#it literally says things like 'opening doors and pulling some strings'

[nastasyafilipovna11]

I don't know if anyone's said this before but

GOLDEN YEARS BY DAVID BOWIE IS ABOUT SPAMTON

yes it came out in 1976 but I am sure Bowie looked into the future and saw spamton g spamton and made this song about him

listen to it I beg of you it's as if spamton is singing to Noelle and Kris

I could analyse the lyrics but just listen to it

[joeshiestyslover]

hotel room

pairing: cocky!joe burrow x reader

summary: you and joe have been hooking up for the past year, and joe wants to stop, but he just can’t and continues to string you along, so you make the choice for him

warnings: language, angst, slight smut

masterlist

part 2

a/n: i’m back???? also this is mad shitty, but it’s been a year, so i’m a bit rusty

the sound of your phone ringing is enough to wake you from your sleep. you roll over to face the nightstand and grab your phone. you check the time and it’s 3:13 am. who the fuck is calling me this late? you think. your question is answered when you check the caller id, joey<3 is in big white letters across the top of your phone screen.

“hello?” you answer. “you busy right now?” joe immediately asks. really? no greeting? “no joe of course i’m not busy at 3:15 in the morning.” “good. come over.” he demands. “didn’t you say the last time we did this that we couldn’t do it again?” you inquire. “i know what i said y/n. just one more time. please. i need you.” joe basically begs you. you sigh. “fine give me fifteen minutes.”

you slowly begin to get up from your bed and head to your bathroom. you brush out your hair and pull a claw clip from your drawer to put into your hair. you walk out of the bathroom and into your closet; you grab a pair of spandex booty shorts and an oversized tshirt. you find some socks and your air forces and slide them on your feet. you take one last look at yourself in the mirror before grabbing your phone, wallet, and keys and heading out the front door.

why do i do this to myself? you ask yourself every single time you leave to meet up with joe. you know how this ends; you hook up, he tells you it’s the last time, then you leave. it’s an endless cycle. he has you under his thumb, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape him.

the drive to joe’s place gives you the time to think about how you wound up here, driving in your car to go hook up with joe burrow.

you met joe at your friend’s bachelorette party which was at her favorite club. that night, joe was there with his teammates celebrating the bengals’ win against the chiefs. the moment he walked into the club his eyes were drawn to you immediately, and yours to his. about thirty minutes went by before he actually approached you.

you could feel the tension lingering in the air just begging to be released. joe asked you to go home with him and how could you say no? looking back on it now, you should have.

your thoughts are cut off by your phone ringing. you look at the caller id, and surprise surprise, it’s joe. “yes?” you answer. “where are you? you told me to give you fifteen minutes and it’s been twenty.” joe asks you. “joe i’m literally pulling up right now, calm down.” before he’s able to respond, you hang up and pull into his driveway.

you get out of your car and walk towards his front door, but before you can knock, the door swings open revealing a shirtless joe standing in front of you. you take a few seconds to admire him before he grabs your hand and pulls you into the house.

before you can even get a word in, he’s kissing you roughly, your tongues and teeth clashing together. “jump.” joe tells you breathlessly. you jump and wrap your legs around his waist, with his hand coming to rest on your ass. he begins to walk to his bedroom that you’ve become way too familiar with. joe kicks open the door and sits down on the bed, so you’re sitting in his lap. you mindlessly start to grind against his clothed cock.

joe breaks the kiss to look into your eyes. “you’re so beautiful, you know that?” he says to you, and you almost believe him. “joe please don’t say that.” “why not?” he asks you, confused. “because when you say things like that you make it so much harder to leave.” joe gives you a look you can’t decipher. “we both know you’re not gonna leave.” he smirks at you. “this is the last time joe i mean it. listen, there’s something i have to tell you.” you can’t look him in the eyes at this point. “what is it baby?” joe brings his hand up to hold your cheek. “i got a job offer in new york. it’s my dream job and it pays well, so i have to take it.”

joe stays silent for a few second before he moves you off of him so he can stand up. “so you’re leaving? just like that? you’re gonna throw everything we have away?” he says while beginning to pace back and forth. “everything we have? joe we’re fuck buddies! that’s all we are and that’s all we’ll ever be!” you raise your voice at him. “if you think we’re just fuck buddies then you’re fucking blind y/n!” “how am i blind joseph? please enlighten me!” you spit at him. “have you not noticed that every time you come over, i try to convince you to stay? i’ve offered to make you dinner, i’ve asked you to be with me on valentine’s day, i’ve tried everything to make you see that i’m in love with you!” the moment those words leave his mouth, you freeze. “you’re what?” “i’m in love with you y/n. i have been since the night i met you. every time you leave, i get this feeling that i hate. i don’t wanna be away from you.” he tries to step closer to you, but you don’t let him. “joe, no. don’t do this. don’t say you love me; we both know you don’t mean it. you’re only saying this because you don’t wanna lose the only girl that will be at your beck and call whenever you please.” you can feel the tears prickling at your eyes.

“what? no y/n. i love you. i really do. please stay in ohio, and let me prove it to you.” he begins to beg. “joe i can’t. we both know that we wouldn’t work. i’m sorry i can’t do this.” you stand up from his bed and walk out of his bedroom. you can hear joe’s footsteps following behind you. “y/n please don’t leave.” you don’t respond and continue walking towards his front door, but before you can open it, joe’s hand is on the doorknob. “don’t do this. don’t take that job. stay here with me, just give this a chance. please.” you find the courage to look up, and you see a tear going down his cheek. “joey listen, if you had told me this a long time ago, i would have given us a chance, and i wouldn’t take the job. it’s too late for us. i’m sorry joe, but i have to go.” he says nothing and lets go of the doorknob. you open the door and begin walking towards your car. the moment you get in and lock your doors, you break down. of course you’re in love with joe, but this is your dream job. you can’t let anything or anyone stand in the way of that, not even joe. you compose yourself and put your car into drive, not looking back. deep down you know you’ve made the right choice, but you can’t help but think about what could’ve been.

[wildemaven]

strangers : oasis | dave york

pairing - dave york x f!reader word count - 4876 content warnings - 18+blog; anxious thoughts, lots of emotions, soft dave, kissing, lots of fluff, mentions of food and alcohol consumption, established relationship, workaholic Dave, mentions of miscommunication, lots of tears, reader is mentioned wearing a dress/heals/jewelry- but zero description features, no age given but it's implied she's over 30, no y/n, this is au- no Carol or kids, if I missed anything let me know notes - FINALLY!!!! I broke through my writers block and found inspiration to give these two the happy ending they deserve! I’m literally so excited for this chapter!!! I appreciate you all being so so patient with me through this too. I’m excited for the next chapter and an epilogue to finish off their story! Big thank you to Lellen for holding my hand through this and encouraging me when I felt like i couldn’t string words together properly— ily 😘

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“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. York. My name is Ashley. As the Director of Events, I am so happy for your arrival to our intimate courtyard here at the hotel.” The beautiful woman greets you and Dave. 

Ashley. It’s like a Pavlovian response the way your body tenses immediately at her name.

Dave detects the immediate shift in your demeanor when Ashley introduces herself, your grip tightening on his bicep, he places his hand over yours to soothe the glaring trepidation that’s evident in the way your eyes are keenly locked on the woman in front of you. 

I want to tell you everything, but I think it’s best if I show you first.

Dave’s words from earlier halt your mind's natural fight or flight spiraling response. Closing your eyes briefly, a slow intake of air through your lungs. Dave’s signature  blend of woody notes and smoky leather hits your olfactory neurons and sparks peace within you. 

“Give me five— ten minutes tops. And if you still want to leave, we’ll go right back up to the room and pack— we’ll head to the airport tonight.” Dave’s voice is low as he leans his forehead to your temple, his words fanning across the side of your face bringing you a sense of warmth and comfort. 

“Okay.” You nod, agreeing without hesitation. Knowing in all the years you’ve been with Dave, he’s never one to go back on his word. 

Dave looks to where Ashley still stands, waiting patiently with her bright inviting smile. There’s silent exchange between them that puts whatever plan Dave has actively in motion. 

“Mr. and Mrs. York, your guests are very excited for your arrival.” Ashley says, pulling one of the large wooden doors open and stepping out of the way. 

“Guests? What is she talking…” You turn to Dave, confused by the way Ashley had been expecting the two of you and is now ushering you to some mystery guests. Dave’s lips press to your forehead before he nods in the direction of the awaiting open doors. 

You’re frozen. Stunned. Overwhelmed. Time continues to move around you as your emotions catapult from your stomach and settle into your chest. Veining out slowly and catching in your throat. 

All your tempered thoughts and unrealistic fears dissolve freely, compartmentalizing them into a distant realm of your mind. 

At some point your feet begin to guide you of their own free will, carrying you past the open doors. Except you don’t fully register you're even moving. Almost gliding. Floating. The heaviness from earlier in the evening no longer weighs you down. Your fragile heart feels lighter and lighter with each step you make. 

Everything around you becomes a blurred space. Watery distortion settling along your lash line, obstructing your vision as you begin to attempt to take everything in all at once. The atmosphere holds a rich layer of familiarity, sprinkled among the lush greenery and dramatic up-lighting of the secluded hotel garden. 

The tears finally fall and things gradually shift into focus and you allow yourself to slowly take it all in. 

You’re not sure how you even missed this beautiful oasis to begin with. A tropical paradise tucked away from the foot traffic of hotel guests and tourists. Giant plants and trees lining the perimeter of the garden. Fanned out leaves in varying sizes and shades of green canopy over the space, perfectly framing the ceiling of glimmering stars above.

When you lock eyes with your mom and dad, a calmness comes to your mind. Your dad’s arms wrapped around your mom’s shoulders as she dabs at the corners of her eyes. Both of them beaming with pure happiness. Reminding you of all the important occasions in your life, being on the receiving end of their love. Graduating from high school then college, securing a job in a field you worked so hard to be in, even when you brought Dave to dinner all those years ago and told them he was the one. And this moment, whatever it is, fits along perfectly with the others. They’re always so eager to jump at any chance to make sure you know how proud they are of you. 

A slight twirl in the opposite direction you’re met with Dave’s parents, Carol and Tom. Both are similarly as happy as your parents. Carol resting her head on Tom’s chest as she also pats the joyful tears on her cheeks. Did she find out? Call me when you can, we’ll talk about it then. Carol’s text message must have been referring to this, given Carol’s heartwarming response to see you it only makes sense it would be. The two of them have always made you feel like an extension of their family, never as the enemy who married their son. It’s evident that it still rings true as they stand before you now. 

Feels instinctually normal to want to run into Jacey’s arms and squeeze her until you’re gasping for air. To hold each other longer than needed because she’s your lifeline and best friend for so long— a sister in many ways. You hold off for the time being, a proper hug and catch up surely will happen after as she is preoccupied with the handsome stranger standing next to her, cradling her hands in his. It’s second nature the way you’re both able to pick up on what the other is saying or thinking without so much as a single word exchanged between you. Your brief Who is this?? wide-eyed expression is met with her Girl, I have so much to tell you! love-drunk dopey smile as she nestles closer into her random plus-one’s side. 

“Oh my gosh! What— what are you all doing here?” You’re not sure who to look at for answers, all of them here for one reason that is still unclear to you. Your hand pressed firmly against your chest in an attempt to settle your rapidly beating heart, aimlessly shifting on your feet as you keep redirecting your buzzing energy between all of them. 

Your lively movements are halted when you realize all the answers to your questions are standing merely feet away from you. 

Dave. 

Pillared candles illuminate a small walkway that leads to where Dave is waiting for you. His hands continue their nervous fidgeting in his pockets, but still the minute his eyes land on you. You take him all in for the second time tonight, dressed in his favorite black suit, one that you never waste an opportunity to tell him how handsome he looks in it.

His chest expands slightly, calming his nerves with a deep steady breath, his demeanor settling into a more relaxed tone as you slowly approach him. 

“Hi, Sweetheart.” There’s a gentleness in his tone, still cautious and aware of your words from early in the room. 

It soothes any worries you’ve been carrying with you since the start of this trip, over every part of you that’s felt so disconnected, slowly begins stitching up the tattered seams of your relationship you’ve been so desperately trying to hold together. 

“Hi.” You reach for his hand, your need to feel grounded in this moment seems equally needed on his end as you feel his rigid grip soften instantly. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“I honestly don’t even know what I’m feeling— I’m so confused why they’re all here right now.” You nervously laugh as a new wave of fresh tears spill over now due to an overwhelming state of happier emotions, taking a second look over the small group of your loved ones before looking back to Dave who’s eyes haven’t left you. “God— I definitely look like a mess now.”

“No— still beautiful.” He squeezes your hand a few times to reinforce the sentiment. 

You’re dying to know, hear everything he has to say but there’s a small part of you that wants this little point in time to stretch on forever. The look in his eyes, burning with intense devotion, is an all consuming feeling you will never tire of. The way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters, you want to bask in his gaze uninterrupted a little longer. 

“If you need a moment, I can wait— I’ll wait however long you need.” Ever the patient man and yet so eager for this moment to finally share everything with you. “Like I said earlier, I just need five minutes—“

“No— it’s okay. I’m ready.” 

“I know this last year hasn't been perfect for us— more specifically these last few months. There were so many moving parts to making this whole thing happen and none of them seemed to work out like I had planned. But that’s neither here nor there at the moment.” You squeeze his hand tightly when he pauses to collect his thoughts. 

“Firstly, I want to tell you that I love you so much. These last 10 years with you have felt like we’ve already lived a lifetime together. And yet I don’t feel like it’s been enough time to show you how much you mean to me. So I want to renew my promise to you. I want to be the man you deserve every day and continue loving you for the rest of our lives.”

“D-Dave— I love you. I-I’m beyond speechless right now.“

You make zero effort to control your emotional state listening to Dave profess his love for you. Dave reaches out, the back of his hand caressing down the side of your face then his thumb lovingly brushes over your quivering bottom lip. 

You catch the moment he allows himself to breathe, soaking it all in. The faint flicker of ambient light glistens wildly in the few tears that descend down the slope of his cheeks. Relief exuding from his body over the fact that you’re still standing before him. 

“There’s one more thing.” Dave says, wiping at his own tears. Releasing the hold on your hand, he reaches into the pocket of his slacks and presents you with a small velvet box.  

His smile becomes increasingly infectious as the hinged box opens and reveals the most beautiful ring inside it. 

“Dave— W-wait! How? How did you know?” You gasp in disbelief, your hand clasping over his wrist that is holding the small delicate piece of jewelry. 

“Someone who can’t keep a secret to save her life might have mentioned it to me.” 

*

Dave was away for work the weekend that Jacey declared it was a good excuse for an adventure. One you weren’t sure you were up for, but Dave encouraged you to go up until he left for the airport, insisting you would have so much fun you wouldn’t even realize he was gone. 

Most of her adventures usually entailed traipsing through town with zero planning— a full throttle method of letting the day unfold as it went. 

Brunch with overflowing mimosas while snacking on platters of fruits and ridiculously delicious cheeses. Window shopping and perusing of small intimate shops that lined the downtown area. It always ended with either stopping into your favorite restaurant for dinner or calling in for pizza while you both lounged in one of your living rooms spending the rest of the night watching some sappy old movie that would have you both crying into your wine glasses. 

And this particular weekend carried on as such. A steady but faint bubbly buzz followed brunch as you and Jacey walked along the sidewalk in search of the first boutique that would draw you in with all its charm and pretty little offerings. And while each of them you were already familiar with, you both pretended like it was the first time stepping foot into each shop. Taking on the roles of tourists exploring the town. 

By late afternoon, the residual effects of the fruity drinks had started to wane and you felt like your feet couldn’t carry you any farther, Jacey pulled you into one last shop before calling it a day. 

At some point the two of you were separated, Jacey drifting off further into the store, admiring the curated goods of fragrant candles, a luxurious apothecary selection and locally sourced handmade items. Even as enticing as the store was, you kept yourself rooted near the cash stand by the entrance, less of a chance to lose Jacey and her wandering ways. 

You decided to send Dave a text, check in with him on how things are going and also let him know how eager you are for him to come home. 

Missing you. Just wanted to say hi and see how you are holding up. Hopefully not too stressful?

You seem to always pick the perfect time to make my day better. Things are good. Just wrapped up for the day. Grabbing some food and then heading back to the hotel to pore over paperwork and notes. Miss you too. How’s your day been??

That’s so great to hear. It’s been good— a typical adventure with Jace. I’m tired though, ready to throw in the towel for the day and head home. She wanted to stop at one more store before we get a ride back, so I’m just waiting for her to finish up. 

Your focus shifted from Dave’s incoming text messages to the glass case you stood in front of. 

The fiery sun rays that breached the front window refracting across the display case of fine jewelry. An array of diamonds and gemstones sparkling brilliantly had you memorized. Their intricate details and elegantly executed settings were so hard to pry your attention away from. 

Sounds like you two are having fun then?

We are. I think I’m just exhausted from the week and just ready for you to be home. 

There’s a brief moment where you catch a glimpse of Jacey, her arms filled with more than she can handle, before she disappears again. 

You’re drawn back to the small collection of beautiful rings displayed on the top shelf of the case. Ranging from dainty and simple to elaborate and showy, but in a tasteful manner. 

“Is there something you’d like to see? You’re more than welcome to try anything on.” The sweet sales associate asked, seeing the way you were so fixated on the jewelry she could tell you just needed a little push to sway your decision. 

“Actually, yes. Could I try that one on?” You tap on the glass, directing her to the ring that you couldn’t seem to stray from. 

It was perfect— almost too perfect. The 2 carat emerald cut setting and beveled gold band was far from anything you would have ever picked out for yourself, but the way it dazzled on your finger was so much better than you expected. 

The ring Dave had proposed to you with was simple but gorgeous. It was also within the budget you and Dave had discussed, being that you both didn’t want to spend outside your means. Drowning in debt over a ring wasn’t a priority for either of you. 

You’d be lying though if you said you didn’t dream of upgrading to a new ring now that you both weren’t 20 something year olds struggling through a mortgage and making ends meet. Though you could never really bring yourself to allow it to be anything beyond just a silly little dream. 

“Oh my god! Please tell me you are walking out of here with that on your finger immediately!?” Jacey nearly screamed as she set her items on the counter. 

“No! I’m just trying it on.” But I love it so much. 

“But it looks so good. Please please please!! Get it!!” She grabbed your hand to admire it close up, you could have sworn she almost started to tear up as she did. 

“No, Jace. I don’t need it. Just admiring it for a moment.” 

“Okay— but you want it?”

“Sure. I would love it. But I don’t need it. So it’s going to go back to the case where it will wait for someone to come buy it and I can just dream about it.” You told Jacey, placing the ring back into the hands of the associate and squashing the dream instantly before you became too attached.

“You’re ridiculous, woman. You do you though.” Jacey rolled her eyes sarcastically, but affectionately, as her items were being rung up. 

You pulled your phone out to see Dave had sent a new message. 

Get anything for yourself?

No. Nothing really caught my eye. Going home empty handed this time. Call me when you get settled in your room?

Okay. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you!

Love you!

*

Dave slides the ring onto your left hand and it sits proudly nestled at the base of your ring finger. 

You’re captivated by the sight. The pads of Dave’s fingers lingering, softly sweeping over your knuckles as you flex the tiny muscles of your hand just so. The smallest adjustments allow the dim lighting to catch the perfectly formed facets of the stone. 

There's a brief blip of a memory that flashes through your mind. A sudden realization from earlier at the bar. Dave’s mention of your absent ring wasn’t a coincidence. It was the perfect accident for his plan. An innocent foreshadowing of what was to come. 

“Dave—'' There's a fluttering softness to your voice as your chest tightens with the excruciating amount of love you have for your husband. Your gaze lifts gradually, eyes connecting with his and you see forever staring back at you. 

“Happy Anniversary, Baby.” Dave says with a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. 

No words hold any equivalence to the feeling shared in this kiss. It’s all encompassing and articulating every authentic emotion in a measured tone. Everything and everyone fading into the darkness, existing only as the tiny atoms they’re formed from. 

Time on his lips marries your past, present and future into a promise of an endless life of devotion and fidelity. Your fingers tangled tightly in Dave’s chestnut locks, his hand firmly held against the base of your spine. Renewed. That inseparable feeling that has always existed, a mutually assured recognition of how united the two of you have always been. It’s a feeling you’ll never tire of. One you long for at the end of a taxing day or when you’ve been reunited with Dave after he returns from a work trip. To feel so deeply loved and cherished— to feel whole again. 

“I can’t believe it’s been ten years already.” You’re breathless, giving into the smile that’s grown on your lips since breaking the kiss, your forehead settled against Dave’s.

“Best ten years of my life. I can’t wait for the rest of them.” Dave’s words imprint permanently on your heart, meticulously embellished with a brilliant fervency. 

“How did you even manage to pull this off? I made all the travel arrangements for this trip.” 

“I had some help in planning. All of which didn’t go exactly as planned either. Coordinating flights was a nightmare. Making sure everyone was hidden away took some effort. And someone might have lost the ring briefly—“

“I didn’t lose it— I just… might have forgotten where I put it for a brief period of time. It made it here in one piece though, so you’re welcome.” Jacey interrupts in her classic matter of fact fashion, wearing that infectious sweet smile that continues to be such a beacon of light in your life. 

The garden fills with a subdued laughter. Soft music emanates from hidden speakers, amping up the romantic atmosphere that Dave assembled just for you. 

A handful of I love you’s are quietly exchanged before joining your loved ones to continue basking in the surprise of their presence— tears, hugs, laughter —your heart so full to be able to celebrate the serendipitous evening with all of them. 

You spot Jacey over the shoulder of your mom, who has yet to release you from her arms, void of the man you still have yet to properly meet. You kiss your mom’s cheek and away from her clasp, promising to return after you get a moment alone with your best friend.  

“Well, well well—” You start to say, the interruption produces a vivid brightness in Jacey’s eyes as you approach her.

“Wait! Spin first, hug second!” She instructs. 

You give her the best twirl you can manage in the heels you’re wearing. Dress skirt fanning out and your arms extended out, while Jacey watches you proudly with her phone held out, snapping a few photos that she’ll surely airdrop to you later on. She pockets her phone and wraps you in a tight hug as a fit of giggles wracks through your bodies, falling further into each other’s arms to stabilize yourselves.

“God, you look stunning.” Jacey fawns over you, untangling herself from you and reaching for your hand. “Dave did so good!”

“I’m guessing you’re partially to blame for some of this?” You say in a jovial tone, your gaze follows suit to the shiny diamond, wasting no effort in becoming flawlessly acquainted with your finger. 

“If by blame you mean ‘make sure my best friend gets everything she deserves’, then yes— I’m partially to blame.” Jacey says in jest, but it’s really not a coincidence that she would have a small part in some of this. She looks at you, schooling her desire to be her fun sarcastic self, exuding pure warmth and authenticity. “Dave was stressing about your anniversary, wanting to make it special being that it’s a rather big one. I mentioned that you had fallen in love with the ring while we were out shopping, which got his attention. He decided he wanted to make it something extravagant, so he tasked me with planting the idea of a vacation— I’d say mission accomplished.”

“Thank you, Jace!” Prompting another shared embrace. You remember she wasn’t alone when you walked into the garden earlier. You take a step back, excited to hear all about her mystery man. “On to more important matters— your date! Where did you find him?”

“Oh him… I might have met him at the pool yesterday. It was after you and Dave were there.” She explains, seeing the way you were trying to connect the dots and timestamps between your visit to the pool and her meet-cute. “We spent hours talking and kind haven’t left each other’s sides since.”

“Where is he?” You take a quick scan of the garden, noting Dave engaged in a conversation with both of your Dad’s, while Carol and your mom are huddled together on a couch near the outdoor fireplace.

“He had to make a quick call. Should be back soon though. Can’t believe I still got it.” Jacey seductively bites at her painted red lower lip as her hips sway about, her confidence always her best accessory. 

“Jace, I don’t think you ever lost it.” You snort. 

“You might be right! I’m now his plus one tomorrow at a wedding he’s here for— kinda meant to be, right? Here he comes— fuck, he’s so delicious. Babe!” She squeals. The usage of a term of endearment so soon isn’t even remotely surprising. You love seeing how she instantly lights up when the tall handsome man saunters closer, wearing a lopsided grin as if Jacey hung the moon— it’s not hard to see how smitten they are for each other. 

“Hey there, Darlin’. Miss me?” He asks Jacey, wrapping one of his arms around her waist, you can tell it’s taking everything in her to not haul him back to the nearest vacant room. 

“Everything okay with your brother?” Jacey asks, her hand intuitively grazing over his chest. 

“Yep.” Letting the P pop before he continues. “Joel was just freakin’ out a bit. Father of the bride gettin’ all emotional ‘bout his baby girl gettin’ married tomorrow.” 

In some weird twist of circumstances, you find yourself in Joel’s orbit yet again. Despite the lust filled dream you had about him, you find the whole thing quite comical now as you try your best to stifle your snickering with your hand— but it catches Joel’s brother’s attention. 

“Where are my manners?” He directs his Texas drawl to you, finding his manners swiftly as he extends a hand out and quickly engulfing yours. “I’m Tommy Miller. So nice to finally meet you. This one hasn’t been able to shut up about you— all good things o‘course.” 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Tommy. I think I met your brother, Joel, yesterday at the pool. You’ll have to send my congratulations to him and your niece for me.” 

“Wait! is he the cute pool guy from your—“ Jacey interjects but you manage to cough just so that she shuts up instantly, your eyes boring into hers. You know that she will be asking for details about it at a later date. 

“Congratulations to you and your husband as well. Ten years is a mighty long time. That’s some special kinda love that you got there.” Tommy readjusts his arm, draping it over Jacey’s shoulder and she wastes no time interlocking her fingers with his. 

The rough swells of your worries and fears have finally calmed, nothing but tranquil waves for as far as you can see. 

You’re now fully aware that the deafening thoughts and emotions you’d been carrying around were seemingly a self-inflicted wound that could have been so easily prevented had you just voiced the way you were feeling to Dave.

“Thank you. That’s really so kind of you to say. Seems like a special kind of love might be in your future.” Jacey and Tommy lock eyes at your mention of a special love— you know she deserves it. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m going to go find that husband of mine.” 

Dave’s still wrapped up in a conversation with the other older men. Now that everything has been revealed, you can see how relaxed he feels. No longer carrying rigid weight in his shoulders. The walls you were desperately trying to breach had finally crumbled to dust. 

“Hello, gentlemen. I hate to break this conversation up, but I’m going to steal my wonderful husband away for a bit.” Your hand slipping around Dave’s bicep to pull him away. He huffs a quiet laugh, rolling his lips inward as his body willingly abandons the conversation. 

There’s a somewhat secluded spot tucked in between some large palm leaves on the perimeter of the garden space. It’s quiet enough to give the two of you just enough privacy from your guests while you take a break from the excitement that’s still filtering through the air. 

There’s so much you want to say and share with Dave, but you need to feel him before anything is said. There’s no rush as your lips move together, seeking a slow intensity that satiates and soothes every longing ache that yearns for this handsome man you love so deeply. 

Your breaths mingle as the kiss comes to a close. Lips tingling with aftershocks as you collect your thoughts back to the present. 

“Thank you— for all of this.” Your hands slip under his open suit jacket, roaming over the plain of his back. “We don’t have to talk about it all right now, but I just wanted to apologize, for earlier. I’ve been so in my head that I conjured up all these things and I should have just communicated that to you sooner.” 

“No need to apologize. It’s something we can work on together moving forward. I was stressed with work. Quietly making sure all of this came together. I didn’t even realize how it was affecting you— us. I love you so fucking much, Sweetheart and I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise.” Dave says with a quiet empathetic tone, his hands running up and down the length of your bare arms. “I got a call this morning and they let me know I officially got the promotion I’ve been working for. My hours will be better— less long nights and time away. I’ll be home more.”

“Baby, I’m so proud of you! knew you would get it. I love you— so much, Dave.” 

Your skin pebbles as Dave’s tongue slips over your lips. Sweet and earnest as ever. The sentiment vibrates through his exhaustive movements. Languid lust filled strokes meander around the expanse of your mouth, triggering a rush of blooming desire begging to be cashed in on. 

A muted moan departs with a ragged breath as Dave gently nips at your lower lip. 

“Mmmm— When does everyone leave?” You release a pleased hum that flutters over Dave’s quirked lips, needing more than a heated kiss behind oversized greenery with your family in earshot. 

“A few days— they fly out the same day as us.” Dave rasps, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your mouth then back, the pad of his thumb dragging seductively over your swollen lip. 

“Do you think they’ll notice if we quietly slip away for the night?” 

“Hmmm— What does my beautiful wife have in mind?”

“I need more of you, Dave.”

“Lead the way, Mrs. York.”

[rubyreduji]

congratulations (again) on 3k followers, jj!! i am scuttling over here like a gremlin to make my very first request for ur sleepover event hehe :3c

i've been toying with this idea about bffs!minghao and reader where hao has this emo punk aesthetic while reader is basically the epitome of girly pop -- everything pink, short skirts, frilly dresses, all that jazz. no one knows how they wound up as bffs but little does everyone know they have the filthiest sex behind their backs <3

thank you sm !!!! i am always present for any and all jj content >:3c

— join the sleepover!! 🧸️

summary: you and your best friend could not be anymore different, you two seem to make it work though

tags: smut (minors dni!) warnings: explicit unprotected sex, fingering, thigh high kink, creampie wc: 1.8k an: if minghao is ooc then im sorry </3 i just want him to be an emo simp okay,,, also hello kai :33 thank you for the request i literally love this dynamic so much im sorry if you hate it fjdksla

“Hao-Hao!” You shout as you see your best friend enter the party. His lanky, dark clad figure stands in the doorway and he looks over at you lazily. You rush up to him and quickly cling to his arm, nuzzling your face against his bicep.

Across the room Wonwoo shakes his head. “I don’t know how those two are friends.”

The other two boys sitting with Wonwoo glance at where you and Minghao stand and Jihoon frowns. “It doesn’t even seem like Minghao likes her that much.”

Minghao’s face is unwavering as you yank at his arm, your mouth flying a hundred miles a minute as you ramble on about your day. The conflicting personalities aren’t the only thing that is odd about your friendship. 

It’s like looking at day and night as you two walk past where the three boys are sitting. Minghao’s signature frown is accompanied by his black t-shirt and black jeans, the only thing breaking them being the silver eyelets on his belt. His height and demeanor already do enough to contribute to his scary presence, but his sleeve of tattoos and the dark eyeliner smudged on his eyes puts the finishing touch on it. Compared to you, it’s like watching a doberman and a pomeranian walk side by side.

Your own figure is dressed up in a short, pink skirt with white frilly socks that stretch all the way up to your thighs. Your matching pink heels clack against the floor as you trot next to Minghao. There’s a permanent smile on your face that pairs nicely with the makeup you applied this morning.

“They’ve been best friends for a while,” Soonyoung says, still staring at you two. “I still don’t know how though. They have nothing in common.”

“Obviously,” Jihoon mutters. “Maybe Minghao is just keeping her around to be nice?”

“Minghao? Nice?” Wonwoo scoffs. “More like she’s the one stringing him along.”

“Maybe one of them lost a bet,” Soonyoung pipes in.

“Or it’s some elaborate prank.”

“Hey.” The gruff voice makes all three boys jump, their heads whipping around to see their topic of conversation standing over them. Without fail you’re there as well. “We’re heading out if someone asks.”

With that Minghao grabs your hand and pulls you away. Minghao’s black, chipped nail polish looks silly next to your perfectly manicured pink nails and your cute beaded friendship bracelets contrast deeply with Minghao’s studded leather bracelets.

You giggle as Minghao leads you out of the party and to his car. He opens the door for you and you slide in as Minghao rounds the car to get into the driver’s seat.

“Hao,” you start, “is it really that weird that we’re friends?”

“Don't listen to them, they're all just idiots,” Minghao tells you, his hand moving across the center console to rest on your bare thigh. You smile at his response, and he squeezes your thigh.

You and Minghao have been friends for as long as you can remember, but it wasn’t until later in life you two became best friends. Now you two are practically inseparable as you drag Minghao with you everywhere you go. You like to think of him as your “scary dog privilege”.

The contrast of you and your best friend does not go unnoticed by you, but you’re not sure why it’s such a big deal. If anything, you find it cute. You love how it sounds when you’re walking, Minghao’s combat boots thudding deeply as your high heels click in tandem. 

It’s not like you two don’t have anything in common either. You two share the same taste in movies, and Minghao never complains when you listen to whatever girly pop song you play in the car. It doesn’t matter if you two don’t have all the same interests though, because you’ve been friends for so long you have learned to appreciate each other’s interests.

There is one other giant perk of being best friends with Minghao though.

.

.

.

“These are cute,” Minghao grunts as his fingers trail over your panties. You shudder at the touch but still smile at your best friend.

“I know! They’re new.” You wiggle your hips a bit, showing off your pink lace underwear. You’re lying pressed against his mattress, your skirt flipped up to reveal your thighs and panties. Minghao stares down at you with dark, hungry eyes.

“How much were they?” Minghao mutters and you think for a moment before respondings with the fairly cheap price you paid. Minghao then smirks before grabbing the fabric and tearing it apart. “I’ll buy a new pair.”

With that he pushes a finger into you, your cunt already dripping just from the making out you two did as soon as you made it inside Minghao’s apartment. You mewl out at the intrusion, your hips automatically bucking up into his touch.

You can feel the coolness of Minghao’s rings pushed up against your folds as Minghao’s fingers delve deeper into you. 

“You look so pretty like this baby,” Minghao coos. “In your pretty little skirt and stockings with my fingers inside your needy little cunt.”

“H-hao,” you gasp out. You reach towards him, tugging at his shirt, and Minghao gets the hint. He slides his fingers out of you and you can feel your walls clench around nothing, begging to be filled again, as Minghao pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his toned torso. 

You love how Minghao looks with his shirt off, all of his tattoos on full display for you. You sit up and run your hands across his chest, admiring the art on his skin. Minghao just smirks and leans down to kiss you. 

Minghao pushes you back against the bed once more, this time crawling over you. His lips slide against yours expertly as his hands trail up your sides before his fingers stop at your boobs. It’s now his turn to admire your chest.

His body rests between your legs and Minghao grinds down against you, his bulge rubbing right against your bare clit. You whimper into Minghao’s mouth, impatient to feel him inside of you. His fingers grope at your tits over your thin shirt and you can feel your nipples pebble up under his touch,

“Hao,” you whine, “please. No more teasing, I need you to fuck me.”

“If you insist, pretty girl,” Minghao says. He pulls away from you, this time to strip from the rest of his clothes and all of his accessories. You quickly do the same, disposing of all of your clothes, besides your stockings. You have yet to confirm if your best friend actually has a thigh highs kink, but the way he fucks you harder when you keep them on doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

No matter what people may say about how Minghao treats you, you’re his princess and he really would do anything for you. Which is why he’s laying down on the bed, allowing you to crawl into his lap and line yourself up to twitching cock. There are very few things you love more than riding Minghao. Only your Sanrio plushies and your Skzoo keychains come to mind, so yeah, you really love riding your best friend.

Slowly, you sink down onto Minghao’s cock, taking a moment to adjust to the feeling of him stretching out your walls. You can hear the shallow breath Minghao takes when he bottoms out and you arch your back at the feeling of his tip brushing up against your cervix. 

“Will never get tired of your tight little pussy,” Minghao growls.

You can’t respond, your brain is already a bit too incoherent to think of a proper response. Instead you lean forward and brace your hands on Minghao’s chest as you start to roll your hips. Minghao’s hands fly up to grab at your ass, helping to bounce you up and down in his lap. His fingers knead at your ass, the feeling of his strong fingers digging into your skin sends even more jolts of pleasure to your core.

Even during sex, you and Minghao couldn’t be more different. Your moans are wanton and loud, shameless in showing your pleasure, where Minghao is more grunts and huffs and the occasional dirty sentence.

Your white thigh highs look pretty pressed up against Minghao’s tattooed thigh and the sight makes you wonder if Minghao is on to something with his thigh high kink. You stare down at the man as he smirks up at you. He moves your hands so they’re off his chest and braced against the mattress so your body hovers over his even more, his mouth now level with your breasts.

Your pussy clenches down at the feeling of his warm tongue running over your stiff nipples. Your breath is labored as you stare down at Minghao. The only view you get is of his dark mullet though, your best friend lost in his pleasure of sucking on your tits. 

You’re far past having the ability to think straight, let alone focus on more than one thing, and your hips stop moving in turn to enjoy Minghao’s mouth against your tits. This doesn’t fare well with him though, and he tightens his grip on your ass, guiding you down his length as he pounds up into you.

With Minghao’s help, his cock now hits against your g-spot, making sparks fly behind your eyes with each thrust. You can barely breath, only letting out soft pants as you do your best to fuck yourself on Minghao’s cock without letting the pleasure overtake you too much. 

Luckily you don’t have to wait too long, as Minghao pops his mouth of your boob to growl out, “M’close.”

Minghao pushes himself up, sitting up so he can press your chests together. Your arms wrap around his neck as you cling onto him, your hips moving frantically to get you both off. All it takes to send you over the edge is the open mouthed kiss Minghao presses to the sensitive spot on your neck. Your fingers dig into his back as your legs shake as your cunt clenches down, causing Minghao to reach his high as well. Minghao lets out a low groan as his cum spurts into you, filling you up.

The two of you stay there for a while, holding onto each other while you catch your breath. After a few moments Minghao slowly lifts you up and pulls out of you, his cum sliding out of you as well. Minghao grumbles about having to wash his sheets now but you know he’s not that mad, especially considering it was his cum.

You press soft kisses to Minghao’s face, before leaving a peck on his lips. Minghao giggles at the gesture which makes you smile in return. If Minghao’s friends think that the two of you being friends is strange, you’re sure they’d have an aneurysm at Minghao giggling after just having sex with you. To you though, it’s just like any other day with Minghao, and you wouldn’t have it (or either of you) any other way.

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[imthesilentwriter]

The Conversation

Harry Potter x Wolfstar!Daughter!Reader

Summary: It’s been two weeks since you and Harry shared your first kiss. To say things are awkward is an understatement; however, everything comes to a head, at your traditional Christmas Eve dinner with the Potters.

Warnings: some awkward tension, kissing

Authors Note: Another fic! Only 4 days after the other one? Crazy!! I hope you're enjoying my oneshots so far - I have SO MANY MORE PLANNED, I'M SO EXCITED!!! If you wanted some context to this oneshot, then reader this one The Stars, first; however, it's not really necessary. I hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 2545

Navigation | Masterlist

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks since you and Harry had kissed under the mistletoe up on the Astronomy Tower. To say things were slightly awkward was an understatement.

You two have barely had time to talk to each other about this whole… situation. The second you think about bringing it up, something always seems to get in the way.

Maybe it’s a good thing that you get interrupted every time you try to bring it up; after all, facing the truth of your feelings feels daunting, and the distractions give you a chance to gather your thoughts, even if it’s just for a moment longer.

Oh, who are you kidding? You’ve been a bundle of nerves, your heart racing at the thought of what might happen if you laid your feelings bare.

Yet, the fact remains is that the kiss changed everything, and neither of you can pretend it didn’t happen.

The warmth of the freshly baked apple pie seeps through your gloves as you stand outside in the cold December air, snowflakes gently falling around you. The twinkling lights of the Potter’s home glow softly against the snow-covered ground, casting a warm, welcoming hue over the dark winter evening. Your breath forms small clouds in the crisp air, and you shift on your feet to keep warm, the excitement of Christmas Eve buzzing in your chest.

Sirius, however, is far less patient. He bangs on the front door again, a loud, persistent knock echoing through the quiet night. “James! Lily! Open up, it's freezing out here!” he shouts, his voice carrying an exaggerated urgency that makes you smile.

“Dad, they’re probably getting ready for dinner,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t need to knock like you’re the Ministry.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Remus mutters beside you, pulling his coat tighter around him. “He’s just looking for an excuse to make an entrance.”

“I’ll make an entrance, alright,” Sirius grumbles, knocking even harder. “I’m not about to freeze to death on Christmas Eve when there’s food and warmth inside.”

“They know we're coming, Sirius,” Remus says calmly, though there’s a smirk tugging at his lips. “Chill out. They’ll let us in.”

“Chill out? I’m already chilled out! Literally!" Sirius huffs, his breath fogging in the cold. "Besides, how long does it take to answer the door when your best friends are standing outside freezing?”

You laugh softly, exchanging an amused look with Remus. “Maybe they’re hiding from you, Dad. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow at you, a mock-offended look on his face. “Me? Hiding from me? I'm the life of the party!”

Just as he’s about to pound on the door again, it swings open, and James Potter grins at the sight of you. “Alright, alright, no need to break the door down, Padfoot. You lot coming in, or are you planning to camp out there all night?”

Sirius straightens up, his dramatic flair back in full force. “Well, we would have been inside already if you hadn’t left us out here to freeze like a pack of stray dogs.”

James rolls his eyes. “You’re as dramatic as ever. Get in here before Lily hears you and thinks you’ve lost your mind.”

Stepping inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around you like a blanket, the smell of pine and cinnamon welcoming you home for the holiday.

Your eyes glance around, taking in the decorations – a string of enchanted lights twinkling along the mantel, stocking hung neatly, and a fire crackling softly in the hearth.

Lily steps into the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel and smiling brightly. “There you are! I thought I heard Sirius yelling out there.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” Sirius says with a smirk, pulling off his coat. “I was announcing our arrival – dramatically, as always.”

Remus snorts, shaking his head as he follows you both in. “More like demanding entry.”

Lily laughs, walking over to give each of you a warm hug. “It’s good to see you. And what’s this?” she asks, eyeing the apple pie you’re holding.

You smile, handing it over. “Homemade apple pie. Well, sort of homemade. Dad supervised, but I did most of the work.”

“Hey!” Sirius exclaims, raising his hands. “I supervised because I’m a terrible baker. And for the record, I’m great at taste-testing.”

Lily grins. “I’m sure you are. Come on in, everything’s almost ready. We’ve just set the table.”

You follow Lily into the kitchen; you can hear James and Sirius chatting loudly from the other room, their laughter echoing down the hall. As you step inside, you spot Harry standing near the counter, his back turned as he helps set out glasses. Your heart skips a beat, that awkward tension instantly tightening around your chest.

You haven’t talked about the kiss. Not really. And every time you see him, it’s like that moment keeps hovering between you, unsaid and unfinished.

Lily pulls you from your thoughts, smiling as she hands you a dish of roasted vegetables. “Could you help me bring these to the table, love?”

You nod quickly, grateful for the distraction. “Of course.”

Balancing the dish, you move toward the dining room, brushing past Harry. For a second, your arm lightly touches his, and it feels like the smallest spark between you. You catch his eye for just a moment, but he looks away just as quickly, as though neither of you quite knows how to navigate this strange, new territory between you. There’s that same softness in his expression – the one that’s been there since the kiss. But there’s also hesitation, the weight of words unspoken, hanging in the air.

You take the vegetables to the table, setting them down beside the plates Lily’s already arranged. She bustles in behind you, carrying more food, and soon enough, the room is filled with the smell of roasted meats, potatoes, and fresh bread. It’s warm, comforting, but the tension with Harry still lingers just beneath the surface, gnawing at you.

As everyone starts to gather around the table, you find yourself slipping into your usual seat, the one across from Harry. It’s always been that way – his eyes meeting yours across the table, a friendly exchange, a joke, a smile. But now? Now everything feels different. He sits down, his movements a little slower, more careful, like he’s trying not to draw attention to the fact that everything’s changed between you.

Dinner begins, with the usual clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation filling the room. Sirius and James are already deep into a playful argument about Quidditch, and Remus is chuckling along, trying to keep the peace. But you’re hardly paying attention. Your focus keeps drifting back to Harry.

He’s quiet tonight, quieter than usual, occasionally glancing your way but not saying much. Every time your eyes meet, there’s this… thing between you, a kind of nervous energy that wasn’t there before. And every bite of food feels like it’s sitting heavy in your stomach because, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to relax.

Lily leans over at one point, offering you another helping of potatoes, her soft voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “You alright, dear? You seem a little distracted.”

“I’m fine,” you reply quickly, offering her a smile. “Just thinking.”

She gives you a knowing look, but thankfully doesn’t press further. You can feel Harry’s eyes on you again from across the table, and you risk another glance in his direction. His fork is hovering over his plate, but his gaze is fixed on you, intense, like he’s waiting for something – an opening, a chance to talk.

But the words just won’t come.

The familiar sounds of laughter and holiday cheer continue around you, but it feels like you and Harry are in your own bubble, isolated from the rest. Every clink of a glass or scrape of a chair feels like it’s just prolonging the inevitable conversation you both know is coming.

After dinner, the house hums with the warmth of family conversation, but you can barely focus. Plates clatter as you and Harry gather the dishes, the room filled with laughter from the others.

You follow him into the kitchen, the tension between you as thick as it was during dinner. Harry’s hands move with practiced ease as he starts packing the dishwasher, and you find yourself mirroring his actions, the two of you working in silence.

It’s only when the last dish is tucked away, and Harry closes the dishwasher door, that he speaks. “We need to talk,” he says, his voice low, eyes darting toward you.

You freeze, a lump forming in your throat. “I know,” you whisper back, already feeling the weight of the conversation you’ve, both been avoiding.

He takes a deep breath, glancing toward the dining room where your parents are still chatting. “Let’s take a walk,” he suggests. You nod, grateful for the chance to step outside, to breathe away from the tension hanging over the evening.

As you move toward the hallway, Sirius looks up. “Where are you two sneaking off to?” he asks, raising a brow. Remus glances over, curious as well.

Harry shrugs casually, but there’s a tightness in his voice. “Just going for a walk. We’ll be back soon.”

Sirius shoots you both a teasing grin. “No funny business, you hear me?”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “Dad.”

Remus, however, just waves you off with a smile. “Go on, you two. Get some fresh air.”

Stepping outside, the cold air hits you immediately, refreshing but also sharp. You walk in silence, your breath visible in the chill, the crunch of snow beneath your boots the only sound for a while. You feel Harry’s presence beside you, close but careful, like neither of you knows exactly what to say yet.

After a few minutes, you arrive at the treehouse, the one you’ve both spent countless summers and holidays in, hiding away from the world. It’s where you’ve shared secrets, jokes, and dreams. But tonight, the treehouse feels different – like it’s holding its breath, waiting for the words to finally spill out between you.

You climb up first, settling into the familiar space. Harry follows, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches out, both comforting and suffocating at the same time.

Finally, you break the quiet, your voice soft. “Our friendship… it’s changed, hasn’t it?”

Harry leans back, his eyes on the floorboards. “Yeah, it has.” His tone is measured, but there’s something raw underneath, something unsaid.

You bite your lip, unsure of how to go on. “I mean… we don’t have to let it. We could just… forget it happened. The kiss, I mean. We can just stay friends.”

The words feel heavy, almost painful, as they leave your mouth. You’re not even sure if you believe them. But it’s easier than facing the possibility of things falling apart between you.

Harry’s head snaps up, his expression one of pure shock. “Forget it?” he echoes, disbelief colouring his voice. “You really think we can just pretend that didn’t happen?”

You shift uncomfortably, shrugging. “I don’t know, I just… I don’t want to ruin everything.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze piercing into yours. “But I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want to pretend like nothing’s changed. Because…” He hesitates, and you can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s choosing his words carefully. “Because I like you. A lot more than just… as a friend.”

Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching. “Really?” It comes out softer than you intended, the word barely more than a whisper.

Harry looks at you earnestly, his eyes soft but steady. “Yeah, really. I’ve been trying to figure it out for a while now, but that kiss… it just made everything clearer.”

You stare at him, stunned. His confession sends a rush of warmth through you, but you’re still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he feels the same way. “I… I feel the same,” you admit, your voice shaky, but there’s no denying the truth behind your words.

His eyes soften at your confession, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. Then he gently lifts your joined hands, his fingers still intertwined with yours, and holds them between you, as if solidifying the connection.

You notice the mistletoe again, still hanging above your heads. You can’t help but let out a small, nervous laugh. “There’s that mistletoe again.”

Harry follows your gaze, then looks back at you with a soft smile. “Yeah… funny how it keeps showing up, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t hesitate this time. Slowly, deliberately, Harry leans in, and your breath catches in your throat. You can feel the warmth of his breath as he inches closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is soft, almost hesitant at first. But then you both relax into it, the tension melting away as his hand gently cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. You kiss him back, your free hand finding its way to his chest, your fingers gripping the fabric of his sweater as you lose yourself in the moment.

The kiss feels different from the one on the Astronomy Tower. This time, there’s no hesitation, no second guessing – just the two of you, wrapped up in each other and the quiet certainty of how you feel.

When you finally pull back, you’re both a little breathless, your foreheads resting together as you sit there in the stillness. But then a thought crosses your mind, and you pull back slightly, just enough to look at him.

“I just-” You hesitate, biting your lip. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship, you know? I mean, I like you. I really like you, but… jumping straight into a relationship? It feels like a lot. And I don’t want to mess things up.”

Harry’s brows furrow slightly, his gaze soft as he watches you. “So… take it slow?”

You nod, your heart pounding as you wait for his response. “Yeah. If that’s okay with you. I just don’t want to rush into something and then lose what we have.”

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and he squeezes your hand gently. “Of course that’s okay. We don’t have to rush anything. We’ll figure it out together.”

Relief floods through you, and you let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Really? You’re okay with that?”

Harry grins, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Yeah. That’s fine. We don’t have to label anything or figure it all out right now. I’m just… I’m glad we talked about it.”

“Me too,” you murmur, the tension between you easing into something more comfortable, more familiar. “So… we’ll take it slow.”

Harry nods, and then, without hesitation, he leans in again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Whatever pace you want.”

Your heart swells, and for the first time in weeks, everything feels less complicated. You don’t know exactly where this will go, but for now, your content with this – taking things one step at a time, hand in hand.

[calypsocolada]

213 DAYS | f. dostoevsky

(click here for part two)

synopsis: you seek out a demons help not realizing just how long he’s waited for you.

authors note: LOL this was completely out of left feild. I binged bungo stray dogs in less than a month and CANNOT stop thinking about this man (and every other character) who would definitely manipulate me to death. LOL anyways enjoy this mess, i didn’t have much of a plan just kinda wrote.

cw: suggestive, soft!fyodor, lovesick!fyodor (he’s literally obsessed with you), manipulative, fluff, making out, cussing, plot convenience lol

wc: 3.9k

————————————————————————————————————————

Your hands were shaking terribly so you clenched them tighly as you followed a guard down a long, long hallway. It’s lights sickly, everything looked the same, the doors, windows, ceilings and flooring. All without a single identifiable difference. You took a steadying breath as the guard a few feet in front of you slowed. He turned slightly to talk to you over his shoulder.

“No one comes to visit this guy, your the first since he’s been here.” He says. You knew a lot about said prisoner. A bit of a complicated past, very, very complicated. “He doesn’t have any existing family, or so I’ve heard.” You could tell with the way this guard was talking he was sweet on the prisoner. That didn’t surprise you, the man you were about to see for the first time in months had a lot of things under his belt. He was manipulative, he could trick the soul right out of your body. The guard rounded one last corner and you knew which padded cell was his. Your hands shook even worse as the guard approached the door.

“I’m sure you know how dangerous he is.” The guard starts as you give him a sharp look.

“I do. Do you?” He looked caught, like the jig was up. He cleared his throat.

“Of course, ma’am. Our city thanks you for capturing him.”

“Just open the door. Oh and,” you take a step towards the guard. “Whatever he’s promised you, I advise you to not take it, or you’ll have me to deal with.” You threaten, the guard's eyes go wide as he slowly nods his head. “Good boy.”

The doors swung open and you saw him just mere feet away, locked tight in the middle of a room.

Fyodor.

There were countless scraps of paper littering the white walls. A various drawings of you. You walked forwards, eyes catching each piece. He started to not remember your face after some time so on some papers there were just hazy outlines but you knew it was you.

Your heart sped like crazy, his sharp snake like eyes met yours and a wicked grin spread across his lips. HIs eyes dragged every inch of your body, probably thinking this was a once in a lifetime visit and he had to memorize your features all over again. He told you you’d come back to him someday, you didn’t think it’d be so damn soon.

All alone the giant room seemed small. You walked forwards, feeling all sorts of things, sickness and anxiousness from seeing Fyodor again. You’d been driven right into the hands of a demon. You could feel his grip beckoning you to come closer. A dangerous energy swirling. You'd felt that since you first met him, unexplainable and new.

“213 days was all it took for you to come back to me.” Fyodor greeted as you walked the distance towards him. He’d counted the days, it wouldn’t surprise you if he knew it all down to the second.

“That’s quite some time.” You answered and Fyodor cocked his head to the side just barely, coal black hair falling over his shoulder.

“It is, my love, too long if you ask me.”

“Not long enough.” You quipped. Fyodor’s eyes locked onto yours. He was devilishly handsome, whatever pull to him back then you still felt in the pit of your stomach when you were around him. Like a magnet or a string tied from you to him. Everywhere you went didn’t matter because it all led back to him. Something kept you thinking of him for those 213 days just the same as him.

“You say that but your eyes tell a different story.”

“Mhm, is it the same story you so crave for me to want.”

“You will want it in due time, my love, but until then a new story is being written.”

“What story is that?” You ask. Fyodor grinned, eyes lighting.

“Well, the story of us.”

“It looks a lot like a tragedy.” You said and Fyodor sighed, amused with your comebacks.

“Now it does, but that’s just the first act. Can’t have a resolution so early on.” He’d wave off if he could. He was currently in a straight jacket, chained to the floor beneath him. He was a dangerous man and this was the only way to keep him from trouble.

“You’re smart, I’m sure you know why I’m here.” You say, you were now mere feet from him, his coal back hair looked like silk, his red crimson eyes looking up at you with something like amusement. You knew he was going to play dumb just for the sake of you talking more to him.

“I’m sorry, you might have to catch me up.” You needed his help and there was little Fyodor wanted in this word, but the biggest, most glaring thing he wanted was you. He’d been infatuated the moment he saw you fighting alongside the detective agency, he’d even foiled some of his comrades plans just to make sure you weren’t hurt in the process. Still, he was a highly dangerous criminal and should be treated as such. You needed to remember that. You slowly sat on the chair across from him.

“Dazai’s been captured and has been missing for three days now. The kidnappers have given us a week. If they were smart enough to trick Dazai they’re well over our heads. I’ve exhausted every avenue, I can’t sleep, I’m scared they’re going to kill him. I'm alone in all of this. If anyone is close to Dazai’s level it’s you.” You explained, Fyodor’s face morphed into something you hadn’t seen much except in your loved ones faces. He looked worried. “What is it?” You asked, scared that he knew something you didn’t and that he couldn’t help you, this was really a last resort.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” Fyodor asked, genuinely concerned. Your lips parted in surprise.

“What?” Was all you could say, he’d surprised you.

“How long have you not slept, my love?”

“That’s- that’s not what’s important here, Fyodor.” You dismissed.

“That’s what’s important to me. How long?” He asks, a bit more commanding this time.

“I- I don’t know. Two days at least.” You answer. Fyodor’s face goes serious.

“I will help, but you will not. You will sleep.”

“We’re working this together. Faster you solve the faster I can sleep.” You counter, wondering if this really was the only stipulation he needed in exchange for his help.

“Deal, we should get started at once.” He says, hastily working something behind his back until suddenly his damn straight jacket clicks and falls to the floor. You gasp, shocked. He could’ve broken out of that this whole time. You wondered what other measures put in place to keep him here were really just laughable to him. If he could escape so easily why hadn’t he before now? Was he really just waiting all this time for you to come back to him?

“That’s- that’s it?” You stutter as Fyodor stands, holding a hand out to you to take.

“Your precious company is more than enough to repay me for my services.” He beams and you know he means it. You're not sure what is it about you that has him to utterly captivated, whether it's all a lie and a part of some plan of if he really, truly cares for you.

Cautiously you take his hand and gently he pulls you to your feet, tugging you against his chest, long white fingers tucking hair behind your ear.

“You’re still as beautiful as the day I met you.” He says and you feel a traitorous blush creep across your cheeks. His eyes look hazy this close, you could feel on hand ghosting your cheek and another around your back. "Now, listen closely love, I own three out of four of the guards outside my door, plus the warden. You use those powers of yours on the last one and we can escape peacefully." He says, hands sliding off your body as he knocks a serious of knocks on the door, most likely some sort of code. Your mouth drops open.

"You what?" You burst out. He really was just relaxing here, not confined at all. Fyodor cocks his head at you, confused as though he hadn't just told you he practially owns the prison.

"I like to play games, dear, you know that. As long as I'm back in the morning no one will know." He says. Your jaw ticks as you strut across the floor, closing the distance between you two. You grab him by the front of the shirt.

"I'm not bringing you back here just so you can break free behind my back!" You growl, he looks at you as though you claimed the stars in the sky.

"I'm quite content here for now, but here, I'll make you a deal." He offers as you furrow your brows.

"A deal?" You echo and he nods his head. You let go of the front of his shirt.

"You visit me once a month and I'll stay put."

"You're crazy." You breath out, but the conviction on his face was real. He'd rather see you once a month than be free. It was fucking insane. You bit your lip in contemplation. "You give me the names of every worker here under your payroll as well." You say and he instantly nods his head.

"Do we have a deal?" He holds out his hand for you to take, and for the second time today, you take it. His cold hand envelopes yours, fingers gripping you gently as a smile spreads across his lips.

"We gotta go." You say and Fyodor nods his head.

"Swipe your card and put the guard with the blond hair to sleep." Fyodor says and you nod. You do as told, the door sliding open. There were four guards, three with dark hair and one women with blond hair. She looks up and smiles when you walked out. You smile back.

"Sleep." The power drips from your voice and the other guards are startled when the girl falls to the floor snoring lightly. They jump up, guns at the ready.

"Gun's down," Fyodor directs coldly, walking out behind you. The guards do exactly as told.

"Sorry, boss." The guard from earlier says, eyes meeting yours. You felt like an idiot, warning him earlier to watch himself around Fyodor and now here you were aiding his escape.

"We're going on a little date, keep things quiet while I'm gone." Fyodor says as the guards salute to him. You stroll out of the prison, Fyodor a step behind you.

“If you had an ounce of malice in your body you could destroy anyone that you ever came across, you know.” Fyodor said when you loaded into your car, the look in his eyes like a kid looking at their favorite superhero. Like he truly admired you. You had a hard time believing that but he was here and if he tried anything you could shut it down with your powers quite quickly. You had the power to control anyone with just your words. You were the one who captured him all those months ago, you could do it again.

“You're over estimating me.” You say as you turn down a backstreet that led towards the agency. Everyone else was out on various tasks, you were on this job alone. Everybody else just assumed he’d find a way to save himself, you didn’t like taking that chance. Dazai had saved you millions of times and you’d try your hardest to repay him.

“I think you’re underestimating yourself, dear, your agency friends would agree. You could be completely devastating.” Fyodor says as you roll your eyes.

“Well you must all be so lucky.” You wave off, pulling into the agency. You met Fyodor at the front of the car. Giving him a serious look.

“Don’t try anything, I really don’t wanna have to kill you.” You say tiredly, too tired to stop his hand from crossing the space between you two, tucking your hair out of your eyes. You freeze at the contact.

“To die by your hands would be bliss to me dear, but you won’t be rid of me yet.” He says, the look in his eyes like admiration, he looked at you the same way your father looked at your mother. It makes you feel unwanted things.

“When will I be rid of you?” You ask, but it was a loaded question and you weren’t sure what you meant. If you meant physically or mentally because you thought about him all the time when he was gone. Fyodor’s eyes slide down to yours, his hand lingering on your cheek.

“Dear, when we’re done here you’ll be begging me to stay.”

“In your dreams.” You challenged and he just smiled.

“Yes, those too.”

You swallowed and waved Fyodor forwards. As you walked, Fyodor turned to speak with you.

“You could’ve used your powers to bring me here.” Fyodor points out as though you didn’t know that.

“Yes, I could’ve.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Maybe I did, then I told you not to remember.” You jest.

“Oh dear, how I would love you to manipulate me. But alas you are nothing like me, but that’s what I like the most. The purest of intentions.”

You slide the key into the lock, pushing the door to the office open. Fyodor gives the place a once over as you lead him towards your desk.

You slide into your chair, taking out the letter that was sent to the agency about Dazai’s disappearance. Something you’ve looked at time and time again, it almost made you dizzy with exhaustion seeing it again.

Fyodor leans against your back, face close to yours as he reads the note over your shoulder. Your heart speeds at the contact. Fyodor’s hand slides down your shoulder to the note as he points to something.

“Dazai sent this himself.” Fyodor says quietly next to your ear. You snap your head to the side to look at him. He’s so close as he slowly slides his eyes to meet yours.

“What?” You force out.

“Look there, love,” you look at where his finger is pointing. It’s small so you bring the note just a little bit closer. A smile smiley face. You hadn’t noticed that before.

“What the hell?” You ask.

“Some letters are darker than the others, it reads out, ‘be back in two weeks, Dazai’.” You feel like a complete idiot. Anger builds fast in your chest. You rip the note in two and push yourself up from your desk.

“I just helped break a highly dangerous criminal out of a maximum security prison to find out Dazai’s on vacation.” You huff, falling back down into your chair. You hear a soft chuckle behind you. “Screw this.” You growled, storming out of the office towards your car. In your anger you totally forgot Fyodor but that didn’t matter because he followed you just a few steps behind. It was later in the day now, you were so tired and so angry as you stormed to your car. “Get in.” The power slipped into your words as Fyodor tripped over himself to get in the car, you hadn’t even noticed you did it, sometimes that happens when you lose control of your emotions. This was still so new to you. When you slipped in beside Fyodor, you pressed your head against the steering wheel, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot.”

“Don’t say that, dear.”

“But it’s true. It took you seconds! I haven’t slept in days, searching that note night and day.” Frustration built in your chest as angry tears formed in your eyes.

“Dazai’s lucky to have a friend like you, someone who would lose sleep to help. Doesn’t matter how fast I figured it out, you would’ve gotten it out.”

“The note said a week till he was dead.”

“And you still had four days. Stop being so hard on yourself.” You slowly lifted your head off of the steering wheel, eyes fluttering to Fyodor’s. His voice was so calm, so non judgmental, it was messing with your head. You clear your throat.

“It’s too late to take you back now, we’ll have to go in the morning.” You say, trying to snap yourself out of whatever spell Fyodor was casting onto you. His face softens.

“Okay, dear.” He says, settling into the seat. You were hesitant bringing him to your home, he could kill you. But some stupid part of you thought differently of him, some part told you he wouldn’t hurt you. And that stupid part, driven by exhaustion had you driving back to your place, leading him inside and locking the door behind you too. You turned to him in the dim light of your hallway, his eyes shining red.

“Do I have to make you behave yourself?” You ask, the tightness of the hallway had you two quite close.

“You do whatever you like to me.” He whispered, his pale lips smirking in the dark. You swallow against the dryness in your throat, something tugs in your stomach. This was a terrible idea. The way he was looking at you was more dangerous than anything. The space between you both was barely existent. He was so tall, so handsome, all dark and magnetizing. You felt it all washing over you now. A invisible pull. A terrible turn. You let out a breath in your chest, eyes locking with his. Your hands had their own mind, reaching for the front of his shirt, his eyes watch over you. Your fingers knotted in his shirt and you stepped in his space. His lips parted. “Love, you’re crossing a line.” He whispers and you pause, drunk on something you weren’t sure of. Clearly you weren’t thinking straight but sobering up felt like going against yourself. It was strange.

“Should I stop?” You ask. His hand slides up your arm to tuck under your jaw, cold fingers pressing there.

“Never.” He says huskily. “But if you kiss me now then throw me in prison in the morning I’ll be quite hurt.” He jokes, his accent thickens. The air in your chest that you didn’t know you were holding exhales. You leaned into him and watched his eyes drift close, felt his body slack in anticipation. He was completely whipped, he was the one under your spell.

“You thought I was going to kiss you?” You ask, gaining a bit of attention back. Fyodor cocks his head just a bit, eyes fluttering open.

“You weren’t?” He asks, his lips slightly pouting. You grin sharply, slowly rocking on the tips of your toes to pull him down to your lips. A soft press, an answer. Something shoots through your body at the contact. You wanted this. You’ve wanted this since meeting him. He’d wanted the same. You pretended it away the best you could but you couldn’t fucking help it. He wasn’t a good person but he was to you. It was like he was two different people. One made for you. Fuck, you couldn’t help yourself any longer. Your hands dragged up into his hair, tangling. He groaned into your mouth, letting you walk him back into the front door, pressing your body against his, pinning him. You pulled back, kissing his jaw down to his neck, he whimpered at the contact, melting against your touch. “Love, you— you can’t,” he panted, unable to form a coherent sentence. Your cold hand slide under his shirt, feeling warmth beneath it, he gasped at your touch. His hands held you softly, as though you’d realize who you’d be kissing if he held you even tighter. But you knew who he was, what he’d done. But fuck it. You kissed him all over, his neck and jaw and cheeks and lips, you couldn’t stop. He shivered and his fingers slowly dig into the fat of your hips as he pulled you closer to him. He sighed, head falling to the side to give you better access. You kissed softly at his open throat and he made a low sound.

“I’ll show you to my room,” you whispered into his neck, hand sliding into his. When you went to tug him he didn’t move, you turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t.” He says and your heart dips.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” you say, dropping his hand but he catches your fingers, shaking his head.

“You misunderstand me. I want to. But not right now, you’re not- you’re tired and it’s been a long day, I’d rather you sleep then keep you up all night.” You find yourself blushing at his words. You swallow.

“What if I want that?” You barely whisper as though your words held too much gravity. You watch his jaw tick, something flashing in his eyes. It was clear what he was thinking about.

“Love, please, I have just a shred of chivalry left, don't test it.” God you wanted to test it so badly but you felt light headed, exhaustion plaguing you now.

“Alright,” you say softly, he closes the distance between you both, pressing a soft and quick kiss to your lips. When he pulls back he pauses a hair’s width from your lips and when he speaks you feel his breath tickling you.

“Let’s go.” He says. You fumble through the darkness, Fyodor’s arms around your body, pressing soft kisses to you shoulders and neck as you push open the door to your bedroom. You strip down, changing into a large t shirt, letting Fyodor borrow something to change into. Something an ex left at your place, you decided not to tell him that. You both fell into the bed together, exchanging tired kisses in the dark. His body on top of yours, the weight of it heavy, you brought your hands to his sides pulling more of him on top of you. “For someone who hasn’t slept in days you have a lot of energy.” He mutters against your neck. You shutter.

“I want you so badly.” You say before you can stop yourself.

“Trakhni menya…” he groans softly, rolling off of you. You roll to face him, blushing and hot. “You have to sleep.” He says, his hands sliding around you to pull you into his chest. You settle in his arms, his heart beating steadily against your back. He presses a kiss to your shoulder. You close your eyes, listening to his steady breathing. How things escalated was beyond you but you’d never felt more comfortable in your damn life. He pulled a cover over the both of you, reaching to flick off the light. He brushed your hair back out of your face as you wondered what the hell you were going to do in the morning. Taking him back made your stomach twist. You realized for those 213 days you were looking for a reason to seek him out. That when an opportunity fell into your lap you grabbed and ran with it because despite everything you tried lying to yourself about, you wanted him badly enough to break him out of prison. You settled closer to him, sleep slowly tugging you deeper. You tangled in bed with Fyodor, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

One last thought formed before you were taken by sleep.

You weren’t taking him back. He was yours to keep now.

[bloodyinkandquill]

Ban Hammer x Reader being comforted for their break up

sorry for how late i am rn, these ones just haven’t struck me with inspiration, tbf it’s a monday and im sitting on my bed eating an entire sleeve of saltines so… also apologies for not doing rh egobworder one yet i just have literally no ideas, especially because i need to figure out like his character, as far as i knew he was just a skin so😭 not like follower sword or heretic katana that i know have different personality’s and junk, oh and to get me more motivated to do all these requests since i have like 6 rn im probably going to write something self indulgent as a treat for myself lmao

- When Ban Hammer opened his door, he expected to see a lot of things, his close friend a sobbing mess was not one of them, he quickly ushered you in unsure of what to do, he just sorta made small movements before gesturing to the couch in invitation

- You sat down trying to form words but you couldn’t quite string them together and you just went back to crying aggressively into your hands, he sat down next to you and awkwardly pat your back, he was never the best with emotions so he was trying his best to be comforting to you

- After a couple minutes and him grabbing you a glass of water, with a crazy straw, that made you giggle through your tears, you had finally composed yourself enough to form proper sentences, you told him that your partner had suddenly broken up with you, you had absolutely no clue why, you thought you two were so happy, why did they do this? He sneered and said that they’re clearly an idiot, breaking up with you for no reason

- He did his best to comfort you as you sobbed into in shirt, thankful he wasn’t wearing his armor, as he gave you awkward pats on the back and the like, he said things you mostly didn’t hear through your cries and tears, though you did pick up on him saying that they were blind, how could anyone see you and not fall for you, they lost an amazing beautiful demon, you sniffled looking up at him, meeting his four eyes, since he only wore his blindfold in phights you saw them commonly, almost glowing with their red hue

- He realized a bit more what he said and you could see the faintest flush to his cheeks, before he said at least that’s what he thought, you looked at his face, vision still a bit blurry from your tears, and you realized just how attractive he was, you had never looked at your friend in that light, or maybe you always had but never realized it, and before you could think twice you reached up, propping yourself up on your knees grappling his face and kissing him

- All four of Ban Hammer’s eyes widened in shock but after a minute he wrapped his arms around your back before reciprocating the kiss, you had been so occupied with the relationship you were in you never realized the relationship you wanted, your friend who’d been with you for years, you kissed him for what felt like a year before pulling away to catch your breath, meeting his eyes which were a little dazed, you just stared at each other for a moment and went right back to kissing

sorry it’s so short and not that good i was working on it in small parts throughout different times of the day and like i said none of these have been super inspiring to me, my sincerest apologies for that i’ll get them done but might take some time, and my requests are closed till i get through these because there’s so many of them, alright let’s try and get another one done before i go to sleep

[tagsecretsanta]

From @littleoldrachel

From @littleoldrachel to @sofasurf

Let your heart be light

“I just don’t understand why you leave it to the last minute every year, Allie.”

Alan’s bedroom is an explosion of wrapping paper in a garish glitter snowman print. Every attempt to manoeuvre it has only cascaded silver glitter into every crevice of the fluffy carpet—or worse, burrowed into Alan’s palms, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed them. Strings of gold ribbon, webs of sticky tape, and an assortment of gifts lie tangled at the centre of the mess, with at least four pairs of open scissors perfectly positioned to do some damage. 

The paper he’d thought was so cute when he ordered it online is now haunting him—most disturbing were the trails of glitter that swilled around his shower water earlier. (He also doubts that it fills his rescuees with reassurance when he leaves sparkly handprints on them as he lifts them out of whatever horrifying situation they’ve found themselves in. Although… the little girl who’d asked him very earnestly if he was a fairy since he was leaving such a shimmery trail made the whole thing rather more cute than annoying.)

Still, curse Gordon for encouraging Alan's poor wrapping paper decisions. 

“Please, Scott,” Alan wheedles. He hesitates, then pulls out the big guns and widens his eyes to pouting proportions. “I'll never get this done in time without you.”

Scott rolls his eyes, but he does inch forward from where he's leaned against the door jamb, his crossed arms loosening slightly. 

“It's ten to midnight. Christmas Day is literally minutes away, Allie,” Scott says, and Alan can tell he's trying to channel Commander Tracy—if only he could contain his fond smirk. 

“It'll be faster if we work together!” Alan blinks slowly and deliberately, puppy-dog eyes unwavering. 

“Quit trying to be cute.” 

“It's a lost cause!” Gordon's voice calls out from the hallway, and Alan is so intent on flinging himself across the room to hide the squid's present from view that he doesn't even have the time to be indignant. 

Scott frowns and turns. “Why aren't you in bed?”

Gordon's unruly mop of golden curls appears in the gap. “The mother-henning again, Scotty? Really?”

Scott ignores this. “You're usually first in bed on Christmas. I remember this because you were always the first one to come bounding into my room at four in the morning, shrieking about what Satan had brought you.”

“Satan?” Alan yelps.

“Hey, dyslexia is a cruel mistress!” Gordon scowls. “I liked it better when we were making fun of Allie-”

“I didn't-”

“But if you must know, I was checking on Virg.”

Scott straightens at once, every bit the soldier he once was. (Alan sort of hates it, if he's honest; it feels painful how easily the Commander comes out, even in the one place they are supposed to get to be soft and safe.)

“What's wrong with Virgil?”

“Stand down, soldier.” Gordon yawns so hard his jaw crackles. “Virg is fine. He took a few knocks on this afternoon's rescue, and I just wanted to check he wasn't doing his usual stoic thing.”

Scott frowns. “He didn't mention that in the debrief-”

“Virg hiding injuries? Gee, I wonder where he learned that,” Gordon says dryly, and Alan snorts. “He's fine, Scott. Just bruised and cranky.”

“I'll check in on him in a bit,” Scott says, more to himself than anyone else, and Gordon shoots Alan an exasperated eye roll that has him grinning. Then, Gordon's eyes rove over the disaster site that is Alan's room, and his eyes widen. It's a mark of how tired he must be that he doesn't even quip, just slowly backs away from the mess. “On that note, g’night!” 

Alan waits till Gordon's door has closed before he clambers up off Gordon's gift: a truly hideous Christmas jumper decorated with a Santa Claus riding a flamingo float. 

Alan's gifts to his brothers are always the most heinous jumpers he can find - after all, what on earth do you give a family made up of billionaires? - and the public loves the annual auction of the jumpers as part of the Tracy family charity drive. He's pretty proud of himself for this year's effort. 

“The sooner you help me, the sooner you can go and bother Virg,” Alan says sweetly, holding up the scissors to Scott. 

Scott lets out a put-upon sigh, but he's never been able to resist his littlest brother – as Alan well knows – and he takes the scissors reluctantly. 

“Fine, but I'm tagging you in on helping Grandma with the lunch tomorrow.”

Alan pulls a face. He adores his grandmother with his whole heart and soul, and yet her incompetency in the kitchen is nothing short of deadly. Still, if it means an end to the scratchiness of glitter on his skin, he'll go for it. 

“Deal.”

*

Twenty minutes later and faced with a wrapped jumper that looks more like a piece of crumpled trash than a gift, Alan is regretting his recruitment choices. They’d massively underestimated the size of the paper they would need and had been forced to attach another sheet at a strange angle to cover the gift, leaving the snowmen oddly distorted.

“I thought you'd be good at this,” he says despairingly, poking at where the wrapping paper has bunched and torn. “Isn't the army big on neatness?”

Scott slaps his hand away. “You're making it worse! I'm just out of practice.” He has glitter smeared in his eyebrows from his constant head-in-hands-exasperation, and it's the kind of ridiculousness that pours warmth into his chest; they may all be public figures, and they may have had their grief made an aching, public thing, but only Alan and his brothers get to witness Scott Tracy being silly. 

“Scotty, you have five siblings; how can you possibly be out of practice?”

There's an awkward pause as Alan tries – to no avail – to fold down the corners of the lumpy package. When it finally clicks that Scott hasn't come back with a witty retort (and Alan's tired, okay? Three back-to-back rescues and his brain has turned to soup), Alan looks up sharply. 

“I usually get Virg to do mine,” Scott admits grudgingly, and Alan gapes. “He likes it!” Scott adds defensively, shuffling his stance in a very un-Scott-like move. “Says he finds it ‘mindful’ or whatever.”

“Great! Then I'll ask him to do mine!” Alan scoops up an armful of crumpled wrapping paper and tangled ribbon, making to stand. 

Scott laughs. “Not so fast, kiddo. Virg may or may not be injured—and even if he weren't, he has a strict deadline for wrapping applications.”

Alan's mouth moves silently, trying to catch up. “How long has this been going on?”

“About… five years?” Scott scrunches his nose. “Maybe longer?”

“And why am I only hearing about it now?”

Scott shrugs. “It didn’t start as a whole thing; I was getting more and more stressed about not being ready for Christmas with all the Tracy Industry stuff, and it was when he was following me around like a shadow because he was worried, and then he just helped… and kept helping.” Scott shifts his weight again and places the next jumper – John’s – in the centre of a fresh sheet of paper. “And then Gordon cottoned on, and–"

“What?!” Alan’s outrage is like the sharp sting of a torn-off scab. “Gordon knows and he didn’t tell me?”

Scott blinks at him. “We all know, Allie. John found out… somehow, because he’s John. Kayo walked in on Virg wrapping all her birthday presents. Didn't you always wonder why the presents we give Virg are wrapped like shit, and ours belong in a gallery?”

“I can't believe there's been an underground present-wrapping operation this whole time.”

Scott grins and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out, Mr Built-A-Damn-Rocket-At-Twenty-Years-Old.” He’s folding the paper around the jumper more carefully this time, creasing sharp folds instead of simply rolling it. “Hold,” he says, and Alan obediently presses his hand over where the paper meets. Scott places a tiny square of tape over the join, and Alan frowns.

“We’re going to need more than that, Scotty. You know we can afford more tape if we run out?”

“Do you want my help or not?” Scott says, elbowing him. He does grudgingly place another piece alongside it, though.

There’s a brief lull between them as they focus their efforts on the present, which is looking considerably less Frankenstein’s monster-like than their first attempt, even if they have reams of paper left over.

“You’re right, though, I did use to be better at this,” Scott says quietly. “Someone had to be after mom—well… let’s just say that dad wasn’t exactly great at being there to pick up this kind of thing.”

Alan’s heart clenches, the familiar wounded creature that it is. Scott rarely talks about the time after mom’s death—and usually, only in relation to the impact it had on Virgil (an all-consuming, terrifying depression) and John (vicious intrusive thoughts and anxiety). He and Gordon had been too young to remember things being any different, but with the benefit of hindsight, Alan can recognise how tough it must have been. It’s uncommon for Scott to talk about what that was like for him: the lynchpin to bind them together with too young hands for such a burden. Alan feels a little like he’s handling a frightened animal in the face of Scott’s pain, but he makes an interested noise in his throat, allowing Scott to shift his hands wherever he’s needed.

“It was rough, sometimes,” Scott allows. His voice is soft and his expression distant. “I didn’t want you and Gords and Johnnie to miss out on any of the Christmas build-up stuff – and Grandma tried to be there – but I was only a teenager. Sometimes, even now when I’m wrapping gifts, I can feel that stressed boy, juggling nativity plays and gifts for teachers and Christmas jumper days–" He cuts himself off sharply. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.”

“I do,” Alan says, and the desperation bleeds into his tone more than he wishes. “I do want to hear it—I’m… I’m sorry we didn’t realise how much it was for you to manage.”

“You were four, Allie, I didn’t want you to realise.”

“Still.” His arms tingle with the urge to fling them around his oldest brother, to brush his thumbs under the eyebag-crevices he’s too young to have, to smooth the crinkle of his brow. Instead, he stares down at the paper beneath his hands and swallows.  “I wish you talked about it more.”

Scott pauses, fingers hovering over where he’s poised to place the final strip of tape. “I’m trying to. Virg tells me I shouldn’t keep it all bottled up.”

“Yeah well. He’s pretty smart, you know?”

Scott laughs, and the movement softens his forehead and creases the lines around his mouth. It’s lovely. It’s as it should be. “I know.” He sits back on his haunches and the two of them survey their handiwork.

It’s a great improvement on their first attempt, even if all the extra paper ended up bunched and bulky around the edges. Scott ties a ribbon around it lengthways, and Alan slaps on a sparkly bow.

“I think we nailed it,” Scott says, eyes twinkling.

The bow promptly falls off the parcel.

Alan scowls, reattaching it more forcefully—enough that he feels the centre of it click and then a horrid, tinny version of Jingle Bells starts playing. Alan and Scott stare at it in horror as a children’s choir begins yowling over the top of the music, and Alan reaches out to try and stop the caterwauling.

“No!” Scott seizes his wrist, eyes wide. “Don’t make it start again!”

As the final line rings out, the bow plops off the parcel again and Scott’s eyes narrow. “It’s fucking with us.”

“Language!” Alan says gleefully, and Scott nudges him.

“It’s cursed, Allie, I’m telling you—”

“Don’t be silly.” He applies featherlight pressure to the bow this time, but as his hand moves away, the song starts up again. “I didn’t even press it!”

The music plays through once… and then immediately starts up again.

Scott and Alan exchange a look, and then the corner of Scott’s mouth twitches and it’s enough. Alan bursts out laughing – loud, hysterical sounds that frankly improve the awful music – with Scott close behind him. The music chunters on cheerfully in the background, but Alan is warm with sheer delight at the expression on Scott’s face, the way he’s bent double with the force of his laughter, how light he seems for the first time in months.

“You’re right – it’s haunted,” Alan manages, which only sets Scott off again. In the background, the song stutters on way-ay-ay-ay-ay, like some crazy club remix.

“Why – did you get – singing ones?” Scott wheezes through laughter, and all Alan can do is shake his head.

Eventually, as the music grows tinnier and tinnier, Scott staggers up and flings the cursed decoration through Alan’s balcony doors, until it lands with a plop in the pool. He turns back to Alan, grinning so wide and wild that Alan feels giddy all over again.

Seeing his brothers happy fills his heart to the brim, but seeing Scott happy—it’s molten gold flowing into every last crack and chip in his chest, leaving him warm and light and whole. He wants to capture this moment in a glass jar and hold it close on his darkest nights. He wants to lock away this memory and protect it against the future versions of Scott who will be stern and burnt out and beaten down. He just wants Scott to be happy.

It’s an impossible dream. Or at least, an impossible consistent dream; after all, Scott has surely the most stressful job in the world and sends his brothers out into the field every single day without being able to know for sure that they will return. He plays both mother and father, presents the perfect CEO, offers the ideal PR needed—it’s too much for anyone to hold and be happy. Scott is the first to admit that there are always people they can’t save, always situations they can’t control, and always moments that are missed (even if his hypocritical arse won’t accept that itself).

But Alan can start with this—with Christmas. With family and presents and ridiculous wrapping paper. And maybe – maybe – it will be enough for now.

*

BANG!

Alan jolts awake so fast that black spots burst in his vision as he sits up. Scott is already on his feet beside him, ever the soldier, tiredness cast off like a cloak.

“Whoops.” Their grandma’s voice floats up to them, and the brothers exchange a look before Scott offers a hand to Alan.

“My money’s on a cooking disaster,” Scott says conspiratorially, and Alan sort of hates him for being so awake at this moment.

Alan groans as he accepts the proffered hand, his own free hand rubbing at his aching neck. The two of them had finally fallen asleep around two in the morning, slumping into a messy pile surrounded by wrapping paper and decorations. Alan feels considerably worse for wear as he rubs glitter from his eyelashes, but he allows Scott to pull him from the room in the direction of their grandma’s mumbled cursing.

“What time is it?” he yawns, wincing as his thumb hits a particularly sore knot in his neck.

Scott casts him a pitying look. “You’re too young to be aching like this, Allie.”

“Yeah, Allie. Spare a thought for the old man over here,” Gordon’s voice is gleeful as he slings an arm over Alan’s shoulder and nods at Scott. “And it’s just gone eight.”

Scott flips Gordon off over his shoulder, which only makes Gordon grin wider still. He’s just in swimming trunks and still drips pool water across the corridor, skin cool against Alan’s sleep-sensitive arms.

Their smiles fade as they round the corner to the kitchen, where they see Grandma staring helplessly at the oven – a scary enough prospect on its own – from which black smoke is pouring. The glass has shattered inwards, and a thick, acrid stench fills the air. The three boys freeze for a fraction of a second before Scott and Gordon leap into action, flinging open the oven door and yanking out a charred and blackened unidentifiable mess.

Grandma blinks in confusion. “I was just preheating the oven for the turkey,” she says. “What’s my Christmas cake doing in there?”

Gordon widens his eyes at Alan from behind Grandma’s back, his message clear: DO NOT SPILL THE BEANS. Alan does his best to blink innocently back at Grandma—to pretend that he and Gordon didn’t hide it in the oven earlier this week to avoid having to eat any and risk their stomach linings.

“Well?” Grandma turns to look at Gordon, who quickly schools his features into something bewildered. “Care to explain?”

Thankfully, Virgil chooses that moment to stumble into the kitchen, beelining for the coffee machine. He stabs blearily at the buttons before Scott takes pity and sorts his espresso. Virgil blinks dopily at Scott in response, patting his head tiredly and slinking over to the island stools.

“Morning, Virg,” Gordon says brightly, and Virg grunts something in response.

“I’m very well, thank you so much for asking. And a merry Christmas to you, too!” Gordon continues, and Alan sees Scott bite back a smile.

“What happened to the oven?!” John joins them, pale and sleepy-looking but far more awake than his older brother.

“Someone ruined my Christmas cake—and now the oven is broken!” Grandma says, and her gaze flits to the turkey sitting on the side, ready to be roasted.

Alan frowns. “But how will we roast the turkey now?”

There’s an awkward pause. “Are you sure it’s broken?” Scott asks, crouching to examine the nobs and dials. He twists a few experimentally, and the oven belches out an almighty groan of more black smoke. “Okay! Message received!”

Scott stands and glances over at Virgil. “Virg, can you take a look at it?”

Virgil shoots Scott a look over the rim of his mug. “You want me to glass-blow a new oven door?” Alan had forgotten how sarky early morning Virgil can be and he loves it.

“Virg.”

Virgil downs the remainder of his piping hot coffee and stands. It takes him all of two seconds to declare the oven out of action: “It needs at least three replacement parts, even if the door were reparable,” he tells them, the wonders of coffee returning a sharp precision to his tone. “I can make a version of those parts, but it’ll take too long for today.”

“What are we going to do?!” Alan yelps, flushing as everyone turns to look at him.

“We could… have a barbecue?” Gordon suggests, squinting at the prepared turkey. “We could slice it into strips, set up on the beach…”

Scott snaps his fingers at Gordon, smiling wide. “Yes! Great plan—”

“What can I say? Here to save Christmas,” Gordon smirks, grin only widening when his brothers roll their eyes in unison.

*

Several hours later, they have hauled the barbecue down onto a quiet strip of beach, with Brains and Virgil talking quietly as they man the barbecue and bicker about the most effective use of space on the grill. Almost everyone else, bar M.A.X and Grandma (who are lounging on blankets on the sand), has been recruited for a game of chicken fight, with the added challenge of battling the current of the tide as it sweeps in and out.

From atop Kayo’s shoulders, Alan takes out John with ease, grinning as his brother falls off Scott like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Grub’s up!” Virgil yells, and the four of them scatter, hurrying towards the shore. Alan can’t help the bubble of laughter that escapes him as Kayo and Scott become entangled and flop together in the foamy edge of the water.

By the time the two of them are back on dry land, everyone else is tucking into their Christmas lunch, appreciative hums echoing across the group.

“There’s sand in my turkey,” John says with a frown, and Scott laughs.

��Better that than Grandma’s special stuffing recipe. Nearly cracked my tooth with that a while ago.”

John rolls his eyes, but obediently chomps down on the sandy turkey sandwich. He’s a little paler and thinner than his brothers like him to be, but his smile is bright and lovely even through a mouthful of chewed bread and meat.

By nine, the sun has begun to creep towards its bedtime, pouring pink and gold across the sky in a beautiful cascade of colours. The smell of barbecued meat blends with the salty sea air, undercut with the coconutty scent of John’s suncream.  

The Tracy family shows no such sign of calling their celebration to an end—Gordon and Scott have roped Kayo and M.A.X into a game of volleyball, with the little robot strangely nimble across the loose sand, whilst John, Brains and Grandma alternate between roasting marshmallows and playing increasingly competitive card games.

It’s nothing like the Christmases Alan grew up watching in movies and on TV, nor is it like the ones his schoolfriends used to wax lyrical about.

Somehow, it’s even better.

(Alan thinks that has a lot to do with how loud Gordon’s laughter booms across the beach, how bright Scott’s smile is, and John’s playful smirk that only ever comes out around those he’s truly comfortable with.)

And yet, despite how pleasantly full he feels and how much happiness sings in the air, there’s a weight on his chest that he cannot shift. It prickles with wrongness in the face of so much joy, and Alan feels like he’s dragging their celebrations towards misery as he sits by himself and gazes out at the ocean.

At that moment, as if he can sense Alan’s rising distress (and perhaps he can; Virg has always been weirdly perceptive about these things), Virgil plops down beside Alan and offers him a soft smile. “You good, Allie?”

Alan nods, then leans his head against Virgil’s shoulder, allowing his older brother to tuck him tighter into his side. All his brothers hug differently, but none of them truly envelop him as Virgil does. “Just thinking.”

“Warned you about that,” Virgil murmurs and Alan can hear the smile in his voice even though he can’t see it. His hand comes up to the back of Alan’s neck, and he begins massaging out the knotty tension in Alan’s neck. The relief trickles warm and grateful down Alan’s spine and he sags further into his brother, trusting and knowing that he will be held.

“I wish it could always be like this,” Alan says after a beat or two.

Virgil pauses. “Like this?”

“Like…” Alan waves a hand. “I wish Scott could always be this relaxed. And John could always be here. And we could always be this happy.” A sharp longing ache lodges in his throat, and he has to fight to get the next words out without it catching. “I wish we didn’t have to give up so much to have these moments.”

Virgil is silent for a long time, his grip tighter around Alan. “Me too,” he says at last, and it’s so un-Virgil-like to admit something even vaguely selfish that Alan would pull away to stare at him if he weren’t so damned comfortable. “But Allie—I think that’s also what makes these moments so, so precious. That we know what it is not to have them. That we know what they cost.”

“That doesn’t feel fair,” Alan says, hating the petulance in his own voice.

If Virgil were replaced by Gordon, there would be a quip about life’s not fair and a joke to distract him from the ache of it. Scott would be frantic to try and fix it, and John’s analytical mind would identify all the illogical and untrue aspects of that statement.

Virgil just holds him impossibly tighter still and meets him with an empathy Alan didn’t know he needed. “I know.”

Virgil holds him together as the aching grief of all that has been lost – all that continues to be sacrificed, and all the moments to be missed in the future – spreads and crashes over Alan—

Then all at once, the grief ebbs away like the tide retreating.

Virgil presses a kiss to Alan’s crown. “You good. Allie?” His voice is soft and warm, and Alan knows that he’ll stay as long as Alan needs him to—that he doesn’t even have to ask.

This is what makes it easier for him to nod and mean it this time.

“Want a marshmallow?”

Alan hesitates and nods, allowing Virgil to pull him up and tug him back towards the makeshift campfire. Scott, Kayo, Gordon and M.A.X have abandoned their game at last, and have squished themselves around the fire too, though they shuffle over to allow room for Virgil and Alan to squeeze in beside Scott.

“Alright?” Scott murmurs to Alan, and Alan nods. The prickling fades, tucked between his two oldest brothers, across from the jokey antics and quiet intelligence of his other two brothers, beneath the protective gaze of his sister and grandmother—and under the twinkling light of his mom’s star. He’s so damned lucky, despite it all, to be so loved like this.

“Happy Christmas,” he says softly, and Scott smiles.

“Happy Christmas, Allie.” He ruffles Alan’s hair and Alan laughs.

Christmas may not look the way he thought it would be growing up, and it may be a long time before they get to be together like this again. Another Christmas may be full of injuries or loss, and it may feel harder still to rise above the weight of their collective grief.

But Alan vows that he will do everything in his power to keep giving them Christmases like this, full of light and laughter and love.

For this Christmas is theirs and Alan will hold it tight and precious against his heart.

[sorrowsofsilence]

Deeper • Ruffilo

Pairing: Nicholas Ruffilo x FemReader

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Smut (18+, unprotected PnV pls wrap it before u tap it, slight breeding, inside orgasm), alcohol, swearing, jealousy, teasing. Legit just smut but with some plot lol

Prompt: you know what they say, bassist string it deeper.

Authors note: I’m so fucking tired but I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am a literal puddle. Also this ended up being way longer than intended, oops :3

THIS IS A FANFIC USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THAT THIS PERSON WOULD DO THIS IRL OR ACT LIKE THIS! ITS FICTION!

Tags: @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @th4t-em0-k1d @lans-angels @dsireland86

Well, you know what they say, bassists do it deeper.

Ruffilo was never a fan of social situations, or people he didn’t know. If he could stay at home and away from the public’s eye, he would. He’d be happy just living with his best friends and some cats, as he was extremely shy; but he was also very needy.

Nick was always fighting for your attention; especially when you laughed a little too hard at one of Folio’s jokes, or a sarcastic comment of Jolly’s. He’d wrap your fingers through his, pulling at your arm so you would sit next to him, tugging you gently away from whoever else you were talking to. Sometimes he got jealous of all the attention you’d receive, especially when out in public; but if anything he despised when you talked to Noah. You were definitely waaay too flirty with him- in Nick’s opinion- but he’d never tell you he thought this because you and him were just friends. Noah played into the teasing you gave him; even though he knew Nick had a thing for you.

It was Halloween, Noah’s birthday; all the boys plus a bunch of friends were celebrating in their Los Angeles home. Nick’s leg bounced anxiously as he sat at the kitchen table with a drink in hand, waiting for you to show up. He exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes staying fixed on the front door as he took a sip, nearly spitting out the vile red mixture. Vodka cran my ass tastes more like some sort of disgusting pink Whitney mix. He thought.

Nick’s mind began to race, thinking about you. You were an hour late, something that rarely occurred because you were always extremely punctual. He wondered where you were; his comfort person. His anxiety was rampant at the amount of people in their house. All he wanted was to see you, so you could tell him everything would be okay; but also because he was head over heels in fucking love with you.

Folio and Jolly were off playing a game of definitely rigged cup-pong, while Noah jumped through various conversations with each guest, thanking everyone for showing up to celebrate his birthday.

Nick took another sip, hand shaking in anticipation as he watched various couples dance through the kitchen, the music loud, echoing through the walls. He readjusted his Jedi- robes multiple times, tugging on the fabric nervously.

Finally, the front door opened, and Nick had to stop himself from standing up immediately at the sight of you, ready for you to hold him in your arms. You waltzed into the house, the thick-heeled boots you wore thumping against the ground, following the beat of his heart.

You smiled when your eyes met his, your dark burgundy lipstick parting, radiating against your skin; his heart pounded heavily. His eyes fought the urge to skim across your body, particularly across your exposed thighs, as the short black skirt you wore rode up dangerously high. He was practically melting in his chair, pants beginning to tighten at the thought of bending you over the counter, taking you from behind.

“What’s up Anakin,” you said, your own eyes glancing across his robes, grinning at his nerdy costume. Nick was always such a dork for Star Wars, but he was your dork.

Nick smiled, relief evident on his face that you were here; but the lingering lust he felt towards you crawled through his skin. His throat began to tighten, and words fumbled. He grabbed his cup, swallowing the remaining vodka-Whitney-cran or whatever the fuck it was, eyeing your every move as you made yourself at home, navigating through the kitchen with ease.

You placed your grocery bag of snacks and drinks you brought in the fridge, closing the door with your heel before cracking open a cooler, and taking a sip as you turned towards Nick. He loved how comfortable you were here, in his house, as if it was your own. Where you were meant to be.

“Hey,” Nick nodded, the corners of his mouth turned up. “Freddy Kruger.”

He maintained eye contact, your E/C eyes lingering in his, the glint in them playful, as if you knew what you were doing to him. The cut-up red and black striped sweater hung cropped across your body, leaving one shoulder exposed, a variety of fake slashes drawn into your skin. The faux-clawed glove was placed on your non-dominant hand, and a brimmed felt hat was placed on top of your head.

“Do you like it?” You asked, giving a slight twirl, and as you turned Nick swore he could see the bottom outline of your cheeks. His face flushed as he shifted in his seat, eyes turning to the floor, becoming very interested in the wood.

“You look fantastic,” Nick said.

You smiled as your face warmed at Nick’s words, even if prompted. Taking another sip of your cooler you hoisted yourself on the counter, sitting on top of the faux marble, the top cold against your thighs.

Nick’s silver eyes glanced up at you through his lashes, before he stood up, grabbing himself another drink.

“You drunk yet?” You asked him, and Nick shook his head in response.

“I was waiting for you, plus, I didn’t want to participate in folio’s rigged version of cup pong. Who plays it where if you miss the ball you drink?” Nick pressed his lips together, before going back to the punch bowl to fill his cup.

“The hell is that?” You nodded towards the bowl, curious about what sort of Halloween-themed drink was made.

“Some garbage Jolly mixed up.” Nick looked into the cup, shrugging before taking another sip. His eyebrows furrowed in disgust, squeezing his eyes shut.

A laugh escaped your lips, “Let me try.”

Nick walked towards you, your legs parting slightly as he stood between you, careful not to get too close, reaching the cup out for you to grab.

Instead of grabbing the cup you leaned forward, placing your lips against the plastic, prompting Nick to feed you the liquid. He tilted the cup, eyes watching your lips intensely as you followed his stare. You took a big sip, coughing after you pulled away. The alcohol flowed down your throat, burning at its strength.

“Jesus, that’s fucking gross,” you covered your mouth briefly before taking a chaser of your drink. You chugged the rest, letting your legs swing as they dangled off the counter, Nick still standing close to you, the heat radiating off of him.

You leaned to the side, tossing the can into the recycling as Noah turned the corner, his eyes brightening into a drunken smile as he swayed towards you, open arms.

“Y/N!” He yelled, the bass of the music pumping in the background.

“Noah!” You immediately jumped off of the counter, being engulfed in his embrace. Noah’s hands trailed down your back, dangerously close to the bottom of your skirt. “Happy birthday you nerd!”

Nick watched as you two hugged, his chest tightening as Noah’s hand rubbed up and down your body.

The two of you swayed, Noah, leaning all of his weight into you in a drunken state. You smiled into Noah’s hug, squeezing him. As you pulled away, you readjusted his Leaf Village headband, a sly smile playing on your lips.

“You’re such a dweeb,” you pushed Noah’s shoulder, and he smiled staring down at you, “and you’re so drunk already.”

“Nahh ” Noah wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you against him, “you’re just not drunk enough. Time for some shots!”

You laughed, agreeing as Noah reached into a cupboard for a bottle of tequila- something he knew was your favourite. Noah filled two shot glasses, before you wrapped your elbows around each other, taking two shots of alcohol together in a ritualistic fashion.

Nick averted his eyes as his breath hitched, refusing to watch as Noah held you to his side after the two glasses rested back on the counter.

Your head rested on Noah’s shoulder as you hiccuped from the alcohol, eyes looking up at him. Noah began to sway back and forth to the music, pulling you along with him, before swinging you around. You laughed with Noah, smiles beaming against each other. You followed Noah’s body but watched Nick the entire time.

Nick didn’t look at you, eyes fixated on his cup that he took another drink from, swallowing every drop of liquid. You sighed, shrugging Noah off of you before walking up to Nick, and wrapping your arms around him. He stiffened at your touch but put his arms around you.

“Aw Nicky, are you jealous?” You teased, reaching up to run your fingers through his long dark hair. Your chest rested against his own, and you could feel his heart vibrate against yours. You tried pulling his body to dance with the music, but he remained put, placing his arms across your back, hand holding you against his chest.

“Thanks for the drink No-wah,” you smiled cheekily at him.

Noah grabbed a beer from the counter, “anything for my baby girl.”

Nick was jealous. He was jealous at how easy you and Noah got along, and how you were ready to be in Noah’s arms at any second, but he didn’t know that you knew this got under his skin.

You knew flirting with Noah made Nick jealous, and you loved how possessive Nick always got once you went crawling back to him. You wanted Nick to be jealous, and you wanted him to want you.

Both of you desired each other, but neither was brave enough to make a move.

“C'mon,” you grabbed another cooler from the fridge for you and Nick, bending over slightly in his direction so your ass was barely exposed to him.

Standing up you sauntered towards him, hanging him the can before grabbing his hand. Feeling the warm feeling of the alcohol start to pulse through your veins, you tugged him along the house, walking past the crowd of people before you walked into the living room.

You wrapped your fingers in Nick’s inked ones, holding him close to you.

The living room was packed with people, the only spot available being on the couch; for one person.

You motioned for Nick to sit before inviting yourself to sit on his lap. Nick’s breath caught in his throat in surprise.

You wiggled to get comfortable, and Nick placed his arms across your torso, holding you still against him.

You knew he wouldn’t be able to contain his excitement if you kept moving.

Folio and Jolly’s cup pong game was going on in front of you, and as you brought the can of alcohol to your lips you couldn't help but let a sly smile play at your lips as you thought about teasing the man beneath you.

You pushed into his lap, wriggling your hips along to the music.

“Sorry Nicky, trying to get comfortable,” you said playfully, chugging the can of alcohol before placing it on the coffee table.

Nick’s fingers dug into your hips, attempting to hold you still against him; but he hardened beneath you, a quiet groan heaving from his throat as you shifted along his lap.

“Y/N,” Nick warned, letting a hand go as he grabbed his can, drinking the entire thing to give him the liquid courage.

Both of you felt the buzz of inebriation, allowing the warmth to consume you. Pretending to be invested in the game ahead you leaned back, placing your back against Nick’s chest, letting his hands roam the top of your thighs.

“What are you doing,” Nick asked through gritted teeth, but his heart raced in anticipation at your actions.

You dug your hips into him, feeling the music. No one would be paying attention to the two of you, everyone, including yourselves, would be too drunk to notice.

Sitting up you spun your body so you were straddling his waist, legs parted on either side of him. Your skirt was so short it rode up, exposing the underwear you wore beneath; but only for him to see.

Nick swallowed harshly, eyes glazing over in infatuation as he watched you, your lip finding its way between your teeth. Placing your arms around his neck you eyed every expression, glazing over every detail of his face as Nick flushed. As your body swung back and forth gently, you gained the courage to lean forward, placing a gentle kiss on Nick’s lips.

Nick stared at you, almost in shock. He wasn’t sure if this was a prank, or if he was already so far gone that he was lucid dreaming.

Nick's hands glided along your thighs as they gripped you from behind, squeezing gently. You had kissed him, and his entire body was on fire.

“Kiss me,” you said in a hoard whisper, almost desperate, waiting for Nick to respond to your first move.

Nick was hesitant and nervous as he pulled himself closer to your lips, brushing over them gently, before closing the gap between you.

You sighed into his mouth, relieved as Nick reciprocated feelings, allowing yourself to relax into his touch, body heating as his hands roamed behind you, squeezing gently at the skin.

You deepened the kiss, pushing your lips firmly into his, closed-mouth kisses opening with each wave, allowing your hands to roam into his hair, tugging softly on the strands.

Nicks's body convulsed below you, and he pulled away, staring up at you with awe.

“Want to go upstairs?” You asked, and he nodded eagerly as you crawled off of him. Nick grabbed your hand hastily as he pulled you behind him, the journey up the stairs feeling like it dragged on forever.

The music pumped below you as Nick closed his bedroom door, the sound dampening ever so slightly, the floor shaking with the bass.

Nick immediately shoved you into the wall, lips all over yours in desperation, devouring you, years of pent-up need coming out full throttle.

His hand roamed up your body underneath your torn long sleeve, granting himself access to all the curves he’d dreamed of touching. The number of times he touched himself, fantasizing about your taste, left his knees weak as he let his mouth explore yours, finally.

You moaned against Nick's lips as he fondled your chest, his hands searching very crevasse of your being through years of missed opportunity. You moulded into his touch, feeling excited as your abdomen vibrated in complete want for the man holding you against the wall.

Nick's fingers lingered underneath your skirt before pulling it up gently, grazing between your panties before roaming back up.

You moaned against the subtle tease, eyebrows furrowing as you pulled away from his kiss.

“Nick, please, don’t tease me,” you whined, pressing your forehead against his own.

Silver eyes bore into you as his lips tugged up into a sly smile, “if you don’t like my teasing, why are you moaning?”

Nick’s fingers roamed between your legs again, gently pressing where you needed him most and a feral sound escaped your lips, leaving you embarrassed. Nick stared at you with lust, almost in shock by how you were reacting to him. Nick allowed his fingers to glide between your body and underwear, feeling between your folds. His already hard body pulsing even deeper as he felt how soaked you were; all for him.

“Please,” you said as he touched you.

“Please don’t stop Nicky,” you whispered as his hand dipped between your layers. Nick planned to make her soar, but first, he loved hearing you beg for him, and only him.

“What do you want,” Nick's lips brushed across yours, this unknown confidence sending his hormones to the moon. The woman of his dreams was wriggling beneath him, desperate for anything he had to offer.

“I need you,” you said, pulling his face into yours again, allowing your tongue to explore his mouth, tasting all of him. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t even walk.”

Nick almost melted at your words, his heart beating so fast in disbelief. You want him to pleasure you.

He nodded eagerly, pulling you towards his bed, and tossing the Star Wars bed sheets aside. Nick pushed you into the bed, on top of you with all of his weight, allowing himself to dominate over your body.

Kissing down your neck your hands roamed across his back, and finally, he stared you down.

“Are you sure you want to do this Y/N? Because there is no way we are just fucking friends after this. You’re mine.”

You shuddered at Nick's possession, nodding, “I’ve always wanted to do a little more than kiss.”

Nick blushed, kissing you again before letting his lips trail down your neck, sucking on the delicate skin that lay between your neck and collarbone.

“You’re mine.” He said, marking what was his property before turning your body so you were above him.

“Ride me until your legs start shaking from the pleasure. Let me fuck you so deep you can’t even think about anybody else ever again; then I’ll flip you over and drill you to finish it off.” Nick growled, and your eyes widened at this needy side of Nick you’ve never seen before, but you were ready to give him anything he wanted.

Nick pulled off his robes, leaving his body exposed for you, you pulled off your sweater, showing off your chest and Nick's eyes devoured you, absorbing everything you showed him. He’d dreamed of this moment and what you looked like many times: but even his mind couldn’t come up with anything as beautiful as the real thing.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” he worshipped you allowing his hands to follow your curves once again. He pulled up your skirt, exposing your lower body as he moved your underwear to the side, positioning himself below you.

“I can’t believe you wore a skirt this small with no fucking shorts,” Nick mumbled, preparing himself.

“I wore it just for you,” you smiled, before closing the gap and pushing down onto Nick’s body, your arousal gliding you smoothly along him. Both of you groaned in disbelief, Nick relishing in how good you felt wrapped around him, his body finally reaching every part of you.

Your mouth opened widely as Nick filled you, a squeak of shock tugging at your throat as Nick squeezed your sides, pulling you up and down to get you to move.

You slid up and down his body with ease, hands on his chest for support as you road him, rolling and grinding deeper into his body, Nick hitting every point possible. Nick wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you into his chest as he began pounding into you from below, putting all of his effort into fucking you.

“Moan for me Y/N,” Nick begged, “show everyone who’s fucking mine.”

Nick's hands gripped the back of your head, fingers tangled in his hair. Every ounce of his body vibrated as he fucked you, his hips slapping against your thighs as you straddled his lap, taking everything he offered. He gave you his everything, never fucking anyone as hard as you, wanting to make you feel good.

Nick couldn’t believe how fucking beautiful you were as you cried out his name, the syllabus rolling off your tongue in complete satisfaction; and Nick knew that he would cum at any moment. He slowed his pace, wanting this to last forever.

Your nails dug into Nick’s shoulders as you clung to him, taking him well. Nick hoped you were loud enough against the music so Noah would hear; he wanted him to know that you finally got what was rightfully his.

You moaned Nick’s name as your stomach churned, nearing your release; Nick repeatedly hitting your spot over and over. You closed your eyes in ecstasy, your body turning limp as you screamed, shaking and convulsing against Nick through your orgasm.

Nick pushed into you, and you swear if he fucked any harder he’d be able to split you in half with how deep he penetrated.

“Where can I come?” Nick asked, on the brink of his climax. Y/N’s skin stuck against Nick’s chest.

“Fuck, inside of me,” you cried, pushing yourself against Nick’s hips, the only sounds filling the room were the sound of fast slaps and a string of moans fighting against the bass of the music below.

“Oh my god Y/N I’m going to I’m going-“ Nick’s fingers dug into your back, tearing your skin as he shook below you, twitching inside through his orgasm. You kissed him deeply, moaning against his lips in complete satisfaction as his release filled you, taking over your body.

“Fuck,” your head swung back, a wide smile parting your lips before you looked down at him, still sitting on top of his body.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you moan,” Nick smiled, satisfied as he rolled you over, pulling him into his chest, “it was fucking music to my ears.”

You chuckled, nuzzling against his chest, “So, friends off?”

Nick joined you, his throat vibrating as he laughed, “Oh yea, I’m ready to move to the stage where we can fuck whenever we want. Oh, and I can take you to dinner and we can hold hands.”

You smiled, holding yourself closer to him, “Deal, but only if I can suck you off next time.”

———

Who’s next, folio or jolly? ;)

[rorywritesjunk]

So let's set out to sea, love, 'cause you are my medicine

Buggy has another frustrating day so you cook him some comfort food.

Rating: Eh, PG13 just to be safe. Warning: Just Buggy being whiny, is that a warning? Food cooks. Cheese gets grated. Buggy just feels appreciated but also mopes. Apparently I just want Buggy to have a bad day and be taken care of. A/N: Had fun writing this and it was hard not to post it immediately. I wanted to wait a bit. Title comes from "On Melancholy Hill" by Gorillaz.

The amount of yelling coming from inside the tent was worrisome. You debated whether you needed to investigate to make sure Buggy didn’t string up one of his freaks again because they missed their cue or the lighting was bad. He took rehearsal seriously and had no issue punishing anyone who he thought messed something up. It wasn’t pleasant, but you knew he was a perfectionist.

You were mostly safe from his screaming while you were in the kitchen. It’s not like you were hiding out there while your boyfriend screamed and shouted through rehearsal. You just happened to be making a grocery list and just as you were finishing up you heard the first bits of screaming and decided that maybe you needed to make sure the pots and pans were spotless just in case Buggy decided that was a problem.

The kitchen was only safe for ten minutes before Hurricane Buggy literally stormed in, kicking the door open before kicking a chair out of his way. You remained at the sink, scrubbing a large pot while he had his tantrum. You knew it was best to let him get it out of his system first before you intervened, and going by how he kicked the table, only to swear and stomp away from it after stubbing his toes, you decided he needed a comforting meal to feel better.

It was a good thing you cleaned the large pot because you filled it with water before placing it on the stove and turning on the burner. Buggy had grabbed the chair he had kicked away, pulled it back over, and sat himself down at the table he had already injured himself on. He crossed his arms in front of him and laid them on the table, his chin resting on his arms as he watched you move around. He saw you grab certain ingredients and if he wasn’t so frustrated he would have perked up at the anticipation of what you were making.

Instead he needed to feel frustrated for a bit longer.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?” He asked sulkily. “I thought girlfriends were supposed to look after their boyfriends when they’re upset.”

You salted the water as it heated up and put the lid on the pot. You turned to face him, wiping your hands on a dish towel as you smiled at him. “What’s wrong, Buggy?” 

He huffed in annoyance. “They keep fucking up out there. Everything starts to go well and then someone misses their mark, or there’s no dancing lion, or everything just goes to shit! How hard is it to hit your mark? I’m not asking for much, just asking for something like that!”

“Hm, that is frustrating.” You agreed as you tossed the towel over your shoulder. He watched you as you grabbed a spoon,  pepper, and some garlic powder. His foot started tapping impatiently on the floor as you set the items on the counter near the stove and checked the water. It wasn’t boiling just yet, and he wished it would hurry up. “I’m sorry it’s been frustrating today.”

He moved his arms off the table and let his head thunk against the hard surface. He looked pathetic, honestly, but you wouldn’t say that to his face. Instead you walked over to him and stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders gently as he shut his eyes, wanting to sink into your touch and forget everything that was driving him crazy that day. 

“Hey, wanna help me make dinner?” You asked as you leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “I’m making one of your favorites and I think it tastes better when you help.”

He didn’t really want to. He wanted to mope and whine some more, but if he helped it meant being close to you, and he liked that. You also wore that cute apron with the little green frogs on it that you bought shortly after joining his crew whenever you were cooking. Reluctantly, he nodded and stood up from the table. Sure enough, you were grabbing your apron down off the hook, placing the top straps over your head before securing it behind you. He walked over to you and reached out to touch the fabric, rubbing it between two fingers while you smiled up at him.

“You really like this one, you know. I should get you your own next time I go out.” You mused as you went to grab the cutting board and knife. “Now, do you want to be on noodle duty or do you want to cut up the hot dogs?”

He just shrugged, obviously still upset and mopey, so you gave him the bag of noodles and directed him to keep an eye on the water and to add the noodles when it started boiling. He knew how to make this dish. He helped you plenty of times, and while he was the Captain, used to telling others what to do, you knew that he also liked it when you bossed him around from time to time. 

Buggy kept looking between the boiling water and you. You had a pack of hot dogs open and were busy cutting two at a time, tossing the chunks into a bowl. Your skill with knives in the kitchen was impressive. Always smooth motions, the blade moving fast in your hand while the other guided the knife along the ingredients. He suggested once you perform knife tricks for his show, but cooking didn't really translate well for an audience in an arena.

He had also suggested you juggle the knives while cutting up vegetables in between each pass, but when you demonstrated your coordination by attempting to juggle three tomatoes and you both watched them fall to the ground, he decided to forgo the knife juggling act for you.

Once the water was boiling, he took the lid off and ripped open the package of pasta, dumping its contents into the pot. It was his favorite kind, pasta shaped like little stars. You bought it especially for him when he needed a pick-me-up. You always kept a bag or two on hand just in case, and he appreciated it. It was those little gestures like that that made him realize how much you cared for him. 

The hotdogs were ready and you needed to grate cheese next. You grabbed blocks of two different kinds and grabbed the grater, humming softly to yourself as you went to work. Deciding that the pasta would be fine without him staring at it for the entire ten minutes, Buggy came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head as he watched you work. You adjusted your position just a bit, wanting him to be comfortable as you grated the cheese onto a plate. Once you had enough, you picked up a few bits and held it up for him as a snack. He took it without hesitation.

“How’s the pasta?” You asked as you started on the next block. You always grated more than you knew you needed for the recipe, knowing that Buggy would put extra on the already cheesy pasta. “How long has it been going for?”

“Just a few minutes.” He mumbled as he continued watching, hugging you tighter as the mountain of cheese got bigger. “I’ll check on it in a minute.”

“Mm, it needs to be stirred to keep from sticking together.” You reminded him as you held up another bit of cheese for him. “Can you go check on it please?”

The way you asked was just so damn kind and gentle. He didn’t deserve you. He reluctantly pulled away from you and went back over to the stove, sticking the spoon into the boiling water and giving the pasta a few stirs. It had started to clump a bit, so he tried his best to break it all up. 

You came over to him and took the spoon from his hand, giving it a few more stirs. “How long now?”

“Um, just a few minutes left, I think?” He wasn’t too sure. You captured a few of the noodles on the spoon and drained off excess water. You blew on it carefully, not wanting it to be too hot, before you held it up for him to try. He picked the bits of pasta off the spoon and tried it, making a bit of a face when he bit into the almost cooked pasta. “Yea, definitely a few more minutes. It’s nearly there.”

“Perfect, let’s add the hot dogs then.” You said as you nudged him out of the way and began to carefully toss in the chopped up bits of hotdog into the boiling water. “And once it’s all done, we’ll drain the water and mix in the cheeses.” You looked up at him with a smile. “Sounds good, right?”

He nodded and moved behind you once more, resuming his previous position of wrapping his arms around you as you worked. You were fine with it, especially because he didn’t get in the way. He was also just a bit taller than you, so he had no issue lifting the heavy pot of boiling water to dump it out if you asked him, whereas you sometimes struggled with it. You turned to look up at him, still smiling.

“Almost done, Buggy.” You told him. “Why don't you go sit down and I’ll bring you a plate?”

He nodded but didn’t move from his spot. He didn’t want to, because you were just being so damn kind and loving to him that he was starting to have thoughts of what he did to deserve you, because he sure as hell didn’t do this kind of stuff for you. What had he done to deserve this love and affection you had for him? You just knew what he needed when he needed it, and he didn’t even know that about himself. He just knew to react, to yell and scream about the problem, and you just looked at him and knew how to make him feel better. 

“Buggy?” Your voice shook him from his thoughts and he swallowed heavily and looked down at you. You reached up and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down for a kiss. He let you, wrapping his arms back around you as you moved from his lips to the rest of his face, peppering kisses all over, and when you were done, you pressed three to his nose, lingering a moment before pulling back to finish up with the food. He was a little dazed from all that so you shooed him away to go sit down. 

He did as he was told and sat back at the table, watching you drain the pasta (with a bit of a struggle but you didn’t ask for his help), mix in half of the cheese into the pasta and hotdog mix, season it with salt, pepper, and garlic powder, and then serve a big helping of it onto a plate for him. You brought it over and set it in front of him before grabbing the extra cheese and a fork for him. Finally, you brought him a beer and sat down next to him, smiling as you reached over to touch his cheek.

“Eat up, Buggy.” 

He nodded and picked up his fork, looking down at his plate. “Thanks, babe.”

[algea]

just a few headcannons I have for Lars

(btw these are mine, they may not be yours)

Lars is the type of guy who gets super mega irritated if you ask too many questions about anyone besides him. Oh, you're asking him about his work? It's fine until you bug him with questions about other people and their work

Despite what you may believe, Lars is also a very jealous guy. One word about another guy and he's already interrogating you like you just murdered someone

Dude has absolutely no chill when it comes to his work. Someone starts talking shit about what he does and it's so over for them.

Even though he may not show it, Lars really enjoys when you touch him. If you're sitting beside him at the lab and place a hand on his shoulder, he's definitely leaning into you and relishing your touch (could also definitely be taken into other context as well).

Lars can absolutely, in no way shape or form, cook to save his life. He heavily relies on whatever he's got in his pantry or you to make him something. He also doesn't really have time for breakfast, so you best believe he's a snacker.

Lars talks to his mom on the phone everyday after he gets home from work. He is, without a doubt, a momma raised boy and you love it.

Lars hates coffee. Plain and simple. He will literally drink anything other than coffee. In fact, his favored drink isn't tea, it's water. He has to maintain his perfect hair somehow.

He may be a cocky son of a bitch, but he will definitely stand up for you if someone belittles you. Lars likes to tease you by saying rude things, but you know that he's just playing and that's how he flirts. When other people do it, he's very quick to jump on their ass about it. Absolutely no tolerance for someone making fun of you.

Even though Lars may not be social, he loves to converse about science and whatnot. He could literally get stuck in a conversation for hours about science. You find it so cute that whenever someone brings up something he likes to talk about, his pupils widen and a grin breaks out on his face.

Lars really loves to listen to music. He listens to it in the lab, at home, anywhere he can really. He's more into indie and older music, like Bees Gees, Sports Team, or Turning Jane.

Lars likes stupid romcom movies. It's a bit cliche, but he really loves a good romcom movie. He'd sit there for hours and watch them if you let him. He hates to admit it, but he loves Clueless and Legally Blonde.

He loves it when you kiss him. Whenever you kiss him, he always has a stupid little love drunk smile after. He's so head over heels for you and it's so cute.

Surprisingly, he's not super neat. Of course, he's not super messy either. Normally, he has a little clutter on his desk and he hates when someone touches something. If someone starts to clean up his desk a little, he's super quick to tell them off about it.

Lars loves when he's able to relax with you. On the days that neither of you are at the lab all night, he loves to curl up with you on the bed and talk about something. Sometimes you both read instead of talking. Just kinda a way to decompress after a long few days of work.

Even though he hunts ghosts, Lars is scared super easily. You could literally be standing behind a door and when he opens it he jumps and lets out a string of curses. This, of course, comes with some of the best pranks you've ever pulled on him. However, don't think that he won't do something back. He despises horror movies and makes you hold his hand whenever you watch one.

Lars puts a lot of time into his hair and skin. We all know about the Pukey incident (which you did not let him live down), so you definitely know that he's extra careful with his skincare and haircare from now on (his hair turned green for a few days).

Despite not knowing how to cook, Lars is such a foodie. If he has the chance to try something new, you best believe he's going to try it. Lars also loves fruity drinks, non-alcoholic and alcoholic (just like James).

I hope you guys liked some of these headcannons as much as I do because they're so fun to write.

[worrabei]

an image of bdubs as a small spirit that lives in your house was living in my head for a few days. more info about him below !!! (i rambled quite a bit)

a few days ago a certain thought came to me: "hermits as creatures and spirits from the old russian tales. that would be cool." and the new au has started.

so, domovoy. who is that? basically, he's a supernatural creature, a spirit of the house that was very popular in different tales and sayings all around russia for a very long time. "dom" means "a house". he has a long history, some scientists think that the believing in domovoy started in ancient times, when you had to make some sort of sacrifice, before starting any kind of building.

domovoy has many, many names, but whats interesting - sayings his name outloud was a taboo, people believed that it could make him angry. and an angry spirit that is literally lives inside your walls house really wasn't a good thing. so, people were just saying "he, his", or, were using metathesis - instead of "domoveyko" they were saying "modoveyko".

cool, right?

after making some research and taking notes (reading a wikipedia page) i learnt that domovoy was kinda adorable. according to people's beliefs, domovoy lived on the red shelf or behind a stove, - the most important places in the any slavic house. he was a true master of the household, protecting peace and helping the humans. domovoy was helping to take care of children and animals, cleaning the place, bringing more water, cooking, protecting the house from any bad omens and monsters.

i really liked how people thought domovoy was talking to them - before someone's death he was stomping around, shutting doors, meowing. if something knocked on the window - its domovoy, alarming humans that a fire could start soon. if he's laughing, it means something good is about to happen.

without the domovoy the household was left defenceless, so it was really important to be in good relationship with him. a custom to leave some milk and bread in the corner, or on the porch for your domovoy is living to this day, but only in villages and small towns. in old times, if you were moving to the new place, there was a few customs on how to call your domovoy with you, but ill tell you only about my favorite - before you started moving your things, you had to open your gates and place a single shoe infront of it and call for your spirit: "you're welcome, dear grandpa, to follow with us to the new home". and after moving everything, someone had to tie a string to that single shoe and pull it all the way to the new house?? because?? your tiny spirit? was riding??? in that shoe??

i just imagine a tiny domovoy with a wide smile just sitting in the shoe, enjoing the ride. just a silly little guy🥺.

so, in conclusion, domovoy was a really nice spirit to have around. if youre in a good relationship with him. if you're not, well. he was a hella annoying prankster if you managed to piss him off. usually, a few things really angried him - from an animal that he didn't like, to you not taking care of yourself or the house. an upset domovoy was creating all sorts of antics, was really loud and whiny. he was breaking the dishes, confusing the yarn, taking and hiding your things, and even pushing the cat from the stove. that bastard! but honestly, if he does that, it means it was well-deserved.

funny enough, in the north of russia domovoy usually was pictured mostly as a good spirit, but the more south you move, the more domovoy was turning into the angry one, that you had to please to live comfortably.

a little about how the domovoy looked - there is no single answer to that. some believed that he looked exactly as somebody in the family, some that he was just some random tiny hairy dude, usually, an old one. there was also beliefs that domovoy could had all sorts of animalistic features, usually to show that he was truly a spirit, something supernatural. i also found info that the richer you become, the more fur or clothes appear on your domovoy. also, obviously, domovoy could turn into all kinds of animals - but ive decided to draw him more like a mouse. i mean, that was a plan, but looking at it now, he's definetely looking like a chinchilla. and chinchillas really weren't common in russia at all, lmao. i just thought that its convinient for him to look as a smallest animal, really easy to hide this way.

in the end, ill talk about my design. im really not a pro, so i can't say much, thats why i put it as the last part. the idea was - bdubs usually in his human form only when nobody was in the house. this way it was easier to clean, to do the chores, you know. the stuff. he's still small tho, maybe about a height of a small child (def not accurate to the character whatsoever), but when people were around, he took his hood off and stepped over it to turn into a mouse (this way was really common in old slavonic tales. more to it later). the moss hood is a part of his body in the animals form, again - very easy to hide. and yeah, about the clock - LISTEN. i know that pocket watch wasn't invented by some slavic guy in 900 AD, and MAYBE i should have went for a hourglass or a sundial or something. BUT. i thought of it way too late. and i was too lazy to change it. again, im not a pro! im a loser at character design, actually. all i want is to show the image in my brain, that's it.

im still not sure that i will have enough patience and skill to finish all of the characters that i thought of, but ill do my best. at least ill try to finish all of the "house"ish spirits. domovoy was first of the five.

if any of this interested you in any way, - feel free to draw something from this au, maybe you can think of a other hermit in the role of some slavonic spirit. ask questions, reblog, like, and lets pray together that i will have the will to finish this. thanks for reading!!

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

The Color of Blood [2]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: angst, canon level violence, cursing, oh did I mention angst?

Word Count: 3,372

Summary: In this world, a person didn’t discover color until they locked eyes with their soulmate. As an agent of SHIELD, finding your soulmate was hardly a priority. Especially since you were currently dealing with the shocking discovery that HYDRA had been pulling the strings behind SHIELD actions this entire time. Life was all about timing, and you were about to find out that your timing was absolute shit.

There were some people out in this wild, wild world who didn’t know what it was like to slowly wake up with a concussion, in an unknown room, surrounded by people who meant you harm. Unfortunately, you were not one of those people. Double unfortunately, you were finding yourself in that position again.

You blinked your blurry eyes a few times, trying to make the world stop spinning, and when things finally did become clear it took you a second to remember what had happened. Not the being attacked on a bridge thing. The suddenly being able to see color thing. You couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath of shock. The room around you was so vibrant and sharp. It made you wish you had the time to fully absorb this new view of the world.

You didn’t though because suddenly you were being hit in the face again.

With a hiss of pain, your head snapped to the side and before you could do anything someone roughly grabbed the front of your shirt and yanked you off the ground into a seated position.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Rumlow grinned at you.

“Being stuck staring at your ugly mug,” You spat at him, “I kind of wish I was back in the world of the dead.”

The traitorous agent chuckled, “Oh, don’t say that. I thought we were friends, Agent.”

“That was before I found out you were HYDRA scum.” This time you literally spat at him.

Rumlow threw you aside with a growl as he swiped at his face. You threw your foot forward to kick out his knee. He crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain and you got up to run past him, but his rough hand wrapped around your ankle causing you to hit the floor again.

Your already concussed brain groaned at the impact, but you didn’t stop swinging. You kicked your leg out, trying to make contact with Rumlow’s stupid face, but he army crawled across the ground until he was lying on top of you. His hands pinned down your wrists as he sat on your hips.

Rumlow gave you a sickening smile, “No need to play rough.”

“Fuck,” You spoke between clenched teeth, “You.”

“You wanna know what I just got back from?” Rumlow replied.

“Therapy?”

Rumlow’s hands tightened around your wrists, “I was out burying your little friends.” You felt your entire body tense as your jaw clenched down. “Don’t worry. I remember exactly where we put ‘em. Just in case you wanna visit their unmarked graves one day. That is if we don’t put you beside them.”

“God, you just talk way too much.” You growled. There was no part of you that thought Brock Rumlow of all people had finally brought your friends down. Maybe it was blind faith, but you were sticking by it.

The sound of a door opening made Rumlow push up off of you, but you held back on going onto the offense. The door had swung open because a whole new squad of HYDRA goons had strolled in. At the head of the pack was Alexander Pierce. Somehow seeing him in color made you hate him all the more.

Pierce called out your full name then hummed with a polite smile. As if he was casually running into you at SHIELD headquarters rather than looming over you as the hidden HYDRA thug in charge. “I am so happy to see you here.”

You shakily got to your feet, in a defensive position, “You come a step closer, and I will kill you.”

“There’s no need for that.” Pierce clicked his tongue in disappointment.

Alexander Pierce had been your hero. You hadn’t worked with him personally in quite some time, but he was the one to recommend your recruitment to SHIELD in the first place. Where the world saw anger, chaos, and delinquency, he saw potential. He got you into the field agent academy and put you on the path to who you were today. Nick Fury’s pride and joy was Natasha Romanoff. You were Alexander Pierce’s.

He stopped a few steps in front of you and the only thing holding you back from clawing his face off were the agents right behind him with guns. Pierce stuck his hands into his suit pockets, “I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’m not sure why the asset brought you here, but I couldn’t be happier. You belong here. With us.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh, but you do.” Pierce smirked. “Why do you think I recruited you in the first place? I saw exactly what you could be from the start. You can do the world a lot more good from this side than the one you’re on.”

You scoffed, “Says the man who’s planning on slaughtering a few billion people.”

“Necessary sacrifices.” Pierce shook his head in disappointment. “Sometimes if you want to change the world you have to get your hands dirty. I taught you better than to think so small.”

“You didn’t teach me shit.” You snapped. “Your name might be on my entry paperwork, but I am not your puppet, and I never will be.”

Pierce sighed and you watched him move his jaw to the right and left as he thought. You recognized the look of irritation he wore. He nodded once and Rumlow was on you again. The agent grabbed you by the back of the neck and shoved the end of his handgun to your temple. The older man stepped closer again so he was right in your personal space, “Why did the asset bring you here?”

“He’s your asset. You tell me.” You replied with a raised eyebrow. Telling him the truth about your apparent soulmate seemed like a very bad idea. Pierce must have recognized the determination in your eyes. He clenched his jaw and walked toward the open door to the left, opposite from the one he came into. Pierce made a motion with his hand and Rumlow dragged you after him. The next room looked like it used to be the back of a bank. The walls were covered in small, locked vaults. In the center of the room though was a strange set up. A chair surrounded by technology. In said chair though, was your soulmate. The Winter Soldier. Men in lab coats fluttered around him, but you couldn’t look away from the man in the chair.

The Winter Soldier was shirtless and slumped over with a look of confusion and fear on his features. It didn’t suit the mental image you had constructed of who this man was. His eyes were blue. That stood out to you. Red and blue were the only two real colors you were able to recognize and name at this point. The Winter Soldier’s blue eyes were mixed with some form of gray making them look stormy. It was hypnotizing, but the pain in them was distracting. Your eyes slid away from his eyes to where the metal arm was hooked to his body. Ugly, red scars decorated his shoulder where metal met flesh. It looked painful.

“Sir, he’s unstable.” One of the men working on the computers said, “Erratic.”

It was only then that you started to connect dots. They called this man an asset, yet he was seated in some sort of contraption, confused and lost, while his fellow agents had him surrounded at gunpoint? That seemed less asset and more prisoner to you. It also bothered you that you recognized his face still. It was familiar, at the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“Mission report.” Pierce said. The Winter Soldier stared ahead at nothing. As if he were in a daze. “Mission report now.”

Pierce slid his glasses off, sliding them into his coat pocket, then he stepped forward to stand in front of the Soldier. He bent down just a bit and after a beat of silence the older man backhanded the Winter Soldier across the face. You physically flinched at the motion as your heart raced in your chest. You weren’t sure if your reaction was from watching your supposed soulmate get so casually slapped or from the gnawing fear in your stomach that something was very wrong here. This entire situation wasn’t what you originally thought it to be. The Winter Soldier looked back to Pierce, more life in his eyes, “The man on the bridge. Who was he?”

“You met him earlier this week on another assignment.” Pierce replied.

The Winter Soldier’s voice was softer than you thought possible, “I knew him.”

Pierce rolled a stool over and sat down, “Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century…”

The traitorous old bastard continued to talk, but you stared at the Winter Soldier’s face. Steve had frozen in shock. The Soldier knew him. Finally, it dawned on you. The realization felt like a sucker punch to your chest, all the air seemed to be knocked out of you. Of course, you recognized his damn face. You had just been at the ‘Captain America and the Howling Commandos’ exhibit with Steve just earlier this week.

“You’re Bucky Barnes.” You cried out in shock.

The Winter Soldier—no, Bucky’s eyes snapped to meet yours as if he was just realizing you were in this room too. Pierce barked out a curse to you, but Rumlow was the one to punish. The man slammed the butt of his handgun into the side of your face and threw you to the ground. His boot kicked your gut before you could even focus on the throbbing of your face. The blow to your temple left your ears ringing again as you tried to focus, and the next sound that came to you was yelling. You glanced up to see that Bucky had lunged across the room to you and he now held Rumlow by the man’s neck as he crushed him into the wall.

Rumlow was gasping for breath, clawing at the metal hand crushing his windpipe, while Pierce screamed at all the soldiers to not shoot. Nothing the old man or the scientists said made your soulmate stop. Rumlow’s face was turning blue and his desperate movements were slowing.

Pierce held a gun to your face, “Say his name now. Get him to stop.” You glared back at Pierce, lips pressed tightly together. He could shoot you if you wanted. You’d die happy with your last sight being Rumlow suffocating to death. Pierce locked his jaw then turned to hold the gun to the back of Bucky’s head. Your eyes widened. “Now, Agent!”

You had no other options. You were backed into a metaphorical corner.

“Bucky!” You called out.

Steve’s old friend released his grip on Rumlow. The agent fell to his knees gasping for breath while Bucky backpedaled in shock. You didn’t know what they did to the poor man, but he looked so lost. It was like every other moment he was trying to grasp where or who he was. Other agents grabbed him, and he didn’t fight back as they dragged him back to the chair. Before he could sit back up, they clamped metal rungs over his arms to lock him in.

“What the fuck was that!?” Pierce roared at you. He reached down and yanked you up in anger, “Why the hell did he bring you here with him!?” Pierce just stared you down and you tried to keep your face as blank as possible, but you could see the gears turning in his head. His eyes widened after a moment and you prayed it wasn’t for the reason you thought it was. Pierce nodded once and walked over to Bucky. He pointed the gun at him again, “What color are his eyes?”

You shook your head, “How am I supposed to know that?”

“Tell me the color of his fucking eyes.”

“I don’t know!” You yelled. Pierce wouldn’t shoot his asset, right?

Pierce lowered his weapon and you held back a breath of relief. Instead, the man motioned to one of the agents, “Start cutting off fingers on his right hand.”

Your eyes blew wide in panic, more than a trained agents’ probably should, but it was a scientist that spoke up, “Sir—!”

“He can still complete mission a few fingers short!” Pierce barked.

An agent walked over and pulled a knife from his belt. You tried to hold back, but the moment the agent’s knife pressed against Bucky’s skin you blurted the word out, “Blue!” Pierce gave you a sinister smile and you your entire chest ache. “He has blue eyes. Please don’t— Pierce, please.”

“Soulmates.” Pierce nodded with a chuckle. “Wow. Who would’ve guessed it? Your fated soulmate is a man who should’ve died 70 years ago. Huh.”

“What did you do to him?” You seethed.

“We made him the perfect weapon.” Pierce shrugged. He sat back down onto his stool. “The real question is… now what?”

“Sir.” The head scientist, you assumed since he had spoken the most, stepped forward with a gleam in his eyes, “I think we can use this to our advantage. We’ve been running into roadblocks with the asset. The longer he’s out of cryo, the harder it is to control him, but with his soulmate here…”

You clenched your hands into fists. Absolutely not. You’d die before being used as a part of this man’s torture. Your soulmate’s torture. Your thoughts were interrupted when an arm suddenly wrapped around your throat and lifted your feet off the ground. You clawed at the arm, knowing it was Rumlow behind you based on his angry growls in your ear, and tried to kick back at him futilely.

Bucky strained against the locks around his arms, his blue eyes burning with rage, and the scientist motioned to him, “See!”

“Rumlow.” Pierce said, but the man’s arm tightened around your throat. “Rumlow!”

Finally, you were released and when he dropped you, you stumbled to your knees gasping for air. You forced yourself to look up and your eyes met Bucky’s again. The rage had simmered into misery. You weren’t sure how present he was, how aware of the situation around him, but the sadness in his eyes was dreadful. Bucky was broad and large, significantly larger than you, but he looked so small in that chair. You had never felt such a strong urge to pull someone into your arms and whisper comforts to them. This wasn’t a man you knew. Not really. No more than the facts Steve told you or the fact that he was your soulmate, but you ached to bring him relief.

“Prep him.” Pierce commanded.

The scientist shook his head, “He’s been out of cryo freeze too long.”

“Then wipe him and start over.” Pierce replied and you watched as Bucky’s face crumpled in a mix of defeat and pain.

“Please, sir, I’m telling you.” The scientist tried to argue. “We use his soulmate to our advantage. His mission isn’t a success? Then she’s punished as well. The mission goes perfectly? He’s rewarded with time with her.”

You shot a glare to the scientist talking with his stupid bow tie. If you survived this, if you got the chance, you were gonna beat the shit out of him right after you dealt with Rumlow and Pierce.

As you mentally planned his fate, Pierce walked back over to you and reached his hand out. You refused to flinch as he let his hands trace the side of your face. He shook his head, “A stick always works better than a carrot. Wipe him now.” His lips curled up into a cruel smile. “And you, Agent, I want you to watch. You only just met, but I hear soulmates can bond extraordinarily fast.”

He gripped your chin tightly and snapped your head to watch as the scientists began to move about. The one with a bowtie grabbed a black mouth guard and brought it over to Bucky. Your soulmate’s jaw clenched briefly, eyes flared in determination, as he opened his mouth and let the scientist place the mouth guard in. They pressed a button, the seat lowered just a hair, and the large, metal circle behind him began to spin downward. Bucky’s chest was heaving with each breath.

You struggled against Pierce’s hand, “No. Don’t!” The arms of the circle stretched out as electricity bounced from site to site on the inner surface of the arms. The inner surfaces closed in to cover portions of Bucky’s face. You tried to tear yourself away, but your body was too weak to get the momentum it needed, “Stop it!”

The metal plates clamped down on Bucky’s face and you could briefly hear the humming of electricity. That sound was immediately washed out by the sickening screams coming from your soulmate. It was gut wrenching. Watching a man be tortured was rough, you had dealt with that before on a mission gone bad, but this was different. This was in a league of its own. You felt hot tears roll down your face as you clenched your eyes shut. That did nothing to drown out Bucky’s screams though. For the remainder of your life, however long that might end up being, you’d never be able to forget that sound. You’d never forget the absolute pain and agony and despair in every single scream that filled the air and cut through you like a hot knife.

And it just kept going and going and going.

It felt like a million years had come and gone.

Pierce let go of your face and you collapsed to your hands and knees. The scene had ended. Whatever it was they did to him had ended, but the screaming hadn’t. You could still hear it echoing in your head. Bouncing around your skull. Pierce knelt down beside you with a hum, “This is your last chance. Reach your full potential. Come with me. Help me change the world.”

You forced your head up so you could glare at the old man kneeling beside you. Never had you hated someone as much as you hated this man. Your training told you what you needed to do. Play the game. Tell Pierce what he wanted to hear. Go along with him until you found your moment to end him. You knew that. You knew that, but God, all you felt right now was rage. Your blood boiled under your skin. Your fury wouldn’t let you play this smart. You couldn’t even pretend to appease this man.

Regardless of what the consequence would be, you lunged forward and clawed at his face. Your nails caught his skin and dragged down enough to leave three long scratches down the side of his right face. Pierce howled in pain and then kicked you in the face. You went sprawling onto your back, blood pouring from your now broken nose.

“Such a waste.” Pierce spat at you. You groaned in pain and sat up just enough to watch as Bucky was released from his chair. The old man used his pocket square to blot at the bleeding scratches on his face. “Soldier?”

“Ready to comply.” Bucky said in an emotionless voice. It wasn’t Bucky anymore. It was the Winter Soldier again.

“You will kill Captain America. You will not let him reroute the helicarriers.” Pierce said gruffly. He glanced over at me and threw his bloody pocket square at me, “But you can start by killing her.”

You watched Pierce and Rumlow, along with the other agents, stalk out of the room without even a single look over their shoulders. Your face still ached, and you could feel blood running down the back of your throat. You slowly turned to look back at your soulmate to see he had risen from the chair and was now staring down at you. The stormy blue eyes were cold and lifeless. He began to march toward you while clenching and unclenching his metal hand.

You scrambled back as he continued to march toward you.

There was no recognition in his eyes.

Just malice.

Just the mission.

[previous chapter] [next chapter]

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Home for the Holidays

Casey Novak x autistic fem!reader Warnings: some explicit language, mentions of sex, mostly just fluff on fluff on fluff Prompt(s): From novelbear, thank you! 😊 Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: You bring Casey home to meet your parents and siblings. Adorableness ensues.

Casey's leg bounced up and down as she stared out the passenger window of the rental car. You were only a half hour away from the Nashville airport, and already the crowded city streets had given way to fields, barns, and the occasional herd of cattle on a hillside. Bluegrass played softly through the speakers. You sighed contentedly, knowing just when to turn, just when to slow around a curve, just when to watch for deer crossing the road. You were almost home. Casey let out a shaky breath and you took her hand, pulling it to your lips for a quick kiss before lacing your fingers through hers. "Casey," you sang, trying to get her out of her head. She didn't answer.

"Honey, you're gonna be fine."

"God, I hope they like me," she muttered, her breath fogging up the car window.

"Of course they'll like you. What's not to like?"

"Oh, I don't know," Casey replied sarcastically, throwing up her hands. "I'm a lawyer. I'm blunt as shit. I probably swear too much. And I'm fucking their little girl."

"Okay, first of all, I'm not little. I'm almost thirty. So that'd be a dumb thing for them to care about." Casey said nothing. "Secondly, you're the only person I've ever brought home. If anyone's gonna be scared, it's them! They don't want to scare you off. Chances are not good that I'd ever bring someone home again." Casey bit at her fingernails. You batted them away from her mouth. "Quit with that, you just got them done."

"I'm just saying it's a lot of pressure!" she said, pulling at the strings of her hoodie.

"This is a lot of pressure!?" You laughed. "You made me meet your parents two months in! And you gave me one day's notice!"

"Yeah, but they live in the city, so it wasn't a big deal. I see them all the time. And it wasn't Christmas."

"Oh, don't even start. You were so butthurt when I went home for Thanksgiving without you."

You pulled down your street, houses twinkling with holiday lights, and waved at a neighbor walking a dog.

"Who's that?" Casey asked.

"I don't know."

"You just wave at people you don't know?!"

"Here? Yes. In New York? No."

You pulled to a stop in your family's driveway and grinned at their decorations–a giant pride flag, made entirely of Christmas lights.

"Wow," Casey said, gawking at the display.

"What can I say? They're aggressive allies."

You sat silently in the car for a moment, then took Casey's hand. "You ready?"

You nearly leapt out of your seats as two hands slammed on the driver's side door.

"Y/N!!! Come on, come on, come on!"

You smiled big, eyes sparkling, stimming quickly at your ears and shaking your head. It was your baby brother, Eli. Not such a baby anymore–16 years old. You threw open the car door and he barreled into you, squeezing his arms around your neck as tightly as he could.

"Who's here?!" he said, bouncing up and down with his hand on your shoulders. "Y/N's here!!!"

Casey watched you from a distance. You'd told her all about your youngest siblings–the twins. That they were, quite literally, one in millions. Fraternal twins, both born with Down syndrome. Casey knew, from you, that Eli loved Mario Kart and Les Misérables and called once a week to sing "One Day More" with you. She knew Winnie was a hotshot in the local Special Olympics basketball league (even at 4' 10"), a budding artist, and "kind of a bitch right now," as you'd told her on the way over.

"Can you say that about someone with Down syndrome?" Casey had asked.

You'd scoffed. "People with disabilities can be bitches just as much as anyone else."

Now, as she watched you with your brother, she got it. She got it when you said that they were your favorite people in the world which, until now, had made her ridiculously jealous. She got it when you said that you would give up everything to take care of them when your parents weren't able to anymore. Your face was alight with so much joy, so much connection. Connection that Casey knew you didn't get many other places, aside from her. And she knew then that she'd give up everything for you to have that, even if it meant moving to help you take care of your siblings when the time came.

When you and Eli finally separated, he turned his attention to Casey.

"Hi, Eli!" she said, bending down to be a bit closer to his height. "I'm Casey."

Unlike Winnie, who could talk the ear off a donkey, Eli was mostly non-verbal. He had autism, too, like you, and for this reason, you'd always felt a deeper connection to him. You knew you weren't supposed to have favorite siblings, but Eli was yours. So when he decided to use his limited words to talk with Casey, it was a big deal.

He looked first at Casey, then at you, and asked, "Girlfriend?"

You nodded, beaming. "Yep! Yeah, Casey's my girlfriend."

He stepped closer looking Casey over. After a moment, he seemed to decide that he liked her.

"Casey, big squeeze," he said, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Eli pronounced her name "kissy." You thought your heart might explode. She patted his back and looked to you for a translation.

"Big squeeze means he wants you to hug him as tight as you can. Like, really tight, to the point that you're afraid you might hurt him." She obliged and he laughed in her grip. When she let him go, he patted her on the back and jogged inside.

"It helps with, uh, autism stuff. The deep pressure," you explained.

"Does it help you, too?" Casey asked as you took your luggage out of the trunk.

"What?"

"The big squeeze. Do you like those, too?"

You smiled at her, quick and bright. "Yeah. Yeah, I really do."

"Come here." She pulled you into her and squeezed as hard as she could, using every muscle in her body to put pressure on you, flexing so hard you could feel her shaking. Your body, on the other hand, felt light as a feather, as if all the stress, all the tension in it was seeping out. When she let you go, you sighed happily, your body tingly. You felt almost high.

"Yeah, we're gonna do a lot more of that," Casey decided, observing how much you'd relaxed.

Tennessee wasn't cold, not like New York, but the warmth from inside hit you hard anyway. "Come on," Eli urged, impatiently motioning you toward the living room, where you knew your parents would be sitting. You helped Casey out of her coat, then took off yours, hanging them by the door.

"Mom, Dad!" Eli yelled. "Who's here!?"

Your parents walked into the kitchen, absolutely beaming at you. They'd never say it, but they'd given up on you dating. You just hadn't been interested. They'd gotten used to the idea that you could be happy without a relationship, after years of you sending them articles about asexuality. But you could tell they were happy to see you in love.

"Hey, y'all," your mom said, wrapping Casey in a huge hug that took her off guard.

You smiled as your dad did the same to you, kissing the top of your head. "Hey, sweet pea," he whispered. "Glad you're home."

Casey cleared her throat and reached out to shake your dad's hand. His biker-style beard and imposing height always made him seem scarier than he really was. "Mr. Y/L/N, it's very nice to meet y–" Once again, she was cut off by a bear hug.

"Welcome," your dad said, nearly smothering her. "We're so glad you're here."

"Where's Winnie?" you asked, looking around.

"Upstairs on her iPad." Your mom rolled her eyes. "Want me to get her?"

"Nah. She'll figure out I'm here eventually."

You all made your way to the living room, where Eli promptly got on his own iPad, put his headphones on, and proceeded to perform a series of silent, choreographed dances in front of the Christmas tree. Casey watched him, amused and delighted that neither you nor your parents seemed to find this out of the ordinary at all.

"How was your trip?" your dad asked, lowering himself into a seat next to your mom.

"Good," you said, taking Casey's hand in yours when you noticed she was picking at her fingernails again. "The airport wasn't even too bad."

"I bet it'll be a shit show tomorrow..." your dad mused, thinking about Christmas Eve flights of years past.

"So, Casey," your mom started, clearly eager to get to know the only person who'd ever managed to turn your head. "Tell us about yourself. Y/N says you're a lawyer?"

"That's right." You squeezed Casey's hand as she spoke. "I'm an Assistant District Attorney at the Manhattan DA's office. I prosecute cases for the Special Victims Unit."

"Special Victims?" your dad asked. "Like victims of assault?"

She glanced at your brother who shimmied in the background. "Uh..."

"He can't hear," you told her.

"Yes. Assault, rape, sexually-motivated homicide, child abuse, things like that."

"That's gotta be such a hard job," your mom empathized.

"It's admirable work." Your dad nodded approvingly at Casey, and she seemed to relax a bit. "Those pieces of garbage deserve to rot in hell. But jail's a start."

You rolled your eyes. Your dad was a passionate man, with a tendency to turn more aggressively passionate at any mention or hint of violence toward women and children. Come to think of it, Casey reminded you of him in that way.

"I couldn't agree more," Casey told him.

"You met playing softball?" your mom asked, clearly trying to redirect the conversation.

Casey's face brightened. "We did!" She wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you leaned into her, blushing a little. Your parents shared a glance; they had never seen you this close to anyone. "We're on the same rec team. Y/N's the catcher and I pitch."

"Still got that catcher's gear?" your dad joked, winking at you.

You shot him a glare. "I know I'm not that much taller than I was when I was twelve but, no, Dad, the gear from my middle school team doesn't fit anymore."

"Ooh!" he exclaimed, sitting up and pointing at Casey. "Has Y/N ever told you about her softball nickname?"

"No, she hasn't," Casey said, smirking at you.

"I coached her team when she was little. She played catcher, of course." Your dad leaned forward, as if he and Casey were in on a delightful secret together.

"But she would jump forward to grab the ball," he continued. "Which was obviously a terrible idea because–"

"She's gonna get hit," Casey finished, nodding.

"Exactly. She was really good, but she always jumped out and we kept telling her, 'You can't be pouncing like a tiger, you're gonna get hurt.' And one day, sure enough, she leaned forward and bam! She was laid out. Thank god she had the helmet on, or it probably would've cracked her skull."

Casey laughed, but placed a hand absentmindedly on the side of your head, as if checking to make sure you really were okay, all these years later.

"After that," your dad chuckled. "Word got around with other parents and the girls on the team, and they started calling her El Tigre. For the rest of her softball career–El Tigre!"

Your cheeks were burning as Casey and your parents laughed together, but your heart was warm, too.

"Okay, okay," you said, "I'm gonna go say hey to Winnie." You looked at Casey. "You want to come?"

"Sure!" she said, standing next to you and placing a hand on the small of your back as you moved toward the stairs. You looked back at your parents to see them watching you intently, holding hands, nearly bursting with happiness. They liked her. You could already tell.

As you emerged upstairs, you gently grabbed Casey's waist and pressed her lightly against the wall.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I thought we were going to see your sister."

"We are," you said, standing on your tiptoes to kiss her softly. You felt her body melt into yours, the stress of the day dissipating. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay first."

Casey sighed contentedly and brushed your hair behind your ears. "I'm good. They're really nice people, your family. They really love you."

"Yeah, well," you scoffed. "Wait until you meet this one."

You knocked on Winnie's door and threw it open when she called, "What!?"

Winnie sat at her desk in all her diminutive glory, Special Olympics medals hanging from a cork board and Usher's "Yeah!" blaring from the speakers.

"'Sup, nerd," you said, standing in the doorway.

Winnie gaped, looking from you to Casey.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?" she finally said.

"Uh, it's Christmas?" you responded.

Winnie pointed at Casey. "Who are you?"

You could tell that Casey was holding back laughter. "I'm Casey."

"You're Y/N's friend?" Winnie asked, leaning back and swiveling in her desk chair.

"No, I'm not her friend. I'm her girlfriend," Casey said as the two of you took a seat on the edge of Winnie's bed.

Winnie seemed to think very deeply about this. "Her girlfriend?"

You both nodded.

"Like, when you have a crush?"

You blushed.

"Yep," Casey nodded, patting your leg. "I have a big crush on Y/N."

Casey shot you a cheesy grin. She was loving this.

Winnie smirked and waggled her eyebrows. "Do you kiss!?"

"Oh my god," you groaned, rubbing your forehead.

Casey on the other hand, seemed to be living for this conversation.

"Oh, absolutely," Casey told her. "I do kiss Y/N. I love to kiss her."

Winnie scoffed and turned back to her desk, fiddling with her iPad.

"What about you, Winnie?" Casey continued, crossing her legs and getting comfortable. It blew your mind that Casey seemed to be getting along with Winnie so well. Or maybe Casey just liked pushing people's buttons. God knows, Winnie was nothing but buttons to push these days. "Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?"

The look of absolute condescension on Winnie's smug face finally drove Casey to the edge. She burst out laughing. "Why are you looking at me like that!?"

"I don't have time for that," Winnie said. "I have to work out." She pulled up her sleeve and flexed her bicep.

"Damn!" Casey exclaimed, standing up to squeeze Winnie's arm. "You are strong!"

Winnie pulled her sleeve back down. "Yeah, I know."

"I hear you're really good at basketball," Casey said conspiratorially, squatting down next to Winnie's desk. "I'm more of a baseball girl myself, but you wanna play tomorrow?"

"Yeah!" Winnie exclaimed, genuinely excited before she remembered she was too cool for us. "But I'll win."

Casey raised her eyebrows. "That's some big talk."

Winnie shrugged. "I can't help it that I'm the best."

"You got me there."

You gestured to Casey and she followed you to the door.

"Y/N can't play, though," Winnie added, glancing back at Casey.

"Aw, why not?" Casey protested. "I love playing with Y/N."

Winnie shook her head. "She is really bad."

"Ouch, Winnie," you said, glaring at her.

Casey cracked up again, and you elbowed her in the stomach.

"Good night, loser," you called as you shut Winnie's door.

"Good night, dork!" she yelled back.

Casey had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.

"See?" you whispered to her. "I told you. A little bitch."

Casey grabbed your face in her hands and pressed her forehead to yours. She kissed you quickly, then laughed, a wide grin on her face.

"What's this for?" you asked, as if you needed a reason.

"Oh, it's nothing," Casey said, serious, before giggling, "I just have such a big crush on you."

"Ugh, stop!" You pushed her away. "That's so dumb."

"It's cute!" she protested, and you didn't know if you'd ever seen her this giddy. She came up behind you and wrapped her arms around your waist, pressing her face into your neck. "Come on, you say it, too."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. "I have a massive, huge, heartstopping crush on you, Casey."

She buried her face into you, planting kisses up and down your neck as her fingers tickled your stomach. You squirmed and giggled and shushed her as you both headed back downstairs. You didn't want to seem too in love. Your parents would never let it go.

[scoutswritingcorner]

Red String of What?

Angel Dust X Male Reader

Part One

TW: Alastor being Alastor, threats.

A/N: I love the red string of fate trope.

You find a red string attached to your finger a few weeks before going to live at the Hazbin Hotel. It's quite annoying to say the least but you are a curious man so you go out and follow it.

Walking down the busy sidewalk, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. Was taking this new job at this ‘Hazbin Hotel’ really worth it? You never really thought of redeeming yourself but the free housing sounded nice. All you really had to do was fix things when they needed to be fixed or put in new things that needed to be replaced, in all honesty this was what you’ve been hoping for; something to keep your mind busy as you try to ignore the burning sensation on your finger. The same finger that had a bright red string attached to it. Truthfully it seemed ironic in the long run..you couldn’t see a lick of color but here you were staring at the bright red string on your finger.

Knocking on the doors of the Hotel you patiently waited for an answer. You didn’t know if you could walk in…that would probably be better than knocking like some door to door salesman. Your hand reaches out about to grab the handle before the doors open to reveal the Princess of Hell herself, the one you ran into a week back. Immediately you watched as her frown literally turned upside down into this huge grin, “You’re here! Did you think about it?” She asked, excitedly bouncing on her feet as she giggled. You wordlessly nodded about to explain yourself but was cutoff as the excited Princess squealed and pulled you inside the Hotel. Almost tripping over your own feet as you are pulled around, despite not being able to see in color it was very obvious half of the building’s colors clashed with one another, you are so glad you don't have to deal with interior design. 

The Princess, Charlie as she asked you to call her, guided you around the hotel giving you a “grand tour” as she called it, from showing you everything on the bottom floor to the top floor. Despite being used to walking up stairs; especially to get to your old apartment, you were quite winded from just walking up a couple flights of stairs. You really needed to get out more..or maybe you could fix up that old elevator that had an 'OUT OF SERVICE' sign attached to the front of the doors, a smirk pulled onto your lips. A big project to help rebuild, something to get your mind off of that stupid red string that seemed to pull and burn every few moments.

“What about that elevator? If I can get it running it could help a lot of sinners who come here.” Your voice called out to her, making Charlie stop dead in her tracks. Turning back to you her smile grew into a grin as she walked over. “You’re right! I just seem to forget about it all the time..it hasn’t worked since I took over the hotel. I truly don’t know what went wrong..I can see if Vaggie or Alastor is willing to lend a hand.” She replied eagerly but you waved her off and smiled. The first real smile you gave in a while, it’s like you couldn’t be mean to her. You would’ve cried if you were mean to such a sweet woman willing to do everything in her power to help you, even if you didn’t believe in redemption. Oh, she was going to be the second death of you.

“No no, I just need to see the floor plans if you still have them by chance and then I need to find where the elevator is exactly.” You chuckled out, rubbing your hands together anxiously as the string got brighter and hotter. Why was it so fucking hot? It felt like it was going to burn your finger off. “Are you okay?” Her voice broke you out of your own mind, concern written all over her face as she reached over to grab your arm but stopped. “Y-Yeah..My finger is just hurting is all…I slammed it into a door earlier.” You lied- you were a horrible fucking liar; you smiled too damn wide and your eyes looked everywhere but where you needed to look. “..Are you sure?” She asked as she moved closer to you.

You sighed, “No…I..” You looked around for a moment before turning back to her. “The string on my finger is bothering me. It has been all week, ever since it showed up it seemingly was almost nonexistent and now? It’s hurting..It’s annoying at best but it gets brighter and tugs more often.” You explained not noticing how Charlie’s face lit up, “And the fact that I’m basically colorblind and can only see this fucking red string attached to my finger is an annoyance of it’s own.” You sighed, “But I’m not here to voice concerns about my own misfortunes, I’m here to help you out. Get this Hotel up and running!” You said clapping your hands together which ultimately made you flinch from how pain erupted from that finger.

Charlie frowned seeing you push away your own discomfort before nodding, “Right! Let me show you where the maintenance room is and then I’ll bring you to your room.” You nodded your head ignoring how you stared back at the moving shadow behind her. Oh no..not him. Please let it just be your fucking imagination and not him. “Is this our newest guest?~” His voice rang out causing you to groan and turn to him.

 “Oh Alastor! Just the man I was looking for.” Charlie hummed, walking over to him “This is our new guest and maintenance man!~” She happily exclaimed. Alastor stared you down for an uncomfortably long minute before he chuckled, “Well it’s lovely to have a fresh and recognizable face here!” He exclaimed, tapping his cane to the ground in a rhythm to a song you couldn’t hear.

“Oh you both know each other?” At the question you let out a low groan and took a step back away from the infamous Radio Demon. “Sadly” You replied cutting him off from another random long winded response causing him to snap his neck towards you. “Sadly? Dear boy, I thought we had a lovely time.” He growled out the radio effect he had making the hair on your arms to stand up, you were not fond of him and he surely was not fond of you. 

“Define ‘lovely time’ because I remember it as you stared at me in my shop as I fixed one of those radio’s you are so fond of, Sir.” You swore if he had your soul you would’ve been double dead by now. No one was able to even look at him wrong and get away with it, not even you. But the way Charlie stepped in between the both of you had deflected some of his unbridled rage. 

“Watch that tongue, Dear Boy. I might just cut it out next time.” He growled out his eyes twitching, “I’m just stating the truth, Sir. You stared at me the whole time, it was weird.” At that he laughed and threw his head back as he stood up taller. Was his horns growing? “Dear boy, you were handling one of my favorite things of course I had to watch you.” You rolled your eyes and let out a loud sigh, “You didn’t have to do anything- I was handling the radio carefully, I’m not as stupid as you think I am.” Charlie lightly chuckled as she pushed you away from a growling Alastor. “Good to know you both don’t get along.” She whispered as you nodded following her softly apologizing for your outburst.

After a little while of showing you where everything was, you finally rested in your own bedroom on the second floor. Something Charlie happily asked for your input just in case, you honestly weren’t expecting to have full freedom on where your bedroom was located and expected to be thrown in a much smaller room than what you got. You didn’t voice your complaints to her or her girlfriend, Vaggie, just in case you were actually going to be thrown in the boiler room. 

Looking around your new bedroom and then down at the string on your finger which was much brighter and was practically burning, you sighed and got up. You would have to call your boss and put in a few days off to make sure everything was moved into this place and out of your old apartment, maybe just maybe this could be a fresh start for you.

[nevesmose]

Fic ideas: Sevatar's first week as First Captain, where he realizes how many cats he has to herd as part of his new position? Konrad and Mortarion being awful bffs together? Horus and his scrungly new goth brother? Kyroptera joint venting session?

Last Chance on 8th Street

So in a perhaps too literal interpretation I combined "Sevatar's first week herding cats" with "Horus and his scrungly goth brother" and this was where things ended up. Trying to go for a kind of The Iron Giant "stereotypical 1950s USA that never really existed" vibe I think?

Somewhere in the idealised American past, a no-good street punk is sentenced to community service.

He's just so bald, Sevatar thought unkindly as he looked at the back of Police Chief Horus Lupercal's head. So goddamn bald.

It definitely wasn't the first time he had been in the back of a police car, but it was the first time he'd done it without his hands cuffed behind his back.

"You should consider yourself very fortunate to get away with community service after what you did," Horus said, staring daggers at him in the rear-view mirror. "But my father the mayor has decided to try out a new rehabilitation policy on you instead."

That explained the personal chauffeur treatment, Sevatar supposed, grimacing at yet another mention of my father the mayor. If they ever made a talking Horus Lupercal doll, that's what it would say every time you pulled its string.

"Gee whiz, Chief," Sevatar said insincerely. "All this fuss over a little jaywalking?"

"Jaywalking," Horus repeated flatly.

"Yeah, jaywalking. I jaywalked all the way across town at three in the morning to a nice suburban house and then I jaydrove off in their Cadillac. I pulled some jaydonuts in it and then I jayburned it." He shrugged expressively. "But it started with jaywalking."

Horus didn't reply as they halted next to a low, nondescript building with a sign saying 8th STREET MUNICIPAL CAT SHELTER.

"Here we are," he announced. "Your community service. Get out. It's time you met my brother."

"Oh yeah?" Sevatar left the car, scowling, and adjusted his leather jacket with an air of immense self-importance. "And which brother would that be exactly? Because it feels like there's about a hundred of you. Which reminds me," he added nastily, "give my sympathies to Mrs Mayor."

"A real comedian, aren't you?" Horus replied. "Let me put it this way. He's not one of the ones my father the mayor allows to be seen in public."

"Oh shit, is it the crazy one? The one the Army did all those psychic UFO mind control experiments on?"

"Is that what they say about him?" Horus asked innocently. He shouldered open the main door of the building and led Sevatar into a small, dimly-lit reception area empty except for a few metal folding chairs, a desk with a disconnected rotary phone on it, and a poster of a cat on one wall.

"He must be out in the yard," Horus said, gesturing to a door leading to the rear of the building. "And just remember," he continued, turning to point a finger at Sevatar, "when you fail at this, which you will because you're nothing but a worthless punk, I will be here to arrest you personally. Have fun."

With that he left, either ignoring or not hearing Sevatar's response. Sevatar shrugged, lit up a cigarette and headed out into the yard behind the building.

Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this - an open, grass-covered space dotted with trees and what looked like a variety of homemade cat-sized climbing frames, scratching posts and houses.

And above all, what looked like thousands of cats, everywhere he looked. The most cats he'd ever seen. Like in that horror movie about birds, but... with cats. For some reason every single one of them was some variety of black, grey or white in colour.

Sitting cross-legged in the centre of the yard, surrounded by his own personal clowder, was Konrad Curze, the crazy one of the Mayor's sons.

He was tall, tall enough that you could see it even sitting down, and far thinner than any healthy person should be. He wore grey jeans and a black turtleneck sweater which, combined with his long black hair and intense dark eyes, made him look like a kind of depressed, disappointed beatnik.

The cat hair all over his clothes didn't help.

"Those things will kill you," Curze said, looking over at Sevatar. His voice was raspy, like he'd either used it far too much or far too little.

"What, the cats?"

He shook his head and gently pushed a tuxedo cat with a peculiar marking on its forehead off his lap so he could stand up and walk over to Sevatar. "Cigarettes. Cats will just eat you after you die."

He had to be seven feet tall at least. Sevatar, who fell back on humour at times of uncertainty, found himself compelled to make some kind of remark.

"What's the weather like up there, Legs?"

"Bright and breezy," Curze replied in the same whispery tone. "You must be Jago Sevatarion, here to serve the community."

"It's Sevatar. And yeah, I guess so. Didn't think it would be a community of cats though."

"Cats are vital to the community," Curze replied. "While their actions in keeping down pest populations may seem brutal, or even downright sadistic, their overall contribution is very positive to society."

"Right. But what about, like... endangered birds? Don't they hunt them too?"

"That's utterly irrelevant to me, Sevatar. I just like cats."

They walked together around the yard, with Curze describing in great detail the various duties involved in running the shelter and Sevatar mostly trying not to step on any of the residents.

Eventually his curiosity got the better of him. "You know, they say you're crazy," he ventured at a stopping point in Curze's feline monologue while he was being shown the special-care area.

"They're right," Curze answered bluntly. "Now, Malcharion here is very old and needs his food mushed up with some water."

"Okay. But you don't seem too crazy right now."

Curze paused and looked at him. "I have good days and bad days," he said. "Today is a good day. Do not under any circumstances let Gendor near any of the other cats' food," he added, pointing at a malevolent-looking grey tabby. "He is entirely untrustworthy."

In the end they agreed that Sevatar would be back at nine the next morning, but when the next morning came he woke up at half past eight with no possible way to get to 8th Street on time.

So he gave up and just kind of wandered around, smoking and making vague plans to skip town. That was something people did, after all. Just vanishing one day.

His thoughts were interrupted by a blurry black shape looming up in his peripherial vision. It quickly resolved itself into Konrad Curze and his cat-hair-covered turtleneck who grabbed him forcefully.

"You should be at the cat shelter," Curze rasped, somehow making the phrase into the most terrifying threat Sevatar had ever heard. The taller man had him pinned up against the wall, just about lifting him off his feet through sheer wiry strength, but then he suddenly drew back.

"You weigh hardly anything, Sevatar," he said. "When did you last eat?"

Sevatar told him, and that was how the man who up until that point had seemed intent on killing him insisted on going to the nearest diner instead.

Curze sat opposite him in their booth with a cup of coffee while Sevatar, who had taken the statement to get whatever you want well and truly to heart, was working his way through a cheeseburger, fries, soda, milkshake and a sundae the size of a toddler.

"Today hasn't been a good day," Curze said, as if that explained everything. "I'm given to understand that for you it's this or prison. Is that right?"

Sevatar shrugged. "And, so what if it is?"

Curze thought for a moment, clasping his long fingers around his coffee cup.

"It's very much the same for me," he said eventually. "If I fail at this I'll be of no use at all to my father the Mayor, as Horus so endearingly puts it."

"Is that so?" Sevatar said, or at least intended to say, around a mouthful of burger. It came out as more of a generic inquisitive sound which didn't seem to bother Curze.

"The next step from there would be a long stay at an institution somewhere very far away and, I think, an eventful appointment with a lobotomist. It would be as if I never existed at all."

"That's rough," Sevatar said, not entirely unkindly.

Curze gave a rueful smile. "That's my father," he replied. "He's done it before with his little disappointments. Did you know there used to be twenty of us?"

"No," Sevatar replied, "I didn't know that."

On impulse, he wiped the fry grease off on his white T-shirt and then held out his hand to Curze.

"I'll make you a deal," he said. "Let's help each other to stay out of institutions as long as we can. Just don't try to kill me again."

They shook hands and started discussing how to herd cats.