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spideyhexx · 6 months ago

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12 am thoughts with kit;

more! nsfw! this feels aligned with some past thoughts of fwb academic rivalry coryo...

Coryo straightens out the sleeve of his uniform jacket while you're pulling him around the corner, "Can this wait? I'm gonna be late for class and you know I-"

Your hand presses to his chest with more firmness than he's expecting. With a bit of a push, his back is to the wall in the curved corner, half secluded from the main hallway. You would have to get close to see and most students, if not all, would be in class by this time.

Coriolanus grabs your elbows before you can move, "What do you want?"

"Nothing," you jut your bottom lip slightly at his skeptical expression and wriggle your arms from his grasp.

"Nothing. How many times has it been nothing? Coriolanus it's nothing, you take my pen. Coriolanus it's nothing, beg for me to walk home with you, Coriolanus-"

You place your palm directly over the front of his pants, with enough pressure to get him to shut up. He flushes, mouth parting to speak, but nothing comes out. Coryo glances down, your manicured, perfect hand grasping at him through his pants, making a slight movement. A threat to palm him.

You chew on your bottom lip, waiting for his eyes to find yours again. Once they do, you quickly peck his lips and Coryo's eyes flutter shut.

"Now?" He asks, opening his eyes to quickly glance around. And when he leans too much away to look, you squeeze him through his pants, a gentle one, that gets his breath all shuddery how you like it.

You nod, "it'll be quick."

His jaw sets and he unclips the skirt part of the uniform, "I don't know whether to be insulted by that or relieved," he mumbles, watching you happily find the button and zipper of his pants, undoing it.

"Both, you finish so fast, that is why I said it," you chide at him and move to your knees. Coryo rolls his eyes, leaning his head back on the wall, his hand instinctively on your head before his dick is even out.

It's all clockwork for the two of you.

"Thank you," he snarks, as you push his pants down just enough to put your hand down his boxers and pull him out. Your eyes look up to him, gathering saliva in your mouth then dribbling the spit onto his hardening cock, using your hand to rub it all in.

Coriolanus is not looking at you, head still tilted back on the wall. He is distraught that if he looked at you while you spit on him, he would have to find a way to clean the shoulder of your uniform before the two of you go to class.

Your tongue laps at his tip, and his hand tightens on your head. The slow stroke of your hand, as your tongue swirls his tip, is the exact reason he hates you. You told him you had never done this before him and he is convinced you lied. Because right from the first time you had him in your mouth, you were perfect. Suckling his tip and messing it with your spit, all to get him fully hard. It wasn't the main show. He hated it.

Even here, in a secluded corner of the Academy, you did not seem to mind getting his cock all wet, and he has to bite down hard on his cheek.

"I thought I told you we should stay away from doing this stuff here," he whispers at you, finally taking the chance and looking down at you. You don't respond to him because you're too busy wrapping your lips around him and sucking, slowly taking a little more of him.

You keep your hand wrapped around the base of him, eyes up on him, the pretty blue eyes that look brighter from this angle. He can't help the soft sighs that leave his mouth, but he tries to even stop those, focusing his energy on holding your head.

When you hum against him, he nearly explodes in your mouth, his head going back again and a strained hum leaving his mouth.

If you could smile right now you would. You push on, licking your tongue on the underside of his length as you pull your lips off of him, stroking your hand over him. A quick couple of pumps before you get your mouth back on him, bobbing your head faster.

"Ah..oh...shit," he mutters, his hand moving to the back of your head. Coryo lightly presses on your head to get his cock deeper in your mouth and his hesitancy surprises you. You roll your eyes over it and move forward to take all his cock into your mouth, a shaky moan leaving his lips, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, do you want me to cum down your throat?"

You pinch his thigh.

He hisses at it, "I know, I know, quiet, yeah," he says, breathless and moving your head back a little for you. You know he can't hold back much longer, so you keep your quicker pace for a few seconds, feeling his thigh tense under your hand. Then, you purposely slow till you get to his tip, and suck on it harsher than before. Coryo lets out a whimper breath and bucks his hips forward, spilling into your mouth and watching you take it all, swallowing every single drop.

He pants, letting go of your head and watching you pull back, licking over your lips and at his tip again to clean off any drops, then tuck him back in his boxers. "Huh, how'd you... never mind." Coriolanus thinks questioning how you swallowed all of him without making any sort of mess will just make him hard again.

He gets himself back to decency as you stand up, wiping at your mouth and straightening your own uniform.

Coriolanus is about to say something when you tap his arm, peck his lips, and give him a smile, "See you later, Snow," and you turn on your heel to leave.

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useeer · 8 months ago

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Dance with me?

Venture, aka Sloan Cameron x reader

You're at your friends wedding, and somehow meet the cutest damn person in the world.

Tags: fluff, strong language, slight sexual innuendo

Enjoy!!

[Note: I haven't written a fic in 192739 yrs, and my ass hasn't been to a wedding since I was 10 so forgive my ignorance abt how they go!!]

You weren't exactly a party person.

Parties are loud, crowded and really socially taxing. While yes, you'd attend parties here and there; mostly birthdays or accomplishments for friends and family. It still wasn't your favorite thing to do. You are actually pretty upfront with others about how little social interaction you can handle. That being said... fear of disappointing your friends usually got the better of you. They were fine, partying was fun.

Honestly, you'd be lying to everyone if you said you weren't thinking about your soft, cozy bed. Or how you were daydreaming about cuddling up to your pets and watching silly videos. Not even this beautiful wedding could curb your introvert nature.

It's evening now, the golden rays barely peeking over the horizon as it descends. A sweet, cool autumn breeze blows, ruffling your clothes and hair. A welcome comfort on this warm night.

The setting is truly beautiful. Soft, golden glowing lanterns are strung along the edges of the venue. Lush green plants in decorative pots line the edges. The pillars, stone and brick, are painted in the gentle glow of the lamps and lanterns. The style...is Greek? At least you think it's Greek. If someone told you otherwise, though, you'd take their word for it. Especially since half the people here are from the Wayfinder Society, all attending as friends of the groom. The wayfinders are sprinkled around the venue, chatting about and having a grand old time.

You? No such luck, you're only attending for your friend, who happens to be the other groom. While you know a handful of people, and did polite chit chat with them, you mostly stuck to yourself. Actually, that's a lie, you mostly stuck to the snack table. You're leaning by the side of it, plate in hand, trying just about anything there. I mean, what else are you supposed to do?

While eating a particularly good cube of cheese, you let your eyes wander the room. You see a group of people laughing, another group chattering amongst themselves, one enthusiastically waving their hands in the air, seemingly very passionate about the subject. You snort, amused. Drifting eyes finally move over to the husbands, who were talking to an older couple, a quick hug is given here and there.

Man. You were bored.

You weren't trying to be disrespectful here, you just didn't know anyone. Subconsciously, your leg starts bouncing, your thoughts dance to your fluffy, comfy bed. Reaching down for another snack on your plate, you’re disappointed to see they're all gone. Frowning a bit, you look over the table to see if there's anything else you'd like to try.

And boy, was there. The chocolate hair, the hazel skin, your eyes instantly locked onto the person plating their own food. They're dressed in a white button down, and black slacks, the sleeves of their dress shirt hugging them favorably. They even had a cute little yellow bowtie on. You couldn't tell their pronouns, so you figure you'd ask if you ever spoke. Which you weren't, you didn't want to intrude. They looked to be the same person absolutely raving earlier, you'd hate to keep them from it.

If they wanna speak to me, they will. You thought distantly, watching their hands as they pluck up a cupcake.

Workers' hands. You mused, they seemed rough, and strong. They must be one of those Wayfinders. Your eyes trail their fingers, the back of their hand, man...they have really nice hands. Unbeknownst to you, your staring hasn't gone unnoticed. Their hands stills, just before the confectionery hits the plate.

"Uhm... did you want this one?" They ask someone, curious, you look up to see who they're talking to. You finally get to see their face properly, and man they're gorgeous. Too bad you didn't have time to appreciate that fact, as your eyes instantly locked with theirs. You realize a little too late that you're the one they're talking to.

"Huh." Is all you manage to get out, unsure what the fuck to say to this stranger.

"The...cupcake?" They say, motioning it towards you. "Did you want it? You're staring at it like you want it." They say, clearly confused by the way you ogled their food.

"No- no I don't want it. I'm so sorry, ignore me." You cover your face and wave a hand in their direction, this is the worst thing you've ever done. Your face and ears burn in red hot embarrassment, you're just lucky they thought all you wanted was the damn cupcake.

They seem to find it a little funny now, how you're running away from the cupcake you were practically stalking as it left the platter. "Okayyyy, well then this is mine!" They joke, putting it onto their plate before strutting away, seemingly unperturbed by your god awful screw up.

God, you needed to sit down.

You're practically on fire, feeling like you're gonna break into a sweat. Shakily, you find a chair in a less populated area and take a seat. You bend over, putting your face in your hands and elbows on your knees, as if trying to hide yourself. While you know, reasonably, that this isn't the end of the world, you can't help but feel like it is. You got caught! Red handed!

Yes, they thought it was the cupcake, so maybe you weren't totally fucked. But also, you're totally fucked who are you kidding?!

You didn't exactly think you'd interact with them before, but it's awful your only interaction was weird and unseemly on your end. Groaning quietly, you remove one hand from your face to fan yourself, damn you feel stupid.

You fan open part of your outfit, hoping in vain to let more air in to cool yourself down. Freaking out like this isn't a good look. After a couple minutes, you start to feel a little better. The flush of your cheeks is fading, and you miraculously avoided breaking into an anxious sweat.

Sighing, you puff out your lips, you just sent texts to your closest friend about how massively you fumbled the bag. They laughed at you, while you scream-spammed the chat in horror. They did end up reassuring you that you were overreacting, that it was not in fact the end of the world. You thanked them before turning off your phone. You get up, dust yourself off a little before wandering back to the food table; finding yourself in front of the disposable drink cups, grabbing one. Gazing to the left, you find the water. You watch the water slowly drizzle into your cup, before downing the glass in a couple large gulps. Still thirsty, you fill it up again before returning to your seat.

Man, what a day, go to a beautiful wedding, see your friend get married, then fumble the biggest bag ever. You mentally kick yourself, even though on the outside, you look completely normal, sipping on your cup naturally.

Bouncing your foot a bit, you lean forward to scroll on your phone, hoping to find something interesting to pass the time and distract you. You're scrolling for about 5 minutes before someone sits next to you. Out of politeness you don't look, thinking it's another guest needing a seat.

"Soo, about that cupcake. I ate it, definitely. But I felt a little bad. Here." The person next to you says, snapping you out of your doom scrolling.

Why. Why why why. Is all you can think. They're fucking with you, haunting you. All over a cupcake. You look over and see they've got a small plate with another damn cupcake on it.

"Oh im- I'm not hungry anymore, thanks though." You try to nicely deflect, hoping they'll catch the hint and let you die in shame, alone.

"Hmm, okay!" They say, they turn to face forward, unwrapping it for themself. They take a bite and bounce one of their legs, and you wonder why they're torturing you. They hum to themself as they continue to eat.

God. Please just go away...

They put their plate down and dust their hands, somehow already finishing the sickeningly sweet treat. "So." They state, placing both hands on either side of their seat, leaning forward, looking towards you. "Whatcha doing over here all by yourself?" They ask curiously.

"Well uh-" You clear your throat, "My friend’s the groom, it's his wedding. But I don't really know anyone else but him." You shrug, trying to relax and ease into conversation with them.

"Yeah, know how that feels." They say, sympathetically. "Wellll." They draw out the word, as if to emphasize it. "I was thinkin’ you could come to our table! I hate seeing anyone left out." Their smile is reassuring, until they start smirking. "Even. If. They stare at other people's food."

Ok, you can't help it. You groan at their jab, while dragging a hand down your face. "Man, you will not drop that, huh?" You say, only a little less embarrassed this time.

"Nope!" They tease, clearly getting a kick outta this.

"You know what, I barely know you and you're already the worst." You joke, and your brain nearly breaks in two when they giggle at it. Their shoulders shake and they grin, still looking at you. You can't help but smile, even while trying really hard not to. They were stunning, cute and worst of all, infuriating.

"Sorry for staring earlier...I was trying to see... your cufflinks." You say, clearly lying. As if desperately attempting to get out of the cupcake joke jail.

"Hmmm." They hum, unbelieving, eyebrows raised and nodding. "Well, too bad I don't have those." They smile, raising a hand up to show off their sleeve.

You instantly cringe, caught once again. "Oh right." You mumble out, pursing your lips. Damn, you're fighting for your fucking life over here.

Your reaction makes them laugh. An honest to god laugh, and it's loud. They're finding WAY too much amusement in proving you wrong and you don't know why. Despite the embarrassment, you were now enjoying yourself. Talking to them, joking around, even if it's at your expense. Their laugh is almost contagious, and they've got the prettiest smile you've ever seen.

"So.. what's your name?" You ask, your left hand fiddling anxiously at your side. Their laugh simmers down, and they sigh like they just heard the funniest joke in the world.

They hold their hand out towards you, "Sloane, yours?" You grab their hand and shake it, their grip firm. Your brain almost short circuits, realizing how much larger their hand is to yours. You say your name, and they repeat it.

"It's nice to meet you!" They say, shaking your hand once more before letting it go.

"Sloane is a really pretty name." You state, trying to make conversation. Totally, 100% not flirting with them, of course.

"Awe shucks, you think so? Well I like yours too." They shoot back, their cheerful glow never dropping. They look over, and you do the same. You see them eyeing the table they came from. It appears someone stole their seat.

"Oh, I'm sorry." You immediately apologize, feeling bad that their place was taken while talking to you. They shake their head and huff a little laugh, their curly hair bouncing.

"Why're you sorry? Don't be. Plus, it's no biggie." They say nonchalantly, genuinely unphased. They crack a smile and lean forward, as if they're sharing a secret. "Don't worry, I'll get back at them." They whisper, a mischievous gleam in their eyes.

You giggle, and pull back a little. "What're you gonna do huh?"

They pull an inquisitive face, staring up at the ceiling almost performatively. "I dunno! Maybe I'll put confetti in all of their tents!" They announce, toying with the idea. You couldn't tell if they're serious or not.

"You probably shouldn't do that." You jokingly warn, thinking abt how much of a pain confetti would be to get out of a tent. Much less the sleeping bags.

Sloane grins, shining that gorgeous smile again. They seem to be the happiest person in the world. "Well, that's what they get for kicking me out of my own seat!"

You shake your head and let out a small chuckle, "You really are something."

They push you by the shoulder a bit, "I'm a great something I'll have you know." They joke, before settling back in their seat.

Silence settles over the two of you for a bit, and it nearly becomes unbearable. That is until music begins to play. The lights towards the middle of the room light up, and the rest are dimmed to create a spotlight effect. The happy couple's chosen song is playing, and you watch as they approach the center of the room, beginning to dance. You smile, and awe at the sight. Seeing your friend so happy and glowing was truly a treat.

Sloane also watches, they love parties and weddings. Seeing two people so in love is one of life's many treasures. They look over towards you and see you recording your friends dance, they allow a small smile creep onto their face. They admire your side profile and the way your hair compliments you perfectly. You are eye-catching, and the way you practically folded over a cupcake earlier was hilarious. They love funny things, so they've GOT to get to know you. Exploring is one of their favorite things after all.

They settle back and turn their attention to the dance. Eventually the music begins to wind down, and one of the grooms leaves the dance floor. It's the parents' dance, they think. Now that it isn't your friend out there, you click off the record button and look over to Sloane.

"So, what brings you here?" You ask, making conversation with them. They turn their head to face you, their hands loosely clasped together on their lap.

"I'm from the wayfinders society! The other groom, Rey, is my good friend." They chirp, pointing at your friends now husband. "Y’know, me and him got lost once in a cave! Scary stuff, didn't know if we'd make it out." They said dramatically, waggling their fingers in your direction.

"You serious??" You furrow your brow, and lean forward incredulously. Their warm dark eyes look back to their friend, and they nod. "Yeah, it was a couple years ago. We lost sight of our team, and couldn't find our way out. I ended up drilling us a new exit. Real risky doing that but we didn't have a choice." Sloane recounts, "Could've been worse!" They add, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"That's crazy, I could never do anything like that." You tap your foot against the ground, even thinking about that type of stuff gets you wound up.

They turn back to you with a hum and smile, "Well, you never know until you try! Exploring is the best thing I've ever done for myself, I love it. Seeing what the world was like before us… finding the rocks and gems the earth has made. It's real worth it." Their passion is evident, every word they speak has them glowing. You admit it's rather charming, seeing them so in love with their work.

"Man, that's so cool." You state warmly. "You got a really cool job, Sloane. You got the job little kids dream of."

They smile genuinely, really happy with the thought. "Well my abuela always said to follow your dreams, so I did. What about you? What's your dream?" They gently nudge your shoe with theirs.

"Hmmm, well. I guess I'm still trying to figure that out." You hum, looking at the ground. Your interests aren't nearly as exciting as theirs. Working one dead end job to the next, just trying to make ends meet. "Thinking tattooing, honestly." You add, looking up at them.

Sloane gasps, eyes widening. "That's so awesome though! I love tattoos, I've got at least four or five." They pull down the collar of their button down to reveal more of the flames tattooed across their neck. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't already noticed it. Wanting to see how far down it goes.

Quickly, you bat those thoughts away. Sticking to complimenting the line work and blocking of their tattoo. You ask what others they've got, and they explain all the patchwork they've got done on their arms. Some historical, some cool, some just to have a piece of the places they've been. They even mention a larger one on their thigh, a dinosaur skull with flowers. You try not to sound too interested in seeing them while asking if they have pictures.

The conversation between you and Sloane runs smoothly, chattering about your lives and cracking jokes at one another's expense. The dancing at the party is now in full swing, guests of all types littering the dance floor. It's now completely dark outside, save for the lighting inside the venue. The lamps hanging from the ceiling are dimly glowing, the lanterns now back to their full glow. You even spot fireflies outside the venue, blinking on and off, flying into the wedding space and out. The place is truly beautiful.

The strumming of a bass fills the venue, an electronic guitar complimenting it perfectly. You recognize it instantly, as it's a song you've come to enjoy. Your new friend, Sloane, practically jumps out of their skin in excitement. They quickly whip their head to look at you while whisper shouting, "I love this song!!"

They bolt up, staring at the dance floor as both their feet hit the ground with a soft thud. They twirl their whole body around, looking at you with an outstretched hand, "Come dance with me??" They frantically blurt out.

You look dumbly at Sloane before slinking back into your chair a bit, cringing. "No no- I don't dance." While waving a hand in their direction dismissively. You're hesitant and it's obvious. The idea of getting in the middle of a bunch of people and dancing. God, not what you were made for.

You were telling the truth, you don't dance! Anyone seeing you attempt to dance may need an ambulance. Sloane slumps by your reaction, and pokes conversationally, "Aww c’monnn, pretty please? With cherries on top? One song?" They say, leaning backwards a bit on the heels of their feet while keeping their upper body forward. They begin pouting a lip out and sporting their best puppy dog eyes, hoping it'll help sway their case.

Nervously, you rub your pointer finger across your thumb. This is not what I signed up for, you think as your lips form a line, eyes locking with Sloanes, trying to will yourself into saying no.

Damn.

You can't. You can't say no! You know you'd kick yourself later if you left without dancing with them. They're everything you like in someone, striking, funny, passionate... You internally groan, searching their dark eyes for a way out. Sadly, there isn't one. Their eyes only plead and beg.

And well... who are you to deny them?

Breathing in a deep, deep sigh, you fold, "Okayy. Okay." You say, holding both hands up, signaling defeat.

Sloane is about to shout out a glorious, loud YES before you cut them off with a finger up. "But first, a shot of liquid courage." You say, pushing yourself up from your chair, walking towards the end of the food table. There lay countless plastic shot glasses full of vodka. You pluck one from the rim of the platter.

Sloane watches as you down the drink, admiring the way your throat moves to swallow. They snort when they see you pulling a face.

"C'mon- c'mon- the song is already going." They bounce, having to fight the urge to just drag you onto the dance floor themself. Shaking your head, you wipe away the grimace on your face and discard the tiny shot glass into the nearby garbage.

They grab your hand and pull you into the crowd, though they seem somewhat aware of your aversion to it. So they lead you towards a less populated end of the floor, despite this, nearly everyone at the wedding was dancing. So you were still around a decent amount of people. They smile wide, looking off into the gaggle of party goers. You find it ironic this is the song you're dancing to, the lyrics playing loudly.

We've got nowhere to go

We've got nothing to prove

Instead of dancing alone

I should be dancing with you

The lyrics are slightly erotic, even, but you don't have much time to ponder it when they turn back to face you. They release your hand, before snapping their fingers in tune with the beat and swaying their hips. You giggle, your cheeks and stomach buzzing from the alcohol. Unfortunately for Sloane, you do not know how to dance. Not well at least, they laugh, watching you sway awkwardly. "You don't dance do you?" They ask, almost having to shout to be heard over the clamor of people and music.

"No, not really!" You reply, before admitting, "I don't wanna look dumb!"

"Look dumb?! I'll show you dumb." They jest, backing up a bit to give themself some space. With their eyes locked onto yours, they bend their knees while bringing their right hand towards their head, palm open. They're walking towards you sideways, left hand swiping back and forth to their side and front. You about shit yourself, recoiling in shock and laughing. They continue though, bringing both hands up in fists towards their head, pumping them as they shake their hips, still approaching you.

"What are you doing!!" You shout, cracking up at their absurdity. They finally pivot fully towards you, bending forward and moving their hands in circles. They finish off their charade with a performative strut your way, palms open in a dramatic walk.

They laugh, grabbing one of your hands and pulling you further into the floor. "I'm dancing!! You should try it sometime!" They jive, sticking their tongue out. "I'm just saying, no one can look sillier than me!" You roll your eyes and shake your head. The smile never leaving your face.

They grab your other hand and start dancing for you, swaying you side to side. You can't help but giggle, letting them have their fun. You sway your hips and release their hands, moving yours back, snapping your fingers while doing circles and stepping side to side. Their grin widens and they yell, "Hell yeah! get it!!" Encouraging you.

Smiling big, you continue attempting to dance with them. Sloane closes their eyes and lets themself feel the music, they move their feet expertly, and their arm movements intentionally. Seeing this makes you realize they definitely know how to dance. Your eyes explore them, their body and the way they move. It feels dirty watching them like this…But they invited you to dance, you think maybe they want you to watch them. Enjoy them, drink them up.

It feels as though they've already wrapped you around their finger. You feel sadness bubble that the song is already ending. Luckily the next song that plays doesn't disappoint, more bass-y than the last. This one still just as popular as the day it released.

You let yourself loosen, swaying your full body in rhythm with the bass as the song goes on. Sloane is looking at you again, and you daringly strut around them, stepping in beat with the drums. Alcohol does wonders for self esteem. They wait for you to come back around before stepping close, pulling you in by the hand. You raise an eyebrow, checking them with a grin, before gleefully walking back, shuffling your feet in tune with the music then pulling them towards you. They follow excitedly, their foot work impressive as they step towards you. They raise your held hand up as they approach and you twirl around to face them once more. Confidence runs through you at this point, letting go of the hand above you. You bring your free hand up quickly, placing it on their chest before grabbing their opposite hand. They're grinning so hard, pulling back, until your arms are taunt. Then jerking you towards them, you turn so your back hits their chest. Sloane has one hand around your front, hugging you just beneath your chest. The other holding your hip, their head resting next to yours. You both just sway now, enjoying each other's company and the music. "This okay?" They ask in your ear, the tone in their voice dropping low.

"Huh?" You say loudly, turning to face them.

"I asked if this is okay!" They announced a little louder, and closer to your ear.

"Yeah!" You affirm happily, like this is the best day of your life.

Do I wanna know?

If these feelings flow both ways.

Sad to see you go.

Sorta hoping that you'd stay.

Baby we both know.

That the nights were mainly made for sayin' things.

That you can't say tomorrow day.

Dancing with them like this, swaying side to side feels almost romantic. And you're having a really hard time ignoring that fact. That coupled with your already burning attraction has you dizzy. You could stay here forever. Another song passes by, and you both continue dancing with one another. At one point, you fumble through a waltz before they twirl and dip you. Despite having the time of your life, exhaustion was quickly catching up. Feeling a bit hot, and tired, holding both their hands, you turn around.

Looking up at Sloane, you truly get to admire their beauty. They've got beautiful curls, swooping and gentle. Their hair is natural, soft looking, and when you danced you could even smell their shampoo. Their eyes are a deep brown, rich like the dirt they so love digging through. You finally notice their eyebrow piercing as well, and you bite your lip. It suits them. You think.

The longer you analyze their features, you wonder how the hell they're even real. How someone could look as perfect as them, be as charming as them. It nearly drives you mad. They smile a little, their eyes darting away. Their flushed cheeks grow a little redder at your prolonged staring. You smile a little, this is the first time you've seen them at least a little bashful. It's adorable.

The music is playing quietly now, seeing as most of the guests vacated the dance floor. Only a few stragglers are left, you included. So now you can properly talk to them.

"You know earlier... I wasn't exactly looking at the cupcakes…” You purse your lips, and squint your eyes, as if to will yourself to get the words out.

“I was staring at you." You chew your lip, looking away shyly. This confession could make or break this… whatever this is. You certainly don't wanna break it. While nervous, you had a feeling they would respond positively.

Their eyes snap back towards you, and they let themself smile, raising an eyebrow. "Ohhh, I'm that pretty, huh?" They tease.

You sigh and roll your eyes, they really are such a bastard. "Yeah yeah, whatever." You mutter, playfully pushing their shoulder. Not risking stroking their ego any further.

"No no, tell me, was it the bowtie?" They snicker, pushing their chest out a bit to really show it off.

You shake your head, running your hands up from their own and readjusting their accessory. “Yes, it was the bowtie, all I wanted was you, bowtie.” You whisper at their chest, pulling the sides of the bow.

“Psh,” They chuckle, “Okay for real! What was it, huh?” They say, flashing their signature grin while raising their eyebrows suggestively. Perhaps telling them was a bad idea, you purse your lips again, realizing they'll bother you forever until you tell them. It seems like they're DYING to know.

You hum, dropping your head onto their chest. With one hand still on their chest, you let your other trail down their arm before grasping theirs, bringing it up towards you. Flipping it palm up, you let your free hand lightly touch their palm. "Your hands, I like them. I was looking at them." Dragging your fingers along their palm, you feel every callous and rough patch of skin. You turn them over to admire their nail polish and knuckles. You even start to massage in-between their fingers, just soaking up the fact that you can touch them like this, and they're allowing you to.

They seem to be at a loss for words, and you figure that doesn't happen too often. Smiling, you walk your fingers up their arm and to their shoulder to rest it there, bringing your other arm up to mirror it. Their hands come up to your waist and bring you close. While enjoying the embrace, you weren't expecting them to shake you and hug you in tightly. They groan into your shoulder, as if frustrated. You puff out a laugh at their weirdness.

"Sorry- you're just so cute." They say, pulling back. "I just met you and you already got me in stitches." They admit, kicking the dirt by your feet. You figure instant attraction to a stranger is just as new to you as it is to them.

"Well..." You start, not even sure what to say. "We can… go back to my room? I'm staying at a hotel nearby. We can hang out, talk...see where it takes us?" Your voice raises at the end of your sentence, as if a little worried they'll say no. That's another lie, you were a LOT worried they'll say no, denying you any more of their time.

Your anxiety is evident as your eyes search their face for a clue, a glimmer of what they might say. Of what they could be thinking.

Sloane looks at you with tenderness. Such sweetness you could melt. They bring a hand up to cup the side of your face, rubbing their thumb across it. "I'd like that." They say, their voice seems to tighten as if they're both excited and nervous about the proposition.

Yeah, usually parties suck. But this one? This one was amazing.

#i proof read this like 2983 times and so did my bf and then also another friend so if theres a typo im sorry im stupid #venture x reader #sloane cameron #sloan cameron #overwatch #self insert #overwatch 2 #venture overwatch #great googily moogily that thang is juicey #crazy i wrote a fanfiction #also the songs are out of control by she wants revenge and then do i wanna know by arctic monkeys

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klanced · 3 months ago

Note

My theory is that he plays voltron. The robot.

this would actually be the best possible outcome

#LIKE THE FACE MODEL? im going to die.#okay but sincere question: is henry cavill well-versed in voltron lore? is this like another one of his nerd fantasy roles #i want him to show up on set day one with a binder full of fanfiction he wrote in the 90s #ask #anonymous

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emloafs · 26 days ago

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binary boyfriends x to all the boys i've loved before au

Eli likes to consider himself a pretty tough guy. He can take almost anyone in a fight and come out on top. Not that he’s bragging. But, there’s not much anyone can do or say to get under his skin anymore. Inner peace and balance and all that shit.

You wouldn’t think a small blue envelope would be the thing to crumble this hard exterior and send him running.

That would be ridiculous.

“El Serpiente!” Eli greets in place of a ‘good morning.’

As far as mornings before class go, neither Eli nor Miguel are ever that chipper. But as Miguel half-heartedly responds to their signature handshake, Eli can tell something else is up. Miguel looks completely out of it.

“Hey,” Miguel says with a tight smile that resembles a grimace.

Eli quirks an eyebrow. “What’s up with you?”

Miguel sighs audibly. He purses his lips and meets Eli’s eye. “We should talk.”

Eli feels a tight knot form in his stomach. That’s never a great line to hear, no matter who it comes from.

“Okay, what’s up?” He responds, trying to sound nonchalant.

Miguel bites his lip and hesitates. He scratches at his neck and starts, “I’m flattered and everything, don’t get me wrong but…” Miguel shoulders his backpack to one side so that he can reach into it. He yanks at the zipper of the front pocket. “I just- I really had no idea, you know? You’re my brother. I love you like a brother. And- things with Sam have been tough in the past, but we’re finally in a good place-”

“Wait- what?” Eli furrows his brow. What the hell is Miguel talking about?

Eli watches as Miguel pulls out a small blue envelope from his bag. It has a stamp with a little American flag in the top right corner, and Miguel’s name and address in the middle. Eli’s own name is in tiny lettering in the lefthand corner. Eli doesn’t need to see it to know exactly what is written on it, though. Or what’s written in it, for that matter.

His heart stops in his chest. Or at least it feels like it does. He can’t breathe. Eli is distantly aware that Miguel is still talking, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking sheepish. The hum of the hallway noise around him turns into a muffle and fades into the background. Eli hasn’t had a panic attack in years–he honestly thought he forgot what they felt like–but as his chest tightens and his breath quickens, he feels like collapsing.

“I care about you, man. I just don’t want anything to change between us,” he hears Miguel say.

Eli can’t answer. He feels frozen. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. His hand flies to his chest as if that will somehow clear his breathing pathway and shake him out of his panic. He jumps when Miguel places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Miguel’s eyes widen. “Woah- hey, Hawk, it’s just me. Are you okay?”

Eli swallows roughly and tries his best to count evenly, matching the length of his inhales and exhales. It doesn’t work very well. Maybe he’s too out of practice. Eli’s mind races.

He wants to ask Miguel a million questions, starting with where the hell did you get this? but something catches his eye over Miguel’s shoulder.

Eli sort of has a sixth sense for when his best friend is around. He thinks it’s a side effect of being attached at the hip from such a young age. It’s not for any other reason. Why else would his head perk up when Demetri walks into a room?

Usually seeing Demetri would light Eli up. As Eli catches him walking towards them, it really should be no different. Except Demetri is sort of marching towards them as if he’s on a mission–shoulders set back, a slight frown tugging at the edges of his mouth, eyebrows knitted together. And he’s clutching something in his hand. Eli squints to make it out.

It’s an envelope. A letter, for that matter, nearly identical to the one in Miguel tugged out of his backpack.

It’s a letter that Eli swore would never see the existence of a world outside of his bedroom. It’s a letter that certainly should not be in Demetri’s hand.

Shit.

Eli has been programmed to strike first and to strike hard. In karate or in any fight, that’s easy. But, right now, when given the option of fight or flight, it seems his body still reacts to its natural instinct to get the hell out of there when facing danger. Running from bullies was his everyday experience when he started high school. So, as his panic bubbles up inside of him, there isn’t much of a cognitive decision involved.

So again, to clarify, Eli doesn’t run from a fight. But he does run from this.

The sound of the bell rattles out in the hallways like a saving grace. And, without another word to Miguel, Eli bolts in the opposite direction of Demetri.

“Hawk, wha- Hawk!” Miguel shouts after him.

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hedwig221b · 1 year ago

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Breathing heavily, Derek turned around and marched out of the room, trying to rein in his wolf. He knew he lost control over his appearance: the skin on his face tickled with growing fur, sharp points of deadly fangs dug into his lower lip.

Derek had to see him. Right now, to make sure none of them got to him, to see for himself that Stiles was safe and whole. That the boy was his, still.

Not a day has gone without him dreaming of Stiles. He was a constant presence in the wolf’s mind, driving him insane with want and longing.

No, Derek would never leave him, never give him over to another’s dirty hands. He’ll fight for the boy till death. Tear apart anyone who had the misfortune of touching him.

The door opened after three loud thuds. Derek didn’t have any space for guilt in his heart at waking the undoubtedly tired Stiles up, all of it taken by irresistible want.

Stiles’ eyes were wide open in surprise and just a tiny bit of wariness. His hands were clutching the soft white nightgown, keeping it closed over his naked chest. Derek’s gleaming red eyes followed the tantalizing length of his neck, stopping at the sight of his bare collarbones, peeking out of the gown. A pink sleepy blush adorned his cheeks, cupping his soft half-opened lips.

They ought to have the sweetest taste.

Both of them stared at each other in silence. Stiles was probably too shocked that Derek approached him again at such a late hour, nonetheless; Derek, however, lost any train of thought upon seeing this exquisite being, so teasing in his innocent softness and naïve trust. Anger left him all at once, leaving him breathless at the sight of the angel.

“Don’t open the door so readily,” Derek’s mutter was akin to a rumble. “You’re too beautiful for that.”

Stiles’ breath hitched and his heart started its quick rabbit pace again. He frowned a bit as if Derek’s compliment somehow offended him; he probably didn’t even realize his lips formed into the cutest pout. The most delicious prey was in front of Derek, and he couldn’t even have a taste. Not yet.

He wanted to kiss the tips of Stiles’ long fingers, bite into the soft insides of his thighs, leave marks all over his neck and trace the helpful path of his moles leading to his devastating lips to kiss and claim and take.

But Derek couldn’t do that for fear of spooking him. It was too early. But how could he possibly leave him right now?

Derek gently took Stiles’ slack hand, his heart stuttering at the sight of it, small in comparison to his wolf’s one. Miraculously, Stiles didn’t pull away. Derek lifted his soft hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then on the inside of his wrist, before inhaling.

The bright red of his eyes reflected in Stiles’ soft brown ones. The blush on Stiles’ pretty face deepened and traveled down, calling to Derek’s predatory instincts to follow, to lick and bite.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Derek grunted. When Stiles inhaled to retort, Derek caught his chin and pressed a finger against his lips, making the boy freeze in place, eyes impossibly wide. The wolf in him howled at the sharp scent of arousal emanating from his body. “Don’t argue. I expected it. Wolves don’t trust easily, too. I just wanted you to know that… I’m sorry. I was selfish and didn’t see what was in front of me. You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

It was a thought that grew in his mind, spread to his heart and took root there, reincorporating into a deep desire and a vital need. Derek will take care of him and his little pup, he’ll bring the hearts of his enemies and put them at the boy’s feet. He’ll court and he’ll conquer.

“Lock the door,” he said, forcing himself to step away. “Don’t open until the sun rises.”

Once again, Stiles said nothing. He blinked as if coming out of a stupor, then gave a tiny nod, before slowly closing the door, casting inquisitive glances at Derek. The door shut with a soft thud; a heavy lock slid into place with an unpleasant scrape.

Derek leaned towards the door, knowing that Stiles was probably leaning on it to eavesdrop. Curious kitten.

“Good boy,” he murmured and laughed soundlessly at the shy squeak on the other side, followed by hastily retreating footfalls.

The smile felt unfamiliar on Derek’s ferine face, and he lost it quite quickly. This precious boy made it so easy to feel joy again, almost uncomfortably so.

If only Stiles chose to never leave his side, the wolf would bring him the freedom he craved. It will be his final courting gift. Stiles had no idea what he got himself into by allowing Derek’s name to fall from his lips that fateful day a year ago. He would soon learn the true power of being under the wolf’s protection and possession.

He’ll never have to fear and pretend ever again. His sweet boy. His Stiles.

Read the whole story on ao3

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sunsetsandsunshine · 3 months ago

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~ 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝…? ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝟷𝟷: 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙴˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 (𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 💗)

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷,𝟽𝟿𝟻

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢….𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚖𝚎 *𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎*

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚢𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚊.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝚈 𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙾 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙻𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝙼𝙶‼️‼️‼️˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Dreams were one thing.

Mikey loved dreams.

He adored dreams in fact.

It was…his escape from reality; sort of like drawing in a sense. Except, when he dreamt…he didn’t have to do a single thing.

He could do anything he wanted…whenever he wanted without having to get the 'a-okay' from anyone.

And plus, the best part about dreams was that if there was an ice cream cat barfing up sprinkles…Mikey wouldn’t question it oneeeeee bit.

That was the magical part about dreams.

But…there were always two sides to a coin.

…Nightmares…were the opposite of dreams…

…And they were a whole other thing.

They could turn your most happiest memories and moments into horrid and scary ones.

It could turn the most greenest of valleys into nothing but dry ash, blowing away in the wind and fluttering and intoxicating the air.

Or…perhaps…maybe nightmares were just…lonely.

Perhaps…it was just lonely to be alone, watching you sit in your room as you break into cold sweat, the darkness weighing you down like a ton of bricks.

And maybe the nightmares wanted you to be there with it…so it wouldn’t have to be alone…

'I could be lonely with you' as Beach Bunny would say…

But back to the initial topic, Michelangelo always hated having nightmares.

But what he hated more was not even remembering what said nightmares was about.

It was terrifying for sure— I mean— he woke up from it so it must’ve been really…bad…right?

The box turtle sighed loudly, running a tired and shaky hand down his face.

…He should probably get some water while he’s awake; his mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert.

Or, better yet, Mikey could go find his brothers.

Well…one of them. Or at least see if anyone was awake.

The light scarlet eyed mutant hopped down from his bed, hugging himself with one of his blankets as he made his way towards the hallway, the darkness almost consuming him in the process.

Even as a little kid, the box turtle was never fond of the dark.

…You could never see beyond it.

It was cold and…just, well, dark in general if that makes sense.

Michelangelo never understood the appeal some people had to it.

The only time he did welcome darkness, though, was when there was light occumpining it.

Like the moon.

Or the stars.

Or even car lights!

It was Mikey’s small reminder that no matter where he was, there was always some glow or gleam with him…

So relitavley speaking, he should head to where the nearest light was…which was his immiediate older brother’s room.

The smallest turtle opened Leo’s car door ever so slightly, peeking inside to see a very sound sleeping slider.

The youngest buried down his disappointment as he quietly closed the door, going back into the darkness once more.

Leo barely got any sleep as is…

…And besides…the chance of accidentally waking him up was waaaay too high.

It was fine, anyway. Mikey could try going to Raph’s!

Michelangelo dragged his orange blanket with him, putting it around his shoulders as he tip-toed to Raphael’s room…surely he was awake, right?

“Raph…?” The youngest called out quietly, looking into his older brother’s room. The smallest mutant wasn’t greeted with a small grunt of acknowlgemnt nor a kind Raph greeting.

What the light scarlet eyed teen was greeted with, though, was a loud, ear pierecing snore from the snapping turtle.

Mikey snickered softly at his brother’s loud noises, going into the room and giving him his favorite Squishmello that was on the floor.

The alligator snapping turtle smiled in his sleep, squishing the plushie to his chest and his tail wagged slightly. The smaller turtle giggled at the action, walking out and closing the car door.

Alright…so the odd’s on Donnie being up…were…rather…slim but it was fine!

Quite very much fine.

If the softshell was asleep, the light scarlet eyed mutant would just hed back to his room…alone; in complete darkness.

…But it would be fine…!

Probably.

The box turtle quickly and quietly shimmied to his purple loving brother’s room buuut not before tripping over his own feet and stumbling in front of Donnie’s train car door.

And Mikey was supposed to be a ninja…pfft, yeah right.

The youngest turtle got up on his feet, brushing off his knees and shoulders as he grabbed his blanket from the floor.

Maybe if he just stood perfectly still until the crack of dawn…Donnie wouldn’t wake up…!

Besides, it’s not like the softshell heard him or anything.

“I can hear you trying to be quiet over there, Mikes.” The second oldest deadpanned, turning around of his bed so him and his little brother shared eye contact.

Well shit…

The youngest’s stomach twisted and turned with guilt, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned on the doorway nervously, “Oh! H-Hey, Dee…sorry…did I wake you up…?” Michelangelo asked guiltily.

“Eh, kinda. But it’s alright.” Donatello yawned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on his bed, reaching for his desk as he put on his glasses.

“…Are you going to come into my very humble abode or are you just going to continue to stand there?” The taller turtle asked, squinting into the darkness where the youngest was almost being consumed by.

Mikey shook his head ever so slightly, closing the door and hopping into Donnie’s bed with his blanket. The elder hugged the smaller turtle tight, rubbing his shell gently as Michelangelo melted into the embrace.

The box turtle buried his face in his older brother’s chest as the other rested his chin at the top of the smallest turtle’s head, “Mhmmmm…your warm as fuck…”

Donnie bit back a loud laugh, instead, smiling faintly as he rolled his eyes fondly.

Typical Mikey…

The second oldest wrapped his younger brother tighter in the hug, “Your literally using me as a blanket right now. I’m not your own personal heater, y'know.”

“Ehhhh…you kinda are to be honest.” The other snickered.

“Oh? You're just using me for my body heat, huh? And here I thought you loved me for me…” Donatello sniffled theatrically, wiping away a fake tear for dramatic effect.

“I do! But I also love you for your body heat.” The younger turtle giggled snarkily.

Donnie scoffed, shaking his head slightly as he smiled; he couldn’t help but chuckle faintly.

"You're such a dunderhead, y'know that?” The older said as he scribbled at the youngest’s sides, grinning as Mikey almost immediatley squealed with laughter.

“Here I am, pouring my heart out to you, being all sentimental and caring...and all you care about is my toasty body heat.” Donatello fake seethed, scribbling where the younger’s plastron met his shell.

Michelangelo screeched loudly at his brothers squiggly and wriggly fingers, hugging his middles before turning around so his shell faced the young scientist.

The light scarlet eyed turtle squealed, kicking his legs from under the bed sheets as his brother continued to tickle him, “N-NohoHAH! D-Deehee cahahome ohon dohon’t doohoo thihihis!” He squeaked, pulling on Donatello’s arms.

“And where do you think you’re going, little brother?” The taller turtle asked, wrapping one arm around Mikey’s chest so his arms were at his sides. “You’re not going anywhere~!” Donnie grinned before scribbling his free hand all long the younger’s stomach.

“OHO FAHAAAHACK! DEEHEE NOHO STAHAP!! THAHAT’S SOHO SOHO BAHAHAD!!!” Michelangelo screeched whilst laughing loudly and hysterically, kicking his legs so much that the blankets soared high in the air and fell on the floor.

'And she was a fairy' ahh moment…

“I’m going to tickle you foreveeeeer! Eeheevihil lahahaugh!” The purple hoodie wearing mutant announced as he nibbled the crook of his baby brother’s neck.

Donnie laughed along with the other, his mind flashing back to times when they were very little…

…When they would lay together in the dark with fairy lights hung around the ceiling, infodumping about shows and movies as he would hold his younger brother close to him to keep him warm…

…It was just like when they were little kids.

Well, almost like when they were little kids.

In their early childhood years there was definetly less hyena cackling…that was for sure.

“GAHAHAD DAHA— squeal NOOOHOHOHO!” The younger mutant squealed, shaking his head as a faint blush spread to his cheeks.

“Yeeeeeeees~!” Donatello playfully cooed, “And stop your loud Tom-foolery! You’re going to wake up the entire lair!”

“THEHEN STAH— squeal!! GOHOD— squeak SCREHEHEW YAHA— YOHOU! STOHOHAP TIHICKLING squeak MEEHEEHEE!” Mikey yelled through his laughs.

“But you looooove it~!” The other smugly countered.

“DEEEEEHEEHEE! PLAHAHEASE! YOHOUR GOHOHONNA KILL MEEHEE!!”

“Kill yohou?” The elder mutant asked in awe, pausing the tickling for a split second before mercilessly prodding where the other’s ribs would be.

The reaction was almost immediate as Michelangelo let out a loud, genuine scream before descending into hysterical fits of laughter.

Mikey thrashed and squealed helplessly, throwing his head back on his older brother’s shoulder. “DOHOHAHA— squeak DOHOHAHANNIE!!”

“You are conversing with Donatello; yes?”

“PLAHAHAHEASE!”

“Please what~? Pleeeeease keep tickling you~? Pleeeeease tickle tickle your oh-so ticklish ribs~?”

“N-NAHAH! THAHAT IHIS NOHOT WHAHA— squeal IHI DIDN’T MEEEHEAN THAHAAAT!”

The softshell chuckled lowly, holding his baby brother’s wrists above his head as he lightly nibbled his ribs.

The box turtle squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back once more as he could do nothing but happily laugh.

“D'awww~! Are Mikey’s wittle wibs tickwish~?” Donnie teased, using his free hand to flutter along the orange cladded turtle’s neck.

“AAAAAHAHAHAH— SQUEAK!! NONONOHOHO! DEEHEE DEEHEE NOHO— SQUEAK SQUEAK— NAHAHA— SQUEAL— NOHO MOHOHORE!!!”

“No more~? Are you sure~?”

“YEHAHAHAH! YEHEHES YEHE— SQUEAL YEHEHES!!”

Donnie gave his brother one last poke at the rib before stopping and hugging him from behind, resuming the gentle shell rubs. “I guess I really am nothing more than your own personal heater, hm? Just a walking furnace at your command…”

The box turtle mutant groaned loudly, flicking the taller turtle’s forehead slightly, “Deeeehee yohou knohow damn wehell thahahat’s nohot true.” Mikey pouted, snuggling in the embarce.

"Yeah, yeah…I know, I know. You supposedly love me for more than just my body heat.”Donatello said as he let out a huff of laughter and rolled his eyes.

The elder wrapped his arms tighter around his brother, resting his chin on the orange cladded teen’s head once more.

The smaller turtle giggled at the action before yawning, snuggling into the other’s plastron, “Lohove yohou, dorkwad…”

“Pfft— dorkwad? Is that the best you can do? Really?” The softshell snickered.

“Is ahass faced Atomic Lahass fuhucker good enohough fohor you?” The box turtle asked snarkily.

“I’ll stick with dorkwad, thanks.” The older giggled.

“That’s whahat I thohought.” Mikey grinned as he yawned, resting on his face on his brother’s chest, “Lohove you, Dee.”

“I love you too, Angelo.”

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

#Rottmnt tickle #Rottmnt tickle fic #Rottmnt tickle fanfiction #Tickletober #Tickletober 2024 #Lee!Mikey #Ler!Donnie #Another PB&J fic⁉️⁉️⁉️#Yes‼️‼️‼️#Am I sorry I wrote them again for the millionth time⁉️⁉️⁉️#FUUUUUUCK NO‼️‼️‼️#They’re not even my fave duo 😭🫶🏾#REAL ONES KNOW WHO MY FAVE RISE DUO IS EEEEE #Sorry if the beginning is cringy I wanted to be……..#✨Poetic✨#AND JUST CAME FROM A PARTY #I ATE MY DRESS UP 🤝🏾🤝🏾🤝🏾🤝🏾🤝🏾🤝🏾#Got so many pics with people omgggg #And I talked to some freshman AIHFHENA they’re so adorbs #But ANYWAY #Writing Don is so unbelievably fun #Like he’s such a dork oh my GOSH 🥹💜#And I HATE when people write him wrong its just so….UGGGDGDGSHSJAJA #You don’t get him like I do type shit ✊🏾😎#I also had a weird daydream that Raph April Leo Donnie and Mikey danced to 'Calm Down' by Rema….#IF YKYK #I love being African omfg whhehehe ❤️💚💛🖤

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arahusk · 7 months ago

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It’s just so very intriguing, watching Husker drink himself to oblivion.

And yet, despite his crippling addiction, the ex-Overlord always managed to stop himself before he would truly fall under the spell of alcohol. Or he’d opt for a weak spirit to indulge in instead, one to keep him drunk, but not enough to be truly vulnerable. And such a thing just wouldn’t do at all.

So Alastor encourages him when he can. He invites himself over to the bar and asks Husker to join him in a nightcap. Or he not so subtly slides a glass of his own rye for Husker to finish up. And sometimes, he’ll simply summon a rare vintage, one that even Husker couldn’t deny.

And after a few drinks, it becomes too easy. Until the bartender is soon sitting next to him on a stool, taking every drink Alastor hands over to him, destroying himself over and over again.

On this night, Alastor places his chin on the heel of his palm, watching as Husker drinks, and drinks. He then watches as Husker nearly falls off his stool, an accident that Alastor prevents by quickly catching him by the elbow with a free hand.

“Careful,” he says softly, watching. Experiencing the sight before him. “Now, you were saying?”

Husker, when he gets like this, lets slip small details, small regrets, and lost dreams. Instead of turning angry or violent, he becomes such a sad drunk. And Alastor can’t help himself but be drawn to that.

Intriguing, for he usually hates drunks and their ways. But Husker has always been different.

“I don’t…remember,” Husker whispers, downing his glass until some of the whiskey spills down his chin. He hacks and coughs, and his wings rustle from the burn he must feel passing through his throat. “I just…keep messing up and…”

And it’s always at that point when his dear Husker starts to cry. Quietly, but the tears begin to fall. Alastor watches for a bit, relishing it, but he can never help himself.

He always needs to reach out a hand, to rush his fingers over the other’s fur, to watch as Husker can’t help but lean in to him.

Because he was also such an affectionate, needy drunk too.

“Are you lonely, Husker?” Alastor asks, his grin wide and sharp. A finger slides underneath Husker’s chin, making the other face him. Those golden eyes always seemed to shine so much brighter with the tears. “Tell me.”

There is defiance, but very briefly. Husker knows, but the alcohol swims inside his blood, and it guides him into Alastor’s hold. Led by the finger to lean against Alastor’s chest, even as he says, “No, leave me alone…”

And Alastor hums, his touches gentle on his Husker’s face. These are the times he never even needs to use the chain. Now, he likes the fight a sober Husker puts up, loves the vitriol that helps keep his daily life more exciting, but these quiet moments were just so rare that he can’t help but be hungry for more.

It is at these times that he doesn’t even need to initiate a kiss. Husker will do that himself, seeking Alastor’s mouth, his tongue hot and desperate. A sad drunk. A needy drunk who moans out his name with such a lovely voice. Perfect for radio, as Alastor tells him time and time again.

Husker loses his balance again, falling against Alastor’s chest, panting hard. Alastor licks his own lips, tasting that sweet melancholy before leaning in again.

His sweet Husker keeps crying and begging, please, please, and how could he ever refuse such a thing? Another kiss, one that makes a note ring out from the other, one that Alastor swallows up and keeps within his rib cage, like a weak and sputtering flame.

“Is my dear kitty lonely?” he asks again. “Does he want more from me?”

And his Husker nods. Hands grip the front of his coat, wings gently flap. Yes, he clearly wants more.

Alastor chuckles. “Good,” he says, before taking another kiss that his Husker so gladly gives him.

Perhaps such an addiction goes both ways, but he’ll worry about that for another time.

#hazbin hotel #radiohusk #husk #alastor #my fics #fanfiction #this is in alastor's pov so he always refers to husk as husker even in the narrative #or that's how I write it #hmm this is kinda like another fic I already wrote but a softer version lol #soft and manipulative whoops

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lauronk · 6 months ago

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I was watching a movie (that one with natalie portman) and I got an Idea. A ficlet where joel is a professional hitman (or a retired one) and ellie is his daughter. She loves him, and he is devoted for her. He is wrapped around her little finger and he knows that.

What he doesn't tell her tho? he actually killed her father for his client. He only realized there was a baby in the house when it was too late. The truth eats him alive everyday, but he will never tell her. Never.

hi anon! thank you for this prompt, it fully latched into my brain and derailed the other stuff i had planned on working on lmao i hope you enjoy!

(this time baby) i’ll be bulletproof

length: ~2.6k words

tags: pov joel; joel & ellie; modern au; death/murder; brief mentions of blood; tess is alive; kidnapping; ellie’s whole life is a lie she just doesn’t know it; joel’s a hitman so what do you expect; joel’s also a great dad, what did you expect; no beta we die like david

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Gentle finger squeeze on the trigger. Exhale.

The target drops before he even realizes he’s been shot, a small pool of blood gathering on the carpet underneath his head. The man had been nice enough - not that he’d realized it - to leave his window open, so there wasn’t even the shattering of glass to alert anyone. He’d be found in an hour or so, when his wife returned home from her nail appointment, and by then, Joel would be long gone.

Sometimes he regretted the path he’d wound up on, the way his life had diverged from everything it should have been. Joel could look back and pinpoint exactly where the fork had occurred - his daughter, a victim of the wrong place at the wrong time, one man so bent on vengeance he didn’t care who he’d hurt in the process.

He had been the first one Joel had ever killed. Twenty years later, and he hadn’t stopped.

Only difference was, now he got paid for it, and handsomely at that.

The television is still on when Joel opens the front door, and he pauses, hand on the knob. It’s entirely too late for anyone else to still be awake, and he turns his head towards the dark hallway that branches off the living room towards the back of the house.

He makes sure he makes a fair amount of noise in the process of taking off his shoes and hanging up his keys. His pistol he secures in the safe over the fireplace, making sure it’s locked again before he slides the wall panel back in place. The TV he shuts off, and he pours a glass of water before finally making his way down the hall to the second door on the left.

“Ellie?” Joel knocks gently before pressing a hand against the door and nudging it open.

She gives an exaggerated deep breath, and Joel chuckles, stepping all the way into her room. He can make out the shape of her under her covers, curled on her side, a faint hint of moonlight trickling through the window.

The glass of water he deposits on her nightstand - he knows she’ll want it later - and lowers himself carefully to sit on her mattress near her hip. Her breathing picks up and then slows again, like she thinks he hasn’t already caught on.

“C’mon, baby,” Joel shakes her shoulder gently, his voice teasing. “I know you ain’t sleepin’.”

Ellie rolls over, blinking at him owlishly. She even brings a hand up to rub her eyes, widening them comically like she’s surprised to see him. “Dad?”

“TV didn’t shut off all the way,” Joel tells her helpfully, snorting when her hand immediately falls from her face and her head flops back dramatically on her pillow.

“Fuck.”

He tucks the comforter around her a little more tightly, brushing a stray piece of hair back from her forehead. “Yeah.” Her hand comes up and wraps around his wrist, squeezing gently. “You’re pretty busted, kiddo.”

Ellie shakes the hand holding his, waggling his arm around. “Why do I even still have a bedtime? I’m fourteen. Dina and Jesse don’t have bedtimes.”

He shakes his arm right back, eliciting a small giggle from her. “Dina and Jesse ain’t been caught sneakin’ out recently, have they? Maybe that’s got somethin’ to do with it, hmm?”

Ellie huffs, but she doesn’t argue. She had been busted after all, caught down at the neighborhood pool with some other kids by Marlene, the HOA president, and brought to his door dripping wet at one a.m. Bedtime and curfew had been reinstated after that, and Ellie had three more months of probation from him before it would be lifted.

It didn’t feel good to do - he’d struggled with punishing Sarah at all too - but it let him give free rein to some of his paranoia, gave him an excuse to keep her locked in the house a little more. It wouldn’t last forever - nor should it, Joel knew well and good that Ellie needed to go out and live her own life - but while she was still young enough, he’d shield her from everything he could.

Sarah hadn’t made it to fifteen - Joel was determined to see that Ellie did.

“Get some sleep, baby girl,” he tells her softly, brushing his fingers back and forth across her forehead in the way he knows will soothe her to sleep best. It’s worked since she was a baby, and sure enough her eyes are already drifting closed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Waffles?” Ellie mumbles, rolling on her side and burying her face into her pillow.

Joel smiles down at her, feeling that same tug behind his heart that he has every time since he first held her. “Yeah, baby, we’ll do waffles.”

This time, her breathing deepens out naturally, mouth falling slack, and Joel bends forward to press a kiss to her temple. “Dream somethin’ good,” he whispers, same as he does every night. He ain’t superstitious - can’t afford to be, in his line of work - but he’s always been afraid that the nights he hasn’t been around to tell her, she’ll have nightmares.

Joel shuts the door behind him, padding back through the living room to double check the locks on the doors and windows and set the alarm. When he’s sure they’re as secure as can be, he makes his way back down to his room. He can’t fight the urge to open Ellie’s door one more time and peek in on her; she hasn’t moved, not that he expected her to.

His own room is dark, blackout curtains preventing even a hint of moonlight coming in. He’d wanted to put the same curtains in Ellie’s room for safety, but she’d put her foot down - I need to see the fucking sun, Dad - and Joel had relented. Her room faced the backyard, and they had no neighbors on that side, just a tall fence with motion sensors spaced carefully along it.

Joel doesn’t bother with a lamp, instead making his way straight through to his bathroom and flicking on the light there. As always, he avoids the sight of his reflection, instead turning his back on the mirror and flipping the handle on the shower. He cranks it as hot as he’ll be able to stand and tugs off his clothes, tossing them into a small pile on the floor. He’ll have to do laundry in the morning, get the first load going before Ellie’s awake.

The bathroom is already filling with steam by the time Joel steps under the spray, the water immediately stinging his skin like a thousand small needles. It immediately starts to soothe the aches in his body though, and Joel turns slowly until it’s beating between his shoulder blades.

He’s getting too old for this. Fifty-six, with nearly twenty years of it under his belt. He’s still deadly, sure, one of the best to ever do it as Tess so frequently tells him.

But his recovery times are slower, his reflexes dulling. His already damaged hearing in his right ear is only getting worse.

He’s not far from being a liability - he knows what they do to liabilities.

And he’s got Ellie to think of.

Joel rotates again, sticks his head under the water and lets it sluice down over his face.

He’ll bring it up with Tess soon, Joel thinks. He doesn’t know what the protocol is here - few in his line of work live long enough for it to be a consideration - but they’ll work something out. Better for him to get out now, after a damn near perfect record, while he’s still got enough health and energy to spend with his daughter.

Better that than him getting old and slow, getting sloppy and getting caught.

He shuts the water off and tugs the towel around his waist. The rest of his evening routine he does by rote - dressing, brushing his teeth, turning down his bed - and by the time his head hits the pillow, Joel’s able to slip straight into sleep.

He doesn’t usually dream when he sleeps - a side effect, he’d guess, of the way he lives his life. Maybe there’d been nightmares at first, flashes of the lives he’d taken, faint remembrances. But those had stopped with enough time and blood, and his sleep became peaceful again.

Not this night, though.

The hallways stretching before him is dark and long, shadows stretching out like fingers, and Joel walks silently as close to the wall as he dares. The floor is less likely to squeak there, but too close to the wall and he’ll brush against a frame or hanging, send it crashing to the ground. Easiest way to get caught, if you’re stupid.

And Joel Miller ain’t stupid.

The first two rooms - a study and a guest room - are clear. Tonight’s unfortunate soul is a widower, a man whose increasingly large debts to Joel’s employer were beyond the point of repayment. Nothing left to do but put the man out of his misery, leave the murky back-end of liquidating the man’s assets to the techies. His only job was making it look natural.

The third room is the master, a four poster bed in the middle, the target in question asleep under the covers.

It’s almost absurdly easy, and Joel leaves the body behind with a mental note to ask Tess for something more challenging next time. He doesn’t know what it says about him that this murder felt boring, but he doesn’t bother dwelling on it.

This is who he is now.

Joel does a final check, sweeping the hall with a flashlight to make sure he left no trace. He’s just clicked the light off when he hears it - a muffled sound of some sort, coming from the only door he hasn’t checked.

Joel advances, feet light, and draws his pistol as he approaches the door, turn the knob slowly with a gloved hand. A faint beam of light meets his eyes, and Joel blinks, inhaling slowly to keep his heart rate low as his eyes adjust.

The sound echoes again, and Joel pushes the door open carefully, pausing when the hinges emit the faintest squeak. Nothing stirs inside, no other sound follows.

Might be a dog or cat, Joel reasons with himself. Wouldn’t be the first time.

After another moment of stillness, he nudges the door open further, eyes scanning back and forth over the room. Taking in the bookshelf, the night light, the tall dresser, the —

The crib against the wall.

Joel’s hand falls limp next to his side, pistol dangling from numb fingertips.

He doesn’t do parents. He’s made that clear to Tess and her bosses a thousand times over. He’ll kill just about anyone, but not if they’ve got kids, and especially not if those kids still live at home. Tess knows - she knows - that’s a hard line for him. So either he was lied to when given the file, or their intel had been bad and they hadn’t known.

But there is - a chubby hand lifts from the crib - there is a baby in the crib. A small, now orphaned child.

Joel orphaned them.

He tucks the pistol into the back of his jeans and takes a careful step closer. And then another, and another, until he’s right next to the crib, hands gripping the railing as he peers down.

Bright brown eyes are staring back up at him, chubby cheeks framing an open mouth. The blanket covering most of her body reads Ellie.

“Ellie,” Joel repeats softly. “‘s that your name?”

A chubby fist waves up at him as if in response.

He should leave. He needs to leave. The job’s done, and the longer he stays here the longer he risks getting caught or leaving behind a trail.

But Ellie is staring up at him from her crib, rosebud mouth opening and closing and little babbles escaping.

He should leave.

But instead Joel bends down, hands carefully scooping underneath her back until she’s cradled against his chest. She rests there easily, something like a contented sigh - if he thought babies could make such a noise - escaping her. The warmth of her against him has something in his chest fracturing, splintering, breaking wide open. All the pieces of him seem to realign, and without thought Joel bends down to pick up her blanket. There’s a nearly full diaper bag by the door, and Joel snags that too.

Ellie doesn’t stir against him as they exit the house through the back and Joel winds them through the trees lining the back of the property. He doesn’t have a car seat, he realizes. He’ll need to get one of those - for the time being Joel lowers himself to sit in the backseat of the car with Ellie still held against him.

He’ll call Tess, Joel decides, back of his finger stroking gently over Ellie’s cheek. She can come get him, get someone else to get his car out of here. She’ll be mad, probably more than a little freaked out, but it ain’t for her to worry about.

Ellie’s his.

She stretches a bit, a small fist making contact with his neck. Immediately Joel starts to rub her back, low voice murmuring in her ear.

“It’s okay, baby girl. I got you.”

Joel blinks awake, the familiar sight of his ceiling coming in to focus above him. He doesn’t dream about the night he found Ellie very often, but every time he does it’s as clear as if it had just happened.

A glance at the clock on his nightstand shows it’s nearing on eight, which means Ellie’ll probably be up soon.

He totes his laundry basket down the hall to the laundry room, hitting the power button on the coffee maker when he passes. He’ll get the laundry going, his coffee made, the waffle batter started. And then they can have breakfast together, figure out how they want to spend their Wednesday. It’s summer, so Ellie’s out of school, and he’s off for the day.

Joel strolls over to the window facing the backyard as he sips his coffee, waffle batter made and sitting in the fridge. He’d moved around a lot before Ellie - hazard of the job - but he’d wanted her to have stability, safety. It made it trickier, meant he could take fewer jobs, but he’d stashed up enough money to make that less of a concern.

Tess had predictably lost her shit when she’d found Joel in the back of his car, Ellie snoozing against Joel, but within a matter of hours he’d had a crib and enough supplies to last two weeks. Within three days he’d had a birth certificate listing a dead woman as Ellie’s mother and Joel as her father. Any trace of her in the target’s house had been swiftly and carefully eradicated.

And Ellie had never known about any of it. If Joel had his way, she never would.

A yawn from behind him has Joel turning around, smile spreading across his cheeks at the sight of Ellie shuffling across the living room towards him in her pajamas, hair tousled and eyes half-open. She all but collapses against him, head thunking against his chest as she yawns again.

“Waffles?”

Joel chuckles, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “C’mon, sleepyhead, let’s get you some waffles.”

There was nothing more important to Joel than his daughter. And nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her from learning the truth.

#somehow i wrote another short thing #idk how this keeps happening #anyways i hope you enjoy #hitman au #this time baby i’ll be bulletproof #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel and ellie #the last of us #fic prompt #fic request

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kalopsia1sblog · 1 year ago

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“Ants’’

Dazai x Fem! Reader x Chuuya

Voyuerism, Deepthroating, Cum Eating, Orgasm Denial, Inappropriate use of ants, Threesome, Fingering, oneshot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being in the ADA has calmed Dazai down from his previously apparent sadistic nature. Now, it only became visible whenever he was fucking you and cruelly manipulating your orgasms to his pleasure. This past time he had pulled you into the nearest alleyway and flipped up your skirt, bending you over and roughly pushing his deft fingers into your wet folds and stroking your clit.

“Wow, so greedy for me already.” Dazai snarkily murmurs, kneeling down to see the slick leaking out of your pussy. You whimpered, pressing your hands against the wall as he continued to stroke and occasionally pinch your nub, almost letting you reach your high. When he suddenly pulled out his fingers and gripped your waist taking away your first orgasms you whined desperately.

“J’ wait a second f’me, okay? I wanna try something.” He grinned heartlessly as he pulled a jar out of his pockets, and while you tried to twist around to see what he was planning to do, he reached over to grab your jaw and force you the other way around again.

“So impatient, just let it be a surprise.” Dazai groaned as you felt a curious crawling over your thighs as a sharp shooting pain went through you. Crying out from the uncomfortability, you felt Dazai’s hands leave your waist as he pressed his fingers against your thighs repeatedly. Looking down you saw ants crawling over your legs and Dazai killing them just to smear the blood over you. Tears leaking from your eyes, you saw his sadistic smile as he took one of the ants and left it on his finger as he drug his hand across your pussy, letting it bite you more before he squashed it. The pleasure of his long fingers mixed with the pain of the bites led you to complete your orgasm. Panting, you didn’t even notice that someone else had entered the alleyway, and was watching your encounter with Dazai.

“Oh? Chuuya, what a surprise!” Dazai sarcastically said. “What, you want to join?”

“You really are a shitty guy, you know?” Chuuya tutted as he walked over and pulled your hair, tilting your head back to look at him. “She’s much too pretty to be your slut.”

“Ah~ so rude Chuuya,” Dazai woefully remarked, as he fisted his dick, preparing it to thrust it into you. “She enjoys it well enough.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes as he stuck two of his fingers inside your mouth, pleased when you started sucking them, the squelching sounds making him hard. His eyes roamed over your body, seeing the ant bites and how they were quickly swelling with fluid. A heat began in his core as he imagined you filled with his fluid. Pushing your head down to his dick, he groaned as you sucked his length, deepthroating it and swallowing his cum. You lifted your eyes and saw Chuuya’s head was leaned back against the wall, clearly about to cum. Feeling Dazai’s rough thrusts into your pussy, your moans were strangled as your mouth was stuffed full of Chuuya’s cock. After he ejaculated, you swallowed his thick load, and your mouth was finally released from the full feeling. You could feel Dazai about to reach his limit as well, and when he cummed, your core was filled to the brim with white. Chuuya and Dazai helped you to stand up as Chuuya knelt on the ground and started to eat you out, his tongue licking deep inside your pussy. Dazai tilted your head up as he kissed you needily, still tasting Chuuya in your mouth.

Breaking off the kiss, Dazai tauntingly said to Chuuya, “How’s the taste of my cum, huh?”

Chuuya glared up at him, white ropes dribbling down his mouth, as he continued to deeply suck and lick your needy pussy. You orgasmed over him, and once he finished licking it off his lips, he replied, “I can only taste her, shitty Dazai.”

In a delirious state, you could feel them carry you out of the alleyway and to a nearby hotel so you could properly rest after having been used so thoroughly by the both of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: Why did I write this.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #chuuya smut #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #dazai x reader x chuuya #i cried writing this #i feel so violated #new fear unlocked #i hate ants #i dont want to write ever again #i say as 20 mins later i start on another fanfiction #this is the first thing i wrote after getting over my writers block #i am so sorry ants

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youling-the-ghost · 13 days ago

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fresh start - a hareth ficlet

Between his life being flipped upside down and having to work a completely foreign job, Hank was struggling. (this is mostly for @i-may-be-an-emu since you're like the #1 hareth shipper here lol) word count: 893

"Will ya quit looking so down, mate? People are gonna think that we abuse you or something."

"Sorry, Gareth."

Hank huffed out a sigh and leaned across the counter, resting his chin on the palm of his hand and mustering a sorry excuse for a smile.

He wondered about things. How were Thaddeus and little Betsy Sue doing? Do they miss him? Or were they living their best lives, playing Sunday board games with their new pops? How was it possible that his piece-of-shit cheating ex-wife won the custody case?

Hank had no answers.

"Oi, stop standing around and get back to work!" Gareth's words pulled Hank back to reality.

"Sorry, Gareth."

"Jesus fuck," Gareth breathed exasperatedly. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"Look, I'm sorry, Gareth, but it's been rough for me, y'know? From a businessman in Texas to—"

"Lovely story, but tell it after your shift, will ya? For fuck's sake."

"Sorry, won't happen again."

"Yeah, it better fucking not."

It was almost impressive, Hank thought idly as Gareth went to inspect a different section of the bar, how many swear words his boss managed to fit in one exchange.

A young couple walked in, arms hooked around each other and bodies practically melting into one. Something twisted in Hank's chest.

"Howdy, what can I get ya?"

The girl scoffed. "'Howdy'? What are you, a wannabe cowboy?"

"Uh, no. Not a cowboy, ma'am. Just a Texan."

"A Texan!" It was the boy this time. "Tell me, what's an American doing in London?"

Hank coughed not-so-discreetly. How much was he allowed to share?

"I just needed a change of pace, y'know?" was what he eventually settled for, and the couple seemed content with the reply.

There was something palpable between the young couple, like a taut rope stretched across a cliff, ready to snap at any moment. Neither person ordered anything, though both had a visible yearning for alcohol on their faces. Although the girl was sitting on the boy's lap and their limbs were so intertwined that it was hard to tell whose was whose, there was a gaping chasm between their souls. Hank could tell from the way their hands hovered over the counter and on each other's arms, but never intertwined with each other.

The eyes might be the windows to the soul, but the hands were the doors, Hank would so often say when his friends used to as him for relationship advice.

No one asked him for relationship advice anymore.

Hank let out a deep breath. It didn't matter, anyway. Those friends had long since stopped talking to him.

"Okay, that's it." Gareth's words cut through Hank's racing thoughts. "Finley, could ya cover this section for a bit? Hank, you come with me."

Oh fuck, was Hank's immediate thought. Second day on the job and he was already being reprimanded for misdemeanour. He gave Finley, his surly co-worker who definitely did not look happy to have to cover two sections, and followed Gareth to the back of the building.

"Okay, listen—" Gareth groaned. There was something unsure in his voice, something shaky and uncertain. It was nothing like the Gareth who yelled at him for staring off into space or sharing too many disturbing details about his personal life.

After a heavy pause, Gareth spoke up again: "Are you sure you're up for this job?"

Hank blinked. "Um, what?"

Gareth sighed and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "You've been spaced the hell out all day. If something's going on then I'm fine with giving you a break or some—"

"Wait." Hank could hardly belive his ears. "I'm...not gettin' fired?"

"'Course not." Gareth furrowed his brows. "What kinda boss would I be if I abandoned a struggling employee like that?"

"Oh." This was...different than what he expected. "But you're givin' me a break on my first day?"

"Look, I'd much rather have an employee take a day off than an employee half-assing all of his drinks and spacing out all the damn time."

"Ah. Right."

It was damn near impossible to snap himself out of the corporate mindset, Hank realised, but he was starting to get the hang of it. If his boss was okay with him taking a day off on his second day at the job, maybe he would also be okay with other stuff as well?

"Listen, Gareth, I don't need a day off—"

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. But, uhm," Hank awkwardly massaged the back of his neck, "could we grab a drink after my shift? I-It doesn't have to be at a bar or anythin', we can like—go bowling or somethin' too. I just—I need someone to talk to right now."

"Ah." Something about Gareth's posture shifted. He became softer, gentler, more welcoming, as if he was putting his guard down for the first time.

Then, Gareth chuckled, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile. "Of course. I told you, didn't I? You can tell me your story after your shift."

"Oh. I thought you were just jokin' when you said that."

"Please, I'm always dead serious." The slightest hint of a smile on Gareth's lips vanished. "All right, now quit yapping and get back to work."

Hank couldn't help but laugh. "You got it, Gareth."

Maybe this change could be for the better, after all.

#shoot from the hip #junyu's fanfics #sfth the milkman #sfth fanfiction #this is partly an apology for all the angst that I've been writing haha #I actually wrote the first chunk of it a while ago while I was bored during class idk if you can notice the difference in writing style lol #this turned out way less gay than I intended wow #y'know what it's fine I can always just write another ficlet featuring the actual bowling date #also guess who stayed up way too late writing fanfiction again!#*sigh* it's like clockwork at this point...

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