#late night kisses | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

riahlynn101 · 1 year ago

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Can you make a mike x Vanessa fic where Abby catches them kissing it would be so funny

Apologizes for not getting to this sooner :D!!

Also, sorry if this appears unedited. I did my best, but I'll likely have to go over it when it's not one in the morning.

Thank you for the request :D!!

-x-x-x-

It’s late at night. The sky outside is dark and dotted with stars. It’s long past her bedtime, but Abby doesn’t care.; if she hears Mike coming down the hall, she’ll pretend to sleep. It works every time, though that may be because her brother has no energy to scold her for being up late. (How can he when he’s also wide awake? Since he no longer takes medicine to help him sleep, Mike has gone from never being awake to always being awake. That should be better, but it worries Abby. She doesn’t want her brother to get sick, like their mom did.)

Thankfully, her brother has Vanessa. She’s the one person on this entire planet, dead or alive, that can force Mike to go to bed. It’s amusing to watch her threaten to arrest Mike if doesn’t go lay down. She’s never serious, at least Abby doesn’t think she’s being serious.

Abby finishes her latest drawing, holding it out in front of her. It’s of her, Mike, and Vanessa. Tomorrow at dinner (because Vanessa leaves the house before she wakes up, and her brother leaves for work as soon as Abby’s on the bus), she’ll show it off to them.

She sits there, staring down at her paper. But she can still hear them up, laughing in the living room. It wouldn’t be wise to leave her room, lest her brother know her plan to stay up past her bedtime. Maybe she could surprise them with it by hanging it on the fridge?

Nodding to herself, Abby grabs the paper off her desk.

She tiptoes down the hallway, being extra mindful to avoid the spots that squeak. (Which is hard because their house is old and rundown. The doors creak, the floors squeak, and the foundation never seems to settle).

Abby ducks down, hurrying past the living room where a movie’s playing and into the kitchen. A kitchen that, in her focused-state, she failed to notice has the lights on.

Abby makes her way to the fridge. Silently she celebrates, pinning the picture in place with a magnet. She’s sure Vanessa and her brother will be so happy when they see her picture.

Happy, she turns to head back to her room. Only to bear witness to the worst, most horrible thing imaginable. She gags because there, at the opposite end of the kitchen her brother and Vanessa are kissing. Distantly, it reminds her of mom and dad. How they used to be, before mom got really sick. But the sight is unfamiliar and more gross than sweet, because it’s her brother.

“Gross!” Abby shouts, wrinkling her nose.

Their attention is instantly on her. “Abby?” Mike asks, concern obvious in his voice. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“No, but I’m about to. You two are gross!”

Vanessa looks down sheepishly. “Sorry, Abby, we thought you were asleep.”

“You should be asleep. Why aren’t you?”

Still trying to erase the mental image of what she saw, Abby points at the drawing on the fridge. “I drew all of us. Thought it might make you guys happy.”

“Oh,” her brother says, smiling softly, “thank you, Abbs. I love it.”

“I love all the colors you used,” Vanessa adds thoughtfully. There’s something vulnerable in her eyes, but Abby can’t decipher what. She’s always so hard to read.

Mike looks at her. “Why were you drawing at two in the morning?”

Abby stares back at him. “Why are you kissing people at two in the morning?”

“I gave her a peck on the lips, Abbs.” He shakes his head. “And I’m an adult. Which means I don’t have a bedtime.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, running back to her room. It is getting late, and unless she’s actually sick; Mike isn't going to let her stay home.

“I love you, too!” Mike yells after her. Beside him, Vanessa has a hard time containing her laughter.

#request fulfilled #fnaf fanfic #mike x vanessa #schmelly #abby schmidt #Late night kisses #The Schmidt Siblings

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alsartnook · 11 months ago

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Fanfic: Moonlighting Walk

Late night to go home.

Harry x Stanley

Ah, tsp people! Hello! Excuse my inexperience for these posts. Wrote a drabble for me and @atalkingcrow-likething's little au of sorts. Could also be taken as a Clock 0ut escape pod AU. Or a modern AU of sorts. No prior knowledge is needed for this. Characters used are from Sad-ist's Clock 0ut Series.

This is a short story esk writing of Harry and Stanley. In this writing, Harry is Stanley's boss. It is fluff, and very cute. Romance movie trope is mentioned of being kissed after walking someone home. Pretty cheesy and corny, but my little heart needed to write. Tags include spoilers.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Not many, but there is a dream sequence trope in this. There is also talk of being alone at night, if that bothers anyone.

Pairing: Harry Bright x Stanley Rider

Word count: 1,598

Est. reading time: 5:55

Language: English

Style: 3rd person Literate

Enjoy!!

“What? Did you really think that I would do such a thing?”

It was dark. The moonlight flooded onto neat glasses, glimmering in yellow eyes and illuminating light skin. He smiled. “Well, hell if I would know, you crazy goon,” He joked, and his chest crackled like a warm campfire as he found thin lips curling. The night smelled fresh of still air, a still that echoed and yet captivated them both in this cocoon of a bubble which kept them together, feeling like the outside world was miles away, despite it lingering under dress shoes and sneakers alike.

Wind drifted between them as the distant buzz of a car whizzing by on a nearby highway or streetlamps that decided to flicker in and out of life rumbled through the night atmosphere. There was a faint sound of someone closing a door in a house somewhere, and he couldn’t help but notice how the air brushed taupe hair and caressed it gently, causing a gentle sway, alike the way oceans capture waves.

It wasn’t long before he realized he was staring. A smile only seemed to grow as he peered upon the soft skin. He’d already forgotten what the previous topic was- some story he’d recited about something happening in the office. Stan found himself licking his lips. Looking away, grasping for something other than the bloom in his chest.

“Like what you see? You were really deep in thought there,” The taller observed, and- “Ah, you’re so full of yourself, old man.” A chuckle found it’s way into a chest that wasn’t his, and yet he felt his own reciting the symphony, begging to be plastered in his mind, engrained in his body for replay sake. When it ended, he missed it already.

A sigh left lips, and he found himself gazing back at the painting of colors, intricate details of one’s face, moonlight dripping purposefully onto his face like being kissed by none other than the sky herself. It felt like his breath was gently guided away, and yet he didn’t feel he needed it any more than he needed to observe and drink in the gorgeous sight of a familiar person in front of him. Oh, the brown haired could go on for hours, about how the light twinkled his eyes and how the shift of his lips reflected in the lines in his cheeks, like chiseled masterpieces created out of the most breath-taking marble and porcelain the earth could ever create, radiating a warmth through him that lingered and wrapped like a loving parent’s hug on a needing child.

For a moment, he was doubtful of the sigh that escaped those lips, the ones he adored, the ones that shaped his name and spoke it with ease, the affectionate name that belonged to him and him alone being spoken by care and dignity and laced in time throughout the years. Threads being connected like woven blankets with intricate designs, patterned in the most pleasing sight one can muster. Stan thought maybe the outtake of breath meant departure, leaving the shorter with his own thoughts to marvel at what had happened moments before, excited for the next day.

Lovely honey soaked eyes drifted over to his own, meeting in a song and dance he could get lost in, turning to face him. “Well, hm. I know it’s late, and, well, I don’t know how I feel about letting you leave by yourself.” His breath seemed to catch up to him, and he blinked, slow, lovingly, at his company. “Are you saying I am incapable of taking care of myself on the short walk to my humble abode?” He teased, and a head tilted, gaze filled with a pleased dusting.

“No, Stan,” The words reverberated through his chest like the buzz of a phone. “I am simply trying to say I’m worried for you.” And oh, if it wasn’t for this dim light, he knew his flush would be more obvious. If electronically replaced eyes noticed, he said naught. “Worried about what?” He doubted, raising an eyebrow.

“You.” The word winded him. “Why?” He found himself breathlessly questioning back. “I care for you, that’s why,” And even though the voice hesitant, timid, more lying beneath the words and tone reflecting more care than imaginable, he choked on a breath.

“Ah.” He said simply, because he wasn’t sure what else to. What could he even say to that?

A coat brushed against his shoulder as a familiar face walked past him, opposite to where the older lived. An invite, more than that even, a confident step of declaration, a footfall in the direction of certainty, of unwillingness to let protest fall upon his ears.

In silence, he turned, cheeks warming as he followed suit, and saw the man fall towards one side of the concrete. A invitation he perused, hands finding their home temporarily in his jacket pockets. It was unlike him to wear such clothes, but Harry had reprimanded him, saying how he could catch a cold and miss work, and well. There wasn’t a more unequivocally inspirational thing to himself then the mock threat of treading a day without his company.

They walked, quietly, comfortably, and Stan listened to the clack of business shoes against the sidewalk as well as the partnered grit of sneakers. Arriving at his doorstep, two found themselves paused, a capture in time, unwilling for this moment to end. In a welcoming breeze, he breathed in and inhaled the scent of floral, honey, mango, and whatever damned cologne the man used, which was just about the best thing he’s ever smelt, akin to a warm pie or oven filled cookie kitchen. It smelled like warmth. It smelled like home.

Turning to his boss, he found the others eyes grazing themselves with whatever it was on Stan that he found so alluring. He peered down, trying to see if there was something on his shirt. “What?” a self conscious voice asked, and he looked up to see Harry had stepped closer. “Well,” He started, and somehow he found himself expectant, lied in wait for something to happen.

A chuckle caressed his ears like a melody, and he felt like there was no place he’d rather be. “It’s like those movies,” He turned. “What?” He once again repeated, trying to make sense of the other’s statement. “You know, those old cheesy ones, where one person walks the other home.” He only found himself in more question. “Um.. Yeah?”

A shake of the head elicited from the response. “Ah, Stanley, you are really dense,” A smile melted his confusion, and he found he didn’t mind being in the dark. “This is the part where you either invite me in, wave goodbye, or end this beautiful night with a kiss.” Harry instructed, and his heart sputtered.

“Wh..What? A kiss?” Heartbeats hammered in his sickly yearning chest, like a fast paced beat to a song well lost on his memory. He found his eyes lied upon the sight of the chiseled man turning away bashfully, looking towards his front door. Was this the invitation he had been craving for years? Was he hearing this right? Despite his surprised question that was shot back, his words sunk into the silence, dissipating like melting cotton candy in your mouth.

Licking his lips, he suddenly really regretted not applying chapstick in the past hour. “Is that even an option?” He held his breath.

“One of three, yes,” A blue tinted profile never wavered. It felt right, in that moment. Like years of all of this dancing around this grey line, littering grey paint across this fine line of terms, platonic and romantic, skewing the perspective and widening that line until it engulfed them, was finally clearer. There was a open door right in front of him, wide spilled, inviting and welcoming without pressure or doubt.

A grey sneaker found it’s way forward, and a rough palm travelled up. A turn, expecting, returning the paler’s entire face to his gaze, an awkward moment where they lingered, flickering between eyes and lips, both leaning in slow enough that neither picked up on it.

Stan seized forward, gentle, putting years on the line, brushing cold fingers against a heated cheek, letting his chapped lips brush against those smooth, thin ones, capturing them fully. Floral scents tangoed in his scent, dragged against flushed lips slowly as they both cascaded over that line like a dam breaking loose. Parting for only a moment, he closed his eyes, recapturing those soft lips, letting the smooth of skin and scented petroleum smother his own.

It was wonderful. It was all he could’ve wished for, and more. His whole body filled with warmth, like he was always meant to do this, return to his lips and find himself lost in them. It felt like there was no place home would ever be without the latter, and yet at the same time, that with, could make home anywhere. Their lips parted sweetly, and a breath washed over his lips, a huff of a smile. Daring to open his eyes, he was lucky enough to catch the half-lidded gaze so full of love he could drown in it. He couldn’t help but lean forward again, like he was worried this was the only chance he’d get, savoring and leaning into the sensation he’d only dreamed of.

Sandy eyes fluttered open, stinging as birds chirped in his ear. Squinting at the light, he felt the warmth of the bed radiate around him. And he lightly brushed fingers across dry lips.

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