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the-saltiest-saltine · 10 months ago

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Reservations and Repose

(Yan!Chrollo x Fem Reader)

@sukunasfavoritehole hopefully this is enough to tide you over until my ao3 finally gets an update hehe

Word count: ~7.3k

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You’re naïve enough to believe Chrollo’s asleep. He loves that about you.

Warnings: NOT SFW, non -con thigh fucking, somnophilia, drugging, imagined not sfw scenarios etc

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IT WAS 3/4 FINISHED THEN I FORGOT ABOUT IT my sincerest apologies.

Also this is my first time writing smut so please go easy on me 😥

Chrollo is very disappointed in you.

You let him kiss your cheek this morning following a deep sleep. You didn’t reciprocate, though he continues to see your progress and knows that an ever-hopeful yet can be added to the end of that statement. To some extent, the allowance of such an act could be chalked up to his acceptance of you, flaws and all, willing to appreciate the neutrality of it as opposed to ardent rejection. In a matter of weeks, you’ll be returning the gesture. And in a matter of months, you’ll be doing it gladly. Warmth, or perhaps weariness, has slowly but surely seeped its way into your actions recently, your shaky hands finding a place in his, fingers interlaced.

Is that to say he was under the impression that you’d completely given yourself to him? Absolutely not. There’s fear in your smiles, as much as they may have metamorphosed from obviously and mockingly forced to meek and endearing. Chrollo has shown you all that you know he can do. This has been enough to keep you relatively restrained over the months. If he showed you all that he knows he can do, you’d most likely curl up into a ball and sob until you dried out. That’s not necessary, though. It’ll never be.

Like many things, it wasn’t linear. It was a path that went upwards and downwards and forwards and backwards and in cycles, cycles that would always leave you curled up, sobbing in his arms, grasping onto him for whatever comfort it would give. But progress is progress, right?

Ignorantly, he began to believe the crumbs of affection, of acceptance, of acquiescence. Stupidly, he thought you were making progress. It’s been a significant amount of time since he was last this naïve. If he wasn’t so disgruntled by your transgression, he’d most likely bask in the nostalgic feeling. But he can’t, for the time being, because you’re trying to do something very rash.

As unfortunate as it is, you’re trying to leave him.

It’s audacious, having thought that the monumental power difference between you two had been thoroughly demonstrated on multiple occasions, a well established and silently acknowledged fact of your travels with him.

It’s irritating, although regarded with the same irritation as one would have with a pet goldfish trying to jump out of its tank. You silly thing, why do you want to abandon the place in which you are safe?

It doesn’t particularly make sense, though. He’s checked his cards - nothing suspicious has been bought in his name. No travel tickets or prepaid car hire. He’s even checked the jewellery collection - maybe you’d snatched up a nice necklace or bracelet or pair of diamond earrings to pawn off. But again, nothing. No suspicious bags have been packed. No loose tiles or floorboards or ceiling panels to hide supplies in. Your clothes are all neatly folded and hung in your wardrobe.

You’ve got something up your sleeve- something desperate and jittery and not fully thought out. Something that relies on luck and prayers far more than precision and blow-by-blow planning. He never particularly took you for a daredevil, but to see you get pushed to such a limit, to be forced against your own timid nature, is beyond satisfying. If he could pluck it out of you and analyse it under a microscope, he’d be elated. Or perhaps even, he supposes to himself, he’d be so fulfilled that he might abandon the current pathway of his life, aimless and bloody and cyclical, finally so consumed with his obsession over you that nothing else is valued in the slightest.

He can’t say he didn’t expect an ulterior motive for your apparent benevolence, at least initially, but for it to be kept up for this long? The stares felt almost too natural. The gradual lessening of your flinches when he placed a hand on your shoulder, the way your gaze would be drawn to him rather than away, even if only to flick away immediately - the subtleties were downright impressive. To be able to track everything simultaneously, to be able to remember to exhibit so many behaviours at once…Perhaps he should be taking acting lessons from you.

Chrollo had watched you, humming a pop tune this morning, cheekily shaking your hips from side to side as you fried some eggs, over easy, the notes sometimes interrupted with a sharp inhale between your teeth when the oil spat just a bit too high and would burn you ever-so-slightly. A domestic sight.

You’d let him give you another kiss on the cheek before he shrugged his coat on, giving you one last lingering glance before he’d walked out the door and into the hallway of the apartment, locking it with warm Nen made of comfort rather than capture. He gave you another cheek kiss (despite his ever-growing urge to dip lower) when he got home to the smell of spices and vegetables and the bubbling sound of a low simmer. You don’t fight them anymore, and barely even recoil now, a result of steady but slight crossing of boundaries - his record was eleven times in one day (at least, his record for when you were conscious) when he was feeling particularly affectionate, although you’d definitely soured up by the end.

The…fantasies he’d had of domesticity…they were just that, weren’t they? Fantasies, mere ideas that were appealing enough to fully flesh out in his mind. Whatever actions you’ve taken, whether it be pecks to the cheek or folding his shirts, staining them with the scent of you, they’ve all been a means to an end. That certainly wasn’t part of the fantasy.

You’ve been buttering him up like the thick slices of white bread next to his bowl. What a betrayal.

Tonight’s stew is spicy and chunky, served courteously by you. His palate is experienced from an adulthood of travel, wealth, and nights spent with gullible women who couldn’t tell the difference between a Prince Charming and a swindler. Truly, there is little he hasn’t at least tried. Including this.

So, if there’s no other signs of you wanting to leave the comfort of the apartment and the familiarity of his presence, then what could’ve possibly cued him into your motives?

It’s something tenuous, something that could’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. It’s something subtle, buried under layers of rosemary and thyme and paprika. But diphenhydramine is such an acquired taste. And it’s one that’s made the past few weeks and months crumble to dust.

Oh, you sweet thing.

Acting as oblivious as ever, he spoons chunks of zucchini and carrot onto the bread, taking large bites, chewing and swallowing with purpose, the taste of the sedative lingering. He considers smacking his lips for good measure, to play around with you a bit, but eventually decides against it. That’ll come later.

You sit across from him, silence between you two. Normally, he’d fill it with tales from his busy day - but you’ve been so good lately, that he’s begun to refrain from doing that. Nowadays, he asks you what you’ve been up to, every painstaking detail from your dull days without him. But that’s only if you’ve been good, or at least if he’s under the impression that you’ve been good. As it turns out, you haven’t been good, you aren’t being compliant, and now he simply waits.

You stare into your bowl of stew, but he can tell you’re watching him in your periphery. It’s so very fascinating, the way you absorb each mouthful he takes, washed down with frequent sips of water (there’s no other substances in that, obviously). He takes another swill of the liquid, tilting his head slightly back, and in the corner of his eye, he can see the way you observe his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. Does it appease you, the sight? Does it intrigue you? Does it make you, even for a moment, reconsider what you’re about to do?

Chrollo pauses for a moment, before placing the half-empty glass back onto its coaster. He knows the smirk that comes onto his face is nothing short of wicked, but he truly can’t help himself.

“Are you not hungry, my love? You’ve barely touched your food.”

Barely is an understatement. You haven’t touched it at all, in fact. Stupid, really. He knows that you know that he’s observant - but that information is irrelevant in this situation, considering it doesn’t take an keen eye to figure out your pattern of stirring your spoon around, picking up some carrot - even blowing on it for good measure - and nodding along with what few words he spoke initially, before giving an mhm! of agreement and letting it drop back into the bowl. You spend extensive amounts of time apparently fishing for just the right piece of zucchini, sorting through copious amounts of lentils (and seemingly taking the time to individually count them all), dragging chunks up the side of your bowl only to push them back down into the fray of assorted vegetables.

There’s almost a sort of jump in response to the words, ringing clear and well projected. But it’s contained above the shoulders - your head snaps to look at him, your eyes widening momentarily, staring into his own, trapped.

He can feel the shaky breath you take to steady yourself from over here, air stagnant and mouth dry.

“No,” you reply, “not particularly.”

He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouthing an oh before returning to his meal. It doesn’t matter whether you take the bait or not, his suspicions have long since been confirmed. Confirmed, in the sternest sense of the word, syllables enunciated with force, the knowledge of your true intentions well recognised. Whether that displays on his face or within his interactions with you is inconsequential to the known ending of your silly stunt.

The sound of you chewing is enough to bring his attention back out of the bowl. That’s not fake.

So you’re eating it too? It’s certainly a bold move, but one he wouldn’t dare put past you anymore. You were always a clever one, one to be placed a mere few tiers below his own intellect.

He hasn’t caught you swapping the bowl out for a fresh one. Maybe you’ve mastered the art so quickly that even he can’t notice?

No, not likely. Not in just a few months. That’d be impossible.

Your bites of pumpkin are preceded with the slightest hesitation, a quick breath to presumably psych yourself up to the self-sabotage. He hates to see you so scared when you’re properly sharing a meal with him like this, deciding to return to normalcy as a reward for your cooperation.

“Tell me, darling, what did you get up to today?”

Your eyes flick to his, momentarily ensnared in the grey, before looking up at the ceiling to aid in the process of giving a verbal description of what you read, how you cleaned, how you entertained yourself with rearranging your meagre book collection (not his, that would be asking for trouble). The response is practically identical to every other time he’s asked the question, plain and unindulgent. It’s boring, he thinks, even with the unacknowledged omission of the hours you spend staring at the walls and pacing around the living area. He’s tempted to pry into how you decided on tonight’s dish, but decides against it. Not for lenience or mercy, but rather amusement. To give away what he knows now would simply be a waste of a situation you’ll never attempt to put yourself in again.

If you knew what Chrollo knew, would you still bother to indulge him?

You stare at him for a moment, allowing him to draw things out, before nodding at the I see he gives in response. He gives a forward nod to your bowl, giving you gracious permission to eat again after starving you for the length of your interrogation, merciful as ever. Your fear is better contained behind a split second’s confusion before you register the nonverbal instruction, picking up your spoon once more and eating with more confidence this time, taking exaggerated bites of zucchini that barely make it past your teeth, chewed excessively into grey paste before being swallowed. Maybe you reason that if you chew enough, you can break the drug down into something that won’t knock you out. A cute thought.

The spices stain your lips an enticing red, the chilli making them plump up so deliciously. If he kissed them, would they burn him? Would the capsaicin leave his lips tingling, a reminder of your soft touch?

He likes to think he’ll know the answer soon.

Chrollo feigns sleepiness, furrowing his brows in mock confusion as he tells you that he can’t quite keep his eyes open - perhaps he overdid it at work today.

Yes, work, as he loves to call it, like there’s the possibility of him spending his time away from you at a desk, punching in numbers on a computer, monotonous and repetitive and damn, couldn’t things just switch up for a day? Work, as in a beer-bellied husband whose idea of experimental fashion is changing which tie he wears with the same white button-up and black dress pants each day. Work, as in an assembly line employee who wakes up at three o’clock to be at the factory by four, ready and willing to make whatever sacrifices necessary to support his loved ones. Work, as in something at least vaguely respectable.

Work, as in literally anything other than stealing and slaughtering and scourging.

Chrollo relishes in the way your shoulders relax a little. It’s almost too adorable. Chrollo also relishes in the way they tense up again when he adds how it’s suspicious really. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt a tiredness such as this.

There’s an underlying anxiety in your pretty, pluckable, ever-so-slightly bloodshot eyes. Where others would be concerned for your health, he finds endearment, you precious thing. After admiring them silently for a moment, he announces that he’ll be off to bed now, darling. Remember to be there for me when I wake.

He leaves you alone in the kitchen to stew in your unease.

____________

Now he’s lying in bed, on the side closest to the door, limp as anything. It doesn’t matter whether his facade convinces you or not, he’ll have you in his arms by morning. The blinds aren’t fully down, leaving a pleasant blue hue that gives him a good visual of most of the room. Your side of the bed is still firmly tucked in from when he made it this morning, after running his hands up and down your arms until you’d given a great shudder and shoved him away - a pitiful attempt that he’d impishly gone along with.

Anticipation tickles his nose and prods at his heart. Childishly, he wants you to get over with it already, to sprint in, swinging a knife wildly, or cue him to start the chase with a slam of the front door so violent that the hinges threaten to crack. It’s unfortunate how your faux compliance conditioned him to be unable to accept a halt, or even slowing, of progress.

Ah, some solace - he can hear your footsteps come up to the door, attempting, albeit poorly, to be quiet. Or maybe they are quiet, to the average man, but someone well-versed in the art of stealth can practically see the way you tiptoe closer. The faint sounds paint a detailed visualisation of your movements - the balls of your feet lifting from the ground, the flexing of your toes, the dorsiflexion at your ankles, the soft thud of your heels hitting the ground.

The bedroom door creaks open, a thin streak of light hitting his eyelids, making him see an ever-so-slight orange behind them. He might be able to visualise your walk accurately, but the same cannot be said for your face. Are you fearful, lips downturned and eyes wide? Are you determined yet cautious, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line? Are you smug? Condescending? Grinning from ear-to-ear, excited to finally have what you believe to be freedom?

You’re not, he discerns.

Instead, you huff a sigh, a sweet note that makes his heart jump, a small flutter that could only be instigated by you. It’s a sigh of relief. The door is shut. He expects another door to be slammed, too - the front door, hinges quaking as you sprint to the stairs as far as you can, too scared to wait for the elevator (and for your sake, he hopes you’ve brought a pair of running shoes - you’re on the 35th floor, after all). But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he can hear the clanking of bowls and dishes, the smooth schwip as you push breadcrumbs off the chopping board into the bin with the back of the serrated-edge knife, and how you place said knife into the block without taking another one out.

So you’ve decided against stabbing him tonight? How agreeable.

In fact there seems to be no malice in the way you’re stacking the bowls, no scraps of extra force in how you shut the fridge. Whilst the sounds of your cleanup are nothing short of a ruckus to his alert ears, there’s an intentional tenderness he can hear. A conscious effort to be as quiet as possible with somebody sleeping peacefully in the next room.

It’s a gesture he’ll interpret in the best way he can. Even if he knows he’s deluding himself that you want to be quiet for his own peace rather than so you can escape, he’ll be sure to bring up the former as reasoning for your actions over the next few days, regardless of how you’ll spit venom at him, hissing that he couldn’t be more wrong.

Next is a movement he didn’t expect in the slightest.

You come back to the bedroom, with a pile of fabric in your hands - clothes, maybe? He thought you’d be off and away as soon as possible, or you wouldn’t get close to him again at the very least, standing patiently by the door until whatever you’re waiting for had occurred.

The quiet-ish footsteps make their way past him this time, and straight into the ensuite.

There’s the soft sound of clothes falling, and then the tap is turned on.

You’re…showering before you leave?

You really are a good teacher of the quirks of humanity. Logical as ever, he’d most certainly take no time for hygiene practices if it reduced his chances of being able to go on a small, liberating adventure. But perhaps that’s part of the plan? Do you not want to have a speck of dirt on you so you don’t smell bad? Will you hide out at a fancy gala, and have to be as fresh as possible? Are you trying to wash off Nen, perhaps?

No, that would never work, and he’s certain you know this too. Still, the idea of a little hopeless fire in you, taking a precaution you know is futile, makes his lips twitch.

So many questions, few of them answerable at present. His mind is stimulated so wondrously, for once not finding boredom in the predictability of human behaviour. He’s truly chosen well.

And then there’s something else, rising above the sound of the rushing water, above the drain gurgling it down, greedily gulping it away.

You’re humming.

It’s relatively random, most likely improvised, and slightly off-tune, but endearing all the same. He can taste the notes, sweet and soothing, running down his throat smoothly and pooling warmth in his belly.

You heave a sigh, and the tune changes. And then he recognises it.

It’s something he heard as a boy, back in Meteor City. He’d hear it at night, walking back to whatever semblance of a refuge he had with Franklin and Shalnark, past the hamlets of the younger children. Letting himself get lost in it, he can feel himself crawling to shelter on scraped knees, walking on calloused heels, eating stale bread, all accompanied by the faint smell of garbage, a smell that years of exposure had waned to a neutral accompaniment of the setting, rather than an inconvenience or hazard.

Despite the unhygienic nature of it all, it’s sweet. It’s these memories - memories of grime and rot and infection - that are the most pure. The most uncorrupted. They’re full of innocence and hope - just like you.

These qualities make you think you’ll leave him.

Upon remembering this, he’s tempted to barge in and ruin your peace, eager to hear your inevitable yelp and nervous laugh as he quizzes you about tonight’s events. But he doesn’t. Your lullaby is too enjoyable, the tune far too agreeable to stomp out yet. Resisting sin by committing another, he decides he doesn’t want to kill this mockingbird, if only to selfishly continue to hear it sing.

Few moments have come like this since you came to be with him. They’re all short-lived in comparison to the cold life he’s had, a firecracker popping on his tongue, fleetingly filling his mouth with syrupy sweetness before quickly dying off, barely an aftertaste to be savoured. He’s scratched them all down in an old leather journal with a quill and ink, lest he forgets what it feels like, or how to get that feeling again, but thankfully they’re scratched even deeper into his psyche.

You’d been agreeable enough for a reward of a dinner somewhere several stories up, city lights shining behind you, framing your hair beautifully. You were reluctant at first, turning your nose up at him and the priceless food in front of you, opting for the bottle of red wine instead. It wasn’t supposed to be gulped down with such vulgarity like that, but that was part of your charm and by your second glass you were giggling and halfway through your third you looked at him right in the eye, cheeks tinged pink, and you smiled a smile that you’d forget by morning but he wouldn’t…

He’d returned to the villa after a long day to find the fans blasting, and you slumped over on the couch as credits rolled on the screen in front of you. He’d flicked the TV off, not before noting the rom-com’s name, and regarded you, with your deep, even breaths and singlet strap falling down. He picked you up and carried you to bed, laying you down on the thin blankets, fixing your strap despite the small voice that called to him to take off the thing entirely. Your head rested on the pillow, your face not scowling for once, and you’d huffed the sweetest of sighs…

That’s the kind of moment this is.

There’s no thought of what he’ll be doing with the troupe tomorrow, or in a week, or what move to make next depending on what you decide to do. Every nook and cranny of his mind, every convolution of his brain is filled with the thought of you. Tonight, it’s warm and viscous, slowing time and cutting both of you off from the rest of the world; the rest of its filth.

In this moment, he can see himself in the shower with you. He’s across from you, lathering body wash onto his shoulders, letting the foam run down his back. All the while, he keeps his gaze on you, watching how your hands run over your body, soap running along your sternum, between your breasts, along the curve of your hips, your ass, all whilst you hum that tune… shit, he can’t let himself get hard now. He manages to drag himself out of the daydream, barely, just managing to claw himself to the surface of reality.

Caps are popped open and the lathering of soaps can be heard over the course of your performance, with a finale of the tap being turned off. There’s a fumbling of fabrics before you come out, followed by yet another move he doesn’t expect.

You walk up to the bed, peel the sheets back, and lie down beside him. You then roll onto your side, facing him. After a few moments, you prop yourself up onto your elbow.

A moment of nothing. You’re frozen, as is he. Calm before the storm, he prepares himself to catch your wrist and hear you shriek.

You lean over.

And then there’s a featherlight sensation on his forehead, right in the middle of his tattoo.

Had it been a split second later, he would’ve opened his eyes and turned to face you with a smirk as you screamed. But it’s not a split second later, it’s now, and now you’re kissing him. There’s no real benefit for doing such a thing that he can identify right now - perhaps you know he’s awake, and would like to make amends? Surely you know that that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

The contact sends an electric zap to every corner of his body, although he manages to not make himself jolt. Months of stifled desire bubble up from his insides, desire that’s spent so long smothered by rationale of better outcomes and forcing himself to think of his bloodied obstacles and late nights alone in the shower. As often as his lips find their way to your forehead, unfortunately the reverse doesn’t occur even half as much.

You pull away, like you’re hesitant about what you’ve done, like you’re waiting for him to snap his eyes open and sit up with inhuman speed, ready to pin you down or tie you up or even slap you for tonight’s inconveniences. But that doesn’t make sense, because hesitation is supposed to occur before such an intrepid act, not afterward.

After receiving apparent confirmation that you’re not about to be attacked, he can sense your head slowly but surely coming to rest on your pillow. You shouldn’t strain your neck like that, someone like you could get hurt over time.

The back of his shirt is peeled up, slowly, delicately, and he has to focus to keep his breathing even.

There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, his number a pale contrast to the black ink, practically jumping out at you.

It’s your reminder, he supposes, of what he is. Theoretically and legally nonexistent, practically traceless. Zero evidence. Zero remorse. Zero morality.

Zero.

Then-

One, two, three.

Your lips mark a trail up his spine, at the bottom of the abdomen, right in the middle of the zero, on its head. Don’t shudder.

Once your deed is done, you pull back. There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, so silent that you’re barely breathing.

The fabric of his nightshirt is guided back down. You roll over and proceed to go limp, succumbing to the drugs intended for him.

What was that?

You’re not touching him anymore. He can sense the gap between your bodies, one that he would close every night, pulling you close.

Was it a relief? To go to sleep without him touching you?

You’d always stirred up such a fuss about his arms being around you as you slept.

It had always been a cause for seething rage on your part, later argument, later whining, and more recently huffing. Even last night, the stiffness before you fell asleep was a cause of his own discomfort. But you didn’t have to deal with that tonight, and now you’ve fallen asleep in record time. He can’t say it was just from the pills.

Did you change your mind on leaving after you felt their effects? It doesn’t seem likely that you’d ditch all that to sleep. Rather, that you wanted to sleep on your own terms.

He’d spent so much time concerned with stopping a potential escape, that he didn’t stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, that was never the goal to begin with.

And now Chrollo rolls over to face you, gently tugging on your shoulder to pull you onto your back.

You’re serene as ever, a sight to behold.

He brushes the back of his knuckles along your hair, feeling its texture, so light that his calloused hands - hands that have seen many a bruise and burn and slice and hangnail caught and ripped on the job - almost can’t feel it. Your exhales come out more as huffs and sighs now compared to gentle breathing, and he allows a chuckle (one that he finds incredibly endearing, as much as you’ve let your disagreement to that sentiment be known, preferring to describe it with wounding words such as “condescending” and “grating”) to slip past his lips.

It reminds him of you when you’re awake, when you used to try so hard to be difficult for him, when you used to scream and scratch as he’d spoon you, grip ironclad, until all you could do was huff and puff and plead with him (and as much as he enjoyed your attempts to compromise, this was something he simply could not relinquish) and eventually, your cursing would die down, your muscles would go limp, and you’d fall asleep.

Sometimes the sun would be up by the time you relented, and your breaths would be the heaviest then. It was amusing, how quickly you’d switch. One second, you were cussing him and his troupe out, the next, you were a paragon of tranquillity, the visage of an angel before him. He’d pray you love him.

He wants to grab your jaw, hold it firm, and kiss your lips as hard as he can. He wants to tilt his head and take and take and take. He wants to keep taking even if your breathing lightens. He wants to keep taking even if your eyelids flutter open, hazy doe-eyes looking at him with dozy confusion.

Well, he’d never deny his own indulgence.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead, just as you did to him.

The touch is as gentle as he can make it, as gentle as he can permit himself to be. There’s a split second of what he could almost call fear, an image of accidentally squeezing you too hard and hearing your bones snap flashing in his mind.

He rubs his thumb over where his lips previously were, feeling an unanticipated wetness left behind.

It’s then that Chrollo realises his mouth is full of his own saliva - whether that was because he was so entranced by your actions that nothing else mattered, body as limp as he could allow, or because, like some sort of filthy animal, he couldn’t help but drool at the contact from you, starved for it like a hyena, he doesn’t know. He swallows. That’s better.

And now for the main event.

He dips down to your lips, and lightly presses his own against them. The feeling is so heavenly, he wonders if you really are an angel. If you were one, would you bless him? Would you destroy him?

If you were to know what he’s doing, would you hate him more?

He pulls away.

The journey to get here was sizable. Memories of tonight flash by; your cooking, your conversation, your shower. Your humming.

Ah. The tune he heard as a boy. Innocent, naïve, hopeful.

Well, he’s a man now. And far less innocent.

He lets out a hum of his own, deep and rumbling.

Chrollo moves to straddle you, peeling the duvet and sheets back, layer by layer, unveiling the best present he’s ever gifted himself. Just moving into such an intimate position is enough to send pangs of heat downwards, the hardness he fought against earlier returning with an urgency.

For a moment, he tries to fight against it.

Is it to save himself from your hatred? Is it to save you from what he’s planning?

It’s neither, he discerns, as the attempt was doomed to fail before it even started. He knows it was never meant to succeed.

His groin only throbs harder, aching for friction. It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing, the way he presses it against your clothed crotch, rocking back and forth, the slight relief just momentary as his desire only grows.

He regards your unsuspecting face. Stunning.

Restraint is draining faster now, but still is present just enough to stop him from grinding any harder despite the urge. But if he’s to stop his movements, he’ll need a different kind of stimulation.

He bunches your shirt up, pulling, sliding a hand under your back so he can slip it off your arms and neck.

Now your chest is bare. How ravishing.

His fingers hook under the band of your sleep pants, dragging them off in a clean motion.

And now your legs are bare. How alluring.

He doesn’t take your underwear off - that would simply be crude, and he doesn’t need to tempt himself anymore. If he got the privilege (or right, considering your standings) of seeing you fully nude, as opposed to having a single layer covering the most tantalising part of you, he’d be oh-so-inclined to do something regrettable. His logic fights to win space within his buzzing thoughts, fingers daring to twitch as his imagination fills in the gaps of what the thin black layer forces to be left to it.

Chrollo parts your thighs for good measure, the maximum he can allow himself at this moment. It’d be impossible to not let his hands and gaze trail up them, observing how as he roams upwards, your flesh gets softer, warmer; how the flimsy fabric can’t hide all of your darker flesh; how your lower lips are pressing against the cloth, visible despite the darkness…

God, you’re so fuckable.

There’s a pretentious voice in his head, albeit muffled, that cries protests at the use of such a word to describe you. You’re something far more than that - beautiful, exemplary, one-in-a-million, ethereal. Surely your mouth would be better put to use having a fulfilling conversation with him, a conversation he can dissect and steer and puppeteer, as opposed to just opening as wide as it can to accommodate his cock, taking it as deep as your gag reflex will allow, barely able to breathe, much less talk. Although, he thinks with a faint, deep groan, twitching in his pants, that’s certainly a hypothesis I’ll have to test.

With the sight of your breasts, nipples hard and skin goosebumped from the chill of the room, it’s decided. Just because making his cheeks warm and his cock rock hard isn’t your most prominent trait, doesn’t mean that you aren’t absolutely exceptional at it.

Temptation isn’t something he’s inclined to resist, brushing a thumb over your nipples before leaning down to take one into his mouth. He swears he can hear your breath hitch as his tongue swirls around, breathing getting slightly lighter. An eager hand reaches for the other one, kneading as gently as he thinks he can.

Soft is the first thing he thinks. Your flesh is so soft, so delicate, so tender. If you were awake, he’d vocalise his compliments - and do so loudly, unrestrained.

Your breathing changes as he points his tongue to lightly flick at your nipple repeatedly. Chances are you’re being taken out of REM sleep, but your consciousness doesn’t matter at this stage. And some part of him hopes for it, brief images flashing in his mind of barely-open teary eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head. They’re obscene, so utterly immoral to even fantasise about, yet even the split-second thought makes his stomach jump, shivering a bit as he feels himself be almost overcome by them.

He can’t help but slightly wet his lips in anticipation, relishing in the knowledge that his instincts are being held back with the slightest thread. If he moves even slightly faster than his rational, calculating, non-carnal mind intends, then it’ll snap. He’ll snap.

Almost trembling, he reaches across to his bedside table. The movements are imprecise, but he’s sure this practice will allow him to execute them with much more grace for the inevitable time you’ll be awake. Yes, you’ll be awake and whining and he’ll wet his lips in anticipation and be met with your lingering taste and you’ll want him as much as he wants you-

He almost falls forward as his own lust threatens to overtake him. Focus on the necessary steps.

Taking a shuddering breath, he leans down to pull open the drawer, to find a bottle hidden at the back, purposefully concealed behind an upright copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Quickly shifting his weight back, he pops the cap open, spreading some of the slick contents onto his fingertips. With his free hand, he pulls down the loose elastic of his pyjama pants, shucking them off, the cold air making him quiver slightly.

Time’s running out.

The movements are trembling, sloppy as he pours lube onto his length, and then onto your spread thighs. There’s a frantic inertia of sorts, a mad momentum - the more he does, the faster he has to go, the anticipation making his stomach swell and dip. He’s really going to do this. It’s really going to happen, and it’ll be amazing.

There. Done. Everything’s ready.

Chrollo takes a shaky breath, gripping just above your knees, and squeezes your thighs around his dick.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your thighs are warm from the duvet, perfectly cosy and wet from the lube for his cock.

Little time is wasted as he begins to thrust his hips, trying not to give himself too much too soon. The steady pace is slowly increased, little by little, a fragile incline so he can drag this out for as long as possible.

Can you feel it? Can you feel the warmth radiating from him? Is there some part of your mind that’s awake, but can’t do anything to stop him? Or better yet, is eager to please him?

He strains out a hiss through gritted teeth, peppering kisses over your exposed neck, trying his best not to bite. The pace increases yet again. His eyes are fixated on the mound in your underwear, a more sinister form of curiosity burning within.

What does your pussy look like?

He won’t use En, that’s just cheating. He wonders and ponders and conjures up the most filthy images his mind can muster. A warm, tight hole that clenches for him as he slips in and out, teasing you. A pretty clit for him to tease with his fingers as you whine, for him to suckle on as you choke on sobs of pleasure. Folds for him to run his tongue through as you rut your hips against his face; for him to run his tip along, collecting your slick.

He imagines how his cock would look disappearing inside of your cunt, how your grip would be so suffocating, how your tits would bounce as he fucks it (because shit, they’re already moving so vigorously now, as he holds his strength, and he can’t even begin to picture what they’d look like if he loses control buried deep inside you, repeatedly stuffing you to the hilt as you cry out). He imagines how you’d tighten around him, babbling something incoherent as you wrap your arms and legs around him, and oh fuck, he can’t pull out now. He imagines the tension snapping, giving a rumbling groan as he shoves himself into you as deeply as possible, eyes screwing shut and burying his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, riding out his high with a few shallow thrusts.

And finally, he imagines how his cum would look leaking out of your pussy, twitching and swollen from a nice good fuck. The afterglow. The squeak you’d give if he fingered it back into you, growling at you to not waste a drop, keep it all inside for me.

The thought makes his hips stutter a little, threatening to slip out of the plushness between your thighs. Once he regains his rhythm, though, they’re speeding up, relentlessly fucking himself into your thighs over and over, kneading the flesh as he squeezes them tighter and closer.

Chrollo cups your face with a single hand, and leans in.

It’s the second time he’s properly kissed you tonight, and it feels fucking amazing. Your soft lips, your soft thighs, they’re all working together to make his head swim in bliss. You’re working to make him feel good. Yes, him. Nobody else. You’re his.

The thoughts run wild. He has as little control over them as he does his hips.

How would it feel to fuck you in some other position? How would it feel to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back to meet his, as he stuffs himself into your sopping cunt over and over, watching your ass bounce? How would you cry out at the way his balls slap against your swollen clit, building up the pressure inside you until you just can’t take any more?

How would you grind on top of him? How would you moan as you bounce, tilting your head back as you stretch yourself on his length, panting? How many times could you do it until your legs trembled uncontrollably, forcing yourself to impale yourself on his cock just one more time? When he’d plant his feet on the bed firmly and thrust his hips up, grabbing yours and bouncing you in time, would you wail, or simply slump over, completely unable to form a thought as you cum around him for the nth time?

You’re flexible enough to fold into a mating press, right? How deep could he go? How fast could he go? How would your beautiful skin look covered in love bites?

The coil of pressure within him grows even tighter even faster, balls slapping against your thighs, hips pistoning rhythmlessly.

If he asked, oh-so-nicely, for you to get on your knees and please him with your mouth, would you oh-so-sweetly do it? Would you suckle his swollen tip? Would you tease him with a glint of mischief in your eyes? Would you find his most sensitive spots and exploit them? Would you trace your tongue along the veins? Would you massage his balls? Would you let him control the pace, a hand intertwined in your hair? Would you look up at him as you tear up, doe-eyes wide and eager to please? Would you rub your pretty pussy while he shoots thick ropes of cum down your throat, pressing your nose against his pelvis?

Yes, he decides as the coil begins to snap, you would.

Chrollo comes to a sudden halt, choking out a rich groan in a low timbre. The noise becomes more strained as he rides out the high, the overwhelming euphoria becoming just a bit too intense as it begins to morph into overstimulation. Once he’s sure the moment’s over, he lets go of your legs, pulling back to catch his breath and admire his work.

Ropes of cum paint your chest, some making it as far as your neck, your chin. It’s beautiful, the unruly mess he’s made - no, the mess you’ve made of him.

You’re a real beauty, you know that?

The bathroom tiles are cold against his feet as he grabs a washcloth to clean you up. It’s sad to see it go, to a primal extent, but it’s probably for the best to ensure he doesn’t get any ideas for a second round tonight.

For future nights, though? The chest he’s covering up will soon be exposed soon enough.

He’ll have to get more sleeping pills. You simply must try this again soon.

Next time, he’ll taste you. The time after that, you’ll taste him. He can hardly wait, nor can he stop the dull throbbing starting up in his groin again.

He sates himself for the time being with the knowledge that the time after that, you’ll be awake.

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere hxh #hxh #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #tw yandere

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le-monchou · 3 months ago

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late night dates || leona kingscholar

an old piece i'd written in 2022, i think. enjoy :) bringing this back because @aivy-saur had a shit week 🥺💞

#long walks on the shoreline - if you start early in the evening, when the sun hangs low in the sky, you'll find yourself at the beach when the moon is high, and your boyfriend hands you his jacket because the air from the sea is chilly. he'll keep your shoes near where he parked the bike, or he'll take them and run, and you'll chase after him, screaming his name under the moonlight.

#studying at a fancy café - sometimes, leona takes you to the more expensive cafés in the town, letting you pick and choose what you want to eat with promises that he'll foot the entire bill. the café doesn't close even as the moon rises, and when he tires of the numbers and english that swim around his head and yours, he asks you to dance with him, the moonlight shaping your face into something even more beautiful- if that was even possible.

#spying on a girls night out - as adults, the funniest things to see on the streets of late-night sunrise city (when he can sneak out with you for dates) are the middle school 'ganguro' girls, girls who go to tanning parlours to seem attractive to boys they like who prefer foreign women. except the tanning is done really badly, and they look like they've been fried instead. you've got to keep leona from howling with laughter at them.

#sneaking food from a food stall in a carnival - once a bastard, always a bastard, leona smirks as he sneaks some food left out in the open, holding the bag of goldfish you won in the other hand. doesn't mean you have to steal, you know. you're sighing and leaving some money and a note for that plate he stole. or not. the crowd's too big.

#revving away in the dark - gripping onto leona's jacket, the cold winter wind hurts your closed eyes as you snuggle into your boyfriend, and he laughs into the chilly air as he slows the bike down just a little bit. "we all right back there?" he asks, turning around a little to look at you. "i'm okay," you murmur, looking up and kissing his cheek. "focus on the road, love." you don't even have to see him blush under the moonless sky- he does it for you even in the day, unashamed of loving you heart and soul.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona twst #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x yuu #leona x mc

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chaosandmarigolds · 6 months ago

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Before we begin. I would like to remind you all that Caleb is a fictional character, he cannot be hurt- but so is Simon Riley so do with that information what you will :)

“Garrick.”

Johnny clears his throat before speaking, the commotion of the station loud through the phone, “Ya n the missus still in th’ country?”

To that Kyle frowned, moving carry on bag to sit down on the chair, “We’re just gettin back from Las Vegas, Becca got-“

“Ollie is gone.”

well. That sent a shock through his system, with a quick straighten of the posture Kyle speaks again, “An’ Simon doesn’t-“

“Some bullshit happenin’ makin it look like he helped his girl with kidnappin em from da dad, dad’s takin em …”a breath, “Si doesn’t know Ollie is gone yet. He’s been in questionin for five hours kno.”

Kyle looks down at his boots for a moment, meanwhile his wife gives him a confused stare, “Jesus- fuck, you need me?”

“I dunnae ye. Probably, ya got a ETA?”

Kyle shrugged and then looks at Rebecca, who had her luggage stolen so they were waiting on the security to do their work. “Si’s kid is missin.”

She stares up at him in disbelief for a moment, “How?”

“Bio-dad bullshit.” Kyle puts the phone to his ear again, “Hows Cap holding up?”

“Pissed off. But we all are.”

“Ya seen LT yet?”

“Nah, got her’ two hours go.”

If he were being honest, he wanted to simply take the gun and shoot the detective- it would finally make that man shut his mouth. However, Simon was showing self restraint, yet that task grew harder with each moment. So as he sat in the empty room, he was mainly focusing on keeping his breathing even, and temper in check.

About ten minutes went by before someone came to let him go, and to no one surprise Price was behind the door with the officer.

“I need you to be-“

“Where’s Ollie? Where is she?”

Price tried to keep his expression neutral, “Caleb had temporary rights-“

“The fuck does that mean? Where is MY SON?” Okay, so temper wasn’t in check but he was doing his best.

“He’s going to Las Vegas.”

—

Rebecca sipped her coffee as she sat in the airport lounge, after talking the security and as Kyle gave out the description of the small boy. She was currently going through Caleb’s social media, as someone had gone through a lot of trouble to edit photos where Simon had been in and replace them with himself, somehow editing the timestamps as well. Which was funny, because normally she was the phone taking the family photos.

With a frown she turns her phone over and looks around the bustling airport.

That’s when she spots Caleb. Hoodie pulled up to cover his face and quickly walking through the terminals.

Some part of her knew she needed to tell Kyle, and to not rush after him. And she knew he probably could’ve over powered her/ but it was so easy to just use that book she had grabbed as she went after him to take him down.

He probably could’ve thrown her off but instead he let her pin him down, panicked eyes and heaved breathing. “I swear! I didn’t- it wasn’t my idea! They-I owed the em money! I had to!”

“Where is Oliver?”

“They had me hand him off-off to some lady! I don’t know! Russian, tall, I don’t know!”

Rebecca looks down at him, her heart beginning to race as the security began to come over and to grab them, and she slowly turned as Kyle pulls her away. “I don’t…I don’t think is about Ollie. I don’t think this is about him at all.”

Ollie stares at the ground of the small plane, having a cup of water and a little baggie of goldfish in front of him. His eyes red with tears.

“Oh, come now little man, eat up. Get strong.” The woman coax’s, her voice muffled by the accent but her smile sweet, “Your father does not want to see you hurt.”

“I wanna go home.”

“I know. But you cannot go right now, your father- he owes us a debt.”

—-

Tee…tee hee 🤍🤍

(Am I getting carried away? Yes obviously. But I am having too much fun to stop)

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causenessus · 5 months ago

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cold kisses

part 0.14. MAIN ATTRACTION

PLAYING FROM KODZUKEN'S STREAM . . . matilda by alt-j

kenma acted more like a cat than he liked to admit. to his distaste, he’d copy something goldfish would do without meaning to and she would always point it out. it was a common sight for her to find him sleeping around in multiple areas of the apartment, sleeping the day away.

she’d always wondered; had nekoma high been made for him or had he been made for nekoma? she’d once teased him about it before. she’d flopped onto his bed one night and brought up the question while he was playing some game by himself.

he’d immediately cut her off with a huff, saying, “neither. neither of us were made for each other. i’m not a cat.” then he’d turned back to face his monitor, pulling up his hood and tightening the drawstrings to block her out of his sight. but she’d seen his headphones. he still had the side of his headphones close to her pushed behind his ear in case she said anything else. he was still listening.

not a cat, he persisted, yet he was always aware of his surroundings. eyes darting around, head perking up at any sound. and perhaps her first mistake was thinking she could sneak back into their apartment late at night without alarming him.

when she first walked in, she found him at the kitchen, head resting on his arms. he looked like he was sleeping and her heart twisted with guilt. had he even moved since last night? when was the last time he’d eaten? she knew him well. she had a feeling he’d stayed in the kitchen the entire day.

she’d planned to wake him up after she’d placed her bags back down in her room. she would look in the mirror, fix any stray strands of hair if needed, prepare herself, and then walk back out to wake him up and talk to him.

she didn’t get to do any of those things.

“y/n.”

she heard the voice behind her and immediately froze.

“hi,” she turned to look at him, trying to keep her voice a steady tone. when had he even left the table? she wanted to keep herself calm and emotionless. she wanted him to talk first, but looking at him, both of them standing right in front of her bedroom door, dimly lit by the kitchen light, she just wanted to pull him into a hug and confess everything. his hair wasn’t pulled back–a sight she couldn’t recall seeing for months–framing a grim face. he looked similar to when they had still been in high school together, more closed off, shy, and small. he was taller now, and she looked up at him as he came to stand closer to her.

“can we talk?” he asked softly. had she even seen him look so emotional before? she had to force herself to look away from his eyes, she was so caught up in how glassy they looked, as if he was on the verge of crying. she wouldn’t be able to keep herself together if she kept staring.

“we can talk after i put my bags down. just wait,” she answered, turning back around to open her door before a hand gently but firmly grabbed her wrist turning her back around.

“i'm sorry," he immediately blurted, looking at her as if was trying to apologize for grabbing her and numerous other things but he didn’t let go of her wrist. “i’m sorry, i can’t wait. i can’t–i’ve been so horrible to you and all i can think about is apologizing to you. and you made me wait the whole day–” he relaxed his grip when he felt confident she wasn’t going to leave him again and let his head drop onto her shoulder, a small, nervous laugh coming from him.

she laughed too, all of her previous plans left behind. she ran one hand through his hair, the other wrapped around his neck, holding him close. “i’m sorry, no one told you the plan for today did they?”

she felt him shake his head slowly against her shoulder before he pulled back. her arms fell back to her sides while he exhaled a long sigh. “i’m sorry for everything i said. i said i didn’t care because it’s the exact opposite. i care so much about you, y/n. i was so wrapped up in my head about you being with atsumu and about talking to you that i said the wrong thing. but i do care about you. this…whatever we’re doing–it’s more than just a thing to me. being able to be so honest and close to you, it's the best thing that's ever happened to me.” he looked down to pull at the sleeve of his sweater, “sorry, you know i’m not good with words.”

“yeah, i do know that,” she replied, smiling when he looked back at her.

she thinks his eyes are flicking between her eyes and slight lower at her lips but there’s too many things happening for her to focus on that. her heart is beating fast as well, trying to think of how to tell him how she feels, “i’m sorry, too, for giving you the wrong impression and walking out on you. that wasn’t fair to you at all, so i’m sorry i caused you all this stress in the first place.”

he shakes his head again at her words, “you don’t have anything to apologize for. i’m the one that assumed things and god–this is never going to end with the both of us. i’m the one that needs to apologize, i said something i didn’t mean and i shouldn’t have. i made you feel like i’ve been pretending this whole time when everything i’ve said to you is real. i do love you, more than just a friend.”

he’s closer now, and she absentmindedly pushes back a stray strand of hair falling in front of his face. when she brushes it back, he’s close enough that she can see the light pink blush covering his face and ears and inherently bites her lip.

“can i kiss you?” he whispers.

her hands are already on the back of his head, pulling him to her.

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

iwa and suna are both y/n's equally scary guard dogs

the difference is that iwa guards from afar while suna stays right next to y/n

like suna is focused on making sure y/n is safe while iwa ensures that the entire perimeter is safe <3

also everytime she stays over none of them ever sleep in a bed either they're all in the living room and suna and iwa are sleeping on the floor while she's on the couch or they all fall asleep cuddling <3

iwa did NOT let y/n go skate with oikawa until she had deleted her tweet like a true mother

and when suna, iwa, and oikawa came to watch y/n's skating practice ukai (and atsumu) were both slightly off put by the three towering men who walked in

but then he recognized them all and was like "ok chill"

when they sat next to ukai he started talking to them about how he thought they were another publicity photographer and how last time the photographer was shamelessly trying to take photos of him as well

bc i mean i would do the same he has no business being that good looking

kuroo bought coffee for y/n only when they met up because he still wanted to buy her something after everything that had happened

original song for this chapter was supposed to be stargirl interlude but matilda played while i was writing the majority of this chapter so it got chosen again (this is ur sign to listen to @eggyrocks' cold kisses playlist!!)

it wasn't even a fair fight tbh i would give alt-j my firstborn for any song

taglist: @rinheartshyunlix @kettlepop @cr4yolaas @httpakkeiji @keioover @does-directions @calx-bdo @staygoldsquatchling02 @cherrypieyourface @iluv-ace @kitty-m30w @h3xi2g0n3 @mylahrins @thechaosoflonging @momoriii-i @localgaytrainwreck @a-pastel-edgelord @bugglesboop @polish-cereal @osakis-gf @phoenix-eclipses @faesix @ryeyeyer @skylarkalchemist @kunimix @sereniteav @kodzubaby @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @r0seandth0rns @gsyche @kitnootkat @seillarium @tamimemo @myromanempiree @coldcigarette @eclipticnikki @squiishymeow @vivian-555 @cryptictheseus @eclecticeggknightpsychic @kodzukein @kawaii-angelanne @luvly-writer @kodzuken-hoe @kodzuken88 @bookworm-center @theweirdfloatything @glitch-karma @spicana

#kozume kenma #kenma kozume #kenma #kenma x reader #kenma smau #kenma x reader smau #haiykuu smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader

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ladykailitha · 2 months ago

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A Love Connection Part 4

Thank you to everyone who reached out to me about the drop in numbers. I appreciate you and will try to be patient as everyone seems to be really going through shit right now. Honestly if I wasn't a SAHM I probably would be one of those people.

In this we have Steve resigning himself to doing the game show, more of the kids, and we get to the actual game show! ka-shonk, I know!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

“Meow!” Odie cried at the indignity of being shoved in someone’s face.

Steve carefully wrapped his little feet so Odie would feel more supported. He stritched under his chin and Odie began to purr.

Chrissy inched forward until she was close to Steve. “Steve, he’s adorable. Where did you get him?”

“I found him in a cardboard box out by the dumpsters,” he explained, never taking his eyes off the kitten. “It was starting to snow and I just couldn’t leave him there. He was wet, and cold, and alone.”

Robin’s shoulders sagged. “Of course you can keep him, dingus. I wouldn’t have said no even without the Sword of Damocles in the form of the game show hanging over my head. He’s adorable.”

Chrissy tickled his little toes and then looked up at Steve. “Why Odie? For the name?”

Steve blushed, grateful his head was already down so they couldn’t see his blush. “A couple of reasons I guess. To honor Garfield the goldfish, for one. But also because of the coloring the cream body and brown ears is so much like Odie’s.” Just then Odie twisted and tried to leap out his arms. “And there’s the fact he very likely has only one brain cell,” he deadpanned as quickly caught the kitten before he hurt himself.

Robin snorted. “So I see.”

Steve handed him to Chrissy and he allowed himself to be subjected to her neck scratches.

“So are we forgiven?” Robin asked, shyly. “We really didn’t think anything would have come of it. Though we were really building you up, talking about how you really deserved to find love and how your luck had run to catastrophic with those you dated. We made sure be really sweet about you.”

“I think that’s another reason why they picked you, Steve,” Chrissy said, walking over to sofa to cuddle with the new kitten. “You would be a perfect opener if not season finale. All you have to do is fill out the questionnaire and then they’ll tell you when filming is.”

“You’ll need about a week off,” Robin explained on her way to the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge. “It takes two days to film the first half of the episode and a day each for the dates in the second half. Then a whole day filming the choosing ceremony or whatever the hell they call it. They just want you there two days before for interviews and legal stuff.”

Steve sighed and ripped into the bag of gummy worms. “All right, you fill it in while I dictate.”

Chrissy and Robin cheered. Chrissy opened up her phone with the email and started asking the questions.

“Why would they even need to know my measurements?” Steve huffed about half way through. He had migrated to floor where he was using a gummy worm that had fallen to said floor to tease Odie with.

“Probably for costuming,” Robin said sagely. “They just can’t let you wear anything to their show.”

Steve wrinkled his nose, but allowed them to continue. Once it was all filled out most of the bag of gummy bears were gone and he was a little exhausted by it all.

He buried his head in his hands. “Fuck me. What even is my life right now?”

Chrissy and Robin shared a glance and then slid down to the floor where he had Odie curled up on his lap. They wrapped their arms around him and just held him.

He let himself be comforted by their support.

New Year’s brought new challenges, especially when he learned he would have to get a sub for his class the last week in March. They couldn’t have waited a week so that he would have it off for Spring Break? Which meant he had to tell Mrs. Byers why he needed the week off. Which meant Will found out. Which of course meant the rest of the little buttheads found out about it, too.

“Do you get to decide the questions?” Mike asked, one day while they were hanging out in the AV room, Mr. Jenner finally having been fired and Steve forced to take over for the rest of the school year.

He had come to class after the winter break, drunk off his ass, stoned out of his mind, and completely trashed his classroom. Thankfully the equipment had been locked up and not subjected to his rampage.

Otherwise the school would have had to have him arrested to recoup their lost.

Mike had actually started to warm up to him after it was revealed he was going on some dating show. Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he decided to count it as a blessing and move on.

“Some of them,” Steve confirmed. “The first question of what is your ideal date is standard, and is part of the game show setup, but mostly they want me to be able to answer the questions myself, and if I can’t there’s really no point in having the suitors answer them either.”

“Suitors is a stupid name,” Max huffed from the corner. She was forced to join the AV because it was the only after school program that ran on Fridays and her mom started to have to work late on those days.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah and what would call them?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Contestants or something.”

“Eh, eh!” he said sounding like a buzzer on an old game show. “Boring!”

She cocked her head to the side. “Yeah, whatever, Mr. Catch.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “I’m not sure what the would replace it with consider a lot of the other options are copyrighted due to other similar shows, but yeah. It sounds like I’m a fox and they’re the hounds.”

“What about Hitch?” Lucas suggested. “It plays on the Love Connection theme.”

Steve shook his head. “There’s an old movie called ‘Hitch’ and he’s a matchmaker. So I’m betting they didn’t go that route for that reason. Especially since this show is on its thirteenth fucking season.”

“Mr. Harrington!” Dustin scandalized. “You aren’t supposed to swear at school.”

“It’s after hours and we’re literally outside the school waiting for your parents,” Steve huffed. “Anyone here gonna rat on me?”

He looked around at the bright faces and knew that not a one of them were snitches.

When no one answered, he said, “Here, I’ll tell you what. Each of you come up with a question for me to ask my suitors and bring them by next week.”

All the kids cheered.

After Steve got in his questions from the kids, he sent them into the game show and most of the questions were approved. Some were simple Star Wars or Star Trek, others were fun questions like ‘what is your favorite sports team?’ to in depth questions like ‘do you consider yourself to be a good person?’ That last one was from Max. He loved that girl fiercely and only wanted good things for her.

He packed up his things and made sure that Robin would take good care of Odie. He was going to miss the little furball.

He was flown out to LA where the show was filmed. He was shown to a fancy hotel where he would be spending the week. He was told that the suitors were in other hotels are around the city so that they didn’t meet accidentally before the taping.

Steve’s first day was with legal and how much money he would be making for his appearance on the show. It was roughly three thousand dollars to make up for the fact he had to take time off from work. Other than that it was all about them footing bill for all his meals and lodging during his stay.

He wouldn’t get the money until it aired, which he thought was bullshit, but it was whatever.

Robin had been right about the measurements as they gave him a lot of clothes to chose from. Then whatever he picked would be doubled so that he could look the same on both filming days. Then he would have special date night outfits that would be picked based on where they were going for the date.

All in all not a bad gig. Steve definitely preferred teaching though.

Then they did all the pre-show interview stuff the next day. He got to talk about his school and the kids he taught. He got to talk about Robin and Chrissy and his adorable new kitten Odie. That part wasn’t so bad.

Then it was time for the first day of taping.

He got dressed in a cream colored suit with a light blue button up shirt. The shoes and belt were nice leather, too. He briefly wondered if he got to keep the clothes. He couldn’t imagine they needed to keep them.

He wasn’t told anything about the suitors before hand, but they knew a lot about him. Which felt a little creepy if he was honest.

He sat in the ridiculous little booth he would be in so he couldn’t see the contestants. This was because they didn’t want him to judge their answers based on their looks.

The host was Bob Newby. He was one of the best parts of the show, Steve thought. He was sweet and friendly and everything wanted out a dating game style host. He was in a dark grey suit and white shirt with a red tie. A tie he was currently stroking nervously.

Steve smiled at him and Bob blushed.

“I’ve done over a hundred of these things,” Bob admitted, “and I still get nervous.”

“Well that makes me feel better about throwing up breakfast this morning.”

Bob laughed. “So this is how it will go, we will film more than questions required so we can get a good bunch of questions and answers. We will be filming out of order. The rapid fire questions first. Then half of the questions for round one today to round out filming. Then the second half of the round one questions with all of the round three questions.”

“That’s a little weird,” Steve huffed. “But it’s your show, man.”

“Trust me,” Bob said, “this way is easier to film.”

Steve just shrugged.

“You ready?” Bob asked. When Steve nodded, Bob pointed at the camera and counted down from three with his fingers.

“Hey, everyone!” Bob said. “Welcome to a brand new season of ‘Love Connection’ where we help lonely people make that special connection. This season we will be focusing on getting all those fancy letters LGBTQ+ a chance at love. We have your gays, your lesbians, your non-binary folks, your trans people, and one very special ace lady just looking for love.”

The audience politely clapped.

“I’m your host Bob Newby and today we have one very lucky catch. Steve Harrington from Hawkins, IN. He’s a middle school teacher who recently became a cat dad, to the adorable Odie.” A picture of Odie sleeping on Steve’s chest under his chin is shown on the screen behind them. “He coaches basketball and the swim team. And yes he does look hot in a Speedo!” A picture of Steve in a blue Speedo and wearing a white jacket and his whistle.

Steve decided he was going to murder Robin and/or Chrissy for that photo alone. Especially when the crowd goes wild, complete with wolf whistles.

“He enjoys watching sports, swimming, and reading in his spare time,” Bob continued. “He has tried everything to get a partner in this hellscape we call modern life, apps, bars, clubs and not just the ones with a dance floor and sick beats. So he came to us, so let’s see if we can match him to any of our suitors.”

The audience clapped again.

“Suitor number one,” Bob said, “why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself.”

“Hi, I’m Billy,” the first voice said, “I’m a professional surfer with a ton of sponsors. I’m the most decorated surfer both nationally and internationally. I like sex, sex, and more sex. Just kidding. I like other things too. I’m a big car guy and a bit of a foodie, too.”

Steve was grateful that they can’t see him because Bob and he shared an exasperated glance.

“Suitor number two,” Bob said. “Tell us about yourself.”

“Hey, I’m Tommy,” the second voice said, “I’m an investment banker at a prestigious company. I like sports, traveling, and deep sea fishing.”

Steve tilted his head and nodded. Not bad. He wasn’t sure about the whole investment banker thing, but the rest sounded good.

“And last but not least, Suitor number three,” Bob said, “tell us about you.”

“Hello!” the third voice said brightly, and Steve could almost picture a dorky little wave to go with it. “I’m Eddie. I’m a music producer with my own studio. I like heavy metal, all things nerdy, and camping.”

Steve smiled fondly. He sounded a lot like Dustin. He could only hope this didn’t have the ego to match.

“All right, everyone!” Bob said with a winning smile. “Let’s begin the Love Connection!”

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @wheneverfeasible @themoonagainstmers @garden-of-gay @little-birch-boy

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #game show au #buckingham #everyone is gay #not billy hargrove friendly #tommy hagan

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wheels-of-despair · 2 months ago

Text

Gonna Need A Bigger Bathtub Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman, Eddie, and the rest of the Hellfire nerds have been sentenced to helping out at the school carnival. There will be casualties. (EW kinda hijacked this fic, but it's still a wild night for all!) Contains: Everyone's own personal hell, violations of child labor laws, carnival games, heroic rescues, new pets, a happy ending... for most. Words: 2.8k

"This is such bullshit," Eddie growls, slamming the front door of his van.

"It's one day," you remind him as you slide out of the passenger's seat. "Half a day, really. It's the price of a diploma."

You meet at the back doors, where the rest of Hellfire is piling out into the sweltering parking lot of Hawkins High. On a damn Saturday.

"Eddie?" He turns to you, misery on his face. It's still decorated with traces of fading yellow bruises from the rumble with the jocks. So is everyone else's. "I tell you this with all the love in my heart, but: Suck it up, buttercup."

"Easy for you to say," he sighs, stripping himself of his battle vest and emptying his pockets into an old coffee can. "You're not in the dunking booth."

He slams the back door, locks it, and looks at his keys with hesitation. "I'll hold 'em," you offer. You pocket Eddie's keys, and he throws an arm across your shoulders as you walk toward the field behind the high school where the carnival is being held. The rest of the boys reluctantly follow along behind you.

Your official assignments were distributed last night, after you helped set this shit-show up. Now you're here, at the damn Hawkins High Carnival Fun-Raiser, ready to raise money (and fun!) for the stupid school you're leaving behind in just a few weeks. Eddie's graduating, you remind yourself. This is a small price to pay for that diploma he's been working so hard for.

"Where have you been?" Miss Click screeches when she spots you, waving her clipboard in frustration. "It's almost time to open! Go get set up! Now!"

You answer with mumbles and half-assed salutes as you pass. Today is going to majorly suck.

"This is me," you sigh mournfully, stopping at your assigned booth. The rest of the boys keep trudging toward their own personal hells, but Eddie stays with you to say goodbye. "Close your eyes, hold your nose, think of Ozzy."

"Who told you the secret to giving great ora—" You cut him off with a shove in the direction of the dunking booth, and he turns around and walks backward to grin at you. And then he stumbles, catching himself just in time to avoid a fall. You cover your mouth to hide a laugh, and he flips you the bird before he turns around.

You have been awarded the honor of running the fish bowl game. It's a table full of fish bowls that people try to throw ping pong balls into. If they win, they get a live fish in a plastic bag. You're hoping for a quiet night, banking on the fact that most people probably don't come to the carnival for a new pet.

You're in a good location; you can see most of the boys from your booth. Jeff is in charge of the balloon game across the way, where people throw darts at balloons and pop them for prizes. Grant's manning the Lucky Duck Pond nearby, where toddlers will pick up a duck and feel like a little winner every time. Gareth is glowering at his popcorn cart a little to your left. And when you stand in the corner and lean out a little, you can see Eddie eyeing the dunking booth warily.

Assorted jocks are set up with easy-to-assemble sports games. Uniformed cheerleaders sell raffle tickets. You have Patrick McKinney with some kind of basketball game to your right, and Chrissy Cunningham in the Kissing Booth to your left. That seems sanitary.

"How are we doing over here?" Overlord Click asks.

"Ready and waiting," you deadpan.

"Why haven't you put the fish in yet?"

"What?" you ask.

"You're supposed put the fish in the fishbowls, silly."

You look from the massive bucket of goldfish in plastic bags to the fishbowls.

"You want people to throw balls at the fish?"

"Why do you think it's called the fish bowl game?" she asks.

"Because you toss a ball into a bowl and win a fish?"

"Put the fish in the bowls," she orders.

"And if I don't?"

"Then perhaps Principal Higgins will have second thoughts about letting you and your little friends off so easy," she says through pursed lips. "Now put the fish in the bowls, or I will put someone who can follow simple instructions in charge of this booth."

You'd like to put her in a fish bowl and let kids throw balls at her. Maybe let someone dunk their balls in her bowl, too. But the thought of Hellfire having suffered a week of detention for nothing gets to you. You reach for a fish bag, untie it, and carefully dump the poor little guy into a bowl.

"Every two or three bowls will do," she says. "We don't want to run out of prizes."

She walks away, and you want to chuck a fucking fish bowl at her.

You stare at the bucket of bagged fish and settle for staggering three of them across the front row of bowls so they're visible to people walking by. You apologize to the little guys as you pour them in.

You're surprised by how many people are willing to haul a goldfish around the carnival all day. But they get their dumb balls in and take their bagged fish and carry on. You take money and distribute fish until dusk, when your relief shows up to grant you fifteen minutes to eat and use the bathroom. How generous.

Since you have no appetite, you decide to check on the boys.

"Hey," you grin at Grant, yawning with boredom by his little duck pond. "Gettin' lucky yet?"

"Kill me," he mouths as a new herd of toddlers approaches. You back away from them with a horrified expression, and he laughs as he takes their mom's money.

"How's it going?" you ask Jeff, leaning against the plywood outside of his balloon-filled booth.

"Oh, just great," he rolls his eyes. "Love watching these degenerates throw darts in my direction. If I get hit, I will sue."

"As you should," you affirm.

"I'd rather be here than in the dunking booth, though," he says. "Poor Eddie, man."

You turn and look in Eddie's direction. He looks like a drowned rat.

Because the person trading money for balls is Jason Carver.

"Oh, no," you groan. "See ya," you say quickly. Jeff waves, then presses himself against the plywood wall as another wave of darts are launched toward the balloons.

There's a long line of jocks waiting for a shot to dunk the freak. It looks like he's barely catching his breath between drops, and exerting all his energy into crawling back on the stool.

"Look here, boys," Jason Carver says loudly when he spots you. "Does the little freak girl wanna play?"

"Maybe she does," you respond. "But her break's almost over, so she won't have time unless these gentlemen want to let a lady cut in line."

Jason gives his flunkies a look, and they part for you like a sea of dickheads. Eddie's breathing heavily on his little stool above the tank and still trying to brush his wet hair out of his face from the last dunk.

"Three tries for $3, miss," Jason says sweetly. Eddie's spotted you, and is shaking his head, but you hand over your cash. Jason gives you three balls.

You throw them quickly, before the pricks can figure out what you're doing. You launch them high and far, way over the target and into the woods. You almost wish the gym teacher could've seen it.

"You bitch," Jason seethes.

"And yet, you're the one who has to fetch," you smile, walking around him to the tank. You reach in and hand Eddie a hair tie. "It's almost over," you remind him. Eddie's in the process of tying his hair back when he's sent into the water again. You both yelp in surprise; Eddie at being dropped again without warning, and you from getting drenched by the splash. You turn to see Carver leaning against the target with a smirk on his face. He set it off manually.

"Thanks for that," you smile sarcastically. "It's really hot out here. I don't envy the person who has to suck Higgins' sweaty balls tonight. Maybe you should suggest he take a dip in the tank before the carnival closes."

You leave before he can work out what you've said, checking your watch to see that you need to get back to your fishy booth.

More fish have been put into open containers. Damn you, temp!

Business carries on as usual, until you notice that two elementary-aged kids are standing off to the side and watching you.

"Can I help you?" you finally ask, sick of being stared at like… a goldfish in a bowl.

"My fish died," Brace-Face pouts. His pal Glasses looks on nervously.

"What'd you do to it?"

"I didn't do anything to it!" he argues with a stamp of his little foot. "You gave me a bad one!"

"No refunds or exchanges." Is this an official policy? Probably not. Are you going to indulge this brat? Definitely not.

"Told you you shouldn't have taken it in the bounce house," Glasses mutters. Your eyes narrow.

"You took a live fish into the bounce house?" you ask.

Brace-Face freezes.

"Give it," you command, holding out your hand for the dead fish. He drops the bag into your hand. The poor little fishy is indeed dead; floating upside down in a plastic prison filled with too-warm water. You turn your gaze from the fish to the kids. "Scram."

They do.

"What was that about?" Miss Click asks, appearing out of nowhere.

"His fish died and he didn't want it anymore," you shrug.

"Did you give him a new one?"

"No."

"Good," she sighs. "We can return the live ones and get a refund when the carnival is over."

"The live ones?" you ask.

"There are bound to be casualties," she shrugs. "Anyway, I'm here for a cash pickup."

You take a fistful of bills out of your apron and hand them to her, concocting a plan as she counts the money and writes on her clipboard.

When she leaves, you dart over to Gareth.

"Give me some popcorn bags."

"Why?"

You huff in annoyance. He puts on his customer service voice.

"Small, medium, or large, ma'am?"

"Large."

He hands you a stack.

"Come see me when you get a break," you instruct, tucking them under your arm and returning to your booth.

Fun fact: You can fit four fish bags into one large popcorn bag.

The first batch of refugees (and Eddie's keys) are smuggled away by Jeff after a whispered explanation. He walks away with a grin and a popcorn bag held to his chest, looking like everyone else walking around the carnival with a snack.

Grant and Gareth's breaks come next, and eight more fish are rescued. They seem pleased to be sticking it to The Man and saving lives. Eddie is the last person to get a break, only an hour before the carnival is scheduled to close. This event is violating so many labor laws.

"This is the worst day of my life," he groans, stepping over the side of your booth and collapsing in the grass beside you. He's still dripping from his last dunk.

"Then I really hate to ask, but…" you bite your lip. "I need a favor."

Your sweet Eddie, soggy and wet and miserable, is the hero of the day. He transports twelve fish to the safety of the van. After his last run, he comes back with flushed cheeks and a twinkle in his eye.

"What about these little guys?" he asks, pointing to the fish in the bowls.

"I think their fates have been decided by a crueler god," you sigh.

"Munson! Your break is over! Stop loitering and get back to your booth!" the aforementioned crueler god barks, chasing him off with a threatening wave of her clipboard.

That's alright. Less than an hour to go, twenty-four fish saved, and a diploma with Eddie Munson's name on it being printed very soon. It's worth it.

When the time comes to pack up, Miss Click comes to collect the rest of your cash.

"How much do you get for taking the fish back?"

"How many are left?" she asks, eyes darting from her fistful of cash to the bucket that the boys of Corroded Coffin helped you empty.

"Just the ones in the bowls," you answer.

She performs a quick fish count and cringes. There are ten left.

"I don't even think it's worth trying to take those back," she sighs.

"Can I have them?" you ask. She eyes you suspiciously. "I've grown attached to the little fellas," you shrug, looking to the ground shyly.

"Fine," she laughs. "It's barely a dollar's worth of fish, and saves me an hour. You did a good job, moving so many! I bet there's a lot of happy kids out there, and a lot of dough in here!" She waves the leather zipper pouch containing the funds.

You smile, grateful that she didn't notice how few people were actually walking around with fish.

"We have to return the bowls though, so you'll have to put them in bags when you take them."

"That's alright," you grin. "I can handle bags."

You bag your remaining fish and present them to the boys with a grin when the post-carnival clean-up is complete.

"Look, guys! I get to bring a few fishies home!"

Your joy is met with eye-rolls and groans.

"What the hell are you gonna do with all those?" Eddie asks once you're safely in the fish-filled van.

"Eat them?" Gareth suggests.

"I bet if I put them into the tub with you, they'd eventually nibble you to death," you threaten.

"Nah, don't do that," Jeff says. "His funk will kill the poor little fishies." Gareth smacks him, and a playful slap fight breaks out in the back of the van.

You're all laughing as you pull out of the parking lot… but your smile soon fades. What are you going to do with all of these fish?

"Anybody want to take a fish or two home?" you ask hopefully.

"Nope," the boys in the back say in unison.

"Eddie?"

He puts his hand up, blocking his face from your view so you can't work your puppy-eyed magic. You roll your eyes.

"I'm gonna need a bigger bathtub," you sigh.

Thirty minutes later, after Jeff and Grant are dropped off, Eddie pulls into your driveway.

"How are you going to break it to Mom that you brought home a hundred fish?" Gareth grins.

"I had accomplices," you remind him. "And there are only… thirty-four?!"

Two Days Later

"Okay, babies, are we ready?" you ask, smiling down into one of two buckets full of goldfish.

Much to your surprise, your mother did not murder you for bringing home 34 mostly stolen goldfish. She found the situation hilarious, and declared that she'd always wanted a backyard fish pond anyway.

Your babies were freed from their bags and put into buckets for the night. The next morning, there was a group expedition to the home improvement store.

It took all weekend to get the hole dug and the liner laid and the filters installed, but you all had so much fun doing it.

(Except maybe Gareth, who hissed "I'll get you for this" every time he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.)

There's still work to be done with the overall landscaping, but flowers are your mother's department, so those can wait. Now, it's time to introduce your fishies to their new home.

You look to Eddie, standing on the other side of the little pond with a fish-filled bucket of his own.

"Release the fishes!" your mom calls, camera at the ready.

You both start to pour, slowly, and watch the little gold creatures plop into the pond and start swimming. When the buckets are empty, you set them aside and meet in the middle, kneeling beside the pond to peer down into it.

"They look so happy," you whisper.

"Well, yeah," Gareth grunts, dropping to his knees beside you. "They have a memory span of like three seconds."

"So do you," you and Eddie say together, looking away from your fish long enough to smirk at each other.

"That's good, though," Eddie says quietly, wrapping an arm around you. "Because they don't remember the carnival. They've already forgotten all the bad stuff. This is their life now."

"And it's gonna be a good one," you smile, leaning into him.

"How do we forget that fucking carnival?" Gareth mumbles.

Eddie glances back to see how far away your mom is. She's staring at a butterfly on one of her flowers through the camera's viewfinder.

"The good shit's in the van," he whispers. "Our memory loss comes later."

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman

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shehungthemoon · 7 months ago

Note

Bucktommy Fic prompts: first vacation or snowy cabin vibes

first 118 bbq

Buck rescues a kitten from a tree and keeps it #catdads

Buck telling Tommy he was a sperm donor with zero context like ‘oh yeah biologically I have a kid’ and walking off leaving Tommy like ???

First Christmas together

Idk if it’s your vibe but something relating to the ring cutter?

Babysitting jee

Tommy realising ‘random facts with Buck’ is a thing

Flying lessons

Sorry I have a lot of thoughts and zero ability to write lollll

Oh, anon. I saw "babysitting jee" and could not get the image of Tommy looking at dollar store kids coloring books out of my head. And here we are 🖤

"Are you sure you're okay with it?" Buck asked into his phone, balancing it in between his shoulder and ear as he unpacked his locker for the night. "It's just that Tommy and I don't really get a lot of time to see each other with our schedules and everything, and—"

"Buck," Chim interrupted, "Yes I'm sure. I've known Tommy longer than you have, unless you've somehow forgot that since the last time you begged me for old, embarrassing photos of the man."

"Yeah yeah," Buck mumbled, "I know I know, sorry." Chim made a satisfied hum. Buck finished zipping up his bag. "Bet I know him better though."

Chimney started squawking indignantly over the phone. Buck grinned into his chest.

So, Buck invited Tommy to come babysit Jee with him that night, nervous the whole time he typed the text.

-i know it's not really a great date setting

He typed after he sent the initial message.

-totally ok to say no

He was stupid to be nervous. The reply came almost immediately.

-Are you kidding? I've been waiting to meet that girl ever since Chimney sent me those first pictures.

-Of course I'll be there

---

Tommy met him at Buck's door with a sweet grin and a bunch of coloring books in his hand. Buck couldn't do anything but stare at him for a moment and smile back.

"Hi."

Buck wondered if those butterflies in his stomach would ever go away. When Tommy leaned forward and pressed a gentle, quick kiss onto his lips, Buck came to the conclusion that there was no possible way they ever would.

"I brought these," Tommy said as he walked into the apartment, shaking the coloring books in the air and looking just a little bashful about it. "Didn't want to show up empty handed but I figured wine wasn't the right call for the venue."

Buck chuckled and shut the door behind him. "You definitely figured right." He pointed over toward the media area. "Wanna meet the star of the show?"

Tommy grinned. "More excited to see her than you, really."

Buck scoffed with feigned-offense and pinched Tommy's arm before moving his hand to the small of Tommy's back, pressing him gently toward where Jee was set up in front of his couch.

Jee looked up from her toys with wide eyes when they came into view. "Hey hey, princess, I got someone for you to meet!" Buck held his free hand out to point at his boyfriend. "This is Tommy. Tommy, this is Jee-Yun." She kept still in contemplation and made a humming noise up at them.

Tommy crouched down and gave her a little wave, and Buck would have laughed at the sight of such a big man making himself so small if it weren't the most endearing thing he'd seen in ages.

"Hi Jee-Yun. It's really nice to meet you," Tommy said with a quiet voice Buck'd never heard before. Jee just kept staring over at him with blinking, assessing eyes. "I really like your sparkly dress," he continued, and that seemed to do it. Jee broke out into a wide, squinty-eyed smile and let out one of those little kid laughs that melted hearts.

"Sequins," Jee said brightly; or at least tried to say, there was definitely an 's' sound in there somewhere.

The floor became their home for the next few hours, Jee happily adjusting to her new friend and toddling between the two of them, carting markers and dolls and pieces of Goldfish back and forth across the carpet. The two of them got easily talked into playing Barbies for one memorable twenty minute stretch, in which Buck learned quite a few things about Tommy's sense of fashion.

"You can't put those rain boots on Tiffany when she's wearing that dress, they don't go at all," Buck said contemptuously.

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Why not? There's yellow in the belt." He squinted and held Tiffany up a little closer to his face. "Sort of."

Buck groaned painfully. "They're way to clunky for that outfit! And it's not even raining, Tommy! Why would she be wearing rain boots?"

Tommy blinked at him for a second before slowly tilting his head up toward the ceiling. Of his very-much-indoors living room. Buck groaned louder.

Jee solved the problem easily by shoving the rain boots onto Tiffany's arms and yelling out Gloves! Buck was a little miffed he didn't think of that first.

Dolls, juice-box breaks, Buck chasing Jee around the first floor making firetruck sounds and sending Tommy into stitches from where he was still sprawled in front of the TV—the evening passed all too quickly and with more laughing than either of them had done in weeks. Which of course meant that by the time that Maddie and Chimney texted that they were going to be heading back soon, both grown men were beyond pooped and covered in more sticky substances than was probably recommended by most health codes. Jee had not decided to take it easy on the new guy, that's for sure.

Buck had handed a squirming Jee over to Tommy a bit ago while he got his niece's stuff all organized back together in her bag. By the time he'd gotten the rest of her leftover snacks out of the fridge and made a passable effort at tidying up the counters, the excitable sounds of Tommy and Jee's earlier conversations had died down and Buck decided it was about time he headed over to check up on them.

He was greeted with the sight of the two of them tucked into the couch, Jee set up on Tommy's lap with one of her new coloring books in her hand and an assortment of markers wedged into the crook of Tommy's bent knee in easy reach beside her. She was quietly and happily plugging away at one of the drawings—a startlingly pink giraffe, Buck thought he could make out—scribbling nonsensically across the page with an intently closed fist. Tommy had an arm resting along one of her sides to keep her from falling off, but the man himself was very much not paying too much attention anymore. His head was lolled back against the cushion, eyelids fluttering as he caught a few needed minutes of rest. Buck wasn't worried; he knew by the way Tommy's finger was still drawing lazy shapes along the frills of Jee's sparkly dress that Tommy'd be awake and aware in an instant if she needed him.

Buck stole a moment to just stand there and watch without either of them noticing. He took it in.

Tommy. His boyfriend. With a baby tucked happy against his chest.

Unbelievably small compared to him yet being held with all the gentleness in the world. His boyfriend and his niece. Both safe and content, on his couch.

Something tugged warm and tight behind Buck's ribs. The feeling almost toppled him over, dragged the breath from his lungs, love, pride, want.

He could have been sick with it.

He quietly padded over and lowered himself onto the cushion next to them before he could get too overwhelmed. He couldn't help himself. He leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss against where he knew Tommy's dimple was, and soon enough felt Tommy's smile underneath his lips.

"You having a good time there, Jee?" Buck asked quietly, pulling back just enough to see her. She twisted around to nod empathetically up at him.

"Uncle Tommy got me a jungle," she said, holding her booklet up with a grin, and Buck let out a surprised noise.

"Uncle Tommy, huh?" He teased, poking Tommy in the ribs and looking at him fondly. Tommy swatted his hand away and then grabbed his fingers before he could retreat too far, and Buck let him tug him in close and rest their now tangled hands against his side. Buck settled in sideways against the back of the couch and tried to push down the fondness bubbling up inside him before it burst.

"She said it earlier," Tommy said, brow furrowed just a bit. Buck wanted to press it out with his thumb. "It felt mean to correct her." Buck just hummed and squeezed his hand until he'd relaxed back into the couch again.

Tommy let him rest his forehead against his shoulder, and the three of them whiled away the next quarter hour laughing at Jee's animal noises and picking crazy colors for tigers and monkeys and toucans.

Maddie and Chimney showed up before for too long, greeting Tommy with just as much warmth as they did Buck, especially after they saw just how adamant Jee was about hanging off of Tommy's calf and not letting him go even in the face of Goldfish bribes.

Maddie and Chimney finally got her detached with the promise of an extra bedtime story, and in a flurry of side-hugs and handshakes and little versions of such for Jee, they said their goodbyes. Tommy waved them out the door with an arm around Buck's shoulders.

They stumbled up to bed that night too tired for much else other than sleep, Buck's heart skipping a beat in his chest every time he caught Tommy's eye or felt him brush against him as they moved around the loft. Tommy's strong arms wrapped around him as they drifted off. Buck pressed himself hard back into Tommy's chest and fell asleep to the feeling of feather-light kisses pressed against the back of his neck and a heart beating alongside his own.

#bucktommy #911 abc #fic #911 #tommy kinard #evan buckley #jee yun buckley han #fic prompt #my fic #drabble #911 fox #ask #🌻#oliver stark #lou ferrigno jr

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thisismeracing · 1 year ago

Text

Charlieverse | CL16

― Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader ― Word count: 2.1k ― Warnings: mentions of alcohol and Halloween costumes (clowns, werewolves, and others). ― Summary: When Yn decided to go to a Halloween party with her best friend, Charles Leclerc, she did not consider that some of the fantasies would be so close to reality that they would terrify her. But one thing Yn had no idea about too, was Charles’ feelings for her. All Hallow’s Eve is not the most romantic scenario to confess your feelings, but it might be just the perfect one for them.

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There are many sayings about how sharing is caring, and how life feels bigger and better when you do so.

Charles knew this all too well.

He was used to sharing everything with you since he was a kid.

It all started after you forgot your snack at home. He was only five years old then, but he had two brothers so he knew exactly what to do. Little Charles offered to share his bag of colored goldfish and grapes with you. The next day you shared your coloring pencils with him. It started with simple things, and it grew as you both grew older. All through the school years, Charles and you were inseparable, even with his crazy racing schedule. You would take notes for him, he would bring you stories, and you would study together until late hours. You shared your fears, deepest feelings, and even the shame of being underdressed when invited to a party such as now.

“I had no idea people would go this hard,” you state, watching as the Taxi driver came to a halt in front of the big doors. Gathered in front of the mansion were people dressed as all kinds of gore Halloween beings, some of the makeup seeming too real to your liking.

“We can go back home and change if you want,” there’s Charles' tranquil voice. He is always the one to keep his patience even if the world is ending, and you love that about him.

You shake your head, “We would never find something else in time, plus, we’re together, so… here’s to another good story,” you point to your matching costumes, and Charles smiles.

You’re both wearing Spiderman costumes. Though it felt like the best choice, the easiest one, you should have guessed it was too easy and, therefore, not ideal.

Charles gives you one last wink before putting on his mask. You do the same just as he opens the door for you, and hand in hand you walk through the crowd into the house. You cling to your best friend’s arm trying to stay as far away as possible from some of the costumes.

“You sure you’re ok over there?” Charles asks when you’re halfway to the kitchen, and you tighten your grip on his hand.

You nod, “Yeah, just.. That werewolf costume seems too realistic.” And there’s no need for you to explain to him. He knows you like he knows the back of his hand, his favorite track, his most played song. Charles knows that someone planted a seed of fear about some creatures when you were little, and some of the stories have stayed with you even after you grew. It is a bit curious how despite your fears, you still love Halloween, at least the kind of parties you go to where people will dress in a way that clearly shows that they are human beings and meant no harm.

Were you supposed to guess that a certain crazy clown costume was a mere costume after seeing people being killed by those?

You wouldn’t stay to answer that question.

When you finally reach the kitchen, both of you take off the mask to your friends, hugging and making your rounds. Charles grabs you two a drink and you choose to stay there instead of mingling and risking bumping into scary figures.

“Can you get me another of these?” You mouth to Charles pointing at your empty cup. From across the kitchen, he nods, and a few seconds later he’s in front of you with a full cup.

“They were out of ice, is it ok if we share this one?” he asks over the music and you nod. You’re sitting on the counter, and when Charles turns to your friends he stands right between your legs. One of your hands goes to his shoulders, and you keep talking about your costume as if your heart weren’t hammering inside your ribcage, almost coming out from your throat the second his hand finds your knee, holding it so your anxious bounce can cease.

You gulp trying to keep your attention on whatever your friend is talking about because all your mind can focus on is your best friend’s hand on you, his body radiating warmth into yours. And not that it is unusual for Charles to touch it, quite the opposite, he loves to hug and kiss those he cares about, but it’s just lately your heart seemed to wish for a different kind of sharing.

It wants to share the secret touches. It wants to claim hungry kisses, tears of happiness, loud silences, and whispered mysteries. It is as if your heart created a reality where you had all of this with Charles.

Your own Charlie-verse.

The party keeps going in full swing, and Charles never leaves your side for over thirty minutes. He comes and goes always checking if you’re ok and if you want to go with him, but you choose the safety of the counter and your crowd of friends. The conversation is good, and so is the booze, from the kitchen you can see a bit of the living room and the pool area through the glass doors.

And it’s only when part of the girls decide to go dancing that you hop off the counter, and grab Charles’ hands following him in the direction of another crowd of friends. You’re tipsy enough to lace your fingers with his and to tighten your grip when you pass people dressed as clowns, werewolves, and with fake open wounds.

You end up in the pool area in front of Charles, he holds your body protectively against his, while his other hand has a cup you’re still sharing. The conversation is between the group, but every once in a while something will catch his attention and he’ll whisper about it in your ear, to which you’ll slightly turn your head, chuckle, and then answer him.

Though you felt a bit out of place at first with how everyone’s costumes seemed so extra compared to yours, you and Charles have had a lot of fun. So much so that you have given up going back home and decided to share a cab to his apartment.

Half of the ride a tipsy Charles is lecturing you with his “I told you so” about how he suggested you slept at his place and you denied it before the party. You just rest your head on his shoulder and pretend you are listening to his non-stop rant.

As it happens, the driver seems a bit uninterested in Charles’ rant because he turns the music on, and the last song that starts playing when he makes the curve into Charles’ street is Michael Jackson. You shriek and start jumping on the car seat.

“Chérie, it’s late,” your best friend tries to reason, but you just giggle.

“You have soundproof walls.”

“But not windows,” he tries again, and you playfully roll your eyes before getting out of the car wishing the driver a good night.

“Annie, are you okay?” you start to sing as you reach the elevators, and Charles just fakes a sigh, holding you close by the waist.

“So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?” you sing loudly until you reach the penthouse.

“Love, that’s not Smooth Criminal’s dance, that’s Thriller…” Charles holds back his laughter when you start a made-up choreography in his living room. “Oh mon dieu, you’re so precious.”

You giggle, smacking a loud kiss on his warm cheeks. While you make your track to the bathroom Charles goes to the kitchen.

“I’m using the guest bathroom! Go shower on the main one, you stinky!” you scream from the corridors and you hear his scoff, almost able to picture his eye roll.

You go through your shower on autopilot, brushing your teeth, and reaching for one of Charles’ shirts that are on the guest bedroom bed. Your visits have been so frequent you have everything you need there, but tonight you didn’t want one of your pajamas, you want to indulge in the daydream that your mind is harnessing.

When you reach your favorite Monegasque bedroom you can hear the shower still running, so you settle in the middle of his bed, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere in your head, there’s still music playing and your body seems to have kept a bit of the buzzing from the party. The distant noises coming from the open windows, along with the wind hitting the curtains lull you into a soft slumber, that only goes away when a door closes, you guess it's his closet, you smell his body wash and shampoo before he steps close to you.

There’s too much happening inside your head, so you choose to stay in silence while your best friend watches you attentively, eyes finding yours in a beat.

Charles, on the other hand, doesn’t have much in his head. He only has you. Your smell, your laugh, your voice, your body on his bed wearing his shirt.

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” his mouth works faster than his brain does, and just like that you’re staring at him in confusion.

It’s like his brain is shortcircuited.

Charles gets up from the bed.

He walks to the door, then turns around and comes back to your side. There’s a crease between his brows and you have known him long enough to identify it as worry.

“Sharls, what’s going on?”

“I’m not drunk ok? Before you say anything, I’m not drunk, I’m just tipsy like you,” he starts and you nod from your spot on the bed. “I am so sorry, but I have to tell you this, and I’ll completely understand if you don’t feel the same, but I have to take this out of my chest, Yn.”

Sensing how serious the situation is you sit up, legs crossed one over the other, hands tucked under them.

“I- uhm… See- It’s like this, I-”

“Charles,” you call.

“I’m in love with you,” he spills in a single sentence, but then he keeps going. “I love you so fucking much it’s starting to hurt the fact that I’ve been keeping it from you. And I don’t even know when it started, but I’m so used to sharing everything with you, I just.. I wanted us to share more. I wanted to share my bed with you, and my clothes, and-” he points with his fingers before you could say something, “And I know we already share those things, but I want to do it differently. I want to share romantically. I want to share my heart with you, Chérie, all of it. But I’ll understand if you’re confused or overwhelmed by my outburst, in fact… shit… I should have waited in case you wanted to go home right? Please, tell me that if you don’t feel the same you’ll at least get the farthest guest bedroom, I promise I won’t bother you, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen in the morning and I-”

“No,” you interrupt.

“Pardon?”

“I said no, I won’t sleep in the farthest guest bedroom.”

“Oh- then let me drive you, just…– fuck I can’t I drank… uhm I’ll–”

“No, Charles, stop,” you get on your knees on the mattress and reach for his arm, bringing his body close to yours.

“No, I’m not sleeping in the guest bedroom because we’re sharing a bed tonight. No, I’m not mad about your admission, I’m sharing my heart with you too. Romantically,” you confess.

His shoulders drop in relief, and you giggle, threading your fingers on his soft strands. Charles mutters something you can’t understand because you’re too focused on how his face seems different from this angle, after all the confessed words. He’s still your Charles, but he’s also a new Charles, and this knowledge brings a new feeling to your heart and stomach.

When his lips find yours, soft and warm, a contrast with his cold hands on your jaw and waist, he presses your bodies closer and hums in pleasure. You smile, unable to contain your happiness. He kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, and when the air has made itself scarce, you part the kiss, foreheads still touching.

“So, Charlie, are you okay? Are you okay, Charlie?”

Charles throws his head back and laughs.

He knows how insufferable you could get once a song gets stuck in your head.

“I was struck down. You’re such a smooth criminal, Chérie. Stealing hearts around so easily.”

It is your turn to laugh.

“That was cheesy, but I loved it,” you mumble before pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I love you.”

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, lovelies! I hope you liked the piece, I wanted to add a huge shout-out to Delia (@struggling-with-delia on Tumblr) for proof and beta-reading this <3. Let me know your thoughts on this piece *mwah*.

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#f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #millie writes #cl16 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc fanfic #formula one imagine #charles leclerc fluff #f1 fluff #charles leclerc one shot #f1 2023 #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x you

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buckys-little-belle · 11 months ago

Text

Chapter Three - Raindrops and Goodbyes

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SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

Warnings - Talks about past (bad) Caregivers, talks about fear of abandonment, some heavy negative feelings, comparing oneself to others, fluff but ends in some angst, Bub eats, food mentioned, Bub cries

Word Count - 1751

Note - Sorry this took so long to get out! Things got hectic, and crappy, and I haven't been able to edit, or format, or really write lately! Luckily things are going well and I won't start school till the 16th so I'm hoping to get some stuff out in the next week or so! Part four will be posted tomorrow! I can't leave us on a sad note for too long! I just can't!!

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Y/n always hated wearing her yellow raincoat, the material feeling odd against her skin, and the crinkle of the fabric was never music to her ears. But on days like this, grey skies and heavy raindrops falling to the ground, she had no choice but to suit up. Her matching rain boots on, allowing her to splash in any puddle she felt needed to be played in.

As she neared the Cafe she got excited, Bucky said they would go to the park today, and although it’s running she has hopes that he’ll let them go anyways, her umbrella overhead creating enough of a dry patch to maybe, at the least, run around in the mud without catching a nasty cold.

“Mr!” She cheered as she walked in, something she did every time she saw him sat at his usual table, early as always. “I has something for you!” She smiled big as she unzipped the front pocket of her backpack “Here.” Her smile grew as Bucky’s mirrored hers, the small baggie with flowers printed on it full of chocolate chip cookies her pride and joy.

“You made these?”

“Yes!” Y/n says still standing, ready to leave for the park wherever Bucky is ready. Shifting her weight from one foot to another, growing impatient. “All on my own!” She cheered, proud of her baked goods. “Park now?” Bub asked, her smile still huge, both hands grasping the straps of her bag, now back on her back.

“It’s raining, Bub.” Bucky frowned, causing Bub to mirror his expression. “But we’ll go next time, okay?” He asked, his hands immediately helping Y/n out of her raincoat, the buttons soon undone.

“But you promised?” Y/n frowned, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “I wanted to go to d’park.” Y/n held back her tears, though she wished to stomp her foot and throw a small fit, she didn’t know Bucky well enough to truly let him see her little side completely. So instead she fixed her clothing after her coat had been taken off and sat in her usual seat.

“I know I promised, Bub.” She smiled at the nickname. “But I brought us a fun game to play today.” He was quickly making her forget about the park trip altogether, now excited to see whatever game he had brought. She hoped it wasn’t UNO, she sucked at that. “Here.” He said as he placed a game on the table, the pink and blue of Candyland making Y/n let out a small squeal.

“I love Candyland!” She grabbed the box and bounced in her seat. “Can we play now?” She asked, her eyes turning to Bucky, him already looking at her. “Please?” She added on for good measure.

The moment he nodded his head she opened the box, pulling all the pieces out. “Why don’t you set it up, and I get us some snacks?” Bucky asked, Y/n didn’t even look up at him, but nodded her head. Too busy pulling out the different characters.

Y/n didn’t know how long it took Bucky to get snacks, but by the time he got back to the table she had created a whole plot amongst the characters and their kingdoms. “Here, Bub.” Bucky said as he placed a plate on the table. It was more than the usual cake pop he got her, though one still sat on the plate. This time he got vegetables and dip, some goldfish, and a cup of juice.

“Thank you, Mr.” Y/n smiled up at him, grabbing a celery stick and dipping it. “Can I be the ice cream cone?” She asked, showing him the character she had in her hand. Bucky nodded but stayed sitting. “You need’a pick a lil guy.” She pointed to the characters situated around the board.

“Right.” He said, his expression growing serious as he looked each one over. “I’ll pick this one, he looks tough.” Y/n broke out into a fit of giggles, the marshmallow definitely not a ‘tough guy’.

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They got to playing the game, Y/n winning two times in a row. She wasn’t surprised, while she knew it was all down to luck, she had played the game a ton of times so clearly the Candyland gods liked her more than Bucky. “Are you cold bub?” Bucky asked her, making her realise she was shivering slightly.

She knew not bringing a sweater might be a bad idea, but she thought they were going to the park. “Um, yeah.” She nodded then shrugged her shoulders. She hoped he wouldn’t make her go back home and get one, she only had so much time in a day to spend at the cafe. “Bu’ I’m all good, can we play again?” She asked, moving their pieces back to the star.

“Yeah we can play again, just wait a second.” Bucky stood up, she wondered where he was going, but instead of leaving to grab something or go to the bathroom he stood at the side of her booth with a black sweater in hand. “Hands up, Bub.” He said, holding the sweater out.

“I don’ need your sweater, wha’ if yous get cold?” She asked, not sure if her being so comfortable around Bucky her little side couldn’t help but come out now was a good thing or a bad thing. While she was 100% sure Bucky was a safe guy to be around, she didn’t want to get too attached to him just in case.

“I won’t get cold.” He answered in a softer voice. She knew he was special, that’s what everyone in the newspapers said, that he’s indestructible. But she’d hate to be the person who gave a super soldier a cold because she took his sweater. “Bub.” His voice drew her out of her worrying. He was now crouched down so they were eye level. “I won’t get cold, but you’re shivering.” He didn’t wait for her to put her arms up, instead just putting it over her head and waiting for her to put her arms through on her own.

“Tanks.” Bub murmured, looking at Bucky with a small smile. She was thankful for the sweater, now warm, but she still worried that she was too much to handle. He had given her a lot, crayons, colouring pages, so much of his time, and now his sweater. She hadn’t given him anything but cookies that she hoped tasted okay.

“Why don’t we play again?” Bucky asked as he settled back into his seat. “I can feel it, I’m going to win this one.” He teased, she shook her head, he had no clue that the Candyland gods were on her side, and she hoped he would never know.

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Y/n frowned as she saw Bucky pacing around outside. It had stopped raining but he said that they should wait till a sunny day to go out, because ‘everything would be slippery’. Buck’s phone had rung five hours ago, well maybe two minutes ago, but it felt like forever as she just watched him pace with an unhappy look on his face.

She grabbed the last few goldfish and got back to her colouring, when she had won for a third time Bucky had to quit, saying his ego couldn’t handle anymore. Y/n giggled at the memory.

The doorbell rang out and she quickly turned, though her smile turned back into a frown when she saw Bucky’s sad expression. “I’m sorry, I have to go, Bub.” He said, his sad words said in a kind tone.

“Oh, otay.” Y/n answered, watching him pack up his things. “Will you be back tomorrow?” She asked, her crayons laid on the table instead of in her hands.

Bucky sighed, then sat down, his hands clasped on the table. “I’m going to be gone until next wednesday.” Y/n’s back straightened up, he’d be gone for nine days. That was a lot of time to be gone, and a lot of time for him to think and change his mind about her.

“Oh, do you, do you wan’ your sweater back?” She asked, wiggling her hands out of the sleeves before Bucky got to her. His hands covering hers, a painful smile on his face.

“You can keep it, I’ll get it back when I come back okay?” Y/n nodded. “I’ll put my phone number in your phone, and I’ll text you if I’m going to be back later than wednesday, okay?” She nodded her head, at least he wasn’t just up and leaving, he was giving her a point of contact if needed. She handed him her phone, watching as he took forever to type out his name and number. It was a little silly to watch. “I won’t be able to text or call you while I’m away.” He admitted. “But you can text me all you want and I’ll read them when I’m back.” Bucky offered, though she knew she wouldn’t do that, she wouldn’t bother him while he was away, she knew people hated that.

She just nodded her head, watching him as he put his coat and backpack on. “Stay safe.” She whispered as he stood in front of her, ready to leave.

“And you be good, Bub.” Bucky whispered back, and then he was gone. She watched him get into his jeep and drive away. She knew her mind was being silly when she couldn’t help but think he wouldn’t come back, but it didn’t mean it stopped that train of thought.

She knew deep down that he had to leave, he didn’t want to, but he had to. She knew he wasn’t like the other people who became her friends and then left and never came back, she knew that, somewhere in her mind she knew that. But she still couldn’t help it as a few tears slipped down her cheeks as she cleaned up. She couldn’t help but let out a small sad noise as she put on her coat, and she couldn’t help but sob the moment she got home and into bed.

“He had to go save people, he was needed by the world because he's a good guy, that’s why he left.” She whispered to herself all night, but she still felt as though he had left because of something she did.

#buckys little belle #age regression fic #age regression #little!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x little!reader #bucky barnes x little!reader #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #little reader #little fic #cafe bignsmall #bignsmall

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ultrone · 1 year ago

Note

I’m up late so here are some HC’s I have of the girlies

Nat:

- You get her one of those “back off, I love my gf” shirts as a joke, expecting her to never put it on and she wears it RELIGIOUSLY. She is so proud to wear that shit

- (If you’re lucky enough to have a positive male figure, a grandfather or father in your life) one time overhears Nat talking about her home life and now that male figure is determined to make her feel safe and happy. He’ll insist that you both join him for fishing and while you’re apprehensive, Nat is 100% down.

-She never has water or lunch because she forgets/chooses to not take care of herself so you drop it off to her at practice everyday

- She sleeps with a stuffed animal but will not let ANYONE know

Shauna:

- Early riser, even when sleeping w you but she will just happily lay next to you, holding your hand, admiring you while you sleep just taking you in for a few extra moments.

- she has a scrapbook of everything you guys have done (movie tickets, Polaroids, etc), and she also keeps all the flowers you’ve ever gotten her in there after they’ve dried and withered

- She loves stargazing, she knows astronomy and can and will point out the constellations to you

- Reading to or with each other is common and probably a love language, especially reading the other to sleep

Lottie:

- Surprisingly very good at all the fine arts; she can draw well, she definitely can play the piano bc her rich parents paid for her to have lessons, etc

- Blanket stealer; she insists on having the AC CRANKED at night, then steals the blankets while you both are sleeping and you wake up with hypothermia while she’s snuggled up in all your blankets

- She wasn’t allowed to have a pet so you buy her a single goldfish once and she loves it so much, she let you name it (you named it something stupid but she still calls it what you want) it dies in like 2 days because as intelligent as she is she is incapable of taking care of another living thing and she is inconsolable for days. You got her a succulent to make her feel better

Jackie:

- Clingy (derogatory) sure it’s cute of her at first until she’s waking up at 5 am for her morning practices and wakes you up too so you both can “brush your teeth together”

- She will always ask for your old marked up books to read and she makes small notes in the margins in a different color before giving them back (She has reading glasses too, and she looks gorgeous in them)

- She asks you to help her stretch, or roll out her muscles before practice but she doesn’t need help she just wants to get you flustered and have your hands all over her

I LOVE THEM 🤭

nat would wear that shirt 24/7 istg 😭 especially as her pjs, and omg i love the idea of your male parental figure inviting nat to everything as well 🥹 even if it’s just something simple like going out for brunch, it’d make her feel way better and more welcomed. and her forgetting to bring lunch everyday is SO REAL 😭 then she’ll prolly buy a bag of chips and a soda as her first meal of the day and then complain about having a stomach ache 🙄 GIRL… also for sure, i bet her plushy is a little white bunny with long ears that was given to her as a toddler.

shauna has always given me the vibe that she wakes up at 9am idk but yeah she’d def just lay there looking at you 😭😭 and the scrapbook thing is SO TRUE, i bet she also adds entries of everything you do together 🫣 since she loves stargazing you got her one of those custom star maps of your anniversary day and she LOVED IT 🥹 and she for sure loves reading to you and hearing you read her favourite books to her

i def see lottie being good at drawing and playing the piano 😌 i also bet she’s especially good at painting landscapes and stuff like that. whenever u complain about her taking the blankets, she’ll just tell you to snuggle up to her to get warmer instead of actually sharing her blanket with you 🙄🙄 but if you’re the one stealing the blankets she’ll pout and whine for hours until you share them with her… the AUDACITY 😒 my girl came back from school on a random day and realized the goldfish wasn’t there anymore, she got concerned and asked the domestic helper what had happened, and she told her that the fish died like two weeks ago ☠️☠️ when i tell u lottie was SHOCKED… she was so embarrassed that she told you that it got a weird disease and died from natural causes LMFAOO

jackie waking you up so you can brush your teeth together is so real 😭😭 my girl doesn’t get the concept of having “alone time.” i just know it takes jackie an hour to read 3 pages, i bet she spends half of that time drawing silly little doodles all over the margins ☠️ and for sure, she also asks u to rub sunscreen on her body even though she could do it herself, she just wants to feel your touch 🫣

#.yjs-inbox #yellowjackets thoughts #jackie taylor thoughts #shauna shipman thoughts #lottie matthews thoughts #nat scatorccio thoughts #jackie taylor x reader #shauna shipman x reader #lottie matthews x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets headcanons #.soffsh

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sorencd · 1 year ago

Text

FROM ME TO YOU

pairing: steven meeks x reader

summary: you've been receiving a ton of letters lately. no address or anything, just a letter. who's it from?

word count: 2k

a/n: I FINALLY FINISHED IT RAHHHHH I FINISHED IT THANK U TO WHOEVER REQUESTED THIS ANON I FORGOT BUT ANYWAYS I FINISHED IT RAHSHSHAHHHHH

masterlist

"you know, this isn't really fair. i was expecting people to not really like these types of crackers because come on! they're childish! practically child-shaped and screams 'child' all around!" you huff before sitting down on your desk with your arms crossed, not noticing the piece of paper in front of you.

"then why do you buy them then?"

"because it's good!"

"then maybe that's why they buy it."

you just came back from your quick stroll outside to unwind from the stressful lesson you and your brain were put through and to hopefully, score yourself some delicious goldfish crackers, but to your dismay, they were all out of your favorite snack.

"the shopkeepers by now should now that i absolute- what's this?"

"woah, there's another one!"

there on your desk sat an envelope that interrupted you from you rambling. there was no address, no sign, no nothing. the front and back were pristine as ever and it had only your name neatly written on the bottom corner. lately, you've been receiving a handful of letters of the same nature─ just your name and a romantic letter inside. you carefully opened the seal to retrieve its contents, expecting the usual lovesick and hopelessly devoted warble you've grown accustomed to. you have even begun to expect a note somewhere on you or your belongings early in the day, whether it be on your desk─ like the one in your hands right now, your bag, slid in between one of your books, or it would be shuffled in along with your notes.

"is it from the same person?" you continued carefully unsealing the paper while your friend watched you with eager eyes, excited to see what's in store this time.

you've got to hand it to whoever's doing this, though. they're very dedicated; continuously sending you love letters every day like it's their job. you'd receive one after another and another and another. this person made sure to never miss a date. you pulled out the love letter and along came it was a small flower stuck to the corner. a flutter from your heart travelled down to your toes and set your whole body in a feeling of excitement as you recognized what the flower symbolized; it made you forget all about not being able to eat the delectable treat you were so set on getting your hands on. you also had to resist the urge to grin like an idiot, keeping on the nonchalant facade and instead looked around the room for anyone who could possibly send this to you. but it was only you and your friend.

"so this is what you do in your spare time?"

steven jumped from his position behind the door and quickly pulled back into the corridor, frightened when charlie suddenly appeared out of thin air. he shook his head and pinched the space between his eyes with his fingers. if only he could muster up enough courage to hand the letters in person, but he knew better than anyone he'd only freeze on the spot and make a fool of himself, and the last person he wanted to weird out was you.

"i was only making sure (y/n) got my letter, i put a lot of effort into that."

"i think (y/n) would appreciate it more if you reveal yourself."

charlie received a scrunched and dumbfounded glare to his proposal. he was absolutely appalled that charlie could even suggest such a vile thing.

"come on! grow yourself a pair, eh?"

steven could only shake his head again to show his distaste to his friends suggestions. in the midst of his and charlie's bickering, steven failed to hear the soft clicking of shoes on the floor that was slowly approaching the doorway they resided in. he also failed to see the sly grin on charlie's face and his gaze that went beyond his eyeglasses' frame, it was your turn to give him a heart attack.

before you were about to head for the washroom, a familiar body was standing to your left along with someone else. it was that boy who you shared a class or two with, steven. recently, you've begun to notice that to you, he stands out more amongst the crowd. in a sea of people, you could easily discern him amidst the haze. this feeling gradually came onto you the more you saw him, and a silent hope behind the back of your mind wished that the anonymous letters were from him. after all─ the few times you came across his handwriting, at least often enough for you to recognize it, you could clearly see a resemblance between the two. but you just concluded it's your mind corroborating something for you to keep yourself from succumbing into insanity.

"(y/n)! what a surprise!"

"hi steven! hi… charlie?"

"right on the money!"

the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard, akin to something straight out of heaven was all his mind was set on. your laughter that steven loved so much filled the air and rang through his ears like a god-sent melody. in short it was angelic, and the things he’s willing to do just to hear it again would’ve made him a wanted man.

"alright. if you both will excuse me, i have somewhere to go to. it was nice meeting you two!"

and there you go. quickly scurrying off into the crowd-filled hallways and blending in, disappearing from steven's line of sight just as quick as you've arrived.

"if i were you i'd be quicker about asking (y/n) out. drop the 'mysterious kid' act and get yourself a lover!" he received a shove from charlie accompanied by a cheshire-cat smile.

charlie was very adamant on helping him, steven concluded. and if he wanted to be free of the constant daydreaming about you, and get charlie to stop pestering him, he figured maybe it is time to reveal himself to you.

with a rub to his sinus, steven begrudgingly agreed to remove the anonymity of his letters and finally give your secret-admirer a proper name.

you were organizing each of the letters in your small box that hid in the depths of your bag in the washroom to avoid anyone from seeing what you're doing. it wasn't like you compiling the letters was wrong, you just wanted privacy from prying eyes and a little breathing room for yourself.

and all the while steven anxiously waited outside, a large lump in his throat that he couldn't seem to swallow no matter how much he tried. his fingers constantly fiddling as a result of his heart rapidly beating out of the cage of his chest, and every sound made him flinch. his nerves were buzzing like wildfire. was he really going to do this? reveal himself to you? what would you think? he shouldn't have listened to charlie. but on the other hand, he's got nothing to lose. aside from his dignity and maybe having to bear the pain of you trying to avoid him to relieve the awkwardness that could ensue, though that wasn't really much of an issue. at least steven thinks it's not. at the end of the day, he could always just walk away; you haven't seen him anyways.

a small, shocked gasp came from his left pulled him out of his train of thoughts and overanalyzing of the situation at hand, it was you. he mirrored your surprised movements and let out a shout of his own, he took a few steps back to recuperate. great, now it was too late and there's no way to get out of this now.

"steven! i didn't expect to see you again." he watched your eyes crinkle along your toothy smile, and for a moment he didn't know what to say. he was absolutely smitten just from hearing your voice.

"is everything alright?"

"y-yeah uhm, i was just about to-" he darted his eyes around before settling them back on you, "can we go somewhere else? i-i'd like to tell you something."

you nodded, albeit not without hesitance due to his sudden invitation. the pair of you walked together. him leading you to where you presume is the spot by the lake, given you were walking towards the door where behind it would reveal the fields outside of hellton.

the walk on the way was nothing short of quiet and tense, is how you'd like to put it. you were tempted to initiate small talk, given that your surroundings were eerily quiet, and the silence was starting to ring in your ears, but you feared the conversation would just be short lived. so you opted to keep your mouth shut the entire short trip.

and now, after hearing nothing except for your shoes clashing with the floor, it was replaced with the chirp of birds and soft walking atop the grass. you heard steven halt in his tracks while you were busy admiring the view, and when you switched your focus to look back at him, you were now standing by a lake. the scenery feels like it was pulled straight out of a story book from winnie the pooh, you commented to yourself as you lifted your head to face steven. the crisp gush of the wind gently glazing your cheeks. but the boy in front of you shielded most of it.

"so- what i was meaning to say was…." he paused, breaking eye contact to look down at his shoes before taking a deep breath. he wasn't sure if what he was doing was the right thing, or was it the right time to do so, but he already caught himself in whatever all of this is. and he's not turning back.

"it was me."

"it was.. you? the one who took the last bag of goldfish crackers?"

"what? no uhm.. i'm the one who's been.. you know.. sending those letters.."

"oh." blood rushed to your cold cheeks and cascaded a warm red-hued tint, your eyes slightly widened and your lips were parted. this was surprising, you weren't really expecting it to be him. you thought he had no interest in anything involving romance because to you, he was very focused on studying. maybe there's more to him than you thought. you inhaled, trying to recollect yourself as quickly as possible. but how could you when someone just confessed to being your secret admirer?

"i was wondering too if you'd maybe like to, i don’t know.. go out on a date..? with me? sometime? we could go to that library you like that's nearby, i mean it's the only library nearby." there, he said it. he shot his shot, he can't take it back now.

"i think i'd like that."

steven felt his heart stop, he was blessed with seeing your smile that was as bright as the sun face to face, and it was directed to him! he must be dreaming! with his mouth agape and his cheeks impossibly redder than yours, he tried saying anything, anything at all that would tell you how pretty he thought you were, but nothing came out. the sudden irritating ringing of the bell saved him from the embarrassment he could've put himself into, it was time to return to classes again.

"i'll see you later?"

"yeah, bye-bye steven. i'll see you later!" you shouted after him. steven had to fix his footing to prevent himself from tripping while he walked away. he turned back to wave at you again, who was walking towards the opposite direction. the boy with new profound energy rushed towards his next class as fast as his legs would allow him.

"someone's happy." gerard pointed out when steven took a seat beside him, a lopsided giddy grin on his lips and a slight bounce to each step he took. he felt like he was over the moon.

"see, i told you. you had nothing to worry about." a voice from behind, which belonged to charlie, who was wearing a smug expression, chimed in.

steven couldn't really hear what they were saying, though. he’s too busy daydreaming about how fun the library date would be, his own thoughts blocking out the others' voices. and he’s already conjuring up the next letter he's about to make for you out of pure excitement, maybe he'll include a poem or two into it, too.

#steven meeks x reader #steven meeks #dead poets society x reader #dead poets society

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