#it brings him comfort that he doesn't find at home

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

ALL TOYS REACTIONS TO FINALLY HAVING A FRESH BATH AND MANY FRESH FOODS AFTER ESCAPING THE FACTORY

Along with them getting bandages and such for the wounds, etc. They'd be crying with tears of joy and thanking their angel a lot for it

(Prototype and Doctor is dead in that forsaken factory)

This! This ask is the kind of stuff that makes me love writing!

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me :)

Player who helped the toys in Safe Haven escape the factory

★ After the Player brings everyone into their house, an uneasy silence fills the room only drowned out by quiet murmuring. Nobody is sure what to do. Most had forgotten the warmth of a real home, having spent so long in a hostile environment.

★ Poppy is the first to speak. "Are…are you sure we can stay?" The Player nods, their gentle smile providing the comfort everyone needs. One of the other toys shyly asks, "Do you have snacks?"

★ They are all hungry, starving even. Fortunately for them the Player has a pantry stocked up with snacks. The toys, who had been surviving on scraps, are overwhelmed by the sight of so much food.

★ Since none of the toys know how to cook, the Player takes the lead in preparing a proper meal. It's been so long since they've had actual food. Not raw, questionably sourced, meat.

★ The kitchen becomes rather crowded, with the smaller toys peeking over countertops to watch the Player cook. Doey cried when he got a plate of food all to himself. It's been so long since him and his friends could all eat there fill without worries. No empty stomachs or dirty, unwashed plates.

★ Kissy was one of the last toys to enter the kitchen. She's hesitant, her eyes darting around the room, still not fully believing that they are truly safe. she examines each item in the room, curiosity getting the better of her.

★ She can feel her body relaxing for the first time in ages. The feeling of safety and comfort is almost surreal. Several of the other toys lean on her while getting comfy after their meal. A small cuddle pile forming.

★ You hate to ruin the fun, but all of them where in desperate need of bath. You couldn't let them stay dirty. By the time everyone is done getting washed up the bath water is a murky brown and the Player has run out of towels

★ The Player tends to any wounds, applying bandages when needed. Doey helps them with the band aid part. He doesn't think it's fair for the Player to do everything alone.

★ There is a lot of work to do before everyone feels some semblance of okay. Some of the scars won't fully heal, but that's a problem for tomorrow. It's been a long day and you need rest. Tonight, everyone is safe and sound, curled up in all the blankets you could find.

[theevidenceileave]

Buck moving into Eddie's house to "take care of it" until Eddie comes back, still holding out hope regardless.

He has to bring his stuff over from the loft. Obviously, but he keeps it separate because he doesn't feel like he should disrupt their (Chris and Eddie's) space.

But Eddie stays in Texas and he gives Buck free reign on his house and it hurts his heart but Buck starts finding it easier and easier to change things around because Eddie's house has always felt like home, of course he's gonna take care of it

Even though Eddie's not there.

And then Buck runs into Tommy, who's well meaning but still hurtful when he says this sounds too similar to the Abby situation - Buck acting like a ghost in a house that isn't his, waiting for someone to come back who might not. And Tommy would know, wouldn't he? He just wants better for Buck because he's not evil, but Buck bristles at the idea because Eddie is nothing like Abby, ok? He's everything, and he loves Buck (he said so!), and he's not leaving forever he's just figuring some things ou-

Oh.

That gets Buck where it hurts, and he realizes not for the first time how much he loves Eddie, needs him, and he can't just sit with this on his mind. So he bakes. And he cleans. And he starts moving himself around. He's not a ghost - he's alive and full of love he doesn't know where to put, so he directs it to the house.

If Stress Baker Buck was bad, Interior Designer Buck is a whole other level. His old stuff is moved in and put away, and the cabinets are reorganized. Pictures all over the walls of him and Chris and Eddie and the rest of their family. New paint on the walls, new rug on the floor. Same couch.

Most of Eddie and Chris's things stay. He takes what Eddie's left behind and cleans it, putting them back in their rightful place. With how much he took with him to El Paso, there's enough space in the drawers and closet for Buck's clothes to sit next to Eddie's, and Buck thinks he shouldn't love the way their socks look folded up next to each other as much as he does.

And Chris's room has been mostly untouched since he left, Eddie needing to sit there some days to find comfort in the mess Chris left behind. Eddie had taken some things with him when he left, hoping it'll bring Chris familiarity, and the rest Buck takes himself to sit with him in Eddie's (no, his) closet. A babybox of sorts, because he may not have known Chris when he was a baby but he's Buck's baby regardless, and this small collection of pictures and toys and too-small t shirts is all he has of him right now.

He doesn't tell Eddie. He can't tell Eddie, not because he's afraid he overstepped, but because he'd have explain to him why he chose a paint color exciting enough for Chris and muted enough for Eddie, deciding on a rich color they'd all love. He'd have to explain why Chris's drawing of "family" from when he was 9 is centered on the wall, surrounded by real photos of him and Eddie and Shannon and Buck with wide smiles and heart frames. He'd have to explain why he gets a dog, names it Krypto after his Superman and chooses a breed he knows is good with kids. Why he trains the dog to become a service animal for someone with physical disabilities.

He can't explain without being horribly, terribly obvious, so he doesn't.

But he'll have to, eventually, and sooner than he thinks because Eddie and Chris are coming home to surprise him.

in my little fantasy world where buck moves into eddie’s house while he’s gone, buck keeps referring to everything as eddie’s (i’m at your house, i’m on your couch, i’m in your kitchen, etc), and eddie still hasn’t figured out his feelings but he finds this strangely frustrating. one day eddie finally corrects him (buck, it’s your kitchen), and he means something like “it’s our kitchen,” but he hasn’t found the words for that. and of course, to buck, it sounds like a confirmation that eddie’s never coming back.

[shalfeis]

hsr characters as your pets, namely cats. I hope you enjoy it. I apologize for the possible ooc.

reader x dan heng, caelus, phainon (separately)

Dan Heng

A very calm and non-confrontational cat. Gets along well with other pets, if they are in your house.

Not picky about food, but still prefers your cooking. If you feed him something delicious, you can hear him purring softly.

Unlike many other cats, he is not afraid of water. On the contrary, he willingly goes into the water if it is cool or warm. He calmly waits until all the spa treatments are completed, which makes your job much easier.

He's not the most talkative, affectionate and active cat in the world, but he always responds when you call him. He always listens attentively to you when you're talking enthusiastically. And at night he likes to lie down on your feet, warm them and purr softly.

If you're sad, in pain, or crying, he'll try to comfort you by rubbing against you, purring, and snuggling up to you. Needless to say, it more than helps?

You often lose some small things, such as keys, and somehow he always finds them and brings them to you. You don't understand how he does it, but it's still very nice.

As for outsiders, he doesn't particularly like them coming. He reacts calmly to them, but always stays away. For example, he's sitting on the couch and watching a new person in your house.

It is not strongly attached to its habitat, it is more attached to its owner, that is, to you. He'll miss the old house, of course, but he's also not against moving. He even shows interest in his new place of residence.

He loves you very much, just like you love him. You thank everyone you can for getting such a good friend and pet.

Caelus

And this is not a cat, but a disaster. Unlike Dan Heng, he is very active and constantly gets into some strange situations. He definitely has a talent for it.

He's certainly not picky about food, he'll eat anything you give him. Sometimes it seems to you that he has a black hole instead of a stomach, because how the hell does he fit so much and he's still hungry??

He's not afraid of water either, but you should be patient, because you won't be able to do spa treatments in peace. As already mentioned, he's very active, so you need to keep him occupied so that he doesn't think to leave the bath in the middle of the procedure. That already was, and you were ready to kill him.

Very talkative. It doesn't matter if you're busy with something or not, he'll say whatever he thinks. But if he's quiet and you can't hear him, then this can only mean two options. First, he's done something wrong and is trying to cover up the crime. The second one, he's not feeling well.

He is also very playful. You have a lot of different toys at home. But for some reason, the box and the packages are his favorites.

This kid is like ginger cats, you'll never guess what came into his head. At first he may purr and caress, and the next moment he wakes up in him the desire to bite you. Or he suddenly attacks you from around the corner when you least expect it.

Nevertheless, at night he likes to lie down next to you and purr like a tractor. And loudly. But somehow it's like white noise to you, and it's hard to fall asleep without it.

He immediately notices when you feel bad. He may not be very good at comforting, but the fact that he's trying to cheer you up, albeit clumsily, makes you feel better.

If Dan Heng is the one who finds your lost things, then Caelus is the one who gets your things lost. You find them in the most unexpected places. How did he even manage to hide the TV remote in the cupboard??

He is interested in every new visitor to your house. He won't be as affectionate and talkative with them as he is with you, but he won't stay away either. He will look at a person with interest and, for example, touch him with his paw or, if he likes a person, play with him.

Wherever you go, he will always be curious. He will actively explore new territory and get to know the world around him. He looks so cute in those moments, he's like a child.

Even though he's a walking disaster and often gets on your nerves, he's still very attached to you and loves you very much. He's not perfect, but that's why you love him.

Phainon

And here we are, have the perfect balance. Quite calm, but quite playful at the same time. Gets along well with other pets. And he doesn't give you any problems.

He's not picky about food, but like Dan Heng, he prefers your cooking more. He purrs softly if the food is really delicious.

He is very willing to go into the water. You can tell by his whole appearance that he enjoys spa treatments. That's why he always smells delicious and his coat is shiny.

As already mentioned, although he's calm, he doesn't mind playing either. You have several toys that he likes to play with.

He's a walking anti-stress guy, not a cat. It's enough for him to meow a couple of times, purr and settle on your feet, and your stress and fatigue go away instantly. At night, you sleep soundly with him in your arms. He purrs softly so as not to wake you up, and warms you up. Dream.

He's your little helper. He finds lost items even before you realize that you've lost something somewhere in the house, and brings them to you. You're very interested in how he does it. Or he calls you when you ask for it. For example, if you ask him to call you when the water starts to boil, he will actually call you. Sometimes it seems to you that there is a person in the body of a cat next to you, and not an ordinary cat.

When you're working, he either sits next to you or on your lap, waiting for you to finish your work. Needless to say, how does it add motivation to finish everything as quickly as possible?

Not to say that he's against strangers in your home. He won't shy away from them, but he won't fawn over them either. His affection belongs only to you. He will sit next to you and calmly look at the guest.

The change of location scares him a little, but he tries not to show it. While you're around, he's exploring a new area with interest and caution. He looks so cute that you can't resist taking a few photos.

Anyway, you have a whole photo album with him. He's too photogenic and handsome, there's nothing you can do about it. And it doesn't look like he's against it.

He's very attached to you and loves you very much. You feel the same way, so there's an idyll in your house. You don't even need a boyfriend with a cat like that.

[v6quewrlds]

V-DAY HEADCANONS, VARIOUS.

featuring⠀⁎⠀joe burrow, justin herbert, tee higgins, jalen hurts, andrei iosivas, mathew barzal, lewis hamilton, & mason mount.

summary⠀⁎⠀how they like to show/receive love.

author's note⠀⁎⠀not proofread bc fuck that. this is the most random assortment of people, but i hope you find some you'd like to read. moral of the story is that athletes have praise kinks. please remember this is just my opinion lmao. happy valentine's day <333

&.⠀⠀JOE BURROW⠀⋆⠀#9.

‎⸻⠀there's nothing he loves more than coming home to know that you're there. doesn't matter if you're cuddling in silence, building a lego set, or just being a comforting presence when he's watching film. he loves giving you quality time.

‎⸻⠀he can feel his heart flutter when he hears those soft words of affirmation fall from your lips. it's always reassuring to know that he's doing well both professionally and privately.

&.⠀⠀JUSTIN HERBERT⠀⋆⠀#10.

‎⸻⠀though he recognizes that the special dinners and the short vacations are special and have their place, there's nothing that brings him more joy than to see the way your face lights up for the small gifts. a new charm for your necklace, pastries from the bakery you love, a new pack of gum because he saw you were running low.

‎⸻⠀long walks on the beach, his hand in yours. during those moments nothing else matters but the inconsequential conversation you're having about the squeaky guest room door, the new candle scent you picked up at the farmer's market, the quality time is everything to him.

&.⠀⠀TEE HIGGINS⠀⋆⠀#5.

‎⸻⠀he's at his most romantic when it's just the two of you. he's rambling softly about how lucky he is, how much he missed you before he knew you, and how he'll do everything in his power for you. he's an active listener, gentle encouragement when you need it, words of affirmation even before you realize you need them.

‎⸻⠀scratch his back when he's drifting off to sleep and he's yours. it's not sexual in nature necessarily. he just needs the physical touch, the closeness, the warmth, your attention on soothing him.

&.⠀⠀JALEN HURTS⠀⋆⠀#1.

‎⸻⠀it's always when you least expect it. he's busy often, and you understand. so, the acts of service mean that much more to you. taking the trash on his way out, trimming the wicks on your candles, replacing your seasonings when they run low before you've noticed.

‎⸻⠀it always helps to know that you see him. you see the work he puts in. your words of affirmation echo in his mind whenever he feels himself wondering if he's enough. you make sure he knows he is, screenshots of random messages in a special folder in his camera roll.

&.⠀⠀ANDREI IOSIVAS⠀⋆⠀#80.

‎⸻⠀he doesn't want you to stray too far from him. he likes providing you with the knowledge that he's there, physically. his wants you to find comfort in his presence, your heartbeat stilling, your breathing evening out.

‎⸻⠀he's an athlete so he thrives off words of affirmation. he really can't help the rush of heat to his face, the way his shoulders relax, the way his eyes sparkle at your words.

&.⠀⠀MATHEW BARZAL⠀⋆⠀#13.

‎⸻⠀he knows he's not always the most perceptive. that sometimes you have to remind him to pick up his socks or make sure his underwear actually makes it into the hamper. but he does try to do those little acts of service for you. offering his help before you can ask for it, going out of his way to make your life even just 5% easier.

‎⸻⠀at the end of the day, mat just needs you. doesn't have to be fancy. he doesn't need the extravagant date nights or the fancy wines. even if it's just the two of you, a shitty romcom, and greasy takeout, the quality time spent with you is really all that matters.

&.⠀⠀LEWIS HAMILTON⠀⋆⠀#44.

⸻⠀he never makes a big deal out of it. it's always deceptively casual, almost as if he hopes you don't even notice. the gifts are near constant. a new bottle of almave that wasn't there before, your checking account altering you of a transfer. it even extends to the other people you care about. a new baseball cap for your dad, a spa day for your mother.

⸻⠀rich bitch hamilton will always find a way to get you alone. he'll whisk you away for a day or two to float on the mediterranean, eager to have that one-on-one quality time together.

&.⠀⠀MASON MOUNT⠀⋆⠀#7.

⸻⠀it's a priority for him to make sure that you can lean on him, especially literally. nothing makes his heart pulse quite like seeing you so physically comfortable with him. seeking out his touch, softly telling him he's too far, how could he say no?

⸻⠀he loves knowing that you love existing with him. that you're comfortable enough to enter his space so willingly. from cleaning his training bag to confirming his physical therapy appointments, the little acts of service just reaffirm for him that you see him, love him, and casually view taking care of him as part of your routine.

[thezeninclan]

omegaverse ft. the hashira

TENGEN — alpha obviously, I don’t think there’s a person on earth who would argue otherwise. tengen doesn’t believe in toxic alpha-ness, or alpha aggression, or any of the alpha traits that make other alphas think they’re better than everyone. instead he believes its an alpha’s purpose to treat his omega or omegas like royalty, to make sure they have everything they need, everything they want, so they live a life of flamboyant luxury and comfort. he’s extremely affectionate, whether he is in rut or not. he loves to scent his omegas and have he scent them in return, he doesn't care that typical alphas wouldn't want to walk around smelling like an omega. in his mind, there is nothing better smelling in the world than the perfume like scents of his wives, so of course he would like to smell of them too. he just loves love and loves to show it, from big warm hugs to lingering temple kisses, to long, languid early morning sex sessions.

MITSURI — omega. it had always been a touchy subject for her— due to her immense strength, her hearty appetite, even her career as a demon slaying hashira. she had always thought no one would want her, a fierce omega. but that was only the self-doubt that had clouded her mind since she had first presented. in truth she was the perfect omega, loyal, brave, strong. there was no one in the world that an alpha could better trust with their pups, no mother that would fight harder to protect their nest.

IGURO — alpha. there is nothing more important to him than protecting his omega. that is the true purpose of an alpha after all. it is his job to keep his omega safe, and any pups they might have together. so it is not unusual to find him keeping steadfast guard over any omega who might call upon him for help, such as giyuu or gyomei, for they know there is no better alpha in the world, one who could easily resist the pull of pheromones and instead stand guard at the outside of their door, sword in hand and scowl on face, ready to cut down any who might pose harm to his ward.

SANEMI — alpha. he's needy, ravenous, hungry for attention, for love. he craves the feeling of fingernails scratching down his back, the sharp sting of teeth sinking into skin, the bruise of lips on his from the kisses he can't get enough of. his omega won't be able to leave his side for the duration of their heat. they eat together, bathe together, sleep together. the happiest times of his life are spent with his omega.

SHINOBU — she was a born and bred alpha, but just like tengen, she didn't believe in toxic relationships between alpha and omega. she treats her omega like gold, languishing them in gifts, showering them with affection and love, kisses, hugs, etc. she loves to hold her omega's hand, loves to cuddle them close and take in their scent, loving nothing more than the calm, languid sex sessions between alpha and omega once their heat dies down.

RENGOKU — alpha. by nature he is a carer, compassionate, kind, generous. he forms quick relationships with anyone, everyone, and with those he loves rengoku is a steadfast guardian, and diehard companion. with his omega he is just he same. they shall never want for anything, nesting materials, food, love, whatever the omega needs, rengoku is more than happy to provide. he is polite, a true gentleman, always asking for permission to enter his omega's nest, always bringing home surprise treats, special items his omega might enjoy— candies and sweets, a handmade pinwheel, a brand new plush futon, a pair of artisan sandals. he never overlooks an opportunity for kindness and affection, as quick to give a word of affirmation as a gift, so that his omega always knows his love for them, always knows how important they are to him, that he can't live without them, that he doesn't want to live without them.

GIYUU — omega. anyone who knew giyu could tell when his heat was approaching. it was a night and day difference, between the standoffish, icy demeanor he usually enveloped himself in like a shield, to a soft, affectionate omega that craved company and attention.

GYOMEI — unpopular opinion but omega. gyomei is a softie, everyone who has ever met him knows that. he loves to nurture and be nurtured, to love and be loved in return. it's unusual, for someone who looks like him, to be an omega after all, but there is nothing shameful about it and gyomei has been upfront about that from the start. he loves to nest, to create a safe space that smells of him and him alone, or him and whatever alpha he has chosen to spend his heats with. it isn't unusual to find him at the uzui household, five bodies curled together in a nest of blankets and haori's that smells of sweet fruit and bright perfume.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 36 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

CW: Kisses, Trains, Public indecency, jerking off, fem receiving oral, fingering AN: Happy Valentines day! I ask that anyone who doesn't have a Valentine be mine today <3 I don't have much to offer except Alastor making a show of himself this chapter

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He was well and truly addicted to you. Alastor wasn’t sure how he’d survive, now that he’d gotten a taste of what having you to himself would be like. As you gasped in his arms, he couldn’t help but remember how you looked, hair tussled and sleepy eyes as your hand wrapped around him in the peaceful glow of the morning’s light. 

That was what he wanted to relive, not for the physical or sexual pleasure of it alone, but for everything it was. The comfort. The ease. The love. 

Alastor didn’t know when he would next get to feel you in his arms and that bothered him. It bothered him a lot more than he expected. Every time he blinked, he could see you walking away from him, rejoining your husband’s side, a premonition of a moment that had yet to happen. 

The thought of leaving you stained with his seed fluttered across his mind as you shifted in his lap, brushing against where he was failing to control his physical responses. The image of you walking into your home, wearing his dress and with his seed seeping from between your legs, marking who you really belonged to had him twitching to life. There was no deep breathing or controlled thoughts that could stop it. 

“Alastor?” You asked, turning to look at him. 

You made a show of running your eyes down his chest, toward his lap. You knew he was struggling to maintain his control. What you didn’t know was how hard it had been for him to do so since he had gotten to experience the feeling of your lips wrapped around him or the way you eagerly sought pleasure in pleasing him. 

“You seem to be… um…” You struggled, unsure what to say as your boldness failed you. 

“Excited again?” Alastor offers nuzzling into your neck. “I got caught up thinking about you again.” 

“Thinking about me?” Your eyes flicked between his lap and his eyes as you leaned back.

“Thinking about you.” He leaned forward, arms tightening around your back to allow him to hide in your neck, placing soft kisses against the skin he could find. He wasn’t sure he was ready for you to know how you could override his control, even in such tame moments as this. 

“How so?” Your head fell back as his lips explored your neck, teeth grazing softly against the skin. 

“Thinking about how you looked last night,” Alastor said, as you felt him throb in his pants. Strong muscles bunched and twitched as you ran your hand down his chest, feeling him under his shirt. “How good you looked on your knees, fingers-” he gasped as you shifted toward his knees, allowing you the space to palm him in his trowsers, “bringing you to completion.” 

“Like this?” You asked innocently as you slipped down from his lap, falling to your knees between his and looking up at him. It felt powerful to be on your knees in front of him. It felt powerful to be dirty for him, to act on desire and inspire it within him. 

“What are you doing?” Alastor asked as you reached up, trembling hands working his belt free. His hands were warm, wrapped around your wrists and running along your forearms but not stopping you. 

“I want to,” you said simply. “I want to see if I remember the way your face looked as I.. as I tasted you correctly.” 

You pulled his cock from the confines of his pants. He was firm and hard in your hands, but not to the same extent as he had been that morning or the night prior. It didn’t stop you from licking up the length of him, running your tongue over his head and then wrapping your lips around him with more confidence than you had the night prior.

You felt him twitch, growing harder as you took him deeper with each slow swirling bob of your head. You didn’t get many in before Alastor pulled you off, dragging you up his body to kiss you hard. 

“You can’t,” he said, voice strained, as heavy and naked as his cock standing tall in his lap. “Your lips will be swollen. I don’t want it to raise questions, not today at least.” 

“But I-” Alastor kissed you as he worked his way off the bench. 

“I think I should demonstrate the view you gave me instead.” Alastor said as he settled on his knees, running the hem of your dress higher with every caress of his hands. 

“What are you…” Your voice trailed off as his fingers caressed your hips under the fabric of your dress. 

“Lift,” he said simply.

Without thought or hesitation, you lifted your hips for him. He shoved the skirt of your dress high, letting it bunch around your waist. Long fingers wrapped around the hem of your panties and then he was pulling them down your thighs.

Soft kisses peppered your stocking clad leg as he lifted one foot out of the ring of your panties and then the other. It occurred to you that you were sitting, sex exposed in a train cabin. Anyone could slide the door open and walk in. 

Alastor took his glasses from his face, folding the arms down before setting them on the bench. The action stole a groan from you, though you couldn’t explain what it was about him doing it while his manhood stood tall in his lap and he sat between your knees. 

He leaned forward, spreading your legs wider with palms on your inner thighs, and then you could feel his breath wash over you. Soft lips kissed a path over your inner thighs, each kiss drawing closer, causing your breath came quicker. 

“You’re so wet for me already.” Alastor said, lips so close to your core that you swore you could feel the vibration of his voice. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I saw your slick on your panties.” 

Shame and something else burned through you as you tried to close your legs. It wasn’t possible;, he held them open easily as he delved in, licking a greedy path up your slit. 

“Will you be good and keep yourself open for me?” Alastor asked after running his tongue over your clit. “I want to give you the same show you gave me.” 

“What do you-” your back arched and your tongue died as a long finger easily delved into your weeping opening. 

“Eyes on me,” Alastor said, curling his finger as he worked it in and out, but otherwise not moving until your eyes met his. “Good,” Alastor said, making a show of running his other hand over his thigh. Long fingers wrapped around his length. “Watch as I show you how much pleasure it gives me to taste you. Keep those eyes on me.” 

Before you could protest or do anything more than flush, Alastor’s tongue was running around the finger working into you, then up your slit. He flicked and sucked at it like a man starved as your eyes struggled to stay locked on him. 

The sensations seemed to surround you as your field of vision narrowed. It was hard to see anything beyond Alastor. You could be back in the villa. You could be on the beach. You could be in Alastor’s home. 

You could be anywhere because all you could see was Alastor between your legs, mouth working through your slit. He had positioned himself in a way that surely had to be a little awkward, but ensured you could just see his hand working in his lap.

Each pass of his hand over his length had you mesmerized. You were absorbed in the feeling of his mouth on you, his fingers, two and then three in you and the way his hand flexed and gripped, working his length in a way that showed practiced familiarity with what he liked. 

You moaned softly as fingers curled, harshly hitting something inside you that had your hips rocking against him. The sound spurred something in him as his own hips flexed against his hand. 

Fingers inside you flexed and spread and twisted as the sound of slick smacking filled the private car. You were gasping for air and struggling to keep your eyes opened as he spoke reminders against your core to keep your eyes on him. 

Fluttering around him, under him, you tried to keep focused on him. The way his hand moved over the cock made you want nothing more than to touch him. 

“Please,” you whispered.

“Close,” he answered as he drove you closer and closer. Hips flexed and his knuckles were white as his grip tightened around his shaft.

You moaned loudly, shamelessly, as you clutched around his fingers, walls fluttering as you struggled to figure out what to do with your hands. Alastor’s fingers ripped from your quivering core as his tongue and mouth replaced it, slipping into you and drinking from you as if there were some magic cure within you. 

His wet fingers weaved through yours as your hands gripped your thighs. Cold slick traced a path back to your clit as his fingers held yours, working over the bundle of nerves together. 

His back and shoulders jumped as his hips bucked up into his hand, deep moans reverberating against your core as he continued to drink from your convulsing opening. 

Eyes on him, you reminded yourself as you watched his hand bob along his swollen shaft. You forced yourself to watch the way you together stroked your clit, prolonging the high running through your veins as his tongue worked in and out of you. 

His mouth was open, wide as his eyes locked on yours. The whole of his body rocked as he worked his tongue worked in and out of your core, soft ‘ah’s that were a cross between a whine and a moan falling from his open mouth as his hand worked faster along his shaft.

Then his body shuddered, hips jerking and tongue running up your slit and into your combined fingers as his head fell back and wetness exploded up. His seed painted your legs, splattering up and hitting your thighs and his arms. Searing hot seed landed on your slick covered core only for Alastor to greedily lick it up. 

“That,” Alastor said as he licked his lips, ignoring the mess on him and you both, “Is the show you gave me.” 

He was right, you decided, gasping breaths filling your lungs. It was one hell of a show. 

Tears gathered in your eyes as the train began to squeal and slow. In the palm of your hand was the ring you never wanted to put on again. Alastor’s arms wrapped around you. 

“I want to throw it out the window.” You whispered, feeling shattered inside. 

Alastor plucked the ring from your palm, holding it between his index and thumb to examine it. He hummed in disapproval as he shifted it in his hand, holding it from the exterior and looking through the near circular band. 

It had been well crafted and of the style of the time, now several years old. Laurence must have purchased it for you before he had run out of money. Would he force you to sell it if money ran dry enough?

A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth as questions he hadn’t dared ask crossed his mind. What had the early days of your marriage been like? Had Laurence courted you sweetly, or had it been arranged? You were so nieve, unaware of your body’s needs and reactions, to a point that Alastor struggled to imagine a moment of sweetness. 

Was it because of how inexperienced you and your husband may have been early on? Or had it always been bad?

Alastor hoped for the second and surely that was what was true. Young bumbling fools figured out how to touch eachother in the heat of passion. Surely you would have too if there had ever been passion between you and your husband. 

“Alastor?” Oh, how timid your voice was. That brought a smile to his face, timid, and yet he had been blessed to see little sparks of fire in you as he healed your heart. 

He looked forward to seeing how those flashes of bright flame would grow, though in the back of his head, warning bells went off at the idea. If you were more bold, would you be a safe partner? Would you not question his hunts or the things he brought back? Would you not discover what monster he was? That would surely spell ruin for him. 

What if you were the same as he? Surely that could be the case- you were sinning with him repeatedly. Hell, you spent the weekend with him in sin. Would you be able to be pushed just a little further? Could you accept just a little more?

Alastor shifted, his arm falling from around your waist so he could fish his pocket knife out. It was a small folding pocket knife, a solid utility blade, but not nearly one of his preferred tools. He wished he had his hunting knife. That would have had a poetic to use the blade he hoped to run across Laurence’s neck for this task. 

“Al?” 

Alastor ignored you as he gripped the ring between his fingers, taking the blade to the inside band, free from any blemish beyond natural wear. He pinched the tip of the blade between his thumb and forefinger before setting quickly to the task at hand. 

You watched as he carved into the inside of the band slowly, each tiny movement of the knife’s tip sure and smoothe. In a matter of moments, he folded the knife and tucked it away. 

“I’m sorry, Cher.” Alastor said as he wrapped you up in his arms again, holding the ring out so you both could admire his work. On the inside of the band, tiny but ever so neat, were your initials and his. Not your married surname either, your maiden. How he knew what it started with, you hadn’t a clue, but he did. 

Your hand was small in his as he took it. It was a farce, a parody of all that the ring stood for as Alastor slowly pushed it higher and higher up your finger, but it was marked with a secret token of his love. “One day, it’ll be my ring I’m placing here. Until then, it’ll bear the mark of our love, hidden.” 

Your voice locked in your throat at the admission. Never had either of you talked about what came after you were magically freed from your marriage. Words struggled to find their way out of your mouth, instead dying in your throat every time you tried. 

“Would you?” The words finally came out. 

“I would,” Alastor said simply, “If you’d have me.” 

“I’m scared.” You felt like a broken record player saying it as the train slowed to a screeching halt, jostling you in his arms. “I’m scared to hope.” 

Dread weighed heavy in your stomach as you stood, jostled back and forth as the train pulled forward, lining up with the platform. Alastor’s eyes burned into you, somewhere in the distance from where he stood, watching over you. There wasn’t much he could do if someone braved touching you, but he would at least ensure you knew you were far from alone.

The train was packed, bodies sandwiched together as people returned from their weekend holidays. The tickets had been cheap and because of that, it was hardly a surprise that many didn’t have seats; yourself included. 

Alastor couldn’t wait for the train doors to roll open. The smell was overwhelming, overpowering the soft scent of you that clung to him. He hoped to have the scent follow him home, but the way the others rubbed against him, he was sure all that would cling to him when he got off the car was the scent of sweat. 

And the child’s vomit less than five feet away from him.

But this was what you did for love, was it not? When you were in love, you put yourself in uncomfortable situations. You suffered through less than idea accommodations. You delt with the fact that the vomit was spreading closer as people had no choice but to step in it. 

Thank the God above he didn’t believe in, Alastor thought as the train car doors opened. It took everything in him to wait to exit until he saw you disappear beyond the doors. He had to give you time, so that it didn’t look like you were traveling anything resembling together. 

Alastor made his way to the doors, slipping out with the last few people right before they closed. Keeping his head down, hat pulled down over his hair, he scanned the crowd of people, all going this way and that until his eyes found you. 

You were making your way to the man you, unfortunately, still called your husband. Laurence greeted you with a smile as he wrapped you up in a hug, while Alastor clenched his jaw. Laurence cupped your cheek and tilted your head up to recieve a chaste kiss on lips that belonged to Alastor. 

Something inside him twisted, painfully so. It felt like it could snap. Oh, Alastor did not like how that felt at all. Hands balled into fists as he watched, rage twisting a knife in his gut. 

Your husband needed to die, Alastor thought as his eyes followed you. 

Your bag was heavy, not terribly so, but heavy enough. If Laurence cared about you at all, he’d offer to take your bag. Would you let him though? Or would you hold tight to your bag with little notes of sin hidden in the bottom?

Alastor knew he should have taken them, burned them when he found them, but there was no way he could do that without you knowing he was poking around your things. Would you have realized it was him or would you think your husband had found them? It wasn’t worth the stress it would cause you or the potential distrust it could cause between you. 

He would have to find another way to bring it up, though he couldn’t deny the fact that it pleased him you kept them. The words he had written you had touched you enough that you kept them. What scandalous sentimental tokens of what he meant to you. 

Would you be as touched to find the stack locked away in the desk he spent countless hours sitting behind, writing scripts? 

Alastor pushed the thoughts away as he slowly trailed through the crowd. He should have been leaving already, making his way to where his car was parked but instead he watched you and your husband.

The knife in his pocket was too small to do any real damage. That didn’t stop Alastor’s fingers from wrapping around it. The nail of his thumb settled in the grove, pulling the blade just slightly up and out of where it nestled into the handle before letting it slip back into place. 

He repeated the action again and again, fiddling with the blade as he watched you and your husband walk out of the station. As Alastor slipped out of the doors behind you, he thought about how satisfying it would be to plunge the small blade into Laurence’s back. 

It wouldn’t be as satisfying as it would be with his hunting knife, but it would hurt. Laurence deserved to hurt, Alastor thought, leaning on a pillar, watching you and Laurence crossed into the parking lot.

While you stored your bag away in the back, Alastor watched the disapproving look on Laurence’s face while his mouth moved. What was he saying? Was he questioning the dress? Had Alastor left a mark inadvertently? He was sure he hadn’t, but there was always a chance. 

He had taken risks; he realized as he watched you fold into the car. More risks than he should have. You were driving him crazy. He knew he needed to stop. Put you down. Walk away. You would be his downfall or he would be yours. 

He should walk away, but all he could think of was how much he wanted to see the small pocket knife through his neck, find the large arteries and rip them into bits. 

Alastor stepped out of sight as the car pulled around. He listened to the engine as Laurance took you away from him. Would your husband hurt you tonight? Would he take you to the marriage bed and use you tonight? 

Sharp stinging cut through Alastor’s attention. With a hiss, he pulled his hand from his pocket, letting the knife go. Bright red blood smeared against the side of his thumb where the sharp blade had slipped into the pad. It stung as he pulled the digit into his mouth, letting the coppery taste wash over his tongue. 

Pulling the now clean thumb from his mouth, he ensured the bleeding stopped before returning his attention to you. It had been a careless mistake, a cute resulting from a sloppy lack of attention. It wasn’t something he would repeat; he told himself as the car taking you away from him pulled out of the parking lot. 

The muscle under his jaw jumped as he checked the time on his wristwatch. It was too early to go back home. Alastor decided to swing by Mimzy’s instead. The speakeasy wouldn’t be open yet. It was far too early in the day for that, but she was probably there, seeing to something or another. 

He could kill time, have some drinks. Maybe that would calm his nerves. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[aventurineswife]

Hellooo!! An idea suddenly, so I was wondering if you could do it (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

It's about a singer reader, basically the reader is someone who doesn't interact enough with other artists (example: Robin) therefore he has never done a collaboration with another singer, although this doesn't seem to matter that much to the reader. While his fans also don't care that the reader doesn't have a collaboration with another singer yet.

One day a fan noticed that the reader subtly brought his wrist closer to his face, the fan commented on this fact which made the other fans notice this fact as well, at first the reader doesn't say anything. But upon returning from a tour he takes refuge with his partner (basically hugs him) and doesn't separate from him, Aventurine smells a familiar smell coming from the reader, asking him about it the reader mentions that he bought Aventurine's cologne at some point because he missed him. This is based on an alternate universe of Alien Stage from tiktok and a comic by ivantill (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♪

-💤🩵 anon

The Smell of You

Summary: After a successful yet exhausting tour, you return home, seeking refuge in the comforting embrace of your partner, Aventurine. During the tour, fans noticed a subtle gesture where you brought your wrist close to your face, unknowingly drawing attention. The act was a small, quiet way of holding onto the scent of Aventurine, which you had started wearing his cologne to feel closer to him while on the road. Upon returning home, your unspoken emotions come to light as Aventurine notices the familiar scent, and the two of you share a moment of connection and intimacy.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Comfort, Subtle Romance, Emotional Vulnerability, Affection, Subtle Gestures, Established Relationship, Light Angst, Healing Together.

A/N: NOOOO IVANTILL!!! 😭😭😭☹️☹️☹️💔💔💔

The tour had taken its toll on you. Days on the road, constant performances, and the ever-present pressure of your career had left you drained. Yet, you found solace in the little things—the familiar smell of Aventurine’s cologne, the touch of his hand when you’d return home, and the warmth of his presence that you’d come to crave.

This tour had been different though. While your fans continued to support you with unwavering loyalty, a small part of you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. You hadn’t collaborated with another artist before. Many had speculated about your reasons, but for you, it wasn’t a matter of isolation—it was more about being content in your own space. You didn’t feel the need to prove anything to anyone, and your fans seemed to appreciate that. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But today, as you stood on stage during your final concert, something caught your eye. One of your fans in the front row, a young woman, was staring intently at your wrist, a small smile on her face. You subtly brought your wrist closer to your face to adjust your sleeve, just a tiny gesture, but it didn’t go unnoticed. The fan quickly typed something into her phone and raised it high, showing a tweet to her friends. It wasn’t long before others caught on.

You could hear their whispers from the stage, murmurs spreading like wildfire among the crowd. Something had shifted. Your wrist—a simple movement, nothing extraordinary—was being noticed. It wasn’t the first time fans had speculated on your gestures, but today, it felt different.

Your heart sank a little. You had no idea why you did it. It wasn’t conscious, but it had become a small act of comfort for you. You’d taken to bringing your wrist close to your face whenever you missed him. Whenever you missed Aventurine.

You didn’t want to make it a big deal, though. The concert went on, and you performed like you always did—calm, composed, unbothered—but you couldn't escape the nagging feeling that something had shifted.

By the time you returned from the tour, exhaustion had taken hold of you, and all you wanted was to find peace. You didn’t bother with much else—just your partner, Aventurine. His presence was a balm to your worn-out soul.

As you walked into the apartment, your body felt heavy with fatigue, but as soon as you saw him, something in you lightened. You wasted no time, walking straight into his arms, seeking refuge in the safe haven he always provided. His familiar scent, rich with the earthy tones of his cologne, mixed with the comforting warmth of his embrace. You melted into him, not wanting to let go.

Aventurine didn’t say anything at first, but his sharp senses didn’t miss a beat. He gently pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze piercing yet soft.

“Did you... buy my cologne?” he asked, his voice low and almost... amused.

You froze, guilt surging through you, even though you hadn't done anything wrong. You hesitated, not wanting to admit it, but eventually, you couldn't lie to him.

“I... I missed you,” you murmured, your words barely a whisper. “I bought it when I was on tour. It reminded me of you.”

Aventurine’s smile, always enigmatic, softened at the edges, his usual facade of playful bravado dropping for just a moment. He pressed his face into your hair, inhaling deeply, his arms tightening around you.

"You know," he said after a pause, his voice softer than usual, "you never need a reason to miss me." His tone held the usual arrogance, but it was tinged with something more—something unspoken, something that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface.

You smiled against his chest, feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders. There was no need for words between you two; there was only comfort in the shared silence and the soft, familiar scent that lingered in the air.

Outside, the world may have noticed your subtle gesture, but here, in this moment, there was only Aventurine and you. No fans, no questions—just the warmth of his arms and the quiet understanding that no matter what the world expected of you, you had found a way to make it your own.

[tboy-rambles]

bad dreams

contains fauxcest (dad/son), ddlb, and soft cnc.

lowkey insecure about my writing but hope u folks like this :))

Dad who's pent up. Mom's not in the picture anymore and he's too busy with work to get back into dating. He's never alone at home cause his sweet little boy is always there at the same time.

Dad who doesn't realize how bad it's getting until one night, his son wakes him up by tugging on his sleeve. He's holding a plushie to his chest, crying, "I had a bad dream, daddy.." and the dad is never one to deny his little boy's needs, especially when he's so upset. So he opens his arms, letting his son snuggle under the covers with him.

"Shh, poor thing... come here, I've got you." He whispers. His son is shaking, crying into his chest.

"What happened, baby? Tell me about it." The petname slips out of him as he reaches for the boy's hair. It wasn't long ago that he held his son's mother this way. He feels a low feeling in his gut; a mix of need and guilt. He missed this.

He listens as his kid recounts the bad dream through incoherent sniffles and small sobs. The boy can't help but press closer to his daddy, clinging to his only source of comfort. He doesn't realize he's rubbing against his dad in an effort to warm up. He feels the strong chest of his father swell under his cheek - a deep, shaky breath that calms both of them.

"I'm... so sorry kiddo. Sometimes our brain can make up things that are scary. But those things aren't real, okay? You know that?" "Mhm." His son sniffles. He can feel his father's wide hand on his back, rubbing slowly. Up, down, bringing the fabric of his shirt with it.

"You know you can always come cuddle daddy if you need to, right?"

"Mhm..."

His dad kisses his forehead and he lets out a little whine.

"Get some sleep then, sweetheart."

Deep, slow, slightly heavy breathing lulls the kid back to sleep. He doesn't notice his dad's eyes, fluttering unfocused at the ceiling. He doesn't notice how his dad clenches his jaw with the effort of controlling himself.

fuck, he's pent up. a little whine like that usually doesn't get to him. But his cock is twitching now and he has to hold still, so his son falls asleep without noticing. He lays awake for a while, fighting the urge to rut his hips into his son's side, just a little. He knows it's wrong. He holds himself back.

But the following night, his boy crawls into bed without warning.

"Baby...? H-Hey. kid–"

His breath hitches as his son interlaces their legs, cuddling just like the previous evening. "Fuck.." he moans, grinding up against his hip without a second thought. He's hard. He needs this.

The boy lets out a confused squeak. Eyes widen as his father shifts below him. "Dad..?"

"Mmh. Hold still." Two large hands find the boy's hips, lifting him slightly. He blinks innocently down at his dad's chest as he's repositioned to straddle his lap.

"I want cuddles." he explains softly. "Are you upset?"

"Mm.. No, baby. I'm not upset." His dad grunts softly, setting him down against his boxers. The kid wiggles, trying to spread his legs wide enough to sit comfortably on the larger man's hips. The dad grinds up into the boy, causing a whimper.

"D-Dad..! There's something–"

"Shh, baby. Just relax." His lips find the boy's neck as he sets his pace, rolling his hips up between those soft, shaking thighs. A confused moan escapes the boy. He doesn't understand what's happening. There's a nice warm feeling on his neck and an even nicer one near the hard thing he's sitting on.

"Dad, what are you doing.. ?" He whimpers. The bulge under his legs throbs against his small cock, and he instinctively bucks his hips into it.

"Fuck.. do that again, sweetheart. You're such a good boy." His dad groans beneath him, hands still wrapped tightly around his hips.

"T-That's a bad word, Daddy.." He protests, but the grinding distracts him. Lips meet the side of his head, panting.

"Yeah. Yeah, mmh... you're my little boy, you're so good, fuck..."

His son whines again at the naughty word. It's starting to sound like a good one.

"D-Dad.."

"Nh... you'll get cuddles after. Just sit still a second."

He tries to sit still but he can't. His hips buck forward again, humping the bulge beneath him. His father moans loudly in his ear and something snaps inside the boy too.

"Daddy– ah, dad.. Dad..!" He gasps as he moves, hips stuttering awkwardly with inexperience. The hands wrapped around him take control, rolling him back and forth across the bulge. It finally meets his little cock properly and he lets out a distressed little moan.

"Breathe, baby. You're okay." his dad whispers between grunting. "Mm... stay still.. yeah.. that's it.."

The boy quiets down, his tummy still tense from the friction. There's a warm feeling building up, overwhelming his ability to speak. He's close to pushing through to ask about it when his dad shudders beneath him, going still as he lays back on the bed.

"Ah! You're mine, you're my boy... mhm.." He trails off softly. His broad chest rises and falls; his eyes flutter shut. His son whimpers in protest as the friction stops. He tries to hump his dad again but his hips are too stiff and shaky.

"Shh.. Sh.." his dad whispers, large hands easing the boy onto his side and against his chest. Unsure of himself, the little boy curls up and closes his legs. He looks up as he nestles into his father.

"What happened..?"

His dad kisses his forehead again.

"Just some special time, okay? Special time with daddy. It felt good, right?"

"Y-Yeah.." his son mumbles, although he's a little unsure. He still feels a little warm, a little achy. He wonders if his daddy feels that way too.

"That's my boy." His father kisses the top of his head this time. "Here's your cuddles."

[ambiguous-avery]

Heyy Avery, so here's my first request ever hehe! Hope it works for you <3 I was thinking of the time after Dean's back from Hell and he and Sam part ways because they think it's better this way. So, heavy angst! Dean goes on solo hunts and even though things go well for a while, he one night almost gets himself killed. Bruised, bloodied and desperate without his little brother's usual backup, he finds himself knocking at some random stranger's door moments before collapsing, which happens to be readers house!

You can ofc just tweak and change everything if this idea doesn't resonate with you! I'm curious what you're gonna cook up 'cuz I know you get Dean's angsty side 😭

Nowhere Else to Go

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 1757

Summary: Fresh outta hell, Dean finds comfort in throwing himself back into hunts. But he’s not the only one who’s changed. Sam’s different. Too different. Not the Sam he sold his soul for. They just need some time apart. A few solo hunts. Then things will go back to normal. He’s capable of that. But it doesn’t change the fact that Dean’s grown used to having his little brother around.

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, angst, s4!Dean, detailed talk of cleaning and stitching wounds

A/N: Ahhh first request! I’m so excited, and I hope I did your idea justice!

Everything hurt.

God, he felt like h–no. Guess he couldn’t use that phrase anymore. Not now that he knew what hell was really like. He might have laughed at the absurdity of that revelation if he didn’t think it would make him pass out behind the wheel. He needed to get back to the motel room. Needed to get patched up.

“Hey, we got–” The passenger side of the bench was empty.

Right.

No Sam.

How had he forgotten?

He might’ve hit the curb. He hadn’t hit the curb since he was a teen. He blamed the blood in his eyes. Or the metallic taste in his mouth. Or the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. He tried to bring his focus back to the moment, but everything seemed to blur together in a dizzying swirl of colors and lights. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he fought for control. This wasn’t the motel’s parking lot. Dean couldn’t remember where exactly he was. Or how he got there.

He stumbled out of the Impala, barely catching himself from falling flat on his face. His boots dragged on the sidewalk of the quiet neighborhood. How late was it? Too late. Houses were dark. Except one. One still had lights. He needed it. He knew he did.

His knuckles were too raw to knock, so he pounded on the door with the butt of his fist instead. It was harsh. Too harsh. If anyone answered the door, they would likely shoot him on the spot. Oh well. Wasn’t like he hadn’t died before. The door opened. A pretty girl stood in the doorway. He tried to smile.

“Don’t suppose you could spare a bandaid?” 

He wasn’t sure how he managed to talk you out of calling the police or even letting him into your home. But he wasn’t complaining. In the moment, his survival depended on your kindness, and he wasn’t about to question the lifeline. Your couch was soft and plush, and he should’ve felt guilty about bleeding out on it. He couldn’t muster up the energy to care. Exhaustion sank its claws deeper into him with each passing moment.

Pills rattled nearby, and next thing he knew, you were pressing tablets into one hand and a cool glass into the other.

“Come on. Advil and Tylenol. Both of them together are basically Vicodin without the high,” you said softly. He swayed slightly, and you placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“I could use a high right about now.” Words felt heavy on his tongue. Maybe you’d let him sleep here. Just for the night. Even if it was only on the couch. It would be nice to sleep somewhere without a shitty mattress. You laughed, the sound light and tinkling.

“Couldn’t we all?”

You helped him down the pills and water. It was cold and went down like a balm that could soothe his very soul. He looked at you. Even with one eye swollen shut and the other one with blood crusted around it, Dean could clearly see that you were out of his league. Too good for a stray dog like him. Who was he to steal a night from someone so pretty?

“Y’know how to stitch someone up?” he asked as you pushed something cold into his hand. You helped guide it to his face, and he realized that it was a cold press wrapped in a towel. It felt good against his heated skin.

“Not well. But since you insist on not going to a hospital, I’m sure it’ll be better than nothing. I’ll be right back.” Your touch left him, and he found himself missing it immediately. He wished you would touch him more, just so he could remember what another person felt like. He closed his eyes. If it weren’t for the gash across his back, Dean was sure he could pass out right then and there on the couch.

Footsteps padded back into the room and all at once, Sam was at his side, gently wiping away the blood from his face with a warm washcloth. He didn’t remember Sam’s hands being this soft. Or soft in general. Or maybe he had just forgotten how hands that didn’t want to hurt him felt on his skin. He leaned into the warmth and felt the tension slip away from his shoulders. He wasn’t sure where you found Sam or how you knew that he was who Dean needed at the moment. But he didn’t need to know the details. Sam was here, and everything would be okay.

“Could’ve used your help on this hunt,” he mumbled as Sam pressed a piece of alcohol-soaked cotton against his cheek. He hissed in pain and flinched despite himself. It was fine, though. Sam had seen him in much worse states, and at the moment, Dean could go for some brotherly ribbing. It was normal. He liked normal. Normal was good. Sam’s usual tough love never came, though. No “you’ll be fine”s or “quit whining”s came. Instead, it was just a quiet,

“Hm?”

“Son of a bitch had backup when I ganked him. Never realized that a goddamn camel could have a ghost too.” Sam paused in what he was doing, but Dean didn’t need to look at him to know that Sam was looking at him confused. He continued. “Yeah. A camel. Damn thing trampled me.” He adjusted the ice pack in his hand to more firmly press it against his swollen eye once Sam had finished cleaning the blood from his face. Sam gave a quiet noise of acknowledgement. 

Alright maybe Sam was still pissed about Dean calling him a freak. That was a low blow on his part. But was it really if it was true? Making a deal with a crossroads demon was very different than utilizing a demon’s psychic powers. They were supposed to be a force of good in the world. They were no better than the creatures they hunted if they resorted to the same sort of dark shit their enemies used. He could forgive Sam for it. He always did. He just needed Sam to stop using that weird demon mojo.

With most of his face cleaned up, Dean set the cold press down for a moment before grabbing the back of his shirt and tugging it up and over his head, groaning slightly as it dragged uncomfortably along the dried blood.

“What’re you doing?” Sam sounded appalled. His voice sounded strangled, higher pitched than usual, and Dean could’ve rolled his eyes at him if he had the energy to look at him.

“Need you to stitch me up. Guy had a damn bayonet.” Dean turned and laid down on the couch. He probably should’ve put a towel down so he didn’t bleed on it. Oh well. The motel took a deposit for a reason. They could keep it.

Wordlessly, Sam set about cleaning the long gash across his back, and Dean grit his teeth, readying himself for the familiar sting of a needle through flesh. The scent of disinfectant registered in his brain, and he realized that he had barely felt Sam cleaning the wound. It stung, but he needed it. Needed the pain. It reminded him that he was alive. That he was here. With Sam. With family. All he needed was family.

He never thought he would find comfort in the pain. It cleaved his flesh. It ached in his bones. But that’s as far as it went. It wasn’t deep enough that it scarred his soul and left marks where only he could see them. It didn’t leave anything behind that time couldn’t heal. He was sure that time couldn’t heal a soul. The years there had rended his soul, leaving it in tatters he didn’t even know was possible. But better him than anyone else. Better him than Sam. 

The first pinch of the needle through skin pulled him out of his thoughts. The world came back into focus. He wasn’t used to being treated so gently. It was a nice change. He’d never say it out loud, but it was nice to be the one being taken care of for once. Sam’s touch stayed soft, even going so far as to gently pull the skin taut so the needle didn’t needlessly pull. At this rate, the tenderness was enough to lull him to sleep. The cold compress against his cheek as he rested his face against it was a better pillow than nothing. He had had worse.

Sam was quicker than usual, or maybe the pain meds had kicked in enough that he hadn’t noticed every pinch. That was a nice tidbit of information. Where had Sam learned it? Probably Stanford. Would’ve been nice of him to impart that information earlier on in their hunts, though. He could’ve used some Vicodin-level pain management much sooner in life. But hey, better late than never. The presence at his side moved.

��Sammy,” he called out, hand reaching and grabbing. Sam’s wrist was so thin. What had happened to him in Dean’s absence? Sam must’ve not taken care of himself. He hadn’t been around to take care of Sam. He cursed. Stupid. He was so stupid. Even sacrificing himself for Sam didn’t feel like enough. He needed to be the responsible one. Against his body’s protests, Dean tried to push himself up from the plush of the couch. A hand pressed to his shoulder stopped him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. Please. Don’t leave again, Sammy. I just can’t see you go down that path. I lost you once. I can’t lose you again.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not Sammy. But I won’t go anywhere.”

And suddenly, the illusion shattered. 

Sam wasn’t there. 

Sam had never been there.

You were.

He blinked, looking over at you. Your eyes were so kind. Had anyone ever looked at him so sweetly before? You were worried. He could see it. No one worried about him. He was supposed to worry about others. His hold on your wrist loosened. He wet his lips, tongue ghosting over the dried blood there, and Dean suddenly felt more exposed than he cared to be. He sat up despite your insistence and reached for his bloodied, discarded shirt. He needed to leave. Get back to the motel room. Your gaze was too curious. Too probing. Too innocent. It would be a tragedy if you cared for him.

---

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Dean Taglist: @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @jollyhunter @bettystonewell

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[deans-baby-momma]

Chapter 10

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day to all my lovely readers

Summary: When Jensen admits to going home with someone else, will his and Y/N's marriage survive?

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, smut, language

After much discussion, the Ackles’ use the settlement check they received from the case to make a sizable donation to an outreach program for underprivileged pregnant girls and women.

That night, Jensen and Y/N rekindle their relationship, confirming their commitment and loyalty to one another. 

Jensen slowly and carefully lays Y/N on the bed, breaking the kiss only when he knew she was comfortable. 

He stretches his long body beside her and revertantly continues exploring her body as if it's all brand new to him.

His touch is gentle and affectionate and he runs his finger across her collarbone all the way to her shoulder, devoting every inch to his memory, again.

Y/N shivers, the tenderness of his touch both thrills and is  titillating.

He leans in and captures her lips, running his tongue across the seam of her lips. She willingly parts and invites him in to deepen the kiss.

Jensen's hand finds her bra-covered breast and caresses it before pulling the cup down to tease the nipple into a stiff peak. He repeats his action on the other side before he draws his lips from her to kiss down her chest until he can pull her left nipple into his mouth.

“Jensen,” Y/N whispers as her head rolls back. 

“I love you Y/N,” he mumbles against her skin. “You are the only one for me.”

As he continues to nurse on her breast, his hand travels down her torso and across her abdomen, stopping at the hem of her panties.

He looks up at her through his lashes, a silent request to proceed. She grants it with a silent nod and a smile and he offers her a smile of his own.

When his fingers come in contact with her folds, she whimpers and whines. Jensen doesn't breach but just runs his fingers up and down her slit.

Once Y/N is writhing under his ministrations he quickly finds her entrance and finally pushes in. A finger slowly enters her and she gasps.

“F-fuuu-” she sighs. 

Jensen adds another and another until he is sure she is prepared for him. He removes his hand from her panties and rolls off the bed.

As he pulls his boxers off, Y/N removes her bra and then pushes her panties to her feet, then flings them to the floor. 

Jensen steps to the foot of the bed, crawling onto the mattress and between her open thighs.

“You are the only woman I ever want to be buried in,” he says as he holds her stare while lining himself up and pushes home.

They both groan as he bottoms out and stills for her to adapt. Once there is no more pain, she clenches around him- an unspoken assent for him to move.

Pulling out and pushing back in, Jensen sets a languid and leisurely pace. It builds them both slowly, higher and higher until there is nowhere left to go but over.

As Y/N clutches and trembles around him, he continues his smooth, tranquil thrusts, resting his forehead to hers, green eyes meeting Y/E/C ones.

Jensen feels his end nearing and claims her lips in a sensual, loving kiss as he explodes inside her, his seed painting her walls.

Once their breathing has normalized, he pulls out and crawls backward off the bed, then heads to the ensuite to clean up and bring a warm rag to clean Y/N.

After making sure she is wiped off, he climbs into the bed beside her, gathering her into his arms.

“I'm so sorry we had to go through this shit. I can't lose you; I couldn't imagine my life without you in it.”

Y/N lifts her head from his shoulder and gazes at his profile. “Shhh. It's all over now and I'm not going anywhere.”

They both doze off to sleep, knowing that their love is stronger than it ever has been. 

One year later

Y/N rushes home, although her stomach is in knots and she has the urge to cry.

Today, Jensen  is flying home for his summer hiatus from filming. For three whole months, Y/N will have her husband in the flesh, to touch and kiss and make love to; no screen between them. 

All they have been through, the two babies they lost and still mourn for and the false claims of an affair and an illegitimate child has not afflicted their marriage, only made it stronger and valued.

The morning has turned out better than she could have ever imagined and she is excited to share it with her husband.

Pulling into the garage, Y/N parks and shuts off the engine and stares at the door to their storage room. She has a plan and she is determined to bring it to fruition.

Opening the door, she reaches in the backseat for the bag back there. Y/N hums as she gets about getting everything in place. 

Once everything is situated to how she envisioned it, she goes to the front of the house to await her husband's return. 

Jensen had texted her a while ago to let her know they had landed and would be home soon.

Her heart is beating wildly and when she sees the black SUV carrying Jensen and his costar, Jared, she’s sure it was going to beat out of her chest.

Y/N watches as the passenger door opens and him to step out of the vehicle. He looks toward the house and then back inside the cab and says something then laughs.

Closing the door, he waves and then hoists his duffel bag onto his shoulder. 

Y/N can't take it anymore and opens the front door, running to jump into his arms. She kisses his lips repeatedly, running her fingers through his hair.

“I've missed you.”

“Really? I couldn't tell,” Jensen sasses with a smirk.

“Shut up,” Y/N laughs and then takes his hand and turns, pulling him into their home. 

“I have a surprise for you,” she announces. “Follow me.”

Jensen smiles as he does what he’s told and when Y/N opens the door to the one room they haven't talked about for a while, his eyes widen and his mouth drops open.

He looks at his wife and asks, “Really?”

She only nods with tears in her eyes.

Inside the nursery is the crib that they’d taken down after the last loss and handing on a hanger above it is a onesie that reads “Welcome Home Daddy!”

The doctor put Y/N on bedrest after week 26 of her pregnancy and the Ackles’ had weekly appointments to monitor the progression of the pregnancy. Neither of them complained or grumbled about it.

They were happy and excited to announce to the world.

On August 26,  Angel Mischelle Ackles is born.  They chose the name Angel for their two angel babies and Mischelle for Misha because he helped them when they needed it most.

THE END

@spnbaby-67 @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam   @ironreviewangel @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @supraveng @lyarr24 @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @deanwithscissors @raisinggray @fanfic-n-tabulous @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @purpleeclipseeggsland @kmc1989 @leigh70 @nancymcl @muhahaha303 @justwhisperingfantasies @jackles010378 @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deanna45 @ozwriterchick @mandee7 @spnaquakindgdom @impala67rollingthroughtown @generalmoonpolice @1313diana @roseblue373 @palerogue1 @deansimpalababy @queen-cs

[allmightyscroll-swag]

Local surface boy Albert going on an adventure, ft. A stick he found

[sageofthestarz]

Some sad kinda fucked Ifrit thoughts because I woke up and they came

Cw; Substance Abuse, Sex as a coping mechanism, and just kinda general sads.

Nothing graphic said but still putting those ^

Ifrit

Big, Strong, oh so stupid Ifrit.

That's what was thought of him. A muscle head who fucked hard, partied hard, and got fucked up without a care.

An easy fuck and go without connections, without having to stick around after sorta thing

That isn't who he was though.

This was all learned behavior because it's what got him the attention he craved, any sense of being useful, cared about even if it was only because his body was useful

He loved and hated every single second of every single hookup, high, and any other thing that got him out of his head

If he wasn't happy he wasn't useful, if he didn't stay the persona they all knew he wouldn't be liked, if she showed just how broken inside he truly was he'd lose everything and everyone he had, no matter how superficial he needed the attention

It didn't matter if it was a vicious cycle of regrets, and horrible sleepless night, bad highs and.. thoughts he shouldn't have. Couldn't have

It was all he had now

His pack was broken.

His pack hated him after he left.

He never bothered to try and reconnect, why would he.

Aether, Mountain, and Dew stayed with the band, Zephyr never spoke to him, Mist was long gone to be with the lake.

He couldn't bother any of them with this.

With him.

He left the pack, he left the band, that was his choice. He left the only people who cared about him and for what? To go and be whatever he was now?

Yes.

Even when he knew he could possibly rekindle something he didn't. Shoved those feelings down and shoved more substance down his throat.

He didn't deserve it.

Didn't deserve to have that happiness.

That comfort.

Ifrit used to be the most caring, lovable golden retriever there was.

Always following someone's trail, loving on them, and doing every favor he could

His pack loved him

He loved his pack

Now a days he's nothing more then an old dog owned by a family long since grown.

One that's waiting for the first excuse to be put down despite all the love it has left to give.

He thinks it's what he deserves.

A life of misery, and pain without comfort.

He watches his old pack in longing, the only happiness coming from seeing how happy and healthy they are

He'd do anything for them even now

He's so happy to see them thrive and love each other

Even if it also breaks his heart.

[nonokoko-draws]

Starting the year with Riddle hcs 🌹

I feel so proud that the semi realistic headshots still look good if you flip the canvas... 😤✨ More hcs ↓

Similarly to Epel he has insecurities regarding his body. Unlike him he doesn't go nuts when the spotlight goes to his feminine features, only when his age or mental maturity is questioned due his looks Floyd is an exception because anything he says makes Riddle explode.

He used to take great pride in his idea that he is mentally more prepared for adulthood than most boys his age, that he knew better than his childish classmates, before he was humbled in book 1. Post OB he still thinks he is book smart and mature but does he know how much he has yet to learn, though he still finds rather insulting to underestimate him for age or looks. Summary: call him a child and the effect would be the same as calling him short

Whilst Epel is focused on the conservative sense of masculinity, Riddle aspires to be a gentleman. To be exact, he has taken a liking to victorian etiquette on how to be proper during courtship rituals.

I think he would find tips such as "don't flirt with every lady you meet and don't assume every (young) woman is eager to fall in love with you; maintain a dignified reserve"; "be ready to act the knight if a lady in your company is attacked"; "don't get a innocent woman her hopes up" or "neither party should make the other jealous" quite tasteful. Of course, he's sensible enough to know which habits of 200 years ago he should cross out

Mr Roseheart is probably the one Riddle got his Japanese inheritance from, as it is weird to believe Mrs Rosehearts would chance her last name if she is a big name in the magical medicine industry. Unless his husband was the most prominent figure and she got more prestige with this marriage, unlikely in my opinion as controlling people like her usually take a dominant role in the relationship. So I suppose it's either a case in which each pattner keeps its surname or Mr Roseheart was who changed his

Riddle is autistic but his mother didn't make him go to any tests because she wants to believe his son is "normal". I'm under the impression she could be the type to be ableist just because (sadly many doctors are this insensitive and out of touch despite the irony of their fields) OR she doesn't discriminate neurodivergent people but doesn't want hers to be because she firmly believed if little Riddle knew he was autistic he would use his diagnosis to avoid facing the things he could struggle with or excuse "lazy" behaviour with it or she knows how ableist others can be and wanted to disguise him by making him a functional, well-adjusted neurodivergent individual.

Her reasoning? If he is capable of adjusting and is unaware of his autism he won't try to use "the easy way out of" when confronted about his struggles and he won't be bullied by his peers; don't mistake this as a kind gesture from a mother with good intentions but terrible execution. She believes if he was bullied during his studies he could drop out off medicine and she hasn't been preparing him to be a doctor like her for all his childhood to get her plans frustrated by an external factor such as how his classmates perceive him.

Therefore making him believe he is like the rest + homeschooling would "prevent" this outcome because neither he would interact with possible bullies nor he would know what's "normal" for kids his age so he wouldn't feel different because he didn't have a chance to interact with other children.

Plus interacting with adults and certain kids deemed intellectual enough would enhance his possibilities of "growing out of any annoying habits inherently from young kids" (emotional outburst and "childish stuff" she doesn't like). Which I think is way worse than if she was simply an ignorant ableist doctor, but also makes her a more manipulative and calculating character than what we know of her so far.

It could also make sense as for why she was so mad his son made friends she didn't approve of beforehand, because the only way he could have had external interactions would be handpicked by her.

Anyway that's all for today rambles, follow me if you wish to know more about my downfall in the spiral that is being a twst fan to not lose track of my delusions 🫡

[nasatshirts]

i want peruvian tim so bad. pls give me jason making humitas with tim once they've gotten closer

[bbokicidal]

SKZ [OT8] + Slow Makeouts

Comforting, steamy, and way too good to be real. <- Is what I would say if they weren't absolute virgins.

Warnings: Suggestive Content (MDNI) Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Virgin/Inexperienced!OT8 x NB!Reader Notes: Back to my regularly scheduled programming of writing everyone's favorite: Virgin!SKZ.

Chris can't keep his hands off of you. If you're kissing, he's holding onto you; Your waist, your hips, sliding his hands into your back pockets. He's grabby with soft intentions, never too rough with his hands but always trying to keep you close to him. And all of this usually occurs shortly after he comes home from working late nights. He needs the stress relief - that being just holding onto you and feeling your tongue on his own. Granted it never really goes past this because he's too shy to ask you to do anything more but, one day you'll get there.

Minho is lost in the moment. It's actually a slow makeout. His tongue lathes over yours so slowly it's almost torturous, lips closing down to suck over the muscle before pulling back and looking up at you with dark, wanting eyes - and then doing it all over again. The type to sit still while you're in his lap because he knows if he moves he's going to get hard - and then what happens? He isn't sure he's ready for that yet so... slow kissing is good for right now.

Changbin can't keep his lips in one place. He's kissing your lips, over your cheeks, down your jaw and throat - sucking marks into your skin like he knows what he's doing even when he absolutely doesn't. But he fakes it, feigns the confidence and just lets his body do whatever the hell it wants while he leans into you where you sit atop the pool table. He'll take his time with you, careful and cautious about where he marks your skin so he knows you'll be able to hide it the next day. And even if it feels like he'll go further when he dips lower towards your chest, he won't - because he gets too shy and his ears burn red the moment his fingers dip under the hem of your shirt.

Hyunjin can't bring himself to do anything more than makeout because he just finds it so... intimate. It's so romantic to him. He loves the feeling of your lips on his - cherishing the warmth of your tongue until both of your lips are bruised and swollen from sucking on each other for hours. He'll let his hands wander a little - though his favorite place to rest them is politely on your waist. He's just a gentleman like that. (And.. a little unsure of where to go from there. But he'll just tell himself he does it because he's a gentleman.)

Jisung is m e s s y. Messy makeout-er. Lowkey don't know how to kiss... The type to kiss you slow but it's only because if he pushes himself on you any faster he's actually going to cum in his pants and that would be wildly embarrassing on his end. (Even if you're into it and he doesn't know it.) So he'll settle with running his hands over your waist beneath your nightshirt, pulling you down into his lap on the sofa and kissing you silly. Lots of tongue, lots of spit - He's basically just drooling into your mouth with how much is coating your lips. A nasty boy.

Felix is careful with the way he kisses you. He's a fucking freak that's why. He's cautious of where he places his hands on your hips, swaying gently as his lips meet yours. His lips are so soft, taking care of them constantly in case you ever want to kiss him. Warm and sweet, he tastes like the treats he bakes every week for the two of you to share and the way he behaves with you is just as sweet. A sweet boy who just wants to make sure you're comfortable when he kisses you and it becomes a little more.. heated. (He won't tell you but each time you tell him his lips taste like sweets, he'll wonder if you taste just as wonderful. Only time will tell, of course.)

Seungmin only does slow kisses. There's no rushing him - whether he was a virgin or not he wouldn't let you get all riled up and huffy about it. His hands stay in your own, fingers laced together every time to keep you pulled close to him. He likes to take his time because he wants to make sure you're treated right - wants to make sure you know you're his number one. He, also, wants to make sure you know you're the one person he wants. He wants to get the point across before you two do anything more that he wants you to be his first without even having to say anything.

Jeongin can't rush. He won't rush. Well - maybe if he's a little tipsy and begging for you to grind on him and make him cum in his pants... But that's a rare occurrence. On the daily, and I mean daily, he'll sit on the edge of the bed and let you in between his thighs to kiss him goodnight - which entails, every night, making out with him to lull him to sleep. He'll hum into your mouth, his eyes will slowly slip shut and he'll let his hands fall from your waist to your hips; His fingers will hook in the belt loop of your jeans you wanted to desperately to change out of to pull you in closer to him, down into his lap. And he'll want you to keep kissing him all slow and warm until his mouth is practically just hanging open for you. Sleepy and very hard, he'll smile with a shy giggle when you climb out of his lap and tell him to get some rest while you wash up. He loves it - His little nightly routine. ~

Taglist: @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren

@oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie @inlovewithstraykids @seungminsbest

@edit-me-prettyplease @hyune-ssne @butterflydemons @satosugu4L

@skz8love @annafee_bou @dreamyyyyystarrr @franbowesax @4skz4ever

[hairmetal666]

Steve goes to a gay club for the first time alone. He and Robin, they'd talked about it since moving to Chicago, but every time they made plans he got cold feet.

But on a random, rainy Saturday with Robin back home in Hawkins, he decides fuck it, puts on his sluttiest jeans and polo, and goes to the damn club. He's sick of being nervous--he's going to make out with a guy for the first time tonight.

The club is crowded, loud, sweaty, the energy a pulsing wave. He's overwhelmed immediately, but it's invigorating. He pushes towards the bar, orders a beer, then cozies himself against the nearest wall.

He sips his drink and watches beautiful men dance and kiss and play, and he wants to be part of it, get out there, find his own person to get close to but--

What if none of this is for him? He feels out of place in his clothes, with his hairstyle, an old version of himself that doesn't belong in this world.

There's a swell of sound at the bar, and he glances over, expecting drunks or fighting. Instead, he sees a guy who makes his plans to leave slip straight from his mind.

He's unlike any other person there, even within his group. Long, curly hair, visible tattoos, ripped black jeans, a faded black t-shirt under a big leather jacket. He moves with purpose and grace, obviously uncaring about fitting in.

Steve can't stop watching him, transfixed. He buys another beer, settles back against his wall. He knows it's weird, but can't bring himself to care. Not when it's helping him feel more comfortable in his own skin.

The guy, he's vibrant, the brightest spot, his laughter reaching Steve even over the pounding music.

He's beautiful.

The lights flash, illuminating his face and recognition hits Steve like a fist. It's Eddie Munson, former freak of Hawkins High.

Steve's spine straightens, chest tightening. He can't believe--I mean there were rumors about Eddie in school, but he's here, right now, in Chicago, and Steve--Steve--

He abandons the remains of his beer, rushing out the door.

---

Steve goes back the next night.

He doesn't mean to; didn't have any plans to do it, but the clock turns to 9 and he pulls on the same slutty jeans, this time with an old blue t-shirt a size too small.

It's not because Eddie could be there again, he reassures himself as he shows the bouncer his ID. It's not like he wants to see him or has been thinking about him nonstop. No, it's because tonight's the night he finally makes a move. He needed a test run to find his footing, but now--

Eddie's at the bar. His hair is pulled up, loose tendrils around his face. No jacket this time; the rolled up sleeves of his black t-shirt showing off his wiry muscles, the swirling ink of his tattoos. Something low and hot clenches in Steve's stomach.

There's no way he's going to be preoccupied with Munson tonight. He came here to flirt and dance and maybe get lucky, and he'll ignore Eddie. He will.

Steve orders a beer, sits at the bar this time, his eyes lingering on black ink and pale skin. No matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the ease and assurance Eddie moves with. He's so unafraid to take up space, it's intoxicating.

He loses track of Munson when he orders a second drink, his face no longer immediately visible in the crowd. Disappointment sinks his stomach until a voice to his left says, "You better be planning to buy me a drink, pretty boy."

The voice is low, oddly melodic, and he turns to find Eddie Munson's sparkling brown eyes gazing down at him. He's surprised, hides it, says, "Sure. What are you having?"

Eddie's mouth opens, but his eyes narrow. "Wait--Steve Harrington??"

"Um." His mouth goes dry. "Munson. Hi?"

"I--uh--wouldn't think this was your scene." Eddie shifts back, puts distance between them, and Steve hates it. Hates that Munson thinks the space is necessary, hates that he used to a person that made people feel that way.

"Yeah, well. A lot has changed since high school."

"Is that right? Surely not this much."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Eddie's eyebrow lifts, but his mouth is a tight line. "Have a cigarette with me."

Steve nods and follows him out a side door into a narrow alley. Eddie pulls out two cigarettes, hands one to Steve. There's something about the cold politeness that sends a fizzle of disappointment down his spine.

"What brings you here?" Eddie asks.

"To Chicago or to this club?"

"Don't be cute."

"Can't help it." He smirks and Eddie rolls his eyes. "I moved to Chicago three months ago with my best friend, Robin. I'm at this club trying to explore my bisexuality."

Eddie's in the middle of taking a drag, splutters on the smoke. "Holy Shit."

He shrugs, knows he's blushing. "What can I say? I've spent the last few years learning about myself."

"And one of the things was that you like dick?"

"Looks like it."

'Well, goddamn, Steve Harrington."

"Impressed?"

Eddie licks his lips, steps closer. "Maybe I am."

"I aim to please." Steve lets himself grin.

"I bet you do," Eddie's voice goes even lower, and heat dances deep in Steve's stomach. "Wanna dance?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Steve blinks up at Eddie from under his eyelashes.

They go inside and join the bodies packed on the dance floor. At first, they keep their distance, dancing and laughing with an arm's length between them, but it's not long before they're drawn together, arms twining, legs pressed together. Their eyes lock, Steve can't look away, wouldn't even if he wanted to. Eddie's hands go to his waist, pull him closer.

"You're gorgeous, Harrington," he says it with his lips pressed to Steve's ear, goosebumps spreading across his skin.

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course."

Eddie's mouth presses closer. "I used to have the biggest crush on you in high school."

"Fuck, Eddie," he says. "That's so--"

"Weird?"

"Fucking hot, dude."

"Can I tell you another secret?" Eddie's voice is all rumble.

"Course,"

"I can't stop thinking about kissing you."

"You could do something about it."

Eddie smiles, eyes going darker, almost predatory. He leans in, their breath mingling, Steve's hitching.

"You sure you want me to?" Eddie asks, mouth barely brushing Steve's.

"Please," and it comes out like he's been punched.

He thinks the kiss will be hard, hot, but Eddie's hand is gentle as it cups the back of his head, slowly pulls him in. It's a soft meeting of mouths, almost tender. His head is swimming, blood thrumming low and hot and sweet. He parts his lips and then all he can feel, taste, sense is Eddie.

It cracks something inside him, and his fingers dig into the fabric of Eddie's shirt, eagerly licking into his mouth. It must crack something in Eddie too, because he's hauling Steve impossibly closer until his legs have to wrap around Eddie's waist, or they're falling.

They break apart with a breathless laugh, both red cheeked and bright eyed. They don't move apart, instead they dance and make out until the music stops and the lights come up.

Eddie twines their fingers together as they walk to the exit, Steve sweaty and elated and a little head over heels.

Out on the sidewalk, basking in the cool air, Eddie stops him. "Can I--uh, take you for a drink? Or back to my place? I don't--not to assume, but I--"

"Both. Anywhere," Steve laughs. "I don't want this night to end."

Eddie's smile is brilliant, heart stopping. "Your wish is my command."