it’s just the rules of the course. Everybody has to wear the safety equipment.”

As you finished speaking, one of the elbow pads he’d attached incorrectly fell to the ground, making an angry growl erupt from his chest, and you covered your mouth as a giggle threatened to escape. The last thing you wanted to do was laugh at him. It had taken a lot of cajoling and promises on your part to get him to even come down to the paintball course. 

It was a double date that you and he were having with Annie and Hughie. You’d told him it would be so much fun, that it would be great to go out with another couple. You told him how much it would mean to you to do something couple-y with your boyfriend. But he’d resisted all arguments.

“I am an actual fucking soldier. I’m not going to some playland to pretend I’m a soldier and shoot paint at each other.” He’d scoffed. “It’s a game for children, and in case you forgot, sweetness, I’m a man.” 

He'd yanked you up against him at that point and every one of your arguments sank beneath a moan as he plundered your mouth and kissed you breathless. The discussion had been postponed while he spent the afternoon showing you just how much of a man he was. 

But the next day you’d started the campaign again. Ben had been frustrated beyond belief at your refusal to take no for an answer. Finally he’d made you a deal. He’d go play paintball with you if you did something for him, something he’d been trying to get you to do since you'd started dating. With only a brief hesitation from you, the deal was struck.

Now you were here and you had to admit that he did look a little ridiculous in the paintball gear. He was out in public so he had his super suit on, but the place where you were playing insisted that everyone had to wear their helmets, elbow and knee pads. Trying to fit the equipment over Ben’s actual soldier's uniform, complete with knee pads and elbow pads of his own, wasn’t going very well. 

“Here,” you said as you bent to pick up the elbow pad, “take yours off. You won’t need them while we’re here, right? So, just wear these ones instead. And the helmet will be great, you used to wear one all the time, I’ve seen pictures.”

Ben jammed the silly black helmet on his head, leaving the visor raised and the clasp and chin strap dangling. “Yeah, it didn’t look like this.”

You bit your lip again and reached up to secure the strap under his chin and snap it into place. “You look very adorable.”

Ben continued to glare as you finished dressing him. 

“Hey guys.” Annie spoke as she and Hughie came into the changing area. “All ready to go?”

You snapped the last buckle in place on Ben’s knee pad and nodded. “Yep! Be prepared to go down you two!” You raised a finger and looked at Annie and then Ben. “Oh, and no superpowers allowed.”

Both supes rolled their eyes and Ben picked up his gun and eyed it suspiciously.

“Paint. Pfft.” He mumbled under his breath.

It may have started rough, but within ten minutes Ben was fully invested. He was calling out strategies to you as he scouted the terrain. (The terrain being a concrete play area covered with various objects to hide behind - old car hoods, bales of hay, a shed with one side missing, etc.)

As you hid in the shed, Ben had his back to you, keeping watch on the open side. He turned to you and gave you a series of extravagant hand gestures that you guessed were supposed to tell you something. When you just stared at him with wide eyes and shrugged shoulders he rolled his eyes. 

He made the gestures again, whispering instructions at the same time. “I’m gonna scout forward, you stay hidden. Watch your right flank.”

“Oh. Mmkay.” You said with a thumbs up. 

Ben just sighed and moved forward, his head on a swivel as he moved from one piece of cover to another. A few minutes later you heard Annie and Hughie let out twin shouts of dismay and then Ben’s cry of victory. You poked your head out of the shed as the three of them walked forward. Hugh and Annie were splattered nearly head to toe with Ben’s green paint. Ben didn’t have a drop on him. 

You grinned as he approached you, the visor on his helmet raised and a huge smile wreathing his face. 

“Let’s go again!” He shouted.

***

A few days later:

You felt Ben behind you, pressing tight against you. His body was hard and warm, but you trembled. You’d never done anything like this and it scared you.

“Ben - “ You started, but he cut you off.

“Uh uh, sweetness, you promised. You said if I played paintball, you’d finally give me this.”

A whine entered your voice as Ben’s arms encircled you. “But, you liked paintball in the end. I’m telling you, I’m really not sure about this.”

“I am.” Ben tilted his head to press a kiss just behind your ear. “I’m very sure.”

You sighed deeply. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Ben kicked your feet further apart. “Widen your stance.” Then he brought his hands forward onto yours before pulling your arms back a little. “And tuck your arms in closer to your body. You’ll take the recoil better.”

The power of the cold metal weapon in your hands made you sweat as Ben pressed another kiss to your cheek and then stood up and moved away from you. “Okay, baby aim for dead center and pull the trigger when you feel ready.”

Watching your face, Ben could see your fear. “Y/N.” He said softly and you looked at him. “You’re perfectly safe, you’re just aiming at a piece of paper. You can’t hurt anyone.”

He reached out to run his fingers down your cheek. “I know this isn’t something you’ll ever enjoy, and that’s perfectly okay. But I’ll feel much better if you know how to defend yourself against my enemies. I have too many to count and they all know I’m impervious to any kind of pain.” His eyes darkened and you saw real fear there. “So they can only hurt me by hurting you.”

He disarmed you quickly and effortlessly and then pulled you into his arms. He kissed you deeply, harshly, desperately, sucking the air from your lungs. When he finally pulled away, you were panting. His forehead rested against yours and he closed his bright green eyes so his fear and worry were hidden from you. “Please, baby, I need to give you all the protection I can, which includes showing you how to protect yourself. That starts with learning how to handle a weapon.”

He opened his eyes and pulled back a bit, chucking your chin and then pressing one more light kiss against your lips, before whispering to you. “Please.” His voice was almost begging.

You sighed deeply, swayed by his worry and concern. 

“Okay.” You conceded. “Give me back the gun and let me try.”

Ben patted your ass and grinned when you frowned at him. "Good girl."

You chuckled - couldn't expect him to stay mushy for too long.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

[da-rulah]

Copia with a plus sized reader who's insecure about their body?

I've got two asks about plus size readers in my inbox, and I'm more than happy to oblige - because this is literally me. This is PURE self-indulgence. It's also a fic I wrote for another fandom a while back, repurposed and reworked for Copia...

Mature. 18+ MDNI!

Copia (as Papa) x female!reader

Words: 4k

TW/ plus size reader, insecurity, self-hatred, self-esteem issues, first time together, praise kink, teasing, squirting, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering

Your hands shook a little as you stared into your bathroom mirror, breathing deeply to calm the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You were trying so hard to stay calm, to feel comfortable and even a little excited, but it just wasn’t coming to you. All you felt was sick, anxious beyond belief.

Tonight was supposed to be the night; you’d planned every detail. You’d asked Papa to come over around eight, dinner already being dished up and wine already poured. You’d invited him to stay the night, as he often had in the last two months of your relationship. But in those two months, whilst there had been some rather heated make-out sessions… You still hadn’t given yourself to him completely.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to sleep with him; of course, you did. You adored him and he adored you, and he was the most wonderful man you had ever laid eyes on but that was exactly the problem; he was just too wonderful for you… That’s what the voice in the back of your head would scream at you, at least. Papa Emeritus IV, the man all the Siblings of Sin would swoon over... How on earth he found you attractive, you just couldn’t understand. If the congregation knew you were dating, if they got a look at you, well you know exactly what they would say…

Not good enough.

Too fat.

Ugly.

Like a whale.

Papa deserves better.

And who’s to say they were wrong. Next to a Papa, some of the prettiest siblings you knew would get the same abuse. The thoughts plagued your mind constantly and made intimacy incredibly difficult for you.

But tonight, you wanted it to be the night. You knew Copia wanted you, wanted to be with you in every sense of the phrase and you so desperately wanted to give him that.

But now here you were, locked in your en suite bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror in the lingerie you had bought to surprise him specially. It was beautiful; a fitted and corseted bodysuit with stunning black lace and red embroidered roses along the cups of the bra and down your torso. The bottom mesh was a perfectly fitted thong, and suspender clips hung from the seam, attached to some very basic black sheer stockings up to your mid-thigh.

But you hated it. It was beautiful, but you weren’t so sure about it now that Copia was waiting in your bedroom and seemingly unaware of what you had planned. You’d simply told him you were going to get ready for bed and slipped into the bathroom, where you’d already prepared the outfit.

You’d perhaps been in there just a little too long, losing track of time as you stared at yourself whilst your inner monologue gave you a pep-talk.

Three light knocks on the door were enough to wake you from your little trance as Copia's voice filtered through the wood.

“Uh, tesoro? Are you quite alright in there?” he asked, concerned and pressing his ear up to the door.

You didn’t answer right away; you couldn’t. You were stunned into silence and really not sure what you were going to do in this situation… But no, you wanted to be brave. You wanted to be with him, to face your fears and just pray that he found you attractive in the same way you did him.

“Uh, y-yeah…” you voice shook. Even to your own ears, you didn’t sound right.

“Are you sure?” he asked, insistent. “Can you let me in?” he asked, trying the door handle a little. You quickly whipped your long bathrobe from the back of the door where it always hung, and slipped into it, covering your lingerie with only your feet in your stockings poking out. Once covered head to toe, you let him in, hugging yourself tight as you sat on the closed toilet lid.

“What is it, cara mio? Are you sick?” he asked, concern on his gorgeous face as he knelt in front of you, placing the back of his palm to your forehead to check your temperature. You just shook your head a little, biting your lip. You were too embarrassed, felt too silly to tell him what had actually kept you in the bathroom for so long.

“What is it, hmm?” he asked, tucking your hair behind your ear. You looked down at yourself, the way you were wrapped up and suddenly, you felt a wash of emotion overcoming you.

Tears stung your eyes and threatened to fall, and you could barely look him in the eye as you clutched the material of your robe.

“I-I… I just wanted to surprise you…” Your voice cracked, a tear falling down without permission. Of course, he saw, and his concern only grew.

“Tesoro, what is it? Surprise me how?” he asked, wiping the tear away with his thumb.

“I-I b-bought… a pretty… set and I… I don’t feel pretty in it… I wanted tonight to be so… s-special,” you sobbed, more tears spilling down your cheeks. Copia's heart broke for you, but he still wasn’t entirely sure what you were getting at. At least, not until he looked you over and noticed the sheer black of the stocking you were wearing underneath the robe.

Suddenly it made sense. You wanted tonight to be special… a pretty set… you didn’t feel pretty… He understood what you were trying to say.

“Hey, cara mio… Look at me, sì?” he soothed, gently tilting your chin to bring your eyes to meet his. “Whatever you’ve got on underneath this robe, I know you’re going to look bellissima. You do in anything you wear. But there’s no rush, okay? If you’re not ready, nothing has to happen until you are. I’m just happy being with you.”

His words only made you sob harder; such a sweet and understanding man.

“B-but I am ready, Copia… I want you, and I want you to want me I just feel so… so… fat,” you practically cried, bowing your head and burying your face in your hands to hide the blush that crept up onto it. Copia's heart ached to see you this way, so insecure and upset.

“Sweetheart, no… No, no no… Come here,” he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, drawing your body close to his in a tight hug. “Why do a few extra pounds have to be a bad thing? Why do you think that would make me decide I wasn’t attracted to you, eh?”

You could respond, letting the tears fall softly, staining his shoulder.

“Amore, I adore you. I think you’re beautiful, and believe me, I… I really do… want you,” he got a littleshy then, the two of you never having spoken of the subject before, happy to just let it slide for the first two months together. This was far from the confident Papa he usually portrayed.

You sat yourself up from cuddling into him, taking a deep breath and looking down at your hands in your lap, blinking away the tears.

“You do?” you asked sheepishly, still afraid he was just being polite.

“So much, I just… I figured you wanted to wait, and I’m okay with that so I never pushed you. I thought you’d have your reasons, and I was right, eh? But if you want me, cara mio…” he gently placed the tip of his finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him, “you can have me.”

You bit your lip a little, your eyes wondering down to look at his lips; so perfect and soft. Kissing him was like a dream every single time, and when his lips moved to connect with yours again, the tension you were holding in your shoulders simply melted away.

He held your cheek, caressing his thumb over the flush that had risen to the surface and your lips started to move in sync, perfectly matched up with one another. He pulled away and smiled softly, standing up and pulling you with your hands too, guiding you back over to the mirror.

“You see this?” he says, standing behind you, looking at your reflection. “Beautiful. Every single inch. Every stretch mark. Every roll. All the cellulite. You are beautiful, from here,” he tapped the top of your head, “to here,” he tapped his toes against yours. “And tesoro, the thought of getting to be with you, to see you in all your glory, dressed up in this,” he pulled the edge of the robe, exposing your shoulder just enough that one side of the bodysuit became exposed, “or completely on display for me… It drives me absolutely pazzo... (insane...)”

Your heart rate quickened when he pulled the edge of the robe, so careful not to go too far, to push you into what you didn’t want. He was slow, methodical, and you could see the way his eyes darkened as he looked you over in your reflection.

He pressed some feather light kisses to your shoulder, his hands slowly and carefully pulling on the robe against you to expose more of the stunning set you had on for him. His lips stayed attached to your shoulder, but his eyes were watching you in the mirror, watching the way you relaxed your arms to let the robe fall and pool around your feet.

And then his hands were on your waist, his body moving closer to yours as his lips travelled up your neck.

“Amore mio, (my love),” he muttered against your neck, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across the expanse of exposed skin.

“Copia?” you asked, wanting his full attention. His eyes lifted to look at you again, his lips hovering over your neck.

“Hm?” he hummed. You turned around in his grasp, his arms naturally finding purchase on your waist and pulling you against him. You leaned into him, lips merely millimetres from his.

“Take me to bed…” You spoke so softly, and Copia's lips spread to form the prettiest smile, his eyes creasing in the most endearing happiness as his hands dropped to yours, linking your fingers together. He walked backwards, guiding you with him – the robe long forgotten along with your insecurity – and when the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, he stopped, sitting on the edge.

His eyes drifted over your body, from head to toe, taking in every square inch he could lay his eyes on and admiring just how beautiful you looked all dressed up for him. He considered himself the luckiest man in the world.

He reached for your waist against, pulling you to stand between his knees and encouraging you to bend down to kiss him, which frankly you could never resist.

You ran your fingers through his hair and planted your lips to his so softly, feeling the way he took a deep breath in and slowly released it in absolute bliss. The way you moulded together felt like it was meant to be, like two magnets attracted each other, unable to resist the polarity.

You let your hands run down to the top of his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly and pulling it from where it was tucked into the hem of his trousers. Without hesitation, you slipped your hands under the shirt at his shoulders and guided it off him, his chest on full display.

Upon instinct, you brought your knee up to the outside of his thigh, leaning yourself on the mattress without once ever disconnecting your lips. Copia shuffled backwards, allowing you the room to push yourself up to straddle his lap, his arms immediately wrapping around you.

Already, Copia was growing hotter, his heart racing, his pants tightening. Here he was, with the most beautiful woman in the most beautiful lingerie at his fingertips, and the both of you swimming in a sea of passion and adoration. He’d wanted this for just as long as you had, fantasised about what you might look like completely bare for him, engulfed in lust and need.

He shuffled back just a little more, leaving enough room to be able to remove his trousers, kicking them off and resuming your kiss. He let his hands trail patterns against the embroidery on the bodysuit, lightly tracing each flower as his kisses travelled down to your neck, your collarbone, all the way to the edge of the bra cups that held your breasts together. His fingers played with the straps, teasing taking them down for a few moments before he did just that, letting you remove your arms from them as he pulled the bodysuit down just enough to let your breasts spill out.

Like a man possessed, his lips immediately were on you, kissing the flesh and suckling at your nipple while his hands supported the rest. He loved how you felt, loved how pillowy soft you were. He shut his eyes and lost himself, completely overcome with the need to worship you this way, and you couldn’t help but watch him with your lips parted, little whines and whimpers falling effortlessly from them.

He just could not get enough of you, no matter how much of you there was to enjoy.

“C-Copia?” you called to him as your hips started to move involuntarily against him. You could feel just how hard he was below you, straining against his underwear and without thinking you just couldn’t stop yourself from grinding down against it. You needed him; it had been too long, you had waited too long. You both needed this. Now.

He looked up at you, coming up for air as he whispered, “I’m here, tesoro. I’m here…” His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding them against him as you pushed your lips to his in a far more desperate and messy kiss, both of you so far into this intense lust that you couldn’t hold yourself back.

He guided you to swivel, to climb off him and onto your back up against the pillows and he crawled on his knees over you. Neither of you came away from the kiss still, your tongues too entranced in their dance to be separated now.

He held your thighs up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he hovered above you and holding you there as he pushed his hips against the mesh of your bodysuit. His fingers toyed with the suspender clips, snapping them open and feeling the softness of your upper thigh.

For a moment, he sat up on his knees, his hands now resting on your own knees and just marvelled at you, laying there for him in something so exquisitely tempting. But he needed you as much as you needed him, the hardness of his length becoming quite uncomfortable with little to no stimulation.

He focussed his touch on one thigh, gripping the edge of the stocking and slowly dragging it down whilst he leaned over your legs to pepper kisses to the newly exposed skin, moving his lips to chase the seam until it was cast aside, and he could replicate the display on your other leg. The care he took, the way he pressed such glorious open-mouthed kisses to your skin had your patience wearing thinner and thinner, getting more and more desperate with each kiss.

You sat up with him to kiss him once more, with all the heat and urgency you had coursing through your veins. Your hands were fumbling with the waistband of his underwear, pushing them down his hips with far less patience than he had had for your stockings. But you just couldn’t help it; here was one fo the most wonderful - and powerful - men you had ever had the pleasure of being around, and he was worshipping you, inch by glorious inch. You needed him.

He took over when the material hit his knees, lifting each one by one to shuffle out of them further and kick them off whilst you worked on pushing the already half-rolled down body suit down to your hips, but that’s when he stopped you.

“May I?” he asked, so sweetly and gently, his eyes dark and hooded as he looked down at you, lips parted and breathless. You let go of the material to cup his cheeks, nodding as you leaned in to him oce more. But he wanted to watch as he undressed you, to reveal you to himself completely.

He guided you back onto your back, your hands around the back of his head playing with the hairs at the base of his neck as you took some deep breaths. You weren’t nervous anymore, just trying your best to stay calm and not rush things. You could tell he wanted to savour this, to really enjoy every moment of your first time together.

He sat back on his knees again, gripping the rolled material and slowly, he pulled it further and further down to expose your tummy first of all. He had never admitted it to you, but this might have been his favourite part of your beautiful body. The cuddles he could have with you were some of the softest, and the way you felt under his touch and how you looked when you wore certain clothes that accentuated each curve were just heaven. Never had he met a woman who felt more like a woman to him; you felt like home.

He glided his fingertips from between your breasts, down over the softness of your tummy, pressing down to see the way they sank into your flesh a little. He was mesmerised by you, using his hands to play with your tummy, moulding it like dough just because it felt so nice…

But soon, he resumed his previous task and began to drag the bodysuit further down your body, until he was dragging the material from your feet and leaving you completely uncovered.

He pounced on you then, hungry and eager to feel you, to press himself against you just to know how it felt. His lips found yours and your legs parted for him to situate himself between comfortably. You could feel the way his length pressed against you, and you realised you hadn’t even seen him yet, too focussed on feelings and too overcome with the need to have him inside you. Now you could feel him, you realised just how large he was and a fresh wave of arousal flooded through you, pooling between your legs and coating him in warm delight.

He moaned against your lips, his hips rutting against you a few times, hands grabbing at your bulging waistline.

“C-Copia please, need you… Wanna feel you,” you begged, forcing eye contact with him as he hovered above you.

“Of course, amore, need you ready though…” he breathed in his deepest octave, dropping from the usual resonance you were used to in his lustful haze. His hand slipped between the two of you, two fingers sliding through the wetness of your folds and slowly yet easily pushing into you.

You moaned at the contact, finally able to feel something where you needed it. He moved them in and out of you a few times, curling them slowly to reach the most sensitive areas before dragging them out again and using the very same hand to coat his cock in your wetness.

He lined himself up, pushed the underside of your thigh up for a better angle, and started to sink into you, stretching and filling you so beautifully you were sure he was simply made for you. He grit his teeth together as he did so, his lips curling back to expose them as his eyes were diverted to watch himself become sheathed inside you. It drove him absolutely wild, and before long his hips began to roll against you.

“Perfetta… cosí perfetta (perfect...so perfect),” he mumbled, his forehead dipping to rest against the softness of your breast to support himself enough as he floated into a state of hypnosis, hips moving of their own accord and never losing rhythm, rolling and using the perfect angle to really dive into you as far as the position would allow him.

You moaned his name, fingers in his hair yet again. You loved it, adored how long it was getting and the peppering of greys around his temples - and it was perfect for keeping yourself steady in this moment. The way he filled you was simply divine, and how he managed to press every button inside you was simply a mystery that no other man had even dreamt of solving. Yet here he was – your perfect Papa – making you feel things only you had ever been able to give yourself before.

“You’re perfect, amore... So perfect for me, so good for me… Doing so well,” he mumbled over and over again against your breast between light and open-mouthed kisses. He was truly lost in pleasure, lost in the passion of finally giving yourselves to each other.

He spewed a constant string of praises despite him doing most of the work, his adoration for you pouring out of him.

“Copia, sweetie, look at me,” you panted, pulling lightly at his hair to bring him back to hovering above you, his eyes hooded and dark, watching you carefully. His hips slowed, but not to a complete stop, still mindlessly rolling against you. “I love you…” you uttered, breathy and gravelling, thick with pleasure.

His lips twitched into a smirk, then spread into a wide grin and a chuckle. “I love you too, tesoro…”

“Thank you for… mmm, thank you for m-making me… oh, Luficer, making me feel beautiful,” you said between moans as his hips starts to roll against yours at a faster pace again, still hitting your tender spots so accurately.

“You are beautiful, cara mio. So, so… beautiful,” he grunted, fighting the urge to go faster, harder. But you most certainly wanted him to.

“M-more, Copia. Please…” you asked, and immediately he groaned and let go of his own restrictions. His pace quickened, thrusts became far harsher as he lost himself. This new pace was exhilarating, and you could feel that same pleasure from before building and building.

You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, crying out at the way he made you feel. Your headboard banged harshly against the wall with each thrust from the sheer power of his hips.

“Fuck, cara…” he growled, using one hand to steady himself on the headboard above you and the other to snake between you both, somehow co-ordinating his fingers to his thrusts as he circled your clit.

This new pleasure, this new sensation sent further shockwaves through your body and it simply didn’t take long for you to get to the edge, desperately trying to hold off and prolong the feeling for a more intense climax.

Copia could feel the way you clenched around him, the way your fingers tightened in his hair and all your muscles tensed and he knew you were close.

“That’s it, care. Cum for me, it’s okay. Cum, feel good, tesoro. Just let go,” he repeated himself, praising you over and over which finally drove you over the edge.

It hit you like a freight train, like you could feel yourself being catapulted through the air and flying on cloud nine while wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you. Your release squirted from your pussy with every outward thrust Copia made, your cum coating his entire cock and pelvis and the inside of your thighs, finding its way to the blankets below you.

Copia's hips slowed just marginally, but his fingers still remained on your clit and both feelings guided you through it. It was far more intense than any orgasm another man had ever given you, and you weren’t even aware that you could squirt, let alone this much. But the combination of his ministrations, his thrusts, his praise and simply him were enough to bring it out of you.

You truly felt like you were floating when you came back down, spaced out and barely coherent. You could hear Copia grunting as he continued to fuck into you, now using the hand from between your legs to grip your hip again, using how your flesh felt in his hands to get him closer and closer to his own edge.

The blend of this, the added arousal from watching and feeling you squirt and the way you throbbed in the afterglow of your orgasm sent him spiralling, warm strings of cum shooting from his cock deep inside you. He filled you with it, his own orgasm so intense that his grip on the headboard was the only thing keeping him from collapsing into you, totally spent.

The two of you stayed that way for a few moments, out of breath and lost in post-coital bliss until eventually, Copia moved from between your legs to dump his body next to yours, resting his head on the softness of your breast.

“I…I wanted that for so long,” he admitted, chuckling to himself and still out of breath. You couldn’t muster any words back just yet, simply giggling and letting him bask in the afterglow. “You’re so beautiful, t-ti amo, tesoro...”

“I love you too, Copia… Shit, y-you… you made me feel like… a queen,” you panted, smiling.

“Good. That’s exactly what you are,” he reminded you, turning onto his side fully now and looking down at you, resting on his elbow. “Mia regina... (my queen)...”

“Hmmm,” you hummed in affirmation, and he leaned down to kiss your lips again, softer than the last time he had.

Never had you felt more loved, more gorgeous, than you did with that man. You had been so self-conscious in the beginning, so terrified of what others would think of you.

But to him, you were the most gorgeous woman on the planet. And above all, you were his.

[aachria]

Okay so this is extremely irrelevant, like you don’t even have to respond. But I got my bf completely hooked on this fic and he loves it so much. We literally have a sleepover every Sunday, stay up for the update and take turns reading the latest chapter aloud like a bedtime story.

His friend called me the other day, full on geeking out over the sick as fuck upgrades on Ed’s guns. Turns out my bf talked about it so much his mates decided to read it. I used to be terrified of them (they’re all around 6 foot, muscley ash, footy players) until they invited me to a hangout to chill and talk about SSSBMTY, they even had a wall of theories, busted out some red string and everything.

I didn’t even know they watched one piece, I’m pretty sure some of them had never even heard of it before this.

So congratulations, you have successfully infiltrated a group of popular college boys from Australia.

Genuinely I’m so thankful for you and your writing. Idgaf how stupid it sounds but I’ve made friends and my relationship is genuinely better off because of it.

Bae idk how you do this but if you ever get sad just remember there’s a bunch of big ass NRL players on the other side of the world who idolise you.

Srsly you’ve converted them all, one dude just emailed me his fucking ZOSAN COFFEE SHOP AU to proofread. Keep in mind this is an extremely straight, one piece dude bro. I have to teach him about paragraph breaks but it’s very sweet.

Sorry this is so long lmao.

Ok first that's fucking adorable couple activities and I am jealous beyond belief. More than that I'm fucking ELATED you have people to bond with over this fic, words fail to describe how damn happy it makes me to hear about the people who read my work connecting with each other irl. Whether it's you chucklefucks somehow managing to find each other in the wild or infecting people with SSSBMTY like a virus, I just fucking adore you.

I am my own target audience when I write so the fact this fuckin' thing is so far reaching BOGGLES MY MIND. I would give nearly ANYTHING to see this red string theory wall you have no IDEA—

The shot of straight crack to my god complex knowing a bunch of tall buff NRL players think I'm cool is immeasurable and insane. I have a confidence high that will last until I'm dead. I don't know if I'll be recovering from this one, emotionally.

TELL HIM TO DROP THE ZOSAN COFFE SHOP AU WITH PARAGRAPH BREAKS AND MY LIFE IS YOURS—

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

I have been reading your work for years now (living for the CYOA updates, truly), and I just need you to know what an impact your Lily has had on me.

I've noticed in multiple of your fics (Shelf-Awareness, CYOA, AOOUC, etc), Lily is this high-achieving person who reaches what "success" should be in her career, only to realize she's really unhappy with her work/life balance. And then she chooses something that is less conventionally seen as "successful", but it makes her happier and she has the time to devote to her passions & her family & friends (and she's still so good at her new path!). And it's so obviously the right choice for her and she's still the same wonderful and witty person (read it and weep, Kit) despite having chosen a different career path.

I just need to tell you how much comfort that has brought me. I, too, was a "high-achiever," but my high aspiring career goals didn't work out the way I thought they would, primarily because I realized I just don't value working all the time. But I've had the hardest time shaking that feeling that I'm a failure or that I'm 'not enough' because I'm not living up to some imaginary potential that I gave myself. But then I read your fic, and I feel better knowing that someone like your Lily could choose to walk away from her law career and still be this character that I absolutely adore; I actually get so proud of her for making that choice when you write her making it. I read your fic and love your Lily and feel proud of her choices and then lambast myself for making a similar choice??? That makes no sense! I'm being Kit, but TO MYSELF. Genuinely, the number of times I've been in a spiral and found comfort in the idea that your Lily is still valuable and good and brilliant after walking away from "The" career... innumerable.

So. Thank you for writing her. Truly, from the bottom of my heart. Her journey in CYOA in particular has meant so much to me.

Hey, this response is not going to be nearly as long as you deserve but I wanted to let you know that I read this ask right after I'd finished crying because I was feeling so ill and super anxious about it, and it was the nicest boost I could have asked for. I am so so so glad to have done you some small bit of good with my writing and I remain flabbergasted that it's something I'm even able to do. I genuinely think it's a real shame that we rarelyl see narratives in popular media around a character being brave enough to walk away from the thing they worked so hard for once they realise that it's not what they wanted it to be. I think we're sold the "work hard and achieve and your dreams will come true" dream too often, and that a lot of people feel trapped in gilded cages of their own making. Lily felt like the perfect character to explore that with, and the fact that it means something to you that I wrote it makes me feel happy and fulfilled beyond belief. So thank you for sending this to me, it means more to me than I can properly express, and I hope that you're having a truly wonderful week.

[demialwrites]

The Monster

It's times like these I wish someone would take an idea off my hands. I was looking at a time travel fic and thought of a Reader who goes back in time to help Rufus's mother and maybe prevent her death, too. It goes wrong almost immediately.

Domestic violence and character death

President Shinra is choking Rufus's mother in the other room again.

You clutch the wailing baby to your body. You're trying to comfort him but he needs his mother. You're not his mother and so he will not be comforted. How that man can do this while his own son cries beggars belief.

This has happened enough times that you're well beyond able to hold it together. That's the other disturbing part of this. That you're beyond caring. You feel like you're turning into something like the monster that has his fat sausage fingers around his gagging wife's neck. Just a little. Maybe a toe or a finger. You wiggle your toes in your shoe, thinking you might find an ugly monster's toe if you took it off.

The sudden silence is suffocating. But before you can spiral-

“You. You've been promoted to full time. Congratulations.”

It's President Shinra in the doorway. You know he's there because of how close his voice sounds. Otherwise, it's dark. You catch a hint of cigar smoke. Rufus is also silent. He probably cried himself to sleep but you want to hope otherwise, that your warmth finally soothed him.

“Where's Mrs. Shinra?” you ask, pretending as hard as you can to not let on you know what just happened.

“Gone. She ran away. It's the strangest thing.”

“I'll need formula,” you say, when he doesn't offer any more lies.

“Ask the housekeeper,” he grunts.

Then he's gone.

You walk the short distance to the crib and place the baby gently on his back. You pull the small blanket up under his arms, as he currently has his tiny, pink fists in the air. Such an adorable child. Physical appearance shouldn't make this more tragic but it does. Mrs. Shinra was beautiful and yet it did not prevent her death. Rufus is an adorable baby but that probably won't prevent any suffering.

You were sent here to help. So what went wrong? Would Mrs. Shinra still be alive if you hadn't been here?

You notice the wet dot next to Rufus's head before you realize tears have started rolling down your cheeks. You turn around and lie on the floor to weep. It doesn't wake the baby. A tiny mercy. Then you remember his mother's body might still be lying on the floor out there and start weeping anew. How can a person start crying again when they hadn't finished? You have this last, nonsensical thought before drifting off to sleep.

You wake up curled up next to the crib. You push yourself up, peeling your cheek off the carpet, knowing it left a pattern in your skin. Rufus is crying because it's time for his feeding.

It's still dark out. Could it not at least be dawn? You could use the hope it brings, even if it's a drop in the bucket. But there's no point in being grumpy at the colour of the sky so you stand up.

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

RotG and HiJack Recs

Alright, I'm building this list because some of these fics are just a tad dusty, and they could use more love. (A lot more love, I am literally dying from how much I adored these.) But note that a good few are incomplete.

Let's start with:

INCOMPLETE FICS

The Long Road:

Presently Gen, but Hiccup very much falls for Jack. He does however retain his feelings for Astrid, so bear that in mind. There's the classic Viking mindset when it comes to homosexual relationships that's pretty much giving Hiccup like a lot of anxiety.

But beyond that! I cannot shower this fic with enough praises! It gives me the same sort of excitement that the RotG movie does. Jack's characterization is Spot On. He's friendly and outgoing and also incredibly secretive and flighty. It balances out Jack's blunt mannerisms with a joyous charm and just that hint of vulnerability (which he keeps so well hidden lol).

The plots take place after HttyD, during the Riders of Berk TV series. Jack is folded into the Dragon Rider group who considers him some kind of Elf. Yes, this is Jack Frost in all his frosty glory. The way the story builds on a solid foundation of camaraderie and friendship, giving plenty of scenes to show how Hiccup and Jack became great friends, lends well to the Hiccup's realization of: "Oh I'm into him". Without giving too many spoilers, that "oh" moment is forever ingrained into my memory because of how PERFECTLY timed it is.

This blends Guardians of Childhood book verse with HttyD book verse, mostly via cameos over lore. Overall, a beautiful, fun, and simply enchanting read. I cannot recommend this enough.

A Story about Ice, Dragon Fire, and Belief:

Another gen fic. Mostly, it's about North looking at Jack and going, "he's my son now", and Jack having absolutely none of it. When placed together with Stoik and Hiccup's relationship, it becomes an almost interesting study of contrasts. North is the guy who's trying to prove something to a boy that he disappointed. Hiccup is the guy who's trying to prove something to a man that he disappointed. But ultimately, it ends up the same with a schism forming between the two pairs the harder one of them tries to breach it.

Also, it talks about how Jack is a force of fucking nature? And his blizzards can kill and have killed in the past? There's a little bit of trying to reconcile that with his new ID as a guardian. North is not doing a great job helping here.

But really the Crown Jewel of this fic is North and Berk's reactions to North (and by proxy his relationship to Jack). We go a little into the historical Viking side of things (like the pillaging et al), and apply that lens to this jolly old man. Let's just say some troubling (hilarious) assumptions are drawn. Also...

Everyone loves the sleigh.

I think this is one of the few RotG and HttyD crossovers that really do a good job of merging the two movies. Primarily because it's not just Jack in Berk. And this just made me hungry for more fics where more of the RotG cast arrive as Berk, and be just 100% fantastical and strange as the bedtime stories they are. Put some respect on the Guardians name, if you know what I'm saying.

In the Shadows of My Mind:

This one is an RotG only fic. No pairings except for whatever's going on between Pitch and Nightlight (and by proxy Jack). It's not a for real pairing. That said, it's such a complex and intricate relationship that doesn't resemble a romance but remains markedly intimate. Basically, this fic takes advantage of Pitch and Nightlight's ridiculously long history then throws Jack into the mix. Alive, human Jack in an early 18th century colonial town wherein he very recently did not drown (and boy, isn't that suspicious?)

My favorite thing about this fic is how spot on the dialogue feels? The lexicon, the syntax feels true to the time its set in. Although, I can't say that it is accurate as I'm not an expert of this time period in this region. Regardless, it certainly appears that a good stack of research went into this.

All that said, this fic has captured Bill Joyce's writing style the best, but with a deeper, more complex, more mature layer underpining that bedtime like vibe. There's a good host of OCs but genuinely, I didn't notice them as OCs. I could really believe they were characters of Joyce's books. Not to mention, they feel like fully fleshed out individuals even if they have like maybe two paragraphs of screentime.

The entire premise hinges on the idea of "what if Jack survived the skating accident" and everyone's reactions to that, as well as... the hidden secret thing that involves Nightlight. GoC spoilers are hinted so beware. But the little interplay between Nightlight and Jack is such a delicious little mystery, and also makes me so sad. These two boys deserved better.

Then we throw in Pitch for fun, because Pitch is always fun, and he just makes the whole thing even more complicated or as Jack calls it, "unnatural". But he's not even the main villain. It's Christianity. JK. That said, the fic does explore the idea of well, how would a fairly backwater colony be able to explain how Jack survived or... the powers that's slowly revealing itself from within him. There's a particularly nasty boy (around Jack's age), who is an OC and I believe an exceptionally well placed one. The OC understood his role to play and he plays it fantastically. Everytime he shows up, I too feel scared and indignant and excited all at once.

Speaking of great OCs, shoutout to Jack's Da. His appearances are brief but the impact is maximized with each appearance. He has that sense of realism and whimsy baked into him that I could gush endlessly about.

Overall, just a pure delight to read. Will re-read again and again.

Zastruga:

Total Gen fic. And a classic in my opinion.

I started reading this when I was in college - note the publish date. Nevermind the update date. Because even after all these years, this story? Still good. Still very very good.

This takes the original RotG plot and makes it more epic, and also more sad. RotG was very joyful at its core, which this fic somehow manages to retain. But it's just under a layer of sad. It's not overwhelming angst though, just enough to really pinch your heart.

Also whereas the movie has a few epic battles before things go really wrong, this fic stretches that out into a proper war against Pitch (and Jack). That's right. Jack is with Pitch ala Mother Gothel/Judge Frollo style. Jack isn't locked up entirely. He's given just enough rope to hang himself with. Mind the Jack whump is what I'm saying. But also do note that Jack's character remains as steadfast and loyal as he ever was in RotG, so the whump just hits nicer since this Jack isn't so irrevocably changed.

I have re-read this before. I will re-read this again. Nevermind the incomplete status. There's plenty of chapters that simply give me great joy.

COMPLETE FICS

It's the Great Spirit Sleigh, Hiccup Haddock:

Gen fic, in that there's no pairing actively getting together. But remains faithful to the original canon's hinted love interests. So Hiccup has a big crush on Astrid and Jack leans towards Tooth. That said, the relationship between Hiccup and Jack is just plain adorable and also heart-wrenching. They care about each other. So Much.

Now this is just a good holiday cheer. It literally has the Hallmark movie template, which is the point really. You know, the whole "oh no, a holiday is ruined" followed by "clever and charming ways to fix the holiday". With Hiccup and Jack taking the starring roles.

If you know your Hallmark movies, then you know that the leads get together in the end. And they don't in this fic. But the amount of "Gosh do I care about you" is so good. It's a lot of hurt and a lot of comfort. And I am here for it.

Also, this fic was completed way before the HttyD 3 movie so it doesn't have a canon compliant ending. That may be a bonus for some of you.

Scary Monsters and Super Creeps:

Pre JackRabbit (Bunny/Jack). But honestly the pairing isn't the main focus, mostly that Jack and Bunny admit to liking each other (but not to each other). So their dynamic remains in the best bros category. The pairing mostly shows through the plot machinations.

So long story short, Pitch opens the Guardian-Verse and recruits the other versions of the Guardians - the corrupt versions. And it's good, action/adventure fun. There's some gore, so mind that. Because the corrupt versions are nasty little things that fight dirty. Which makes the action feel like there's legit stakes. Also makes for a quick read because you must know what happens next? Did they get out of this sticky situation? Are they going to be okay? That sort of thing.

[transsexualraskolnikov]

I saw your crime and punishment fic, I have an essay on the book, can you help me understand the relationship between Raskolnikov and Razumihin?

quite honestly i consider this one of the biggest honors...... the fact that you consider my writing good enough to hear my opinion on the canon characters just makes me go insane.

okay so let's get to it! i'm gonna go on a brain-vomit here so sorry in advance if it's all over the place and doesn't make sense, i'll try to keep it as concise and logical as possible. also this is all just my opinion and interpretation of their relationship so it's completely okay if you don't agree with me!

i think it's clear to anyone who has read the book that raskolnikov and razumikhin's relationship stands and falls completely on razumikhin's will to stay by rodya's side. his deep-rooted belief in the inherent good of people (and therefore of raskolnikov) is what perpetually keeps him in the story. there's this certain air of all-consuming hopefulness and refusal to give up following razumikhin all throughout the book that cements him as a stand-out among the calculated, always-looking-for-the-worst-in-others characters of the novel (such as raskolnikov, porfiriy, svidrigailov as so on). he stays despite rodion's repeated attempts at pushing him away, despite outright TELLING him to go away simply because raskolnikov doesn't find himself worthy of such tenderness and patience from another person - herein lies their core difference in my opinion. where rodya believes a person must DESERVE their place in the world, there dmitri accepts it as it is - we are here because we are and that's it. this is further proven in the way rodya tries to constantly find a reason behind his existence and in the way he begs his mother's forgiveness in a scene that, at first glance, eludes to the murder, but i believe it goes deeper. i believe he seeks her forgiveness for his very existence.

i think their relationship shines the clearest in two specific moments - first, when dmitri takes care of rodya when the latter's bed-ridden and second, when dmitri stands for rodya's innocence regardless of proof for or against him. and, well, as much as i would like to interpret their relationship as purely platonic - and i think you could, because you can always use the argument of them loving each other as brothers - i can't help but feel much more beyond that. there is a certain tenderness to their scenes, this head-strong determination in razumikhin's refusal to give up on raskolnikov even once rodya confesses to the murder, the way he's just always there, the way he leaves the party for him, the way he gets him a doctor, that's just absent in any other character. it's as if razumikhin lacked this critical thinking of rodya, something that dunya for instance is way too capable of. both love him deeply but dunya is able to see his flaws - mitya doesn't seem to. (and if he does, he tries not to). whether romantic or platonic, it's an infatuation. many analyses of the book describe their respective characters as "foils" to each other but i've never been strong on that. i mean, i can see where they are coming from, but i don't think razumikhin is raskolnikov's opposite. he is his admirer, in my eyes, the same way raskolnikov is his. in a way i think they want to be each other as much as they idolize each other. they are both untouchable in the other's eyes. (that's also what i've tried to convey in that fic of mine - rodya believing he's not good enough for dmitri, and dmitri feeling like rodya is miles out of his league - it all comes down to the nearly-otherworldly adoration of one another)

i have so much more to say but i already feel like i've written too much. if you or anybody else would be interested in hearing more on this topic, i could put it in a google doc and share it because i don't want to spam anyone's dash lol. just let me know!

hope this has helped in some way and that my answer wasn't too late (i tried to reply as soon as possible while also making sure i've said it the best). good luck with your essay, let me know how it went and what grade you got!! also thank you so much for the ask, this was so much fun to write and you wanting to hear my opinion has made me insanely happy!!!

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"No Place Like Home." Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Okay! So the amazing and wonderful @applesontheground wrote me a Leslie Vernon fic for my birthday and I adored it so much I didn't want it to end. She encouraged me to continue it, and so I did just that, and then she joined in and kept it going, and it became this beast of a collaborative piece that ended up being thirteen thousand words. It started off as being just for me, and true while it is still very self-indulgent, it's turned into something for all of you as well! I hope you enjoy!

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 13K. Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer Obsessed Freak. Banter. Drinking. Murder. Blood. Gore. Ropes. Restrained Reader. Threats. Reader Kinda Wants To Die But Not In A Suicidal Way. Canon Aligned Meta Talk. Man Handling. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnilingus. Blow Job. Messy Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Cum Eating. Scar Worship. Many Feelings. Vaginal Sex. Multiple Orgasms. Overstimulation. Raw Sex. Cream Pie.

---

You understood that it was a joke to begin with.

Living in a rural area, there were a lot of empty spots between the bricks that made up Glen Echo. Most of it was the usual urban legends and small businesses that just didn’t keep up with a world changing around it, turning to joke about it amongst themselves.

To you, though, there was something comforting and endearing about the pace. You were a bit of a way from home out here but found yourself filling those gaps and making the best of it. At the end of the day, being somewhere new had its moments that paid in turn for the shortcomings it could put you through.

Simply being “attracted to the area” was only half of a lie; you had shown up because of research on the mythos. You could admit that you even looked into it a little too much. The idea of the enigma who nested in the area – a man that fabricated his whole being just to relish in the spilling of unsuspecting blood – was utterly fascinating. You could find the Photoshopped news clippings and chase almost laughable clues sitting around town for days if you didn’t have a day job to occupy you.

Even remembering the life outside this Autumn night, silent and swift as a cat under a new moon, was something you finally decided to release from your attention. Halloween was no time to worry about a day job, and with that you began dawning your costume. Think like the woman you dress as, you told yourself with a smug grin to the mirror. The iconic blue and white dress fell into place on your body, resting on the midway point between your thighs.

Prudes would call it too short, and company you meshed with way better would tease that it’s far too long. It didn’t help that you wore accents that drew attention to your legs on top of that, those knee-high socks with laced hems and the ruby red slippers, which had a taller heel for an accent.

Life beyond the fantasy you were basking in was far behind you, tightening the red bows that kept two well curled pigtails hanging down behind your ears. With a touch like that, only the thickest of skulls wouldn’t know who you were.

Leaving home, following that yellow brick road that lead out of the small confines of the shabby town and into the rural space, you soon caught up with similarly dressed heathens who were raising their flasks and opened cans of alcohol to you, recognizing you were part of the pack that was heading to the supposedly haunted orchard as part of some middle finger to the belief that anyone smart enough to live out here would abstain.

The possibility had been mentioned that he – a walking spirit or man that pulled the strings as quickly and seamlessly as he did steal souls, whatever he did – would find everyone there, and he would not like what he was seeing despite the high spirits.

“Then what?” A girl expertly stepping along the uneven road beside you, a little too tough to be dressed as Princess Peach, but you quickly digressed because she wore the white elbow-length gloves well.

“Then, we become history.” Someone up the road replied, “Immortalized as the idiots who tried to party with Leslie Vernon.” Putting a fist up, you saw the blue and white Letterman jacket he was wearing had a few rips in it, and that his face was painted a ghoulish grey and rooted with purple veins along his jawline to accent it. Something about him seemed eerily familiar, but then you considered it could be something generic, very plain in the visage of an undead high schooler that the Halloween stores would sometimes parade for the uncreative minds. The fact he was holding a bottle of Jagermister only made you squint a little harder before centering your thoughts back to the road beyond the crowd again.

It was a joke to begin with, but you were still finding yourself wanting to believe it. Almost as if you wanted the party to be at real risk despite the blanket of calm everyone had draped over it, additionally nursing with booze and jokes. Surely, there would be a twist from him to combat the weak one that these costumed groups thought they were pulling.

He can’t deal with all of us, right?

You found yourself needing to take a deep breath at the thought that in your wildest fantasies that he somehow could.

After passing a fence down the trodden path, the air around you was wordlessly shifting. As though it was on a cue from where you were standing, trees were clearing from the sky to allow a half-moon to illuminate the dirt road before you, and somewhere in the lump of unclear horizon sat the dilapidated Vernon farmhouse. Bunches of yellow and rouge apples rest within the first trees that you were passing, a signal you had made it to the orchard.

A breath pulled tight into your chest; eyes as wide as you could make them while you continued to peruse, to listen to every little noise outside of the murmur of people. The Jager man offered you a drink from the cooler that they were lugging out with the rest of the crowd, and after fiddling through the soggy ice, your hand secured a vodka shot between index and middle fingers while the rest of your hand found the rim of a canned pre-mixed drink. He then said something in a pompous tone, but it was otherwise unintelligible to you, so you just laughed it off to go back to soaking in the sight before you instead.

Even after basking for a good portion of the party’s setup, you still weren’t done. You decided to give it a rest, be a little more social. It was the omniscience embedded within you to realize how you looked, staring wistfully into the orchard surrounding the clearing that everyone was gathering in, not interested in any person at a Halloween party. Too suspicious, and despite knowing there were no tricks up your frilly short sleeves, you were aware no one else knew yourself as well as you did.

You began striking up conversations to avert any of the oddly placed suspicion that might have been drummed up, complimenting costumes as the two drinks you had snagged were put down between giggles and conversations about what kind of final girl was the best kind You fell elbow-deep in bringing up a classic archetype, the movie buff who called plot twists and elements that would play out in their own story before they happened, someone locked eyes with you. You didn’t stop, of course, but held the stare from across the party as you went on.

“Please, where would we be without those dudes half-baked and quoting The Creature from the Black Lagoon? They’re the ones painting the picture for the rest of the clueless victims.”

You couldn’t quite pinpoint what about him really excited you. First off, the thrill of him being the Scarecrow and unintentionally matching you passed as you failed to recognize the shape worn on his mask, and the absence of straw in the torn holes of the rest of his getup was only a final nail in the coffin of your hopes. He was just…some mope-mouthed zombie, or a haunted doll.

The people you had been speaking to were well into buzzed territory, taking the lull in your conversation to go stumble into another aesthetically appropriate chat circle while you waited for this new acquaintance. He continued to wade through the crowds that you had been standing off to the side from, and finally piped up as soon as he could be heard from behind everything.

“Looks like you forgot Toto.”

You snickered at that, and shrugged, “Yeah. None of my friends’ dogs wanted to do it, sorry.”

He made an amused noise at that, then pointed to the drink in your hand. “Want me to grab you another one?” You shook your head, grimacing a bit, “No, no. I’m still working on this, and besides- Even in stoppers, not a great combination to keep drinking with these shoes on.”

“Even in what?” He stooped a little to hear better, and you demonstrated it by walking perfectly stable along the uneven terrain, wading off the dirt clearing everyone was gathered in to show off a pair of high heels in all their red, glittery glory on forest brush. “Heel stoppers. They keep me from sinking in all this mud and dirt around the property.” He whistled a bit as you did a fancy little turn, accenting the agility they provided, and he complimented, “Pretty smart. You do that just for parties?”

You bit your tongue, smiling as you walked back over and admitted, “More to just keep in the race should I need to run.” The inquisitive glow to wide eyes suddenly narrowed, and he scoffed, “Run from what? It’s pretty harmless out here, save for those dudes who won’t stop saying they’re gonna climb the roof. It’s gonna give out the second any weight gets put on it…” He faltered, arm shooting out to the farmhouse like it was obvious from where the both of you stood, “Looks that way, anyways.”

“That’s what you think, dude. Do you know where you are right now?” He was silent; merely staring on at you, almost through you. You smiled and elaborated for him, “The Vernon Farm. Leslie Vernon’s resting place?”

He scrunched his eyes and hummed, “Can’t say that’s ringing a bell. Enlighten me.”

You felt as though the words couldn’t fall faster from your mouth, crafted into the same story you loved to tell the locals (as if they weren’t native to the area that it all started in, hearing the tall tale since they were in grade school).

“Isn’t that fucking ingenious?” You paused partially through the story on how he had committed a few murders within a span of the last three years, part of you trying to steady yourself as you realized you had spilled your guts to a man whose face you hadn’t even seen, “He’s up and coming still, but I think he’s taking a lot of cues from the greats of these serial killer types. I mean, morally abhorrent, but I’m no snob to that.”

“Wow.” He looked away in a rather brisk motion, but seemed amicable to the subject, “It sounds like you’re really banking on this dude to be some kind of mastermind.”

“Please.” You shrugged, “I mean, these murders that happened over three years seem pretty real to me. Whoever, whatever’s been utterly elusive on a rural farm for so long – still Vernon as we see him – he absolutely knows about stuff like this coming on the horizon. I can see it already, it’s so practical now that I have my actual eyes on this place.” You pointed up to a tree you had been perusing, “There’s an electrical wire trailing up this tree, perfectly on the outskirts of the crowd where someone can – no, will run towards it if they get spooked. Seriously, doubt anybody in our group put that up there, it’s not covered in all these goofy Halloween decorations.” His own eyes slowly trailed up your arm, catching on an exposed tattoo before briskly tearing away to see what you were talking about, following your pointed finger.

You then gave the unimpressed tone right back, “That’s going to do something. Electrocute someone, take power to something that’s even more gruesome. It’s too high off the ground to be some sort of cutting wire, right?” His eyes went back down, sizing up your confident expression with a halfhearted blink, “Pretty sure whoever, whatever Vernon is, has more than rocks in his head. Fueled by more than just hearsay, ghost stories…”

Finding humor in your almost asinine explanation, you found this was better timing than anything that’d come afterwards. You were surprised he was even still standing in front of you, as you figured you may as well introduce yourself, still caught in a starry-eyed smirk. You offer up your name.

He shook your hand nicely and replied, “Nice meeting you. I’ll let you in on mine after the party.” Finding it almost bold in nature, looking to fulfill some type of promise with that reveal, you blew him off. Rolling your eyes, you asked, “Sure. Then what can I call you until then?”

Still holding your hand in a mockingly polite way, he mulled, “Just call me the wizard himself. … Or the Scarecrow. Whatever works for this costume, Dorothy.” Taking his hand out of yours, he flicked one of your pigtails while pulling away slightly, just enough to leave you able to recall the subtle warmth from standing beside him as something so much stronger just mere seconds ago.

He had glanced at your arm again, so you decided to keep the topic going. “If you can’t tell, I’m kind of fascinated by these slasher types.” You gave him a good view of your tattoos, and his eyes traced over it, silent at first but the approval shining through in a thoughtful roll of his neck as he took in the entire picture again, every detail having soaked in through painted eyeholes.

“You know, I didn’t take you as someone who saw so much in a dynamic like that. The killer and his final person, I mean.” He carefully crossed his arms, like he was letting this creepy façade rest its head for a moment as he speculated, “Almost sounds like you want that for yourself, or at least to see it for yourself, straight out of the movies and the stories.” You smiled unapologetically, and although it sounded like you were playing along it was spoken in earnest, “Oh, do I.”

He stared off into the tree line with you for a beat, and hummed, “A girl like you really seems to chase after that, stick around in places where it can’t help itself.” You rolled your neck a little, adjusting in the scratch of the costume, as alcohol started permeating on your tongue a little heavier. You admitted, “Can’t help being such a go-getter with this. I almost live for it, which means I have to die for it too, I guess.”

“Go-getter.” The words themselves felt like they could be sarcastic when he echoed them back to you, but something earnest coated his voice as he suddenly affirmed that, “You’ll find it. It’ll find you. One or the other.” A hand came up, grasping at an imaginary subject in front of him as he spoke in even more earnest. “Ghost stories or not, something about that attraction. It’s palpable…magnetic, even.”

He then pulled a handle from his pocket, and you soon saw from the size of it that it hadn’t been inside, but rather sitting right in plain view over the top. The stranger shrugged rather peacefully. “It’s like the two can’t keep away from each other.”

That blade didn’t look plastic. You raised an eyebrow; it didn’t even look chrome; it was chipped in certain spots and narrow in a way that fake weapons just couldn’t emulate. Wear and tear made marks like that. You got one more look at his mask, a few second thoughts shutting you up well and fine.

“I’m keeping that promise, by the way. We’ll talk a little later. Can I count on you?” he asked, friendly enough as you merely nodded, trying to act like you were thinking before the nonverbal answer. He slid right past, not towards the crowd, but into the shadows of the apple orchard that surrounded the farm. No one even looked twice at the noise, so minor that it was easily blamed on the wind, should you not know better.

“Oh.” You spoke to yourself, staring down at your drink, “Oh, now that just isn’t fair.”

~

What in the fuck was he doing?

You felt the rope constrict tighter, one of his long arms stretching over one shoulder to take the other end towards your back. Silent, you merely matched his own lack of words because you were more confused than terrified. Maybe even a little let down.

This was how you told him you had wanted to go, at the hands of some dude like him, and he isn’t even killing you.

Between the small talk by the tree and reuniting with him now, to say you had been put to the test to be his victim would be an understatement. Between the classic straggler at the party who disappeared for far too long only for a severed arm or head to turn up to people hanging from the rafters of the farmhouse or in the trees, everyone had scattered, herded together by the supernatural entity of Vernon, and picked off to the best of his abilities. The ones he hadn’t been able to physically get a hold of got caught, you had noted when you ran by that wire and saw someone electrocuted at the foot of the tree it was wrapped around.

What do you know? I was fucking right.

Securing the entire hog tie, he suddenly lifted his haunches from you. Before you recognized he was gearing to leave, that was it. Turning onto your back and haphazardly sitting up, ignoring how your dress rode up slightly in favor of looking through the trees, he had slipped off again like the ghost that he was trying to emulate. You almost wanted to holler at him: The fuck is THE Leslie Vernon doing taking live captors? Is he getting bait? Playing with the food before consuming it?

Pondering had honestly brought you to a comfortable seat on the dirt beneath your backside, not caring if it was starting to pour into the backs of your socks, or even accidentally slip under your skirt, peppering your bare thighs before you readjusted with a huff. You had a hunch, one that finally helped your dry throat find its gloss and find its voice again.

“Not gonna lie, you’re kind of screwing this up.” You called out, and he emerged from the dark, like he knew your own speculations that would come to the light, much like himself: He couldn’t run off yet. Still saying nothing, he tilted his head to one side. It was impossible to tell if he meant it in admiration or disbelief. Regardless, you heard a shuddering breath behind his mask.

“You know,” You crossed one ankle over the other, calming the pulse between your legs, “I always assumed you’d want to keep this brief. Especially if I’m not your final victim.” He made a beeline back over to you, crouching to one knee. Instead of an unnerving whistle or hiss, he gave you an honest mutter in disbelief. “Please. For you?” He asked, and you curiously let him go on, “If anything you’ve told me tonight is true, about yourself and about your passion for what I’m doing, I almost want to ask for permission.”

A hand came up, sans his weapon but nail just as pristine, as he ran feather-light tracks over the outline of the tattoo resting. “I mean, you weren’t lying about your commitment to this sort of lifestyle. These all look pretty real to me.”

“Rub a little harder, even.” You dared, looking down at the primed muscles stretched on the back of his hands, “I don’t mind if you need to prove to yourself that I’m the real deal.” The pristine curl suddenly became lighter, intimidated even as it fell away, and he quickly digressed.

“It isn’t about that, the sweet honeypot at the end of every horror movie. I always thought it had something more to do with the journey, the planning…” He swung the sickle, breaking through the itchy rope and not courteous enough to keep it from catching threads from your dress. He gasped, “I’m a lot like you, in that I will admit it’s nice, but…I want this whole event to be special, you know?”

Pausing, his eyes scoured your body for a couple seconds before his two hands, the curved blade falling in his lap to give way for nimble fingers pulling the rest of the rope apart, taking it from your body and letting it fall along with the weapon. Still, most of it fell to your own lap. Looking at each other, the sigh practically tumbled from behind the mask. Whether it was relief or exhaustion, neither of you cared to label it. He almost seemed put off by something, squinting at himself more so than anything about you or what you were doing.

Then, with the same hands, he pushed the mask up over his face. Seeing him, not the mirage he had been flowing through the entire evening like water vapor, he smiled through a painted on frown. It had been an accent paint, it seemed, something to abscond in case the wooden face didn’t fool a wandering eye. Everything was smoke-colored and smudged over his expression, beginning to get sweat through, and somehow making the smile lines in his face more prominent simultaneously. It was as though you could see everything and nothing at once.

“Special,” You echoed, “I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean, Leslie.” You cocked your head at the sound of his name on your lips, “Can I call you Leslie?”

“Absolutely. Think we’ve both earned the right to be friendly with each other.” He answered with a harmless nod, and just as swift as he had stripped down to the man that he was, he was shoving you backwards with the heels of his hands. “I honestly don’t know why you’re asking. It’s so clear you knew to use my name long before-“ He framed your arms against the dirt, pinning both the extremities, “we ended up here.” You let your head fall back, the earth supporting heavier realizations as you simply murmured, “Yeah, maybe I did.”

He shifted, as though physically feeling you would do something about this. Rough denim pulled against your bare leg, and even if you could attempt to fix your skirt, you knew you were far past the point of wanting to. Anyone who could see either of you was dead, or rather you could notice from the peripherals of your stare into his own that there was a body nearby.

Whether or not it had been intentionally turned away from the two of you, that was something you enjoyed leaving up to the imagination. You couldn’t even register before he collided into you a little too hard, his hand slipping in a pure excitement that made it hard to keep steady when he was on top of you the way that he was.

It made the fact you talked about the things that you would do about your interest in him all the more diabolical, eyes snapping open and looking past his short dark hair that had been styled by accident to stand on end from how he had removed the mask. You told all of that to his face.

When he finally pulled back, he peered down with an almost euphoric, electrified look to his eyes. “Sorry. I get a little antsy – and you probably knew that, too.” You had no idea what he was talking about until the slow ooze of blood went over the cupid’s bow of your lip. “You’re fine, they happen easily.” You almost coughed through your speech, laughing at imagining just how dishevelled he had you in a matter of a few movements, a few touches that were far from the only ones going forward.

He flicked the sickle, and you watched some stray streaks of blood fall into the dirt, permeate into a diabolical splatter of what you could assume to call mud. “…Listen, we can discuss this away from the rest of the…the party, maybe?” He asked breathlessly, and when you nodded once again leapt off of you with the same pace, the same ethereal ability.

“Well,” You let a string of bloody spit fall from your mouth, as ruby in color as your lipstick and as your shoes, letting him pull you back up by the back of your neck and suddenly hoist you off the ground. You didn’t move as he hefted you over one shoulder; rather, you turned your head and asked, “So, let me just ask this. You’re not gutting me? Stabbing me? Not even slitting the throat, letting me go out in a more iconic fashion? Where the hell are we again?”

Leslie stopped. Readjusting you, the loose threats of your dress along with your soft hip pressing into the side of his neck, he straightened the skirt over your backside with a lingering hand and hummed, “I’ll put it like this: you are not in Kansas anymore.”

Your hands rest on his back, not for lack of support, or fear that he’d drop you, but just because you could, he was right here and he was letting you. Through rough thermal material you could feel how firm he was underneath, defined muscle definitely present, fabric slightly damp from sweat and whatever else from the effort he’d expended this evening thus far. Your nose hadn’t stopped bleeding, a slow drip, he was still carrying you away, somewhere, and you watched as stray drops fell to the ground, bright red standing out amongst dark and loose dirt, like a farewell to the rest of what the party had originally thought it had got itself into. In all honesty, they all assumed it was what it was: a joke.

This was no goddamn joke, tangible as the flexing back underneath your palms.

It’s quiet for a moment, your mind is whirring, wandering as it always is, and watching the faint blood trail, dressed as you were, perched on the monster himself’s shoulder? 

It’s like something out of a fairy tail in a way. The big bad wolf and the little red victim, but instead of a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a gingerbread house, it’s a pathway marked with blood mixing into the earth, and it’s leading to-

A glance around, gaining your bearings. It clicks as soon as your eyes leave the ground. The Vernon farm house.

Oh, this is what he had in mind. He wants to bring you inside. 

You would have been fine getting anything from him, you would have let him fuck you back there in the dirt and loved every single second of it, but apparently he had other plans, better plans. 

You love who he is, and more importantly, you love who you are. 

Furthermore, you have no illusions about yourself either, and certainly no shame. You would have let him do all manner of things in the cool evening air and under the light of the moon, no less than ten feet from a body that he himself had brought to the ground. He deemed you worth more, better than a nasty fuck in the dirt- No. He thinks what you are going to do together is better suited under a roof, in a proper bed.

He thinks you are worth that extra care and effort, and he thinks you deserve the Vernon home’s comfort, warmth, safety…

You suppress a laugh as the word safety floats through your mind. He takes you inside, barely mindful enough to close the door, but enough to give the needed privacy. Up the stairs, you have to stifle another giggle, his shoulder driving up over and over into your sternum inadvertently. He doesn’t even care to notice, let alone say anything about it – especially since you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying yourself. Into the closest guest room, he slings you off of him and onto the bed.

The idea that you are safe with Leslie fucking Vernon is, laughable, hilarious, and yet – seemingly and inexplicably – true. He looks like he is too excited, like he doesn’t know what to do first.

You jump into action, knowing the role deserves such from both parties. You reach out to him, propped up on one elbow, your other hand is open, a move of your fingers, a small invitation to join you on the surprisingly plush surface, it certainly beat the dirt outside (mythos ingrained couldn’t make it any more pleasant after all). He takes you up on it, starts to crawl onto the bed, it’s not as slow as before, as if now that he’s experienced it once, he is craving to be on top of you again too much to not rush it, and soon enough he is. 

You revel in his weight on top of you again, your hand that was previously reaching out touches down on the back of his neck, you sink further into the mattress with a sigh. You speak, you ask, “How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” He asks, and you nod once, “Yeah, after everything, we kept you pretty busy tonight, running around, you feeling tired yet, Vernon?”

A shake of his head, small smile, addressing him by his last name is fine too it seems, good to know. He tells you, “No way, not at all.”

“No?” The question is innocent in tone, but not in what you hope to gain from it, and he says, “You have no idea the stamina I am capable of.”

“Show me?”  You asked, tone thoroughly hopeful, almost offended by the notion you’d underestimate him. Still, you wanted him to make you understand, and not only that, but to not stop until he was sure you understood.

The implication is obvious, the motives clear, yet he still tilts his head a little and asks, “And just how should I do that?”

He’s being so fucking coy about it, he has to know how endlessly attractive that is to you. You fight the urge to grouse, a playful musing of, must you do everything is left unsaid.

Hand on the back of his neck moves up, fingers slide through short dark hair and thread slightly, twist as much as they are able, and you use that to tug him down as you move up so your lips meet. It’s fitting you suppose, there has to be a point where this happens, right? A shift in your dynamic. He’s still instigating, doing the set-up, but you can’t be stock static forever.

That isn’t the point, it isn’t your role. It isn’t any fun if he’s the only one doing the moving, otherwise you might as well just be one of the bodies abandoned in the dirt outside, chilling and succumbing to the elements as you two lay here.

The flavour of him hits your senses due to the union you’d just forced, mostly it’s salt and the paint he wore. It doesn’t taste like any normal make-up you’d ever worn, but it’s him, just as much as the light apple you managed to gain a sense of was. The idea of him taking a small break and eating from the orchard on the job is weirdly endearing, if not a bit funny, but there are better things to focus on. Mostly like, where the fuck did he learn to kiss like this? Was he this good, were you this hard up, or was it everything else? The tension, the build up, the chemistry or as he so succinctly put it earlier, the magnetism? 

Either way, you simply cannot bring yourself to care as he settles in closer to you, body more flush to yours, really letting you soak up the feeling of him on you, letting it consume you more easily not just into him, but the moment itself.

The rhythm and ease, back and forth, push and pull, inhale and sigh, your lips part more, and then you’d realized something vital just now, in your haste to kiss him you’d honestly forgotten about the fact you were still bleeding. You pull back, about to apologize, but that look in his eyes makes you stop again, shining in the low light of the room. The words die a quiet death on your tongue, lingering there before being buried with the taste of iron on your palette.

He doesn’t let you, his hands are on you now, too. Your grip loosens while his tightens, another shift with one hand in just about the same place yours was on him, the back of your neck. His mouth stained differently than before, more red like yours was, and he says, “Not yet.” before leaning in to take further. 

He is getting bolder, more confident, dare you even say a needier edge to this, the thought passes through your mind, How does he like it? He definitely knows himself and what he’s doing. Also, how long had it been for him?

When was the last time he had someone in his bed, kissed someone, touched another person without the express purpose and idea being violent fanfare? Clearly you are not the first, no way anyone is this capable on their first go with no previous experience to back themselves up, but when was the last time he had penetrated a warm body below him in a different sense? It sends a thrill through you, weeks, months, fuck, years? The very idea certainly made you feel special. 

You’d been returning his affection this whole time, matching him in enthusiasm and pace. You wanted to ask, to know, but should you ask right this second when his mouth felt so good slotted against yours? You could talk more later. Right now, your body is betraying what you really crave: a move of your hips against his, a grind upwards, and you feel with perfect clarity how much this is getting to him too. The friction is good but nowhere near enough, the move is repeated twice more, and it just gets better, it makes you want to go further at the warmth that is blooming inside as well as kick off your sparkly heels and shed much more clothing than just that. Something eager, like how he had collided so harshly with you just prior to this, was rushing to the hilt. Practically gagging on its leash, the seams of your panties rubbing you to near pain before anything even passed the barrier of clothing.

Again, maybe you were just that predictable. His hand tracing from the waistband of your skirt to glide along the socks, his mind was going straight to those heels. You crease your brow slightly as you feel his fingers stick past the spot where the shoes still wedged fast to your foot, and without taking his mouth off of yours, he pushes one of them off. Then, the other with a similar urgency to his movement, the same brisk shuffle of the other hand. When you glance down, he’s holding both of them in one hand, caring not to throw them to the floor but rather set them gingerly by the foot of the bed.

“Those shoes got some thought in them,” He commented when he saw where your eyes had been, “I respect the craft, so I’m not here to wreck those heel stoppers.”

“Well, that decides it,” you say in a serious and emphatic tone, with your brows still pinched together, "I have to blow you."

A laugh, small and shocked, before he asks, "Right this second?"

"Do you have a better or more appropriate time in mind, Leslie?" You say it teasingly and even after you expounded earlier about all the things you would do, even after proving your devotion to the supposed “cause”, it was as if he still didn’t believe you to back it up and be so forward. He had a lot to learn about you.

In the interest of continuing to be forward, you lean in that direction, sitting half up to meet his now kneeling position he took when removing your heels, hands are back on, setting to work on his overalls as you say, “I think I can pencil you in for around four pm next Wednesday if that suits you better?”

“Lots of jokes from you right now-” He starts, and you laugh, as if he didn’t open with one himself earlier, didn’t set the tone, the snaps undone you tell him, “Trying to keep the mood light, it was getting pretty hot and heavy there for a minute.” 

“Are you complaining about some good, solid sexual tension?” He asks as you tug the denim down. You admire the way the dirty off-white material is stretched across his arms and torso, eyes linger while your fingers abandon the straps, settling into the openings near his hips to get it the rest of the way off. “Never, just don’t want you to blow your load too fast, you know?”

“Be honest.” He implores with a smile, and you shrug, eyes break away as you say, “Maybe I want to make this last a bit longer, don’t want to rush something I’ve been wanting for so long.” 

It is honest. You want to savour it, especially because who knows if this is a once in a lifetime offer that will expire after tonight. Perhaps the sun will rise in the morning, then proceed to set on whatever is between you and him right now.

You push the thought aside as easily as you do the rest of dark muddy blue fabric with his help, no time to think about all of that when you have this right now. Enjoy the moment as it happens, for what it is, or regret it forever. Either this is the one and only, the possibilities as infinite as the entire evening felt, or the hopeful first of many, and in either scenario your full attention is deserved.

“That is something I can completely understand.” 

You’re sure he can. Tossing the clothing on the floor with much less care than he gave to your shoes, you notice his current state and ask, “Woah, commando under there, huh?”

“Freedom of movement is important. Gotta stay aerodynamic with all the running, chasing...” He points out, and your hands come up. “Never said it wasn’t”. Verbally, you reply, “Fair enough.” That doesn’t put you off, the idea of him doing this so unencumbered wasn’t bad at all. You reach out again, hands help him with his shirt, and he is more than amicable but at the same time points out, “You are still awfully dressed.”

“You know you can do something about that, anytime you want to.” Making your own point in a similar tone that he did earlier, but before he can start to worry about removing white and blue checkered frills, you are much closer. Hands on his shoulders, another kiss not stolen, but willingly given.

If the excitement you felt when making out fully clothed before was good, him bare under your exploring hands was incredible. You are torn between the feel of his mouth on yours and how the planes of his skin under your careful palms. He had some good scars, ones you would be getting a much closer look at if you weren’t so consumed with how his tongue was working into your mouth. Lower and lower, fingers trace until you are down past his ribs over a particularly gnarly scar on his side that makes him tense. A small breaking apart, lips hardly lifting from his as you ask, “You good?”

A hum of acknowledgement with a nod as you trace over it again, you think this is it, you think this is the big one he got from Her and you are touching it, evidence of their bond and connection, foraging your own private moment with it.

You don’t linger, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable but from the way he is breathing you don’t think he is bothered by it, you think he’d let you do more to it and maybe later you will.

For now your hand is concerned with going lower, thumb slipping over his hip bone until you find what you really want, a fleeting thought of empowering yourself makes a smile pass your lips briefly before you kiss him again, swallowing up the gasp he lets out from the firm grip you take.

Christ, this was going to be good, you could tell, but you can make it better still. You break away to lean down a bit, spitting into your palm before taking back your position, your hand is gliding much easier. You think of putting your mouth to better use. You don’t want to use just your hand; can anyone blame you for wanting to satisfy an intense oral fixation, something that made you hit the ground running at the drop of a dime? Not only that, but you were good at it, and you wanted to show him just how good you could be. To see what reactions you could draw from him when your fingers dig into his hips and pull him in close and down your eager throat made a mantra clear as day cross your mind, almost blinding you as you felt yourself tense slightly in anticipation. 

Stop thinking, start doing.

You make the move, sliding lower on his body. More passes of your mouth, brushes of your lips, quick pecks placed as you travel down, admiring as you go and your hand never stopping. The look on his face made him seem that he was merely allowing it, but as he got more sensitive to each meeting of your mouth against his skin, his posture was starting to slack.

Jaw to neck and neck to shoulder, his shoulder to chest and his chest down his stomach and fuck, you see it: the edge of that brutal scar. You lick your lips quickly, and the pure impulse pushes you to lean in. While tightening your grip on his shaft, your tongue licks up along the length of the raised tissue. He responds as if he’s been electrocuted, a choked sound that was desperately trying to abscond itself made you clench the empty space between your legs. It seems you took him by surprise yet again. Thank God for the hand you have on his opposite side while you work him over, or he might have just toppled right off the bed.

You let the underside of your tongue pass over it once more on your way down until you are finally stomach down on the sheets, right where you need to be. After all, previous thoughts of knowing where Her story ended and yours began was a line you were willing to dance along.

The hand on him slows as you make that first contact, you start with a kiss, something soft and akin to reverent. It’s just to kick it off, but quickly the experimenting turned to knowledge, then knowledge to want. You’re quicker now, and a hungry mouth opens as you take almost half in one go. A light moan around your mouthful, lips close and with the seal formed you suck deeply.

Some people might be grossed out by the taste of him after a night's activities. You are not one of those people. The tang of him is strong, and it is very welcome. The taste of him and heavy weight on your tongue along with remnants of the drinks from what felt like an entirely different night ago made you grind your hips into the mattress as you bob back once before driving down again – harder, taking more.

A hand finds your hair along with a quiet curse, a half smile can be heard in his tone, “Shit, you’re eager, huh?”

Eyes glance up through your lashes, along with a nod that doesn’t stop your pace. You merely slow for a moment, fingers on his hip squeeze, and you use that to draw him closer. You are going to take him to the base and swallow around the head of his dick, even if it suffocates you. Forcing your head down is easy, taking him deeper is no issue, you are plenty motivated, a straining of your neck as you keep leaning, hand pulling him towards you until finally you achieve your goal.

It took a few rocks back and forth, a minute amount taken more each time, until your nose is buried in trimmed coarse hair. Another moan reverberates out of you, somewhere deep in your throat and then up his shaft. Nails bite into his hip as you move him back a hair, and you suck down a deep breath through your nose before your lips are locked once more around his base.

You suck, your tongue moves in slow lazy circles on the underside of his shaft as an opener, yet you still listen as his breathing pitches, becoming laboured. You take the chance and give a strong swallow.

He lets out a groan, the hand in your hair threads, and he tugs, “Fuck-”

That is what you need to hear. No, that is what you live for. A telling tone, rough and faltering into something less confident. It was almost like he was vanquishing that idea, and letting it go where it needed rather than where he saw to fit. You swallow him again, and another sound pours out from above you. You repeat yourself with another swallow, a sound to match once more, and you throb.

Finding some guarded clarity for a second, he then says, “You know you, ugh, you don’t have to do all this.”

Brows quirk, and you move back, pulling him out and noting how he’s dripping in your spit. Your hand locks onto him tightly as you move seamlessly, not breaking stride, and you squarely look up. “I thought you were smart.”

He laughs breathlessly, eyes hard to see from a half confused and half pleasured grimace before he questions, “What?”

Your opposite hand comes up, thumb dispatching the spit that had slipped out, while you maintain eye contact. You tell him, “I’m not doing this to impress you, Leslie. This is just how I like to do this, or else… What am I doing here?”

You lean in and slip the head back between your lips. You suck again, his head tips back as your hand works his shaft in tandem with your mouth and then a few pumps later pop him back out, finishing your previous train of thought, “This? It’s just as much for me as it is for you. Trust me.”

You set back to work, hand slows, and you work him back into your mouth, sucking indulgently all the way, a blanket of bliss taking over. Fingers are loose around the base of his shaft, and you bob your head up and down. The rhythm is casual and easy, you are just having fun with it at this point.

Like the loosening grip on control, he seemed more than happy to let you play. It gave him the time to have what you said linger on his mind.

A minute later, he then let his head fall back down and asked, “What do you mean, it’s just as much for you?”

You didn’t want to stop, so you think you can show rather than tell. Your hand that wasn’t holding him in place while you continue to fuck your mouth with him slips down. A hand goes up your skirt and into your underwear, finally giving reprieve to that wall that kept the last of hidden details from what was before both of you.

Fingers slip down, and you are soaked.

You pushed two into yourself, and gasp as much as you can with him in your mouth. You rock back and forth, fucking yourself on your fingers, and God, that felt so good. You linger for a moment before your hand is pulled out and held up, still shivering from the inside out from its protrusion. His fingers catch your wrist, and he brings it closer to see them slick, a mess running down them and strings of arousal breaking apart when you splay your fingers. 

Undeniable evidence of just how much this particular act does for you. 

You’d hoped he would understand, and he does. Synchronicity is further bliss, so much so that you have this much of a read on him. It was something more satisfying than just grazing the books, the articles written capturing mere glimpses of him. For fuck’s sake, he has your fingers in his mouth. He sucks and tastes you, and apparently likes it so much he moans (not in a dissimilar fashion to how you did upon tasting him.)

Fuck, you had it so badly for him. 

You hadn’t wanted to stop. Urges to keep going until drool was trailing down your chin and neck were throttling you, and you were a breathless mess who was somehow even wetter by the end of it. Looking up, it was becoming clear that he had other plans. It’s shown on how his face once again grew dark, similar to what you had seen when the mask had come off. Eyes fixated on your face, taking in features with a few restless heaves of his shoulders, a still ocean in his expression as he thought for another second.

“You want to know about me?” He asked, smiling as he let go of your wrist. “Let’s scratch that. This business is a lot about improv, if you didn’t already know, and here comes an improvised thought.” He readjusted, finding some footing in the way he was kneeling, and he leaned in a little more – to a point where you could smell yourself on his breath. Another grind against you, he shuddered out the words.

“Let me get to know a little more about you for a second.”

You were frozen in place, merely humming in response as he suddenly turned his attention lower. With a smoothing motion, your skirt rode up your hips along with the heels of his hands, pushing it like something in his way, which you suppose it is.

Suddenly, just as quick and almost erratic as he had been the more he was enjoying himself, enjoying this, and enjoying you – he was off the bed for a split second. You didn’t watch, just waited, made yourself more comfortable, because it was a pattern of his to come back when he did that. Your mouth feels tragically empty at the loss of him, but you have a good feeling whatever he is about to do will more than make up for it. 

“God, they’re the same color as the slippers-” He lamented for half a second, speaking of your red panties he had revealed when he moved your skirt out of the way, but as soon as he had left he was back. Something cold slid underneath the fabric of your underwear, and with a thoughtful turn to rest on a small edge between your skin and the elastic made you realize what it was.

How did you not see that coming? He held it with a steady hand, a semblance of trying to keep some control with something so sharp, as he caught his breath. Pulling upwards in an almost savage motion shattered the otherwise serene, quiet moment.

“Sorry if you were thinking about wearing those again.” He shrugged, no remorse in his tone. You chuckled at that and replied, “You think I’d get rid of them even after that?” As you finished the rhetorical question, you saw him holding them in an iron grip with the hand that didn’t have the sickle.

“Not what I meant.” He said the obvious aloud, and in a quick move of his arm he threw them out of sight, “Good luck finding those again.” You scoffed, head falling back on the bed as you lamented, “Will it be as hard as learning your na-”

He cut you off again, this time with a hand feeling your entrance with the same careful precision he had given with the weapon. It was your turn to shudder, fingers curling in response to the feeling almost immediately as you got your last word out, “Naaaame?”

“Everyone knows my name.” Leslie reminded you, “At least, around here. I’ve done a great job with making it all common knowledge, but…” You stared with lidded eyes as he finally let the middle finger pass your walls, unable to keep the expression of a surprise that broke the final assumption that you couldn’t feel this wet, this hot. Neither of you could keep talking, awe striking both of you from making the connection.

The moment overtakes, there is one thought that breaks through the haze, lingering in the now mostly empty space of your mind, “Leslie Vernon is inside of me.” 

To be fair, he always has been it seems, once you learned about him, it was like he set up camp in your mind, your heart – fucking Hell, into the very marrow of your bones, he took root, curling around your spine all the way up your brain stem. It’s like an infection, poisoning you, making you sick.

You never wanted to get better. If this is what being ill is, then you want to be staying under forever. He’s been in you in every way but a very physical way, but now?

As he almost totally withdraws his middle finger and then adds his ring finger next, he has broken that last barrier, and you need to hold on for dear life to keep yourself from spiralling out. You writhed slightly, trying not to clench your legs and prevent him from doing what he needed to. He started to pump a few times, but it was growing too much again. That same face falling over him like a blanket, he ducked down. His fingers felt incredible, but his tongue was something that made an involuntary gasp come with an inhale, then a shaky cry fall from you with an exhale.

He was mute, focused with a furrowed brow as his mouth merely ghosted, then settled into where he felt fit best. One lick up through your folds had him deciding quietly that he needed to get more comfortable for this, wanting as much of you exposed as possible. Fingers leave you and his hands lock onto your hips. He tugs you down as he moves, showing his strength, no matter how you had made him look weak in full view. The reminders he could do anything he wanted prompts a small moan to slip out.

He has his knees to rough hardwood, your legs remain splayed, and he gets to it. 

You’d thought about this very thing often. It had been an impossibility, a complete pipe dream to be taken by his mouth, but here he was turning the thoughts into one hell of a reality. There had to be a figure that he was rather good at that, even outside his other work. You look down the length of your body to see those weathered hands resting atop your thighs, his eyes closed and that mouth of his getting into a rhythm of doing some frankly criminal things, neck muscles flexing in the process.

His tongue was eager but minded its pace, going from bottom to top, hole all the way up and over straining and hyper sensitive flesh before repeating the action. It made you tense with a quick inhale as your body became taut, the easy simmer of pleasure from the first contact. The tension and tease of a rise upward culminating in the bright burst of feeling that hits when he passes over your clit, to then the leftover buzz when he pulls away briefly to drop back to do it all over again.

It’s wonderful, it’s maddening, and before you could even hope to start to put together the thoughts to form a sentence to complain he knew, somehow he knew just when to move on.  His mouth becomes much more focused, the movements are drawn out and unhurried. Very comfortable, light brushes of his tongue over your twitching bud through the hood make your body respond in kind, unable to remain still. You are so perfectly worked up, it is like you can feel every move, no matter how miniscule with rough palms holding your legs in place during the times they jerk more heavily, and a rough stubble scraping against the edges of your inner thighs. His lips, soft, slick and pliable – they’re phenomenal.

He’s intuitive. You knew this going in, but he is paying very close attention and realizes that gentle passes of his tongue are doing more than something firmer and with more pressure, the real winner though? Using his lips to, not even suck really, more he was just using them to provide smooth gliding and very wet friction, the heat and careful attention is doing you in, the amount of touch is perfect, the pleasure it hoists upon you is near overwhelming.

It’s like a kiss, honestly. A filthy, completely mind-bending, make your knees give out if you were standing kiss, but a kiss all the same. It’s intense, passionate, makes your head spin and fingers twist into the sheets harder. You aren’t even aware of the sounds you are making as your thighs squeeze his head, pitched moans and cries, out of breath and broken praise and encouragement that spills forth without thought. It’s quiet, whispered out hushed over the wet sounds of his mouth as he worked, “Leslie-”

You sound wrecked as you tell him, somehow finding the words to utter, “-jus-just like that-” and he does as asked, keeps the stride. In moments, it has you begging, a weak and pathetic plea of, “-don’t stop, ple-ase, fuck!”

He hums in acknowledgement, and that makes your legs move involuntarily again with a gasp. One of his hands lifts off your thigh, but you are much too consumed with the seal of his lips around your clit, the quick passes of his tongue and the pressure building steadily to notice his hand moving. The loudest moan of the night is torn from you when his hand is back between your legs, those same fingers taking up the same space they occupied before. 

You are even wetter by this point, the two fingers slide into you with no resistance at all and at first? He doesn’t do anything with them, he just allows himself to sit inside, let you use him as something to clench on, to feel the effect he is having on you, the flex and pulsing of your walls. Within another minute of your breathing getting worse, more pleas that somewhat resemble words but fall short, that is when he curves them, curls them up and with one pass he finds it, the rougher and spongier tissue and he presses. 

You choke out the first half of his name, a cry of, “Les-!” 

His mouth is still providing that light and simple stimulation, exploiting how sensitive and easy you were, but his fingers decide to be steady, relentless, consistent presses to that same spot over and over. 

You were done, gone, fate was sealed, right on the precipice and nothing was going to stop it from happening, as inevitable as him and you ending up here, you were going to come. 

Words were not needed, as if you could form any right now. He knew, all too aware, with lips around your clit and two fingers deep inside you. Your eyes slip closed, brows are creased, and you are trembling; that bad habit of yours creeping up again, so totally consumed with feeling and sensation, on the bleeding edge of what might be the biggest orgasm of your life that you are not currently breathing. Holding a lungful of air in, your form taut and your body rife with tension. In that wonderful plateau of fantastic torture of that compact moment before it all hits, the space prior to the world splitting and your mind going blank from pleasure. He is consistent and that is just what is needed to slip over and finally fall. 

The first natural reaction is to let out that breath you’d been holding in, as the string snaps and the pressure begins to unravel you, an unsteady exhale that is broken in the middle leaves you, a sharp gasp back in. The sound you let out could be read as his name, it is like it starts off with the “Le-” sound and then instead becomes a chorus of this breathy sound, not a laugh, but close enough. It seems that way because of the open-mouthed smile that has taken over your face. Losing control of the breaths that followed after, you let yourself tumble through an ether of forgetting who you were, who he was – you just knew there was a connection feeling one hell of a hot flash, a touch between one another that could fuel your interest for lifetimes.

You squirm and shift, his fingers were still pumping in and out of you, the other hand on your hip, holding you firmly in place, so you couldn’t wiggle away, making you feel every second of it as he feels it from his side too, every twitch and clench. His tongue has slowed, light passes over your clit still caught between his lips, keeping the stimulation going is vital, ensuring the most feeling out of your peak but still managing to not overwork you. 

You don’t think you can adequately describe how good it feels, but you can’t describe much of anything when you are totally thoughtless like you are right now. It takes a while for the feeling to ebb and slow and eventually stop, and you to return to yourself. Your breathing returning to some semblance of normal was still a ways off yet. You felt weak, boneless and helpless. You barely notice him lifting his mouth or his fingers slipping out of you, the only acknowledgement of the loss of contact a short exhale and your eyes starting to open, you feel the movement of him before you register the sights, eyes taking a moment to refocus. 

How could you even begin to describe the look on his face at this moment? Eye’s alight, chin wet, grin on his face and teeth partially exposed, you’d think the look he wore was one full of mischief and promise of what is to come, pure unadulterated excitement for what is next. You think your own face is betraying your own true emotions as well, and you are positive that yours match his, if anything you think you have a much more distinct tint of want. When he adjusts, between your legs, hands hooked under your knees and grinding himself against you? That shows that you are more than ready, more than wanting. The small smile that was on your face, playful and light, drops as his shaft cuts through you, sliding up over and through your folds, the head of him passing over your clit, and it steals your breath again, 

Another movement of his body against yours, of his hips slotting against you, has you sucking in a hard inhale, and the next move to rush the exhale. Head tipping back, a hushed call of his name for the who knows how many-th time tonight. Enveloped by a thud that brings his hips into yours, a cover of heat that fills your entire body and makes you nearly lose grip of the bed underneath you as you adjust to the push.

Your vision is fixed on the main point of contact between you and him, of him hard against you, soaked, it felt much better than it had any right to. In the frenzied process of him eating you out your costume has gotten even more messed up, the hem of the skirt pulled higher, you are glad for that, more skin on skin contact is always good of course but with the blue and white out of the way there is no worry of the view being obstructed. 

The visual was stellar, his breathing was matching yours and that makes you tear your gaze away up to his face. Your eyes catch his, your breathing is pitched and in sync, chests rising and falling and staring into each other, it escalates further without direct communication. His body moves a tad lower, your hips angle, and then he is lined up just right, slick tip leaking pre-cum prodding at your more than prepared hole. It takes less than ten seconds for you to be telling him in a half annoyed and hurried voice, “Do it already Verno-”

You don’t get his last name out. A hand suddenly comes up from where it had been placed lower on your body to find a hold around the base of your neck, pushing the muscles on either side together. It was something secure, helping to keep your head angled up, but also a reminder of who needed to stay in control. Especially catching the glimpse of his eyes, elusive as ever. If you hadn’t been far too down this rabbit hole, you’d want to bargain that. Truly, who was pushing whose buttons?

His own face changing, a setting of his jaw, eyes harder and committing to focus on yours. He takes, slides home fucking finally and fills you to the hilt. You don't cry out yet, instead opting to make a sound akin to a strangled whine. Hands reach out blindly, unconsciously, wanting to cling to something, to him, a desperate attempt to ground yourself using his body as the means to an end. Your nails scrape against skin as he moves back, taking half of himself out before forcing back in all the way, changing the previous sound to a gasp and that sound, is what changes all of this, really sets it all in motion. Like he knew you had doubted the control within him, and that just made you all the more palpable to what came.

It isn’t tentative or nervous, confidence is gained quickly, it feels right, correct, a give and take that has you and him not working against each other but instead with one another. His hands lock back around your waist, you arch closer, a flick of your tongue against his throat, tasting the salt of his skin has him driving into you deeper, and so it goes. You are trying to hold on, literally, while you adjust to the stretch of him as well as the gravity of the situation, Leslie-fucking-Vernon is inside of you right now, holding you, fucking you. 

How the Hell are you meant to cope with this? You hoped, but weren’t even truly sure he was real until you met him, and now a good roll of his hips had you moaning something close to his name. You’d wonder what your life was, what it had turned into, but why would you question such a good thing? In fact, where you would be and go after this was as far from you as it possibly could. You, instead, in a very healthy move by the way, lean closer still, lips brush the shell of his ear, nearly chest to chest you ask quietly, rushed, “Fuck me harder?”

You are met with a simple and single word, hummed out in a tone that tried to find some sort of sharp edge of condescending but falling just short of fascination instead, “Demanding.”

There was a brief reposition, making sure both of you were ready for some goddamn finale that this night deserved. He’d more than proven his strength to you by this point, and yet you still find ways to be amazed by how he shows it to you, in the sheer force he exerts as he complies with your needy request. It’s good, more than good, but you know it could be better still, the mental stimulation was incredible alone, just a little more was needed. His grip on your waist is keeping you right where he wants, holding you firmly to the mattress, but you do what you can, what you need, feet finding some purchase on the sheets, a slight bending of the knees and you, or rather he, found it. The reaction is immediate and obvious, the moan you were midway through is choked, a tremble that nearly rivals the first ones that wracked your body when he made you cum with his mouth and your own mouth clamping shut. Thighs squeezing his hips and your soaked hole clenching around him tighter, he doubts the hint could be more obvious if it was a neon sign flashing in his face. 

Doesn’t mean he still wasn’t going to be just a bit of an asshole about that, mostly, because he knew you got off on that kind of thing. He holds in you, a purposeful grind that stimulates you both inside and out, a pathetic sound tries to break out as your eyes shut, and he asks, “You okay?” 

You nod, short, curt, he isn’t relenting, another grind but this one ends with him pulling halfway out before filling you completely again, this time you can’t stop the moan that slips out, “You sure? You are being awfully quiet.” 

Before you can try to conjure a reply or attempt to defend yourself, he stops playing around, no more easy but devastating grinds he is back to the previous pace he was setting. There is no true reason to be holding back, who was going to overhear you? The corpses outside? It was laughable, further still, you couldn’t shut up now, not with how he’d locked onto just where you needed him. The litany of moans and gasps might be embarrassing if you weren’t currently drowning in pleasure, you are very unaware of much, just focused on the fact that you needed this feeling to continue, it was overwhelming in the best possible way. Nails biting into his skin and your eyes locked on his, hardly able to process any visuals, you can hear his voice again over the heaving breaths and skin on skin. 

His question makes you realize he was responding to you speaking, brain on autopilot it’s sluggish but catches up. You are connecting the dots through the context clues of his words, his near saccharine and condescending tone and question of, “Yeah? Right there?” 

Makes you come to the fact that you must have been letting out a surely pitiful chorus of, “Ri-right there, right there-”

You lean in further, hoping if you debase yourself further still he’d continue, he’d see this through, he’d make you break apart as strongly and beautifully as he did before. “Yesss-”

You were not far off at this rate, perfectly worked up and so sensitive. 

If the build up before could be described as a slow climb of a staircase, you’d say this one is more akin to an elevator ride that you can feel in your stomach, a rushed ride to the top but one you wouldn’t dare dream of complaining about. The height feels as though you were on top of the world all the same, where nothing could reach you quite like the view would. Looking to him, you concurred it was just as breathtaking. You don’t need to tell him, again, everything else about your body language and the fact he is stuffed to the hilt inside of you tells him you are nearly there. 

The state of being stuck in that lovely frustrating plateau was nowhere near as long as the first, from near the edge, to on it, to thrown the fuck over happened faster than you thought possible. He helped you, continued to hold you, fuck you through it and wring every ounce of pleasure he can out of your spasming cunt. The come down isn’t easy because he simply is refusing to let up, even when you try to pull back a bit, adjust, he isn’t having it, hands slide from your waist to under your legs, resting behind your knees. You can’t escape, he holds your legs closer, pressing them down, he abuses you further, enjoying how you reacted to the intense over stimulation. 

You find your voice again, use it for something more than moaning incoherently, “Leslie-fuck, please, ease up-” 

A minute shake of his head, his grip under your knees tightens, a hard swallow he tells you firmly, forces out, “You can take it.”

You clench around him again, another pulse of heat races through you. “Oh my God-” You gasp out, he’s right, for him, you could and would do just about anything. 

You try not to be crushed under the intensity as you look up at him, and that’s when it hits you, the uneven pace of his breath, thrusts becoming more erratic, he’s close himself and the prospect of him reaching his own end buried inside you is unbelievably exciting. One more word is grit out, “Almost-”

In your fervent excitement, you nearly cut him off, begging for it, “Do it.”

You don’t plead for him to not pull out, you don’t wrap your legs around his hips, you want him to make the choice himself, willingly, craving him to take that leap and that risk with you. Your streak of good luck has not yet run out because he does just that, another slam of his hips into yours, and he cums, holds mostly still, the force of it makes him shudder with your name on his tongue, and you feel near endless pride at that. The shudder of his shoulders completes an already perfect picture, something that would linger like cobwebs in your head.

It’s quiet now, no more noise from the bed or from your bodies against one another, just heavy breathing, and you aren’t in a rush to go, but slowly you do untangle. Your hands slip away as do his, legs are back on the mattress, and he slips out of you, the mess that follows that action staining the sheets and thankfully not your hiked up costume. He falls beside you, and you aren’t sure what to do from there, is it weirder to want to cuddle up with him or to not? 

The same question about whether you should leave is on your mind but, he answers both, an adjustment, an arm around you as he sighs out, “You already ran enough earlier, you can stay a while.”

You let your eyes close as you get comfier and do just that, he might be a killer but he’s courteous enough to let you get a few hours sleep in his bed before you go. 

Even as you began the long walk out, you still weren’t quite sure what to do to cope with meeting Leslie Vernon. Even waiting until the Sun was up to let yourself be known to the world again, a new soul forged from a night you couldn’t even begin to explain to others – let alone rationalize to yourself – didn’t do much for your mind, bogged with a confusion that only knew one thing.

You had enjoyed it despite all that had happened. It still touched your skin, scents still held in your costume, and stepping onto the uneven earth again, you then concurred you knew two things.

You still had the heel stoppers on.

Traversing the uneven road back towards Glen Echo. They were doing their job fairly well, albeit the muscles in your legs were singing another kind of song, straining at any sign of a bend or a shift in your weight. Scanning the surrounding area, you were nearly left thoughtless – because speechless was well and achieved, sitting like a plug in your throat.

There was no one left. Presumably all of the people who had come with you were dead – or left in a state of hopeless confusion just like yourself. For them, it’d be time to put together the facts on what had really happened that night.

But for you? It was the time to paint alongside Leslie’s own fantasy. You had spoken with him about what to say, where everyone had gone, and what had exactly happened to you. It was as gorgeous as the rest of his work, and something you felt rather unique to be touched by, to know the truth behind the…

Behind the mask.

The feeling you were being watched was well weighted on your shoulders, and there was something ever so taunting about knowing when you turned around or tried to meet it, there would be no way to talk to him. Leslie was an open book – you could even call him an open heart, but he also had a job and a name to keep pristine and mysterious as it had been when you had entered the domain of the Vernon orchard.

You considered it a little funny, then a little unexplainable. That just made the thoughts tread foggier water. Part of you wondered if it had even happened, knowing that it didn’t sound serious as you kept telling the story to yourself while walking home. He had given you something straight out of a fantasy, and you then concurred that was his specialty, wasn’t it? There was a solemn recognition that you were going to be the only one that should hear about it.

Still, you then shifted, feeling that there were no longer panties under the dress, (he ended up being right, you couldn’t find them, unsure if they were genuinely lost, or he stole them). That was no joke.

[rayan12sworld]

💠💙Heart of hearts

By:apathyinreverie

Summary:

It won't be until several days later that Wangji will know to be grateful for Jiang Wanyin’s insistence to split up in their search.

(Or, JC and LWJ spend those months searching separately and LWJ ends up finding Wei Ying a little earlier. Wei Ying who doesn’t remember anything beyond his own name. So, LWJ takes his chance and takes Wei Ying home. To Gusu.)

Chapter:1/1

Words:3,729

Status:completed

~~~~~

💠💙At heart

By:apathyinreverie

Summary:

“No need to look so serious, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying laughs across from him, both elbows leaned on the table between them, chin resting in his hands as his eyes curve in his merriment, lively and joyful and breathtaking in his beauty. “I don’t really care whether I might have lived somewhere else before. As long as I get to stay with you now.”

“Always,” Wangji returns fiercely.

Chapter;6/7

Words;8,124

Status;ongoing

This fic is two part,part one is when Lan Wangji found wei wuxian.

Lan Wangji is very protective and soft with wei wuxian

Wei Ying does not want to return to that life. A life that barely seemed to have Lan Zhan in it. So, he let himself be selfish. Disgustingly so. He let Lan Zhan remain in the belief that he had no memories of his life before, uncertain what it might do to Lan Zhan’s image of him if he knew how abhorrently selfish Wei Ying was being. He could not bear to lose this, the unquestioning welcome so readily offered He’d had Lan Zhan and the bunnies. He’d been happy. Rather incandescently so. And then the war came knocking, taking Lan Zhan away from him. For a week, then two, then a month, then almost two. With no definitive end in sight. It is unacceptable.

~~~

Sleep would not come to him any longer afterwards. Selfish. Unfilial. Disloyal. With his self-recriminations, his memories also returned in full. Memories of a childhood maybe not as carefree and protected as one might hope but certainly better than what he would have been afforded if Uncle Jiang had left him on the streets. Memories of a life lived on debts. For all that he loved his sect and martial siblings fiercely, he had never been unaware of the expectations connected to his presence at Lotus Pier. However, he has already repaid his debts in full. He bears the scars of Zidian on his back for the disruption of peace he brought to the family that took him in. He bears the scar and memories of agony for the Golden Core he gave to Yunmeng Jiang in repayment for teaching him how to form one in the first place. He is free of debts, if only because he has nothing else to give anyone at all.

~~

He still adores his Shijie, still feels indebted to Uncle Jiang, still wants safety and happiness for Jiang Cheng, still loathes the Wen for burning down Lotus Pier, a place he considered his home. But. While he recalls his utter devotion to Yunmeng Jiang for giving him a home when he had nothing, he also recalls that none of that was ever for Wei Ying’s sake, merely a debt Uncle Jiang felt the need to repay. He recalls Zidian ripping into his back as Shijie stood off to the side, watching, looking distraught, but not doing anything to help. He recalls claiming Jiang Cheng as a brother, just as he recalls never having that claim returned.