#no lighter even? smoking is like the least useful thing to have a lighter for; use your imagination | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

caxde · 11 months ago

Text

drunken confession | steve harrington x reader

summary you're Dustin's older sister, a night out with you're friends makes you see that here might be more between you and Steve (7.5k)

warnings fem!reader, fluff (a lot), mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn friends to lovers, idiots in love!!!, mentions of alcohol use, tabacco and anxiety (briefly). and eventual smut (p in v, hj unproteccted) english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!

“So, are you going out tonight?” Dustin asked once again, making you center your attention on him, you stop daydreaming.

“Um, I dunno. We’ll get some drinks, better if you don't wait up I think.” You answered, looking at him. Your brother always seemed like he had more to say, like there was always a puzzle, or an equation that he had to solve in the back of his mind.

“You’re gonna have to talk to mom.” He scuffed, almost like a laugh.

“What? Why?” Your eyebrows scratched as you asked, your shoulders got high, and so did your voice.

“She’s not letting you the car again if you’re out drinking.”

“Well, I’m not driving so…” You finished, letting the fork in your plate, the clinking of it ending the conversation briefly.

It seemed like it was going to be a quiet night anyway. Just you, and your friends, nothing unusual. Though you still didn’t know if you’d be drinking in someone’s house or out out.

Because those are two very different things.

If you were in someone’s house, you’d be calm, the lights won’t annoy you, the music won’t be too loud, and there won’t be too many people.

And you’d promised yourself that even if that happened, you weren’t going to overreact, because these things are normal, and it is okay. You're safe, in someone's house, and out in a club or bar.

Thankfully the bar was still empty when you arrived.

And the first round of beers went down pretty quickly.

So did the second one.

Nancy was excited. You could tell she was really happy, finally having received her acceptance letter to the college of her dreams. She couldn’t stop blushing every time somebody new walked into the bar and said congratulations.

Robin was as chatty as ever, as she normally was to be honest. You’d found out that Robin gets excited over other peoples’ excitement, and you often thought to yourself what a good cheerleader she would make if she wasn’t as clumsy as she is.

Eddie was quiet. It wasn’t unusual, not this early in the evening. He always gets more comfortable once he gets used to the people that are wherever you guys end up, and once he realises that nobody looks at him like he’s a freak anymore, in fact, since Corroded Coffin was gaining a bit of a reputation people tried to get close to him, talk to him. He’d never say it, but he loved it.

And, Steve.

Well, he was just electric. Something happened whenever you two were in the same place. He’ll participate in whatever conversation is going on at the table, but for a moment, however brief, he’d look at you, and you swear time would stop.

You didn’t know why that happened, you just enjoyed it.

And it was happening right now, as you were finishing your second beer, and he was already asking for the third round, his hand up with the empty bottle, once the barman saw Steve, he putted five fingers up, Steve nodded.

And as it always happened after two beers, you needed to go out, get some air and smoke. And as always, Eddie walked out with you.

“You doing okay Henderson?” Eddie muttered as he offered you his lighter, smoke already escaping his lips as he talked.

“Yeah, just thinking.” You answered quickly, just before lighting the camel you had in your pocket.

“You need to stop doing all that thinking.” He laughed, trying -with no success- to make you at least chuckle. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I think you already know if I’m being honest.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, pleading that he won’t make you actually say it.

“For what it’s worth, I think he’s just as much in his head as you are.” He admitted, as he took one long drag of his cigarette, almost gone now.

“You’re only saying that because you’re my friend.” You brush it off, not really ready to believe that he might be right, not wanting to believe him, in case he was actually right.

“And I’m also his friend.” He added, looking into your eyes, a soft smile in his face, and something else that you can’t recognise now. “And honestly, you two… something’s going on, it’s not hard to see it.”

“Nothing has happened. Nothing can anyway.” You add, as you throw your cigarette to the floor, stomping on it so it’s definitely put out.

“Why would you say that?” Eddie asks, his eyebrows raised, curiosity filling his voice.

“Because he still likes Nancy.”

Everyone had paid for one round. And you were now debating if you should go home or stay for a little longer.

Nancy wanted to leave, and so did Robin.

Eddie didn’t mind.

Steve wanted to stay.

And you weren’t sure why but so did you.

So, the table only had three new beers now, and a louder conversation.

The bar had filled up, and the music was louder now. So of course you needed to scream a bit to hear each other. Again you weren’t really talking about anything important, just enjoying the company they provided, and the warmth that you felt being in a space with your favourite people.

“Edds, I’m going out for a smoke break, wanna come?” You asked softly, the yellow packet already on your hand, trying not to feel nervous as you feel Steve looking deep into your eyes.

“Um, not really… I really need to take a piss.” He laughs a bit more than necessary, the alcohol finally taking him over.

“I’ll come.” Steve's voice finally could be heard. That stupid smile in his lips anytime he gets to spend quiet time with you.

“Come on.” You smiled shyly as you stood up, a bit too fast, feeling the alcohol all at once once you finally were out of your chair.

The cold air was the first thing that you felt, hitting you right in the middle of your chest, though you did not feel its coldness, at least not now. Not when he was right there beside you.

You’ll deny it every time somebody asks, but the way he lights the cigarette was hypnotizing.

His long fingers curving to stop the wind from blowing away the flame, his lips holding it tightly, his eyes looking down carefully so that he does not burn himself. And just the way his nose and parted lips would shine in a soft orange light once the flame was ignited, it made him look both peaceful and angelic. But honestly, that wasn’t the best part.

The best part of his little ritual came when he’d scooch over you, his face still -even if it was soft enough that he wouldn't notice- scrunched up, concentrating so that the flame wouldn’t disappear. His hands covering the end of your cigarette now, and he would look at you attentively, holding the lighter until smoke came out of your lips.

You didn’t pay attention to him in that moment -you never could if you didn’t wanna burn yourself- but if you did you’d see the way his eyes couldn’t stay away from the way your lips look.

And then, he’d always say and do the same thing.

First, he takes a step back, so he’s not actually so close to you in case it would annoy you, but his feet would stay pointed at you, just like his attention was fully with you, and the way you look up at him. her and her dove eyes. He thinks he could see them even if he closes his eyes.

Then his free hand would travel to the top of his head, retouching his hair once again, he does that right before he tilted his head to the left.

Then he always asks the same thing.

“So, how are you doing?”

And you’d always say the same thing.

“Good, I’m doing good.”

But really, you wanted to say.

“I’m always good when I’m with you.”

But it didn’t matter how much you'd drink, you never find the courage.

But for some reason, today, after he asked you how you were doing he kept talking.

“I’m not gonna lie to you Henderson, I’m getting pretty drunk today.” And he laughed. I could listen that laugh forever, you kept thinking. Though you didn’t need to say it, he knew it as soon as you smiled up at him and bite your lower lips as you looked at him.

It drove him mad.

“Honestly?” You asked as he kept laughing. He nodded and scratched the bridge of his nose with his thumb, cigarette still in his hand. “I’m getting drunk too.”

“Can I tell you something else?” He demanded, his eyebrows raising for just a second, your cheeks starting to hurt from just how much you were smiling. As soon as you nodded he lowered his head, and his voice. “It’s a really stupid thing.” He added, his words slurring a bit.

“It’s never stupid if you say it.” You say back. It always happened, when you were drunk you could not lie, and with that, you’d say things more sincerely, calmer and softer. Even more when Steve was the one listening to them.

“You look really pretty today.”

You were expecting everything but that. Your face lighted up, your eyes shined brighter and you didn’t even know your smile could grow wider. You shook your head and scoffed. A friendly and shocked reaction over such sincerity.

“You’re an idiot.” It’s the only thing you managed to say back.

But he knew you were happy. Just as much as he knew his heart had skipped a beat as soon as he saw your eyes squint for a second. It was becoming impossible to act normal around you, he realised.

You stayed there, under the cold starry sky, not saying anything, and it didn’t matter. You didn’t need to.

Once you finished smoking in such a comfortable silence it was hard to go back inside, but even if you wanted to stay in that quiet moment, you headed back, only to find Eddie deep in a conversation with a girl you didn’t know.

Well, it wasn’t really a conversation, more so he had his arm around her waist and was following her out.

Steve laughed in shock first, after looking at you.

“Guess that means we’ll have to drink his beer.” You add in a chuckle.

Your body was all warm and fuzzy. You weren’t going to drink anymore.

But Steve seemed to keep going, you weren’t sure why, probably just the habit, oblivious to you, it was to calm his nervous thoughts.

The bar was about to close, and that meant that it was getting quiet again, no need to scream anymore.

“Your ears get red when you’ve had enough to drink.” You point out touching the tips of Steve’s ears, brushing his hair behind them. You were giggly and touchy, even more so now that no rational thought was in your brain.

“Well… so does your nose.” He replays back, his eyes softer, as he lets his index finger touch the tip of your nose. “bub.” He adds. You’re not sure if he says it as a reaction to touching it or as a pet name, but you don’t care either way.

“You’re wasted Harrington.” You giggle as you say his last name, your hands travelling down his neck, into his chest, falling clumsy -but softly- into his lap. He loses his breath for a second as he lets himself enjoy the way your skin feels against his.

“Like father, like son, right?” He half jokes as he raises the beer he still is working on finishing.

“What?” You shake your head at him. “No, no way. You look just like your mom.” You add. Your voice feels like a soft song to him at that moment. People never tell him that he looks like his mom, even if he always wanted that.

“You’re the first person to say that, y’know” He confesses, his hand now resting on his hand, his eyes looking deep into yours.

“Well… It’s true. Your mom’s beautiful, and so are you.” Your cheeks go red as soon as you realize what you just said. Though you mean every word of it.

“You think I’m beautiful?” He asks, for a second it seems like he’s mocking you, but you know him well enough to know that he’s just shocked at the way you say things, so truthfully, so honestly. You always have the ability to leave him speechless.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” You sound more sure of yourself now, as you snatch a little beer from his bottle, he looks at you with his eyebrows raised, surprised and in absolute awe of you.

“Not handsome?” You shake your head no as you giggle a bit at him, “Beautifull” He elongates the last L, a grin appearing on his lips.

That stupid Steve grin.

“Beautiful people are soft and kind. Not just on the outside, but all of them. That’s you.” His whole expression softened, even more if it was possible. His eyes were a pool of honey and coffee, and they could not stop looking at you, with pure adoration.

“You’re the one being an idiot now.”

You giggled as you felt the last sip travel down your throat, you nodded before looking back at him.

“They’re closing, we should go.” You point out once you see the lights of the bar light up. The universal sign that the night had come to an end.

The ride home was always fun, and worth remembering, every single one.

This one however, was special.

Your hand rested on the back of his head, playing with his hair lazily, not really thinking about it. It felt nice, and it was the closest you could be to him.

That’s what you thought anyway.

What you didn’t expect was Steve deciding to let his hand rest on top of your thigh, not striking it, not squeezing it, it just rested there. His thumb drew a repetitive pattern, a kind of gesture that to you meant I’m here, but to him it screamed I don’t wanna leave.

Once he stopped the car in front of your house, he whipped around to look at you. Once again, he said nothing. He just looked at you. You knew what Robin would say if he saw that, probably something like stop admiring at each other and go to bed, please?. Eddie would probably just laugh and give you a little shove. But right now, the only thing that escaped your lips (that might be trembling because of your nervous heart, or maybe it was because his hand was still in your thigh, and yours was still on the back of his neck) was a soft “Thank you” And he just shook his head, a its nothing gesture.

Though you weren’t ready for him to get out of his car once you were already on the steps of your house.

“You okay Steve?” You asked as you saw him approaching.

He didn’t say anything.

He just hugged you.

It had never felt like this. His hands holding you closer than ever, his head resting on the nape of your neck. Of course you returned the feeling, holding him thigh, not wanting to let go. Your head rested on his chest, and you could smell every inch of him. Aftershave, a deep cologne, the beer that you had drank and cigarette smoke. You closed your eyes for a second, trying to memorise how it all felt, how his respiration slowed for that moment, how he took a deep breath before letting you go and how he looked down at you, his honey eyes shining. His cheeks a bit flustered, and you're guessing that yours are too.

“Yeah. Good night honey.”

honeyhoneyhoney.

“It would just be a quick drop, you wouldn’t even be five minutes late I swear!” Dustin whined again. He knew he was getting you annoyed, and frustrated, he could tell by the way your eyebrows were scrunched up and your nails were getting buried into your waist, holding tight onto something so you wouldn’t snap at him.

“It’s not about dropping you off, it’s just…” You always had trouble communicating when you were like this, when your thoughts were going faster than your actions, when you got overwhelmed by things that nobody seemed to get overwhelmed by. “I’m supposed to go to Edds show, and I really don’t want to be late, because if I am, I might not find them and then that would mean I-”

“They’ll wait for you.” He looked down at the floor, his hands had his fingers intertwined, the same anxious tick you had, it looks like he inherited that too. “Please? Will goes back to California in a couple days and we really want to finish his campaign.”

You nodded, you understood the need to see someone, a friend. You know how much Dustin misses Will when he’s not around. He nodded back, and he sat on top of your bed. Happy. Calm, not pushing your buttons anymore.

“So… Who’s going?”

“Where?”

“To Eddie’s show.” He gestured with his hands, a weird look in his face that you had no time to get into.

“Um, Robin and Steve.” You add back, your voice a bit higher in pitch, turning your back so you can look into your closet, hoping to find something that might work. Your indecision -you often think- is the worst thing that happens to you. “Nancy was supposed to come but she said something came up, so…”

“She didn’t tell you?” The tone of his voice made you turn fast to him, a shocked honesty that makes you wonder.

“Tell me what?”

“Her and Jonathan got back together.”

“Oh.” oh. “How do you know?” Your ears were ringing, poor Steve you thought. Poor heart-broken Steve, the only thing you ever wanted for him was for him to be happy, it didn’t matter with who, as long as he actually loved the person and was loved in return.

“Steve told me.” Even if your little brother’s voice was calm, he was still looking at you with that same look. The one he uses when he’s trying to gather information, seeking a reaction, and if you were being honest, he was getting one.

“Is Steve okay?” You needed to know, because right now it was all you could think about, about the kind boy that deserves to be loved, even if it can’t be by you.

“You’re kidding? He helped Jonathan get her back!” That confused you even further, why would Steve help him get the girl he’s in love, get together with someone else. You turned back and started grabbing different tops and shirts and laying them above the bed.

“Why would he do that? Isn’t he like, in love with Nance?” The way he started laughing made your shoulders tense for a second, jumping at such a reaction. “What are you laughing for?”

“He’s not in love with her! Jesus, you can be blind sometimes…” The palm of his face brushes his face as he looks at you, a puzzled look still on yours.

“I don’t know what you’re on kid, but I need to get ready and have no clue what to actually wear so…” He picked up the white tank top and threw it to you.

“You’re an idiot sometimes, you know that?” Dustins i’m much clever than you tone came back as he stood up. You rolled your eyes at him and gave him a petty smile.

“Yeah, I’ve been told.”

As you parked outside where Eddie was playing, a few minutes late, you grew nervous. The parking lot was full of cars, and finding a spot took longer than you anticipated, so by the time you found a spot and got to the entrance, the queue only seemed longer and longer. People standing in a not-so-neat line, chatting amongst themselves, shivering away the coldness of the night. Cigarette smoke and off-key lyrics filled the ambient of the people pulled away.

You realise at that moment, you didn’t have a ticket.

Steve and Robin had gotten in with Eddie.

And you had no idea how to get in, so you took a quick lap to see if you found someone, anyone.

Thankfully for you, Steve was by the entrance door, chatting away with one of the security guys. Even if Steve was tall, and had a wide back, the man talking to him toward over him, it almost made you giggle, seeing him as someone smaller, when he usually was the one that filled the room, even with just his presence.

As you walked to him, smoke escaping your lips and a scent of burnt smoke following you, you remembered the conversation you had with Dustin. And still, you didn’t believe him, at least not until you saw the way his demeanor changed when you approached him, and a relieved “Steve” came out of you.

Steve lost his breath for a moment.

You looked truly angelic, and you didn’t even need to try. You in that white tank top that made your breasts appear larger, more exposed than they’re usually are, your hair down, letting the left side of your neck free, as the wind blew, and your jeans hugging every curve of your body. It drove him mad. Even worse, he always loved when you wore red lipstick, like tonight.

Of course he wasn’t in love with anyone but you.

But you didn’t know.

The same way he didn’t know just how much it drove you crazy when his shirts hugged his arms like that, his veins more prominent when his arms were crossed on his chest. His hair always seemed to float, like it had a gravity of his own, but that single strand of hair that felt in between his eyes made you focus on him more. His soft honey dark eyes that were only looking at you, half lidded and full of adoration. It drove you crazy.

Of course you weren’t in love with anyone but him.

But he didn’t know.

Just like you had thought until a few hours ago that he still loved, or liked Nancy, it wasn’t until he had picked up Robin a few minutes ago that he didn’t find out that what you had with Eddie was purely platonic. Robin had laughed just as much as Dustin did, and called him an idiot all the same. But still, you both thought that your feelings weren’t returned, because that would be too perfect to be real. Impossible, just a dream.

However, the way your name sounded when Steve said it made you forget about everything else, and just focus on him.

A quick hug, not like the one he had given you that night he had driven you the night after you’d spent your entire night in a bar. You had come to realise, he became braver once some time had passed, and so did you.

So you headed inside, where Robin was waiting for the both of you in the bar, a warm welcome and a big cheers with some beers that you grabbed as you moved further into the pit.

The crowd was electric, everyone cheering for the show to start, eager to sing along with the band. You followed along, screamed when Corroded Coffin finally came on stage, whoo’d Eddie when he asked How are you doing Indianapolis and laughed when he admitted that he missed saying how are you Hawkins.

Robin cheered the loudest and it made Steve laugh. One of those authentic, closing your eyes and holding your stomach kind of laughs. You thought that it was one of the highlights of the night already.

But as these things often go, once Eddie’s band was over, and the next one came, the bar got even more crowded, and the lights felt brighter, and everyone seemed to be looking at you, judging or god knows what. Everyone seemed to bump into you, and you had already pulled the glue out of your empty cristal bottle on both sides. Breathing was becoming a hard task, and so did hearing anything that was being said to you.

“Honey” You heard Steve as soon as you felt his warm hand on your shoulder. You looked up to him, a haze in your eyes.”Are you okay?” He halved screamed into your ear, his breath lingering into your skin.

You pull him closer for a moment, afraid he might not listen.

“Too many people.” You’re not sure if he could hear you, or what he could do. You try even harder to relax your breathing, to stop looking around. But it all ends when you feel his fingers intertwined with yours.

You look up to him, he just nods to Robin who nods back at him, and he starts walking to the back of the pit, the lights seem to not burn anymore, and the people are few and far between. He just stays there, with you for a second before he opens his mouth. Looking at you and the way your eyes are scanning every single person in the room, looking for something that you don’t know what is.

“Honey?” There it is again, the soft worried Steve voice, his attention only on you.

You look back at him, as you feel his hand grabbing yours thighter. He’s the only thing you’re looking at now.

“Do you need to get out? Get some air?” He knows you won’t actually answer, but takes the nodding that you do as a clear enough sign.

The creaking of the door and the friendly doorman brings you back down to earth, and so does the wind hitting your chest.

“Better?” He asks again, desperate for some sort of confirmation from you.

“Yeah, I just- Sorry…” You sort of mumble, more to yourself than to him.

In that moment you realise that your hands are still tangled together, and the blood rushes to your cheeks as soon as you look down at them. They fit together so naturally, you think. Like a missing piece of a puzzle.

“Don’t apologize. We’ll stay here as long as you need, ‘s fine.” You instinctively bite the inside of your cheek as you nod at him, a soft smile, a thank you of sort appears on your face, as does a grin on his.

Without letting go of you, he reaches down into his jeans front pocket, and takes out a box of Camel, offering you to take one. Smoking might be bad for your lungs, but it does help with regulating your breathing, and he knew that’s just what you needed, and honestly, you were craving one, so you nodded again, searching for a lighter with the cigarette already in between your lips. Before you even find it, you feel the warmth of fire close to your mouth, and you just inhale the smoke.

“Thank you…” He shakes his head, as he inches closer to you, the same strand of hair falling between his eyes again.

“There’s no need for that.” He whispers, his words just as sweet as he is. His free hand pushes your hair behind your ear, and falls slowly to the nape of your neck, letting it rest there for just a second, his thumb stroking the end of your jaw in soft short motions, holding you up so you look at him, your doe eyes looking deep into his, he swears he could melt right here and there. You were driving him crazier everyday with the way you looked at him.

For a second there, he thinks you might even love him back.

“I just don’t know why I get like that, when there’s so many… I dunno” you scoff off, as your shoulders shrug ever so slightly, enough for him to catch, enough for your hair to move again and let the smell of your shampoo reach him. “I’m okay, don’t worry.” You say with a smile.

He looks deep into his eyes, looking for any sign that you might be lying, he doesn’t find any. And he likes to think that you’re better because of him. It's funny how right he is.

“We can stay here as long as you need.” Steve reasures you once again, getting closer again. Your body and his only a push away from touching.

“You’re always so sweet to me.” You’re thinking out loud now, you bite your lower lip as soon as you see him mask his blush with a soft chuckle, as his grin deepens, and you stop for a second to look at his pretty pink lips. You even let yourself imagine what it would be like to kiss them.

Steve debates what to do next. He knows you’re not lying, he knows that you’re being sincere and truthful. He can tell by the way your eyes are half lidded, looking at him like you’re in the safest space possible -even when you’re actually outside downtown Indianapolis- so in the end, he just wraps his arms around you. And he holds you even tighter when he feels you wrapping your arms behind his neck, and the way you stand on your tiptoes so you can hold him closer, your leg between his, his hands playing with the ends of your air. He breathes you in, intoxicating himself with the way you smell. You’re worried he’ll feel just how fast your heart is beating. But you’re too occupied smiling deeply and sincerely.

He feels safe.

Yes, there might be some butterflies, but they’re not nervous ones, it’s all just calmness. Love even.

He ends up paying for your drinks, and you spend the night dancing at the back of the pit with Robin and eventually Eddie joins you. You laugh, and dance around, sing the songs off key with Robin making Eddie laugh as he joins you. Admiring the way Steve covers his face embarrassed, that the idiots causing the whole club to cheer you on as you move are indeed his friends. But what makes you have the deepest smile is everytime you catch Steve eyes, thay always seem to be on you. He even dances with you a couple times when Robin or Eddie go away to the bathroom or to grab more drinks.

You don’t care because he is here and everything feels right.

But the night was coming to an end, and you still were buzzing with energy.

Even outside, where the cold wind wrapped around you you were still singing and dancing until Eddie started speaking.

“Steve, can I take your car?” He asks, and it makes you all turn around and look at him.

“What for? Where’s your van?” Robin followed, her voice raised a little too loud.

“I think Gareth might have taken it.” Eddie explains as he points at his van driving away, with Gareth in the driver’s seat. You can’t help but laugh a bit, stopping slowly as you feel Steve laying his arm around your shoulders, you let yourself think of it as an embrace. Or maybe he was just cold.

“Who’ll drive me home?” He mutters as he searches for the keys in his pocket.

“I’ll drive you.” You say, looking up at him. Steve’s eyes shine brighter, with that look. A look you have only seen in him once before, long ago.

“Sure.” He mutters, a grin in his face. “You won’t kill us?” He jokes as he pushes some hair away from your face with the hand that rests right where your neck meets your shoulder.

“I’ll come with you” Robin mumbles as she approaches Eddie, her eyebrows raised.

Steve knows that if Robin could talk to him now she would plead with him, to actually make a move. He decides that she’s right.

“Alright, let’s get home.” Eddie winks at you, a look that begs you to be careful. He grabs the keys that Steve throws him, the jingle of them making you realise that this was actually happening.

You blame it on the alcohol. But you have to admit that holding his waist was something you have wanted to do for so long its feels fucking angelic once your fingers touch his skin, under his shirt, right above the seam of his jeans.

Steve chews gum when he’s nervous, and the minty flavor, or maybe the amount of beer inside his system makes him say the most stupid thing ever.

“Do you like gum?”

“Yeah”

“You want some?”

“Sure.” You stop, expecting him to reach down his pocket and grab the small packet. You part your lips open expecting him to do so. Instead, Steve in a bold move opens his mouth and pulls you closer.

Before you can even process what he’s doing, his thumb reaches your jaw, opening your mouth a bit more for you, and you see the way his tongue places the minty gum on your lips. You had closed your eyes. Thinking he was going to do something else.

It had made you nervous and weak all the same. You can’t help but think, as you take a few steps, your hand holding even tighter onto him, that was one of the hottest things you had ever seen.

It got better.

After a few steps he talked again. His voice sultier, deeper. His eyes somehow were darker, but still looked like they were full of adoration for you.

“Does that gum still have some taste on it?”

“Yeah, minty” You manage to say.

“Can I have some?”

This time around, it's you who grabs him. And you can feel the way he smiles at that, and the way his fingers hold your face up again to meet him. This time it’s you who gives him the gum back.

Only, you place it between your lips, and it's his tongue that gets it.

In that moment you know, you’re fucked.

And so does he.

“Honey?” He asks as he sees you pulling into his street.

The whole drive back home had been exactly like the last time. Except this time the way he would caress your leg felt hungry for your touch back, and your fingers would end up intertwined, singing the songs that came into the radio, not really paying attention, all of it focused on the way he was playing with your fingers.

“Mmmh?”

“My car keys may have been chained to my house keys.” He admits, embarrassed, as he covers his face. You can’t help but look at him and laugh a bit.

“S’okay, you can sleepover.” He nods and you change directions.

And before you know it you’re already parked, and he’s already following you inside.

That’s when it hits you.

Steve is in your room.

Steve is sleeping over in your bed.

Steve had practically kissed you.

whatthehellisgoingon

You shake your head, not wanting to read too much into things that haven’t and might never happen.

“I uh… I’m going to change.” You whisper, a bit of shame could be felt on your words, and Steve just nodded, lost in the sight that was you in your room. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I… Usually just sleep with my boxers on.” That confession made you blush and bite your lower lip as you nodded. Not really knowing what to do or say.

So you just turned around, you took off your bra, tossing it on the floor before you took off the white tank you had. You reached for your sleep shirt. An old grey shirt that was way overdue to throw away, but it was long enough and soft enough that you felt it was perfect for sleeping in. So, Steve just enjoyed the show.

He stayed there, watching the way your body moved. He was the one that had his eyebrows raised, his chest racing and his cheeks flushed. He was lost in you. And you were painfully obvious that he was looking, maybe that’s why you take a bit longer to take off your tank top before putting on the gray shirt. Maybe that's why your heart skips a beat when you hear the sound of his belt hitting the ground at the same time that his jeans did. While you took your own jeans off, he took off his shirt.

You knew you had to turn around now.

And as you did you go lost in him.

Him standing there, in nothing but his black boxers, framing all of him. Him and his chest with some hair, trailing all the way down to his waistband. That was an image you probably would never be able to forget.

He took the first step. A soft grin appears in his lips once again. As he pushes the same flock of hair behind your ear, you can't help but tilt your head into his touch. He takes another step forwards, and just looks at you, deep into your eyes. You both chuckle, nervously at the situation, and like before, he holds you. Thight. Only this time, you can feel him against your leg. It makes you press your own legs together a bit more.

Once he lets go, you slide into the bed, and he closes the lights, following you closely.

“Is it okay if you hug me?” You ask.

“Mmh.” He’s at a loss for words.

He cuddles you, feeling you closer than ever before. And one of his hands gets lost into your thigh, right where your waistband meets your skin, tracing it. Softly. It drives you insane. Steve’s breathing into your hair, and you can feel how his breathing is fastening, just as much he can feel yours, by the way your stomach goes up and down. He can’t help himself anymore. He leaves a wet kiss on your neck.

That’s all it takes.

You turn around and you know you’re fucked. You can’t hold yourself anymore. You explote.

You kiss him.

The way his lips press against yours feels like he really wanted this, maybe even as much as you did. Your body pulls him closer, and his leg finds itself tangled in between yours. He’s lost in you and the way your mouth feels. He bites your lower lip, softly. And as soon as you feel the tug a soft whimper escapes your lips. Steve melts into you even more, his legs putting pressure in that spot between your legs that is already throbbing for him. Your hands find the back of his neck, and become buried into his hair. His soft chestnut hair. His hands begin to train up, inside your shirt. Holding your waist harder than before. Another moan escapes your kiss swollen lips, and he grunts in return.

He tries to memorise you, and the way you look like now. To him, you’re a goddess fallen from the sky, and he’s the lucky one.

He climbs above you, tracing kisses down your neck, as his hands travel up, up enough to meet your breast and press down, even carefully he’s strong enough and skilled enough to pinch your nipples, making them hard. And your legs wrap around him, and you can’t quite believe just how big he’s gotten just from kissing you.

His hands take off your shirt and as soon as he looks at you he’s a goner.

“Fuck, you’re beautifull honey.” He groans. A deep voice you’ve never heard from him.

It makes you pull him closer. And he starts to move, his cock and your clit being only separated by the small fabric between you both.

“Can I-” He cuts you off as he looks up at you, stopping the trail of kisses he wanted to finish on your left breast.

“You can do anything you want to me honey”

You can’t help yourself. The wetness patch only growing on your thong. You needed him, but you were so desperate to touch him, to see him.

You flipped him around, leaving him laid on your mattress, his hands up in shock. He’s surprised by you in the best way possible.

You were the one kissing him senseless now, as you grind on top of him. HE grew harder and stiffer with every time your clit pressed against him. His hands grabbed your ass in that moment, hard and burying his fingers as deep as he could. You wasted no time kissing every beauty mark that you could see, slowly going down his stomach, his breath shortening, sucking in and groaning your name in the most delicious way you have never heard anyone say it.

Your hands found the hem of his underwear and pulled it down. He was so big. His pink tip already wet with pre-cum, and it was all because and for you. Your eyes widened with desire, you had to taste him.

So you did.

It only took a lick for Steve to shiver, and that made nothing but turn you on even more. His hand had now started to press on your clit through the fabric. It didn’t matter, it felt too good.

So, as you looked deep into his eyes, you wrapped your lips around him, and you went down.

Steve had never been more desperate, the eye contact, you and your pretty doe eyes looking at him like he was the only thing in the world.

His fingers had pushed your thong to your side, and started messing around your entrance, it wasn’t until his waist flinched forward, making you swallow him whole, that he didn’t actually finger you.

But once he did, he couldn’t stop, and neither could you.

The way you moaned, with him still inside you, the way your waist moved, letting him get more aces into you, it drove him mad, he needed you, like really needed you.

“Steve, please” You begged.

That’s all it took.

His hands took off your thong and pulled you up, he kissed you deeply, his tongue getting lost with yours. Your soft lips fit perfectly with his, and the wetness of his cock still in them.

He was above you again. Three fingers in, your legs already up, he had you prepared you enough for him to enter, but anyway, when you felt the way his cock slided into you, your walls tensed up for a second, and you both moaned as soon as you felt each other.

“God, you feel so nice honey” He whispered into your ear before biting it.

Your legs wrapped around him, tightly, and your hands were on his back, pushing him deeper. He wanted to go slow, but seeing you so helpless, so needy for him, made him pick up the pace. With every thrust, your eyes rolled deeper into your head, your muscles relaxed, and your feet were pointed.

The warmth of his skin felt so good against yours you felt as if it would never be enough, even if you wanted to scream his name, you couldn’t. Everyone was sleeping. So you did the only thing you could.

“I’ve wanted you for so long Steve '' You whispered into his ears in between thrusts. You felt how his head hangs lower after that, his back arched so he could reach even lower. And when you thought he was as deep as he could, he placed an arm behind you, reaching that place that even you couldn’t.

“So have I honey.” He admitted before kissing you, a deep, wet kiss. Followed by many more repressed moans and loud groans. “I’m all yours.”

“I’m all yours” You repeated.

He grabbed your leg and pushed it up, he was so deep now you could feel him everywhere. You were lost in him. The way his hair bounced, the way his eyes looked at you, his lips swollen because he couldn’t and wouldn’t stop kissing you.

He was a goner. And so were you.

You hadn’t come this hard in so long.

You melted into eachothers arms.

You had a silent moment, where it was all soft kisses and caresses. You couldn’t quite believe that that had just happened.

Or how good it had been.

“I meant it.” You heard him whisper, his lips pressed against your ear.

“What?”

“I’m all yours.” He repeats. Leaving a kiss in your hair. “I’ve always been.”

“I mean it too.” You let him know, your nose brushing his, your fingers tangled with his. “I’ve liked you for so long, my love.”

He laughs a bit. Maybe it was the confession he had just got out of you, maybe it was because you had just called him my love.

“God, me too.” He finally admits, a weight being pulled away from his chest. “But I thought you had a thing for Eddie.”

“And I thought you still loved-” He shuts you up with a kiss.

“We broke up because I was falling for you.” He finally admits.

You can’t stop smiling or kissing.

You don’t think you ever will.

if you enjoyed it please leave a comment or reblog. i promise it makes a huge difference <3

requests are open

1K notes · View notes

obsessive-valentine · 1 month ago

Text

Forever and Always

Platonic Vampire Family + Fem!Reader

No real TW's in this one- just sick reader and reader not believing in stranger danger lol. Also !not proof read!

Based circa 1800’s, reader has caught the attention of a vampire who’s maternal instincts have been neglected after a tragic life as a living woman and empty one as a the living dead still without the daughter she longed for.

Readers age isn't specified -though implied her childhood has passed and is anywhere from adolescence even up to young adult, tried to keep it broad (but she does come across as naive and childish.) Wrote this bc mommy issues. I think it's getting a bit lengthy so I split this into 2 parts, I'll be slowly adding to part 2 and maybe be out soon if you guys like this kinda thing.

...

It's a small town, nestled in a valley and surrounded by forests of barren trees striped bare by the harsh winter. The clouds consistently created a grey overcast. It's cold all year around and wasn't uncommon to see people tip-toeing around the icy patches on the cobblestone streets.

Smoke from the small and squished townhouses further added to the murkiness in the air, mixing with the fog, but at least it added a sense of warmth when the winds blew it towards you. It never lasted long though before the cold begins to nip at your exposed nose and ears.

It was easy to feel like you were the only one who lived in this town. The streets are eerily quiet in the mornings when you'd walk in silence with your father to his shop in town. Even when you'd get into the town square, where most people could be found if they weren't working or at school, they are all on a mission and far too cold to stop and talk. The bitter winter seemed to seep into their blood as they pushed past each other, their footsteps rushed and faces buried in their coats. Then it was the same in the evenings when you'd walk back with your father, the streets quiet and cold, your father even more so. A thick fog would roll in, and lamp lighters would be up on ladders lighting the street lights, providing some comfort but not much to the wandering mind of a young girl.

See, Father wasn't a particularly bad parent, he comes off as detached and cold only because he's so busy. Emotionally neglectful? sure. But you are one of many siblings, he has to neglect you emotionally so that he can properly focus on caring for you physically. At least that's what mother always says. She's not much better though. You wonder why they had kids if they seem so apathetic and busy all the time, it obviously doesn't bring them much joy. Had they once loved each other and were excited to raise a family? Why did it change? You don't know nor never would, they don't appreciate talking about heavy topics.

...

You were excited to help father in his shop when he proposed it to mother "I can take the girl with me if she doesn't cause trouble. And the boy will be off with his older brother in school come next month. You continue teaching the older two girls their duties" He was trying to relieve pressure from mother, as she had to do house chores and teach your sisters the duties and tasks such as weaving and sewing. It was reluctant, he didn't believe in wasting money and sending you -just a girl- to school, but this argument kept rising up and he supposed he could use some help in the shop.

You thought this was an opportunity to get close to your father but he still didn't have the time to nurture you, you couldn't help but feel disappointed and even abandoned but never would resent your father due to childish innocence you still had yet to grow out of. You clung to any praise he gave you or any time he'd nurture to your necessitates, like buying you gloves on the walk to work when you wouldn't stop rubbing your hands for warmth.

...

The first time you had seen the woman, who would change your life, it was like any other. You had survived the walk to your father's store, careful not to slip on hidden ice and peaking into expensive shop windows when your father wasn't looking. He owned a general mercantile store, items ranged anywhere from tools to odd collectables to food. It wasn't uncommon for people to come in and ask for a specific item and your father would make some deals and acquire the item that wasn't available anywhere else and have it in the store for them the next week. Many people also came in to trade items for money, you'd watch from a distance as they haggled the price both the customer and father would fight over a single penny, it's pretty funny.

You sat on the large window sill at the back of the shop, face pressed up against the cold glass watching the busy people rush around. They looked like dragons with the cold breath coming from their noses and mouths. You'd just helped your father set up the shop ready to open, forced to clean the floors and surfaces and he finished some checks and brought out a few items from the back that he mended to be ready to sell.

You'd just finished wiping away the condensation on the windows, and were given the approval to sit down for a bit "Good job, go sit down out the way, I'll call for you in a bit".

People came and went hearing the bell ding from the door opening and watching people ponder on items as father busied himself with repairing an item to sell or counting money and paperwork. Looking back out the window you locked eyes with HER- a beautiful woman, in a pretty dress and lush winter coat. She smiled with a warmth this town hadn't seen in too long, you felt a connection instantly, you longed to talk to her, but brushed it off believing you only felt that way because of the abnormal warmth she radiated.

You had to stop yourself from gawking at her expensive clothing and lush long hair that was as dark as coal and curled to frame her face perfectly. Mustering up a genuine smile you raised your hand to wave subtly. You saw her eyes flicker to the store's main windows observing the variety before seemingly deciding to come look inside the shop. Straightening up in your seat you watched her cross the cobbled street towards the shop, you shuffled up closer towards the desk your father worked at, careful to stay out of his way but curious of the woman about to enter the shop.

The deep red of her dress was even more entrancing up close and her jewellery proudly sparkled. Father greeted her and helped her find some watches kept away in an expensive glass case lined with velvet padding. "Oh, my son would love one of these" She inspected them closer making light conversation with Father. Until she lifted her eyes over to you, spotting you almost instantly watching her from behind some storage shelves.

"Seems we have another expert ready to help. Come here." she gestured with an encouraging hand, you'd been caught off guard so your step stuttered as you walked closer -checking it was okay with your father with a glance.

"Come on" she egged. You walked up to the counter where the case of watches lay on display "Could you help me pick one out? I just can't decide" she sighed but kept a gentle warm smile. Something about her voice or eyes made you hesitate, ever so slightly unsettling, you'd never been nervous to help a customer. It was an odd feeling but her presence was so genuine and even maternal that you pushed aside the trepidations and nodded, unable to speak through your tied tongue.

Father left you both to it as he continued with work and serving the few customers who came in while you both talked. "My son is a serious young man, always deep in thought. He's needed a new watch for some time now, which one do you think will suit him?" she placed two watches she'd picked from the case, in front of you.

You stumbled over your words "I'm not sure... I mean I don't know much about watches" Your eyes darted between the two beautiful watches with tiny engravings -how did they make such small details on such a hard surface? You wondered. One gold and the other silver, they are just as beautiful as each other.

She lightly laughed, you could have sworn her eyes twinkled "Don't be modest. Beauty recognises beauty, and you are quite beautiful" Your face feels hot from the compliment and partly the pressure of picking such an expensive item for her.

"I suppose if he's more of a serious soul... he'd appreciate this one more?" you'd decided on the silver one, more sleek and serious. You didn't dare to touch it and dirty it so you just gestured.

She hummed, taking a closer look. You stood fiddling with your clothes unsure if it was the right choice, until she spoke- "You are a smart girl, this one is much more suitable." she agrees putting the gold one back in the box

Since finding your voice once again you decided to ask her about certain pieces of jewellery she wore as she counted her money. She gladly engaged in conversation, even passing you a few rings or bracelets that she wore so you could look at them closer as she talked about the stones or where she got them from. You insited you shouldn't touch them as she passed a bracelet to you "I've been cleaning this morning, my hands must be dirty I shouldn't touch such a valuable thing like this." She took your hand and manually placed it in your palm "It's no bother, I insist" she encouraged.

She travels a lot, and most of what she was wearing being from a different country. You wondered how she could travel so many places in such little time, and how rich she had to be to do that, you don't think you've ever left this town. Before you could ask about her travels, being so deeply invested in talking to her you'd leaned on the front desk, ready on your elbows and tip-toes for the next story- that wouldn't come. "-Are you helping the lady or just standing around?" your father scolded one he saw you chatting to the woman unrelated to selling her the watch "Get on with your chores before lunch time comes around" he ordered.

You turned to the woman with a sheepish and apologetic smile before hurrying away further into the store. She seemed a bit agitated by being interrupted by your father but quickly covered it up to finish the transaction.

"You've picked that one ma'am?" Your Father chimed in, eager for the money coming his way.

"Yes" she handed him the watch "Your daughter has quite the eye, it's a lovely piece" he hummed back in acknowledgement but not necessarily agreeing, he counted the cash and bagged the item. She wanted to scowl at his attitude but kept composed, she looked over her shoulder for any sign of you, she could hear the broom being swept over the wood-planked floor but couldn't see you. She reluctantly left with only the silver watch.

...

You saw the woman frequently after that first meeting. It was as if she appeared whenever you needed her most—without being summoned, always close by, like a shadow lingering just beyond the edges of your world.

Sometimes you'd bump into her on your way to the bakery when Father let you have a lunch break with a few coins clutched in your hand, and she'd fall into step beside you- like you'd just summoned her. She'd ask about you, but you were always eager to get to the stories that you'd rush through formalities, she'd gladly continue her stories of the world beyond this valley.She would then buy you a pastry or two, ones you couldn't possibly get with just the few coins in your hand. You'd pocket the extra coins and have a growing stash in your pillow back at home.

and walk you back to the shop "Go on, dear," she’d say, gently nudging you back toward the door. "I’ll see you again soon." Before disappearing into the crowd.

On other days, when you saw her outside the shop from your window, you felt an irresistible pull. Her presence became a secret thrill, something just for you, a small rebellion against the order your father imposed. Carefully, you’d slip out the back door, the heavy wooden frame creaking in protest, but not enough to alert anyone.

You’d run out, your heart racing as you approached her, trying not to draw too much attention from anyone passing by. She always noticed you before you could speak, turning toward you with that warm, knowing smile.

"Sneaking out again, are we?" she’d tease softly, her voice almost conspiratorial. "What would your father say?"

But there was never any judgment in her words, just a hint of amusement and affection.

At some point, you had the sense to ask her name after realising she'd been using your name but you, in all your excitement, had yet to use hers. "Lavinia Beaumont, dear" she couldn't help but laugh a little, she was beginning to believe you'd never ask.

You blinked, the name rolling over your tongue in your mind, everything about her seems rich and beautiful, you smiled.

"Lavinia Beaumont... it sounds like royalty," you said with a playful glint in your eyes. "Are you secretly a royal? I promise I won't tell anyone." you continued half joking.

"Not quite" She smiled, before you could question further you had to leave her for the day to return to the shop.

...

It was yet another working day for you and your father, or it should have been. Lavinia had yet to see you, she couldn't even sense your presence. not wanting to believe it however she left the carriage and walked further into the streets of town.

Subtly she went out of her way to walk in front of the mercantile store you were usually found in if not nearby. Her eyes darted at each of the windows, looking inside for the sight of you sweeping, cleaning, sitting at a window or sneaking around to fiddle and poke at the new stock much to your father's dismay. But the only person in the store is your father.

She walked the town a little longer, hoping anyone of her senses would pick up on you. There was nothing and she returned home.

Lavinia did this twice more, coming in the mornings, seeing no sign of you and coming up with excuses, but it never helped to unease.

On the 3rd day, she gave up waiting and walked into the mercantile store. The bell rang above her head "Back again I see, how can I help?" your father spoke straightening up from his position at the front desk where he'd previously been writing- presumably taking stock or counting money.

"A pleasure to meet you again, I'm curious about what other beautiful pieces you have, My son was most taken with it." Lavinia replied, eyeing the glass cases, none of this jewellery she'd wear, her taste is far more expensive but she had to sell the narrative. Your father jumped at the opportunity to sell yet another pricey piece "Ah! Madam, If you’ll allow me a moment, I believe I have something that might catch your eye."" he disappeared into a back room and emerged with an envelope. "I've just had these in, I haven't had time to put onto the shelves yet but it might be of interest to you, fine work indeed." He pulled out some fine chains of silver and gold, with little stones or pearls decorating them. Lavinia couldn't care less about the jewellery but played along nevertheless.

"Beautiful" she inspected "I had thought the young lady who assisted me last time might be here today. She had such an eye for these things. Where might she be? I'm sure she could pick the finest one for me" She began to prod but making as though the thought had only just occurred to her, asked in a light, conversational tone.

"Oh, I'm sorry to disappoint but my daughter has become increasingly ill the past few days. And the physicians believe it to be consumption, but they are hopeful she'll get well soon as we caught it early" Your father replied, he fidgeted and shifted his weight continuously.

Lavinia had long set down the jewellery and stood listening intensely. She dreaded it but had suspected something greater was at play- "I'm so sorry to hear that, such a sweet girl shouldn't go through that" She was secretly seething, her girl is in pain somewhere and Lavinia- for the first time in a long time- was helpless. He cleared his throat awkwardly "Yes, I'm sure it will all smooth out"

...

"The girl is sick! You know better than anyone she won't overcome this, not with those treatments-" Lavinia seethed at the thought pacing her husband's study, where he sat once writing at his desk but now interrupted and pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

He stood up ready for this argument to end, this girl had caused a lot of ruckus in the house since Lavinia had begun talking about you and he's about fed up "-We are surrounded by death, I thought you had come to terms with that long ago. Plenty of good people have died early in life and will continue to be that way, death doesn't discriminate. She's just one of an incomprehensible amount of average people experiencing an average tragedy" In some sick way he's ready for your death, so his wife overcomes this unhealthy attachment to some average mortal girl.

"But she could be more than that. She's more than that to me. And you know what I mean by that, you've been denying me this instinct for decades and you're cruel for that." Lavinia had to step away from the deeply unsettling conversation, turning her back to storm out but turning around last minute before slamming the door "I am the very thing that holds this family together and you'd have nothing without me" her teeth are gritted, her voice low and damning. She's never had any great quarrels with her husband, maybe a healthy few in the past few centuries but nothing that could make her question his love for her or hers for his.

...

"Father, a word?" Lucien, one of the sons of Lavinia and Soren, entered the study where hours had passed of Soren thinking over the conversation. Soren gave a brief nod busy putting on his coat and finding his gloves that he always seems to misplace, he supposed it's been a while since he's needed them to go out anywhere. "You can't be serious" Lucien scowled, now noticing what his father is doing.

"Get on with it boy" Soren scolds Lucien's disrespectful tone. "NO! You're going to get the girl, aren't you!? You're giving into Mother because of one little quarrel? You're putting our whole family, everything we've built at risk for an average mortal girl?" Lucien scolded, his face twisting in a mix of emotions, unable to grasp the concept.

Soren ignored Lucien's tone, whereas if it was any other day he wouldn't stand it -he's simply too tired to argue more "This is something I should have seen coming a long time ago. This isn't a passing interest or quarrel, you should know your Mother better than that. She's the reason we exist in any form of peace, the family would be much worse off without this gir-" Lucien interupts with "- We've done fine without this mortal so far!"

Soren glares at his son "I'd appreciate if you don't interrupt, that is childish. I don't expect you to understand your mother's need for her as you have never seen her broken" Soren pauses to grab his gloves out of their hiding place.

He continues "You're right, we've got this far without her. But this denial- this gap in your mother's life has been building in the background for centuries. She sees potential -so I suppose I do to" Before Lucien can argue more Soren leaves the room headed for the front door.

He passes the younger of the two, Dorian, standing close by "It's lousy to eavesdrop, Dorian" The boy grins in response, clearly curious about this change and more accepting than his brother.

...

You believed the reaper had come for your soul when you saw that man standing in the doorframe to your room. It had to be the dead of night, there was no sound to be heard or light to be seen aside from the dim glow of the moon. Your candle on the nightstand had long been burned out.

Still dazed and lethargic from sleep and sickness you blinked a few times at the unmoving figure which studied you, you then took a deep breath in, which rattled in your chest readying yourself for what monster you might face.

Courage is mustered and you manage to ask "Who are you?" quietly and sounding sickly but the monster in the shadow seems to hear you fine. "Soren. Your father sent me -I'm here to help, I'll have you healed by morning" his voice is monotone, but at least not one of a story book monster you'd expected.

You felt bitterness at the mention of your father's name, once you had given him every excuse in the book for why he didn't show his love for you. But the past few days had been rough, he wouldn't even look at you, unsure what to do with you, sending doctors and medicine but not the comfort you longed for. You just wanted reassurance, just love.

Soren steps into the room a bit further, the wallpaper a childish floral pattern. You had trinkets strewn about, papers of scribbled writing and doodles on the little oak wood desk, a doll here and there that you couldn't part with once your childhood had finished.

He looked back at you, pale and exhausted. Your brows furrowed while you tried to make sense of the man. He felt an unexplainable emotion, maybe closer to remorse but more complex than that. The innocence he hadn't seen in a long time, you'd struggle for a while once you were turned - it happened with both his sons and wife. Maybe you'd wish you had died here on this bed, maybe you'd fill the house with anger or maybe sorrow.

But in the grand scheme of things that period will be not even a fraction of your greatest purpose. He sucked in a deep breath out of habit not need, he pushed back the hesitation. For a greater purpose. For Lavinia. For the sake of his family, which you will become.

In cold resolve he walked towards the bed, you'd live on in a way, he wasn't lying. Your true death would be wasted potential, you'd learn to be content with undead like he once had to.

"How?" you questioned he blinked back into reality "How can you heal me in mere hours?" It's a reasonable question, but an incredibly complex answer he didn't have time for.

"You just have to trust me" He replied simply "We have to go to my office first, you'll be in your bed, healthy, come morning. I promise" He continued, seeing your weariness.

Your hand lifted and a small finger stuck out "Promise?" you asked. He recognised the childish gesture and returned it with his gloved hand, hiding how unaturally cold he is "I promise" he repeated back. He wasn't really lying, you would be saved from consumption in a couple of hours and sleeping in your bed -be it in your new home.

He lifted you into his arms, one under your legs and the other around your back as you rest your head on his chest. You both left the room then house without another word never to be seen by the sleepy, moody little town ever again.

You fell asleep -the last deep sleep you'd experience as a living being. He was careful not to wake you on the ride home.

...

Lavinia now had found out what was happening after Dorian ran to tell her the news -ever loyal to his mother. "Fathers left to get the girl" he gently told her as he stuck his head through the crack of the door.

Lavinia straightened up from her seat where she sat embroidering to pass the time "You don't mean it? When did he leave?" she haphazardly dropped the items on a side table and rushed past him.

"Not long ago" Dorian followed after his mother "How could this be?" she more so muttered to herself but Dorian replied anyways "A change of heart I suppose" Dorian was quite amused by it all, more from shock not meaning to be insensitive. Its rare that something of interest or chaotic happens in the house that he cant helped but get worked up a bit.

Lavinia paced the entryway waiting for Soren to return, hopefully with you. Dorian sat on the staircase a bit further back keeping his mother company while Lucien sulked in his personal study, wanting nothing more to do with this mess.

The carriage and hooves could be heard on the gravel path leading to the house. Lavinia couldn't wait any longer and opened the door welcoming in a cold draft as she stepped outside to watch the carriage come into sight.

And there you were in Soren's arms, out cold, but looking so peaceful. He stepped down onto the gravel and Lavinia almost aggressively snatched you from his hold.

Instead, she gently took you, not to wake you. Seeing you up close was a shock for her, only remembering you as that lively town girl. Not the sickly pale, exhausted and wasting girl consumed by sickness.

"Oh my baby" she whispered brushing the hair away from your fevered face, then clutching you closer, cradling you like one would a baby. For a fleeting moment, her eyes met with Soren -her hand briefly brushed over the side of his face, a quick gesture of appreciation. He stood unmoving and unreadable but allowed the touch and connection.

She then rushed you inside before the frost of the night woke you up, her footsteps hurried but careful. Her head crowded with one thought only; 'you're safe with me now, forever and always'

#yandere #yandere vampire #+reader #platonic #vampire family

224 notes · View notes

comingdownwithme · 1 month ago

Note

Mind giving us some headcanons for the woods brothers? Please and thank you

IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ASK OUGHH LOVE THE WOODS BROTHERS

Anyways, changed a few things about them and their story (a lot for Liu), so uhh I hope you don't mind all that ousgdhdhdh

Jeff the Killer

The Woods- like all families- weren't perfect, but they all tried their best despite the fact. They played their roles, attended church every Sunday when they could, and most importantly, they loved each other, and Jeffery Hodak Woods wouldn't have changed a thing.

Still, fate doesn't bend to what we want, does it?

After drastic changes and loss after crushing loss had driven the eldest Woods son to madness, Jeff wondered if those sermons truly meant anything when he damned himself to hell the moment he crawled out of the new house he was supposed to call home and decided that three men were about to pay for what they did.

Struggled with Intrusive thoughts his whole life, and though his parents meant well, being raised thinking that every awful thought was a product of the devil himself left Jeff to internalise a few things.

Speaking of internalising a few things! Internalised homophobia! Being raised in a religious, conservative household in the early 2000s is gonna do that to you lmao

He's got a Southern accent. After reading one fanfic I literally can't hear Jeff with anything else and it's a curse I must bear alone </3

Even before the incident, he's always had a bit of a gummy smile, his ruined cheeks just made his grin wider which emphasised it more.

Smoker since he was a teen, though his parents never knew that. He vaguely smells of tobacco and iron.

Is a damn good cook and huntsr. He learned the former from his mom alongside Liu, and learned the latter from his dad, but after the incident (and the fact he's basically homeless), he doesn't cook unless he truly has to due to his Pyrophobia. The only fire he can tolerate are from his lighter.

He does still use his hunting skills though, both for his targets and for, y'know, food if he's some place rural. He's kinda gross and feral though, so when desperate times call for desperate measures, well, it's not the first time he's eaten roadkill.

His burn scars are mainly isolated to his left side, though they stretch a little past half of his back.

Paints his nails black when he can. His nails and his knife are the only two things he consistently takes care of lmao

Targets anyone. He knows most people will be missed, and he doesn't want to suffer with his grief alone.

Gave himself that sick Glasgow smile when he was facing an especially bad period of grief, and since he wasn't raised in the most emotionally open household, he wasn't equipped to handle his own feelings. The end product was rough and jagged from the pain, but at least he could still smile all pretty like his mom told him to.

Jeff woke up surrounded by fire, unable to scream amidst the rubble and smoke as it threatened to suffocate him. Sometimes, when he sleeps, he relives that moment, leading him to be terrified of sleeping. He attempts to solve this by cutting off the lids of his eyes, but he pussied out before he could finish the job, leaving himself half-blind when his fucked eye dried up.

I HAVE... SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT JEFF BEING RAISED IN A RELIGIOUS HOUSEHOLD AND GENUINELY BELIEVING HE WAS POSSESSED OR TARGETED BY THE DEVIL AT A YOUNG AGE... IMAGINE, WAKING UP IN UNIMAGINABLE PAIN AS FIRE FLOODS YOUR VISION, AND THINKING THAT "This is it. I really am damned to hell."

IMAGINE CRAWLING OUT OF THAT OUT OF SHEER FORCE OF WILL, AND AS YOU LOOK UPON THE GOLDEN FLAMES THAT SPROUT FROM YOUR HOME, BELIEVING THAT YOU'RE NOT THE SAME PERSON YOU WERE, AND THAT YOU'RE A DEMON PARADING IN DEFORMED, HUMAN FLESH

THAT THE FIRE HAD REVEALED WHO YOU REALLY WERE ALL ALONG, AND THAT THERE'S NOTHING MORE YOU COULD DO BUT SUCCUMB

Liu Woods

Growing up, Liu had always been close to his older brother. He could rely on him, and Jeff, in turn, could always rely on Liu, though the younger of the two always knew that his older brother could never truly be vulnerable with him, nor could he compare to just how much Jeff had done for him growing up.

One day though, a while after they've moved, a fresh start for a new life, Liu takes the chance to protect his older brother just as he had done for him, though he'd come to regret that choice when- while in juvenile detention- Liu finds out that his home was gone, alongside his parents, and at the center of it all was the brother he tried to protect.

With the loss of his parents, Liu went around in different foster homes, though he never truly felt like he was part of their families growing up.

As he grew up, he managed to graduate and become a detective, both to help people amidst a growing amount of murders and missing persons cases, and to find and hunt down Jeff.

He'd rather die than admit it, but he does miss Jeff, and he could feel an awful, sinking feeling within him at the thought of hurting him. In the end though, his morality wins over

When he first met his brother in person, Liu recognised Jeff immediately. Jeff, however, did not. Liu was overpowered, and it was only until he had already carved through Liu's cheek did Jeff realise what he had just done. The doctors say that Liu shouldn't have survived then with how much blood he had lost, but thankfully, someone was there to help. Though when the paramedics came, all they found was Liu, alone and unconscious.

Hates the smell of tobacco.

His southern accent isn't as noticeable as Jeff's, but it's more obvious in the way he says certain words or when he's angry.

Has intrusive thoughts, though he's more capable of dealing with them compared to a certain someone. Doesn't make them easier to deal with though, and that doesn't make the guilt he suffers through any less of a burden, especially as an officer of the law.

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #homicidal liu #asks #jeffery woods #liu woods #headcanons #Randy Keith and Troy were the ones who burned the Woods home btw #they wanted to pull a “harmless” prank to get back at Jeff for cutting ties with them by burning their dad's car #but the fire spread and they ran off in a panic when they realised what they’ve done

277 notes · View notes

unholybacon355 · 1 month ago

Text

Kinktober Day 20 - Giselle x M! Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

Apparently the meeting was going on like shit, and that had you stressed as fuck. This is the third cigarette you have smoked during this break and has been not more than ten minutes, you have to calm down if you don’t want to smoke the entire cigarette pack by the end of the break.

“OMG I Need a cigarette so bad.” The words of your coworker Giselle coming to the rooftop terrace interrupted your thoughts. “They aren’t doing any shit to make this better.” Apparently she was as mad as you with the current situation. “Do you have a lighter? I think I lost mine.”

You just took another big puff of the cigarette, before even trying to answer her. But Giselle wasn't here to wait, she already was so stressed and didn't need another thing to make her day worse, even if it was to wait a few seconds for your asner.

Leaning on toward you she uses the cigarette you have between your lips to light her’s. The view you have during the few seconds that take light the cigarette is wonderful.. Giselle is beautiful, that’s out of discussion, but wasn’t her face what you were looking at. She was wearing the most revealing outfit she could according to the dress code, to make her cleavage look the most juicy and delicious she could. If you didn't know her tits so well you would think her nipples were at the edge of showing.

“Take a picture. It lasts longer, so you don’t have to stare at my tits like a pervert.”

“If you weren’t showing them around I couldn’t stare at them.” You took another puff and blows the smoke through your nose. “And I already have tons of photos of your tits. You send me some of those.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining. I can´t stop fucking you if you want.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?

“Daaaah of course I have one. But he doesn't work here and I need a way to take out the stress. ”Giselle blows smoke from her mouth before continuing talking. “This meeting is driving me crazy. I wish we had more time, this break isn’t even worth it to take lunch.”

“It is what it is. I guess no one is eating till this shit ends.” You said, shrugging your shoulders. “At least I can look at your tits. That’s something.”

“Eeew pervert.” Giselle said with fake disgust on her face. “Wanna suck them while I jerk you off? I guess we have enough time. You never last longer.”

“Here? Sure, so anyone can see us.” You throw the cigarette to the trash and attempt to take another from the pack.

“Coward, we are on floor ten. Come here.” Giselle says, already opening the first button of her blouse and taking out her tits. Her big brown nipples come out to say hello. You give up with the new cigarette and instead unzip your pants to take out just your already semi erected dick.You klean against the wall and let Giselle put her tits on your face while she grabs your shaft. Really need to fuck me after this meeting.”

You can’t answer that because your mouth is already busy sucking Giselle’s right nipple, and your hand is rolling the other to make it hard too. For their part Giselle’s hand is working with precision on your shaft, beating your meat as she were shaking a bottle of ketchup. Clearly you're the one putting the sausage on the hot dog today.

“Are you swallowing?” You say taking her nipple out of your mouth to change to suck the other.

“No way, I’m just jerking you off.” She quickens her pace as if she were warning you to not mess with her. “After work maybe. There is a new love hotel, we should visit it.”

“Sounds good. “ Now you’re licking her nipples shifting between right and left, while your hands are squeezing her tits.

Giselle is doing her best to not moan, because your tongue isn’t giving her an easy time. Your mouth and her tits know each other well, and apparently you know how to suck Giselle’s nipples better than her boyfriend. For your part you don’t need to worry about you making noises because you have a pair of juicy tiddies shuting your mouth.

“Easy boy. I can’t go back with a mark on my tiddies. “ But instead her hand is working faster on your shaft. Her fingers are gently pressing your meat and pumping you like if she were extracting oil from the ground. And like they know when the oil is about to pop out, Giselle knew you were about to cum.

She twists her wrist and points your tip far from her, preventing you from staining her clothes with your semen. Instead your load is going to stop to the ground of the rooftop, but Giselle doesn't stop moving her hands. Instead she milks you till the last drop before stopping.

“Mmmm Ain't swallowing any shit. You need to eat more pineapple.” She says after cleaning with her tongue some drops of your semen she has between her index and thumb.

“We can have a hawaiian pizza before I eat you out.” You say putting your shaft back on your pants.”

“God. If isn't were because I know you love fucking me I would say your taste is shit.” She answers you rolling her eyes and putting her tits inside her bra once again.

#giselle #easpa #uchinaga aeri #easpa smut #giselle smut #giselle x reader #gg smut #kpop smut #fanfic #kinktober 2024

205 notes · View notes

yandecifi · 19 days ago

Text

sex isn't about have to's

aizawa/reader

~4500 words

mild smut, angst, hurt/comfort

cw; implied rape/noncon, implied incest, implied child abuse

You've managed to avoid nights at the house by running the door at a local strip club. The bouncer you usually work with, Aizawa, is a sarcastic, unusually tall smoker. He's sweet, sweet enough to drive you home most nights — and to pick up on your subtleties.

“Hope all the girls are as hot as you.”

It’s twelve in the morning and your dress is short enough that you’ll flash everybody if you bend over. You don’t mind, though, because that’s kind of the idea; the all black, skin tight nature of your chosen work uniform is meant to draw attention to… well, the parts that matter.

You laugh sweetly as you scan the young man’s ID. Your coworker, Aizawa, looms behind you, eyeing up the crowd in front of the club and rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He’s one of the better bouncers you work with, if not your favorite — not only does he actually do his job when things get rowdy, but he doesn’t snitch on your rather immoral side hustle.

“Oh, trust me, they’re even better,” you say, passing the ID back with a flick of your fingers. You shift your weight so that your breasts squish together a little more. “Wanna come and tell me about it after?”

You flutter your lashes. Distant club music swims through your body. The guy grins and nods.

That’s gotta be at least forty bucks. Score.

You turn to flash Aizawa a little shit eating grin. He just shakes his head and takes a puff of his cigarette.

You don’t bother wearing perfume. Why would you when Aizawa’s always got smoke curling up from his lips and fingers? A year into this job and you can’t even scrub the scent out of your hair anymore. When you grumbled that you stink thanks to him, he just said you’re welcome and held out a cigarette, half-lidded eyes full of mirth.

He takes that dry approach to just about everything. Maybe it’s because he’s so much older than you, what with his inky, messily tied hair and rough stubble adorning his chin, but he doesn’t care about much aside from his paycheck and getting home. You’ve seen him take a punch to the face and just sigh with annoyance.

Still smiling up at your coworker, you ring up the next guy in line.

“Y’know, I think this is gonna be a good night, ‘Zawa.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You stay ‘till close?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice — oh, yeah, you’re good to go in — I’m here ‘till close, too. Think you could drive me home?”

“Uh-huh. Focus on the customers.”

“Oops.” You whip around to see an older man holding out his credit. You take it with a laugh. “Sorry, sir. I’d make it up to you with a kiss, but you’ll get plenty of that inside.”

“Ha! Didn’t expect the service to start out here. I’m paying for all five of us, by the way.”

“Of course.”

You blow a kiss at the men as they pass you, their loud laughter ensuing. Aizawa blows smoke into your face. You cough and smack his arm.

The monotony of greeting and ringing up, of flirting and scanning, continues. This is how most of your weekend nights go; clock in at nine, run the door with Aizawa (usually) and dick around with him until three, and then give a blowjob or two before heading back to your apartment. It’s a pretty good gig for somebody like you — it doesn’t clash with your other jobs while still making enough cash.

The line dwindles as the night goes on. Eventually, ten minutes go by without a group, and you’re squatting and fixing the straps of the stilettos you’re wearing. An unlit cigarette hangs between your teeth. Goosebumps run up your arms from the night air as you chat about everything and nothing.

“No, yeah, I haven’t seen her since. Do you think she got fired?”

“Probably.” Aizawa’s leaning against the wall, lighter in hand. “People show up high all the time, but not that high.”

“Yeah. I swear to God she was turning blue.” The strap you’re fiddling with slips from your fingers for the — what, fifth time? You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Aizawa scoffs. “What’d I say? You’ve gotta —“

“You’ve gotta stop wearing the fucking heels, I know, I know!”

You’re kneeling now, knees scraping the concrete. Every time you jam the strap into the buckle it comes right out, no matter how much your nails wedge it in tight. You sigh and resign yourself to the floor.

“This is what I get for thrifting shitty shoes.”

Aizawa hums in agreement and yet squats next to you. He squints at your bratty straps. Then, he hands you his lighter.

“Try putting your leg out straight.”

“Okay,” you murmur, butt hitting the ground as you lean back on your hands and straighten your legs. “I’ll literally love you forever if you fix this.”

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with the strap, one hand wrapped around your calf to hold you still. Now that he’s this close, you realize you’ve never been this equal in height to him. Like, the guy is built like a damn tree. His jawline is pretty nice, too, and his hands are warm —

“Lighter.”

“Oh, yeah, here.”

Aizawa brings the lighter to your strap and fiddles some more with the flame. Then, he stands up, already reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, though he manages to catch himself.

“Oh my God,” you say, rolling your ankle around and around. “You actually fixed it. What the hell. And with the lighter, too.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts, holding out his free hand. You take it with a grin.

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He huffs. “Watch it.”

You laugh and the two of you separate, only to come together again — you lean towards him so that he can light the cigarette in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, breathing the smoke out.

“For making you stink,” he responds, breathing the smoke in.

The two of you loiter around the doors. They open occasionally, drunk men stumbling out to catch their Ubers. One guy vomits across the street. You look away with a grimace.

“Ew.”

“You should be used to this by now.”

“It’s still ew.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long have you worked here that you don’t care about that sorta stuff?”

Aizawa rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck and all the joints there. “I’ve been here three years. Had other places before, though.”

“Haha. Old.”

“I’m thirty-nine. I’ve seen you hook up with guys in their fifties.”

You shrug, pass your cigarette to Aizawa. “They pay better.”

“Mhm,” he hums, breathing the nicotine in. He’s kinda pretty when he smokes. It’s something about the veins in his hands. “Your parents don’t care that you’re doing this?”

Your face scrunches up. “My parents?”

“Yeah?”

“How old do you think I am, dude?”

“I don’t know. Eighteen?”

“Excuse you, I’m nineteen.”

He lets out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, sticking the cigarette back out at you. You take it and smoke, face hot.

“That’s basically the same thing,” he says, laughter dead.

“Yeah, whatever, jeez. They don’t care.”

Aizawa nods slowly. You watch your smoke dissolve in the air.

“Just be careful with it,” he says.

You sneak a glance at your coworker. He’s leaning against the wall of the strip club the both of you work at, arms crossed, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

You cough and look down at your stilettos. “Thanks.”

“Your dress is riding.”

“Fuck.” You bite on the cig and yank your dress down. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t, uh, mean to,” you mutter.

“I know.” He clears his throat and nods towards the door. “Your guy.”

Just like Aizawa says, the young guy from earlier is coming out the doors with his group of friends. They’re snickering as he says bye and splits off towards you. You’ve always been kind of a joke to everybody else, but Aizawa’s never laughed at you.

You get up with a stumble, adjust yourself. The guy reaches you and you snatch up his hand, snuff your cigarette out on your thigh with a sizzle. You can feel Aizawa’s eyes on you as you drag him around back.

Maybe it’s because you’ve done this since you were a kid, but sucking off guys like the one you’re kneeled in front of doesn’t make you feel or think as much as it probably should. It goes by fast, actually, which you don’t mention (you’ve learned that ruins the mood), a blur of motions and groaning and zippers. He gives you some cash and you’re alone, standing behind your workplace, wiping cum off of your face. It’s quiet except for the muffled music.

You pass Aizawa on your way to the breakroom. He’s checking the IDs of some guys — your responsibility, fuck — and spots you as you try to rush past. You’re wiping off the mess that’s your lip gloss, manicured fingertips running circles around your mouth. He gives you a once over, like he always does, but this time he lingers on your fingers.

The guy called you some names during it. They ring in your ears as you brush your teeth in the employee bathroom. Slut. Whore. Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You spit into the sink. You wash your face. You don’t recognize yourself without your makeup. You rummage through your ziploc baggie of product, reapply everything. You fix your hair. Your mouth never does feel clean.

Your lip wobbles. You keep running your fingers through your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror.

When you make it back to your post, the night air biting your calves, your coworker is alone at his usual spot on the wall. You stand next to him with your arms crossed. His voice comes out startlingly even compared to the voices in your head.

“You were in there a while.”

You nibble on your lip. “It got in my hair.”

He hums.

“Sorry for making you do my job,” you whisper.

“It’s boring out here. I don’t mind.” A car drives by. Somebody laughs loudly from inside the club.

“Okay.” You want to swallow but you spit instead. “Thanks.”

Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

It hits three in the morning and you’re giggling with Aizawa in his beat-up car. A cheap air freshener hangs from his mirror, twirling about as he drives you home, an empty energy drink rattling in one of his cupholders.

“Okay, um, would you kill your cat to end traffic?” You ask, smiling, watching him as he rolls his eyes from the driver's seat.

“You’ve asked me this already.”

“Just answer!”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He taps his cigarette ash out the window, his other hand guiding the steering wheel. “Anybody who says otherwise is a psychopath.”

“Okay, yeah, I agree. What if it was a dog?”

“Still no.”

“A fish?”

“Maybe.” He narrows his eyes. “Actually, yes.”

“Why?”

“You ask the weirdest questions.” He cracks a smile as he says that, shaking his head. “I guess I feel like the fish wouldn’t care as much.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He’s taking you into your neighborhood, now. It’s the kind of place that’s pretty obviously subsidized — it’s all one-story apartments, lawns that are either dead or severely overgrown, and potholes or cracked asphalt. Aizawa slows to a stop in front of your parents’ apartment, puts his hazards on. You should unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodnight with a giggle but you’re stuck.

The lights are still on. Your windows are glowing like eyes.

“Um.” You glance at Aizawa and he’s looking at you funny, fuck. Your fingers fumble with the seatbelt and undo it with a clack. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he says slowly. You need to get out of the car, you’re gripping the door handle, all you need to do is open it.

Your father is awake and he shouldn’t be.

You’ve done this hundreds of times, thousands, even. It’s not even the act that’s the worst part anymore. It's looking at your apartment, knowing what’s going to happen, and knowing you can’t do anything about it. No, no, not even — it isn’t even that, it’s that you won’t do anything about it. You will do nothing. You will walk in and let it happen.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You open your mouth to say something more — another apology, maybe — but you just let out something like a whimper. Your back hits the car seat, you smile, you frown, you shake your head and take a sharp breath. Open the fucking door.

Aizawa turns off his hazards and you’re rolling past your apartment. On and on the two of you go, further into your neighborhood, until you can’t see your windows anymore.

“Anywhere else you want me to drop you off?”

“Uh.” You can’t catch up to all your thoughts. You’ve always been slow; the hot, dumb bitch, the whore, the slut. “What?”

“Do you have a friend you can stay with or something?”

Friends? You? You dropped out of school over a year ago. All you ever do is work.

“I mean, no.”

He takes a moment to look at you instead of the road. His jaw clenches. He passes you his nearly done cigarette as he loops the roundabout at the end of your street.

“I have a couch.”

You look at him with wide eyes. You’re speechless for a second because nobody has ever, ever said to you what he’s saying.

“Uh, no, no. It’s okay. I can go home.”

He grips the steering wheel with both hands, squinting at the road. He seems to be rolling your words around on his tongue, considering, analyzing.

“You can,” he offers, “but you don’t have to.”

Your brows raise as you stare at the dash. Your lips pull into a frown. You know that, you’ve thought it every single time, but it’s so different hearing it out loud.

“Okay. I — yeah. Yeah.”

And he’s pulling out of your neighborhood. You smoke until you’re burning your fingertips. He merges onto the freeway.

Aizawa lives in a concrete apartment complex the next town over. He’s on the third floor, number three-hundred-fifty-three. You stand behind him, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Your hands wring behind your back. His keys jingle and jangle as he unlocks his front door. He’s got a chibi cat keychain.

The door swings open and bounces off a wall with a thud. The first thing you notice is that it smells like citrus air freshener mixed with weed and cigarettes. Aizawa closes the door behind you, toeing his shoes off.

“You can put your shoes over here.” He gestures to the little closet by his front door. It’s empty aside from a coat or two and a few pairs of shoes. You nod, unbuckle your stilettos. Aizawa grows in height as you step out of them.

You smile a little. “How’s the weather up there?”

He sighs. “Very funny.”

His vinyl floor is cold on your feet as you follow him further into the apartment. It’s simple: a kitchen, a living room with the couch you suppose you’ll be sleeping in, and then two doors that lead to his bathroom and bedroom, respectively.

It’s not as dirty as your place. His kitchen is kept tidy, the sink empty and dry, the counters littered with spices and cooking instruments but well taken care of. He doesn’t have trash piling up or mold lining the backsplash. He doesn’t have empty beer bottles sitting on his coffee table, just an ashtray. A weighted blanket is folded neatly on his couch.

“You have a nice place.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“No, seriously.” You set your bag on his coffee table while he hunts through the fridge. “I’ve got black mold, like, all over my bathroom ceiling.”

“That’s disgusting.”

You laugh, sit on the couch. “I know.”

Aizawa brings you a tall glass of water. You sip at it, tug down your dress. He averts his eyes.

“I’m going to go shower.” He undoes his hair as he speaks. It falls down to his shoulders, all fluffy and rather tangled. He rakes a hand through the blackest of it. “I have some leftovers in the fridge, help yourself. I have extra towels if you’d like to shower, too.” Then, he pauses, opens and shuts his mouth, his head cocked at you. You can’t help but lean back and giggle.

“What?”

“Are you fine with sleeping in that?”

You look down. He’s referring to your dress that, even now, you can’t help but fidget with.

“I can give you some of my pajamas.” Aizawa blinks tiredly at you. “If you want.”

Your face warms. “Uh, yeah. That’d be great. Thank you.”

Aizawa disappears into his bedroom and then returns a couple moments later with a large black t-shirt and some sweats. He hands them to you, all folded neatly on top of one another.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You’re really sweet.”

He heads towards the bathroom. “Just knock if you need anything.”

It feels weird to change in the middle of his living room so you go into his bedroom. You close the door, lock it just in case, and then lay his pajamas on the bed. It isn’t made, the comforter folded back like he just rolled out of it. He’s got shelves with a variety of books and knick-knacks on one wall, a desk with similar items against another. His closet is open, his wardrobe basically all black. How emo.

The pajamas are comically large on you. The t-shirt ends at your midthigh, the sleeves at your elbows. The collar goes off your shoulder. You had to tie the sweats’ drawstring tight around your hips so that they wouldn’t slip.

You slap your hands against your face. It’s definitely better than flashing him every five seconds, but why the fuck did you have to end up in his clothes?

You fold your dress up and exit the bedroom, the sound of the shower running filling the apartment. Sitting back down on the couch, you stuff your dress in your bag. You don’t have any makeup remover with you, but a wet paper towel or two from the kitchen works well enough at removing your makeup.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The shower runs and runs. You don’t have much else to do aside from sit on the couch and sip at your water.

And think.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

But what is sex, anyway? It’s the same as everything else if you think about it. You rub each other like you’re petting a dog, get close like you’re hugging, and kissing is kind of like eating. Nobody cares about holding hands or bumping into one another, so why isn’t it the same with sex? It’s just touching. It’s just touching until it’s over.

Aizawa emerges from the bathroom an unknowable amount of time later. He’s dressed similarly to you, though his pants are plaid and it all fits better. His hair is damp.

“Did you eat?” He asks, eyeing the unchanged kitchen counters.

“I’m not really hungry.”

He trudges over to sit on the other side of the couch, picking up his pack of cigarettes on the way. “You should still eat.”

“You say that while grabbing your lighter?”

He lights up with a snort. “Don’t use me for reference.”

You roll your eyes. You outstretch a hand and make a grabby motion towards him.

“No.” The smoke seeps out of his mouth and nose as he speaks. “You’ve smoked enough for a day.”

You groan. “Literally every time I see you you’re smoking.”

“What did I just say?”

You cross your arms, look away. Aizawa leans back into the couch cushions and continues blowing smoke. You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He’s doing the same thing.

He sits up. “Are you feeling better? Oh.” He blinks a little, gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back and stands in front of you, holding out some bandaids and a disinfectant spray. You just stare at them.

“For what?” You glance between the items and his heavily lidded eyes.

“You put out a cigarette on your leg earlier and your knees got scraped when you went with the guy.”

You take the bandaids and spray. You lay them in your lap, stare at them. He just continues to smoke, peering down at you, unmoving. Then, you let out a little laugh, your face crumpled despite your smile.

“Y’know, if you want a blow job, you can just ask.”

“I do not,” Aizawa blurts loudly, “want a fucking blow job.”

He drops to a crouch in front of you. He sticks his cigarette in the ashtray, pushes the legs of your sweats up to your knees, grabs the disinfectant off your thighs.

You sit and watch stupidly. Of course you do, you’re stupid. You’re stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he want something like that from somebody like you? What’s wrong with you? You’re not a hot bitch, just a dumb one. Nobody wants somebody that’s been with their own dad. You’re disgusting.

Your face is hot, head hanging while Aizawa sprays your knees. The scrapes tingle and burn. He peels the bandaids free and tears are dripping onto the sweats he gave you.

His head jerks up. You turn away in response, wipe roughly at your eyes.

You’re stupid. You’re stupid. You’re stupid.

Slut. Whore.

“It’s not that I—” He sighs, sticking the bandaid onto one of your knees. “It’s—” He sighs again, louder this time. He rakes a hand through his hair, turns around to take a drag from whatever’s left in his discarded cig.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t do those sorts of things with you,” he settles with. His hands come up to balance himself on your knees. He blows smoke. You sniffle.

“You would?”

Aizawa gazes up at you with hard eyes.

“Yeah, I would.”

Warmth blooms in your face. Aizawa searches your face for something, you don’t know, before sighing even louder and resting his head on his elbow.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Your brow wrinkles. “You shouldn’t.”

He raises his head. “Why?”

“I sucked off that guy earlier and — just — I’m dirty.”

“And I’m a deadbeat. The only person who should be worried here is me.”

“You don’t get it.” The tears start to well up again. “You don’t know the disgusting shit I’ve done.”

“Great, then we’re on the same level.”

Your fingers twitch in your lap. Before you know it, you’re leaning down and kissing him on the lips.

He tastes like cigarettes. Your hands come up to hold his face that’s all dry and scratchy with stubble. He starts to rise; he leans over, over, over, until your head hits the cushions and you’re making out with him on the couch you were supposed to be sleeping in.

He pulls aside the collar of your shirt and starts kissing along your collarbone. Your legs are tangled together, bandaged knees knocking unscathed ones. Aizawa has one hand attached to your hip, the thumb there rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your sweats.

Buried in his mess of hair, your lip wobbles. People don’t just do things like that. He’s acting like he’s into this not just because you’re willing to fuck him, but because it’s you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. You grind against his thigh, make breathy, little noises the closer his kisses get to your chest. His other hand slides under your shirt and starts to creep up your midriff, wrapping around your back —

Aizawa pauses, lifts his head. He tugs up your shirt slightly to reveal the start of a patchwork of little circular scars and divots. They climb up the sides of your torso, cigarette burns, trailing from your hip to your chest. Some are faded while others are yellow with pus.

He pulls your shirt back down, holds it there. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You squirm beneath him, chest tight. His hands are more hesitant now. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to take my shirt off.”

Aizawa’s still so close as he speaks, hovering over you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face. “Do you want me to?”

“I mean,” you stutter. “It’s kind of weird to look at.”

“I have them on my legs.”

“What?”

“My foster mom put them out there.” He swallows. “A long time ago.”

Your face crumples. You wrap your arms around him again, pull him into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. They’re almost all gone now.” He slowly hugs you back. “Yours will go away eventually, too.”

“Yeah?” Your fingers comb through his hair, snagging on the knots.

“Yeah.” Aizawa lifts himself off of you.

You smile, sit up, and pull your shirt off. You push Aizawa into sitting against the couch before straddling him. His hands come up to rest on your hips. It’s just your bra and sweats on now, your discarded shirt on the floor.

“Your scars are like leopard spots.” Aizawa’s fingers trail up and down some of the older ones. “You’re pretty.”

You’ve been called hot, sexy, cute, but not often pretty.

“Thank you.” You wipe at your face again. “You really are sweet.”

The two of you start making out again, hands cupping each other's cheeks or pulling the other closer. Aizawa ends up taking his shirt off soon after.

“These pants are ridiculous.” Aizawa laughs a little, kissing your shoulder. You’re leaning against him while he helps you shimmy out of the sweats he gave you, chest to chest. It’s different when there’s nothing but your bra keeping the two of you apart; he’s so warm, hot like a furnace, cozy.

The sweats finally join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You plop back down on him and immediately feel it — he’s hard. You rub yourself against him. Aizawa takes a sharp breath and grabs your hips in response.

“Cheeky,” he mutters, eyeing your grin before starting to kiss you again. One of his hands drags from your hip, down your stomach, and into your underwear.

He starts rubbing featherlight circles around your clit. Soon enough, you’re grinding into his hand, sweating, leaning into his shoulder. Aizawa grips your hip harder with his other hand.

“Stop moving so much.”

You nose his ear, out of breath. “Please?”

He shudders, releases his grip on you. Instead, that hand trails up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. You let him slide it off of you, let him kiss and nibble at your chest, let him do anything so long he keeps letting you come undone in his lap like this.

He holds you, arm around your torso, when he dips his fingers into you. He thrusts them upwards sluggishly, brows furrowed, until he’s up to his knuckles. You chew on your lip.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmur. Aizawa curls his fingers and your thighs clench around him.

“Sex isn’t about have to’s.”

You close your eyes and focus on his hands, on the warmth of him, instead of what that means.

#bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #fanfic #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #mha aizawa #angst #hurt/comfort

169 notes · View notes

miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 2 months ago

Text

leather's in season

pairing: re8! chris x reader

tags/cws: semi-clothed sex, semi-public sex, implied to have had sex in the past, coworkers, p in v, cockwarming, the gloves stay on! (until they don't)

summary: chris and reader are bored on a stupid stakeout on a mission, waiting for hours in chris' car, and they're cold, pent up with frustration, and...

a/n: the gloves have me in a chokehold (jk but i wish they did)

div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

wc: 1.6k

tags: @vaaaaaiolet @faysslut @leonfucker3000 @rigorwhoring @withonly-sweetheart

Contrary to popular belief, the worst part of fighting BOWs for a living is not the constant threat of death. It's the boredom in between the thrill of fighting — protecting the world from alphabetical viruses that can turn cities into zombies overnight gives you a sense of purpose. Sitting in the passenger seat of Chris' jeep makes you feel… absolutely nothing.

Okay, fine. It makes you feel something. It wouldn't be that big of a deal if you weren't trapped in the car with this man, with nothing to talk about, nothing to even think about besides the one drunken night you've avoided discussing for almost two months. You could go the rest of your life without mentioning it, and so could Chris. Except, when he takes his coat off, it's impossible not to notice his muscular frame, and when he groans in exasperation, it sounds so similar to that one time when —

"What?" Chris says, sounding ticked off, though you haven't done anything. You've only thought about doing things. Things you know he likes, for that matter.

"What do you mean 'what'?"

"You're staring at me."

"There's not much else to look at, since you're taking up like half my field of vision."

An exaggeration, of course, but he is a large man. In many ways.

"It's fucking cold in here. Can I turn on the heat?"

"No. You'll burn through the battery. And it's not even that cold."

Men. They'll wear basketball shorts in the snow. Of course he'd say it's not that cold.

Chris pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Could you at least roll down a window if you're going to do that in here?"

"No," he says, "it's cold out there."

"I thought it wasn't that cold," you mock him.

He lights it despite your protests. He's the boss here — a fact he reminds you of at every opportunity. "It isn't. But it would be—"

You snatch the cigarette from between his lips, take a drag and blow the smoke into his face.

"What the fuck was that for?"

You not-so-subtly go into a coughing fit, having never smoked before. You hand it back to Chris, looking off to the side, knowing he'll make fun of you if you look at him. He takes it from you gingerly like it's a prized possession.

Minutes go by, the cigarette discarded in the ashtray in the center console, you pop a stick of gum in your mouth.

"Can I have one?" Chris asks.

"It's the last piece. Sorry." You're not really that sorry.

Chris is almost 50, but he pouts like a baby. It's almost cute. Almost. It would be if he hadn't made a fuss earlier.

"You can have it," you say, "I don't really want it anymore."

"Okay…" he says, suspicious — no, curious — about how you plan to exchange the gum you're offering him.

"Come here," you beckon him with a finger.

It's a trick as old as he is, but if nothing else, sitting in this car has made the both of you desperate, so he takes the bait and lets your lips touch.

It's quick, you play it off as a simple transaction, but Chris is nothing if not predictable. He grabs you by the cheek and kisses you again, harder this time, just as you expected him to — he takes control because he can.

"Get in the backseat," he says with a commanding, yet matter-of-fact tone that sounds similar to the one he uses with you in the field.

"Is that an order?" You ask, teasing him as he gets out of the driver's side, closes one door, opens another, and slides into the backseat.

Your eyes meet through the mirror on the windshield.

"You wanna stay warm, I'll help you, but I expect you to drop the attitude."

You want to be warm, and more importantly, you want to be closer to Chris, so you shut your mouth and get in the backseat.

Age, for Chris, just means extra gray hairs on his head and a greater proclivity for aches and pains after long days in the field. He's yet to lose that animalistic urge to tear your clothes off your body.

Your gear is long forgotten, lying idle in the front seat, but your turtleneck – skin-tight like Chris' – is very much still covering your top-half, a hindrance to Chris. His fingers fiddle with the fabric but you're quick to push his hands away.

"I told you, it's fucking cold."

"But I wanna see you," he says, with the voice of a middle-aged man, but the conviction of a whiny child, "I bet you look so pretty."

"You already know what I look like," you say, "unless you've forgotten."

"I could never forget that," he says between hungry kisses, "I've been thinking about the way you looked that night everyday since, which is why I want to see you like that again."

His lips find your neck, then his teeth tug your earlobe. "I'll make it worth your while," he says into the shell of your ear.

You agree to let him take your shirt off because when he's not demanding, he's convincing.

But he can't will his hands to heat up and he can't convince you that they're not cold. You shiver against his touch.

His solution is simple: keep the gloves on.

The feeling of leather against your skin is new, but Chris' deft touch is familiar. You know what his fingers feel like inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, making you cum with his hand over your mouth in the fucking supply closet. Only the location has changed, instead of a door, there are tinted windows. No one else is around (you hope), you can only hear the occasional voices of members of your squad coming from the radio.

You agree to strip when Chris offers you his coat (in addition to a place on his lap) to keep you warm. With you head tipped back, resting on his shoulder and his hands between your thighs, you say, without a thought in your mind, "I want you to fuck me."

You hear his breath hitch and feel his cock strain against his pants and you know he feels the same.

"Fuck, okay, but I'm not waiting for you to get comfy. I am not getting frostbite on my dick."

"Don't worry, I can handle it."

He hums, knowing you're likely overestimating your abilities but dying to be inside you nonetheless.

He lifts you up momentarily and you hear the clink of his belt and the zipper of his pants. He takes them down just enough to get his cock out. Without warning, he takes your hips and shoves it inside you, one deep thrust burying himself to the hilt.

It makes you gasp, it makes you whimper. Arousal makes you overconfident and the stretch is payback for your hubris.

"You're fine," he says. "You can take it."

"It's too much, I-I can't."

"Not my fault you're so fucking tight. Shoulda known based on your attitude."

"Well, your dick is almost as big as your ego."

It's hard to insult him when you're naked – aside from his coat – perched on his cock.

He laughs, rare and sweet – and proud. "Not my fault, either."

Chris' fingers, still covered by his leather gloves, play with your clit, making your walls flutter around him, every spasm elicits a grunt from him, and it only spurs you on – you try to lift yourself up, prepared to ride him like it's your life's purpose, like it's the mission you're in the middle of fucking nowhere to complete. He stops you, grabs your hips and holds them steady against his.

"What the fuck?" you say, pissed off (about how much his insistence on controlling the situation turns you on). "I thought you were gonna fuck me. This isn't fucking, I'm just sitting on your dick."

"Oh, it's not fucking?" he says. "Guess you're easy to please then, 'cause all I've done is stick my dick in you and you're about to fucking cum."

"I am not," you say, in a whine, as your cunt betrays you, clamping down around him, making it nearly impossible for him to fuck you if he wanted to.

Instead of taunting you, he takes his gloves off, shoves two fingers in your mouth and rubs your clit with more precision, more dedication to this mission.

"Cum for me," he whispers in your ear when he knows you're close.

You try to talk back. "Is that an or– oh my fucking god," your orgasm cuts you off. His hand covers your mouth before you can scream his name, and it's probably better that way. You're embarrassed enough as it is when you notice that you've soaked the front of his pants.

"You didn't–" you start, realizing he didn't cum. You're not sure if you should be grateful or offended.

"No, I have self-control," he says.

It's fucking reverse psychology whether he intends it to be or not – insulting you just makes you even more determined to make him cum, to pay him back.

"Oh yeah?" you challenge him as you sink to your knees.

He doesn't respond, doesn't protest. He lets you suck him dry.

You watch him go through the stages of pure bliss while you bask in the knowledge that you did this to him.

It's quiet finally, no arguing, no skin-on-skin, no moaning.

Except for the radio, which you realize you forgot to silence.

"I guess we have some explaining to do," you say to Chris.

"No need," says the voice on the other side, "we heard you loud and clear."

#chris redfield smut #chris redfield x reader #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #chris redfield #liztober

198 notes · View notes

yjhariani · 2 years ago

Text

Warnings: Profanity, angst.

“Again, does anybody have a lighter?” Price asked a little louder this time.

Soap gently elbowed Ghost on the side. Ghost only turned to look at him, tilting his head a little to show his annoyance.

They were almost in the middle of nowhere. At least they had electricity and water. What they did not have was a lighter, thus Price’s moaning. He was going to light up a cigar.

Ghost knew why Soap was elbowing him. Soap was referring to that lighter in Ghost’s pocket. The one he held personally for himself and himself only.

So, Ghost ignored the sergeant. Price had arrived in front of them by then.

“Simon, you smoke,” Price brought up.

“I don’t have a lighter,” Ghost said.

“You pray with it every night,” Soap muttered.

Price and Ghost looked at him. Ghost was practically glaring at Soap. Soap looked like he wished he had not said a word.

“Am I missing something?” Price asked.

Ghost said nothing and now Price was also looking at Soap rather intimidatingly.

“I… Ghost has a lighter,” Soap said.

“I don’t,” Ghost insisted.

Price now turned his expecting glare at Ghost. That got Soap a little confident to proceed.

“As I said, he basically prayed with it every night before he sleeps,” Soap continued.

“Just this once, Simon, I will lose my shit if I can’t get this cigar lit up,” Price said.

Ghost did not react at first, but seeing that the two of them were not going to let this go, he shot a final murderous glare at Soap before putting his hand into his pocket. He held the lighter in his palm and pulled it out of his pocket.

Looking at the captain, Ghost almost did not want to hand out the lighter. However, he ended up opening his palm and revealed the lighter that sat on his palm.

It was as if the whole area turned frozen. Gaz had just walked in and saw the reveal. Even he stopped at his track.

The lighter was yours. It used to be yours. It did belong to you. It did not belong to you anymore. It belonged to Ghost now. You gave it to him before your last mission. The mission that got you killed.

Every thing was fine before that—no, every thing was perfect.

Ghost and you were basically a nightmare couple. A nightmare as in badass motherfuckers who got shit done effectively. Sure, there were flaws such as the constant passive-agressive flirting, recklessness, and tense eye contacts, but, damn… the two of you were great at your job together.

That last mission was indeed going to be your last mission because you decided to not renew your military contract and you both were about to get married. Without telling anyone. However, the others just knew. They always knew that the two of you would end up together one way or another.

Then, shit happened. The worst happened. The irony.

You ended up buried under the ground and became a memory. Ghost ended up here, with these three, more bitter than he ever was.

You always had his heart and it was buried with you. Whatever sentimental left in him, it was out of respect of the memory of you. Of the memory you both were about to make and never did.

Price, Gaz, and Soap never brought you up. Not since the funeral. Price tried and Ghost ended up walking out of the room without saying anything, slamming the door on his way out.

This would be the first time anything about you ever came up ever since that incident. Soap had no idea it was the lighter. Ever. So, his heart did not only stop when he saw it, it would blow up if it could. Gaz used to borrow the lighter to do tricks, so he would recognise it from afar. Price had his cigars lit up by the lighter a few times before.

The four of them were frozen there for quite some time.

“So, we don’t have a lighter,” Price concluded before anyone of them started bursting into either anger or tears.

“Yeah, we don’t,” Soap nodded. “Steamin’ Jesus.”

“You know, there’s a stove in the kitchen. You can light your cigar up with it,” Gaz brought up. “I’m about to cook something, too.”

“Right, right,” Price nodded before walking away.

“I’ll help make sure no one’s burning anything down and get us compromised,” Soap stated before leaving the area.

Ghost stayed where he stood a while after they left. He stared at the lighter for some time, thinking about what you might say if you were still here. None of them would be this messy. The four of them would likely be laughing right now of some stupid joke you made.

Maybe you were still here. He might be the Ghost, but you were the ghost now. Maybe you were laughing at them right now.

“Would’ve been nice if you’re here,” Ghost said under his breath before pocketing the lighter back.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost x reader #price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader

6K notes · View notes

wlntrsldler · 9 months ago

Text

how to disappear | luke castellan

warnings: betrayal, fluff, mean!luke for like five lines, extremely long, not canon, drug use and language, probably got some things wrong but it's for the plot; i sobbed writing this. (this might be my favorite piece i've ever written)

part 2: shades of cool

pairing: aphrodite!reader x luke

description: based on how to disappear by lana del rey

i. all of the guys tell me lies, but you don't. just crack another beer and pretend that you're still here.

"hey, angel," a voice startled you out of your thoughts. your feet were dangling over the pier as you stared out into the lake. you twisted your head to see luke approaching. a soft smile was on his face. "been looking for you everywhere."

"needed a breather," you said, scooting over so he could join you. "sometimes i forget how overwhelming being back here is."

he rolled his cargo pants up to his knees, letting the cool water touch his bare skin. "i get it. sometimes i wish i could take a break."

"you can, you know," you nudged his shoulder, "you're old enough to leave camp during the year. nobody would fault you for wanting to go away for a while."

he dug into his front pocket, pulling out a messily rolled joint and the pink lighter you gave him last summer. the heart you drew on the plastic with sharpie was starting to fade. he placed the joint between your eager lips and lit the end. he tried to ignore the sparks that shot up his arm when your fingertips brushed against his.

luke shrugged, "i know, but then who would take care of the kids? mr. d isn't really the model citizen."

you quirked an eyebrow, passing him the joint, "and you are?"

"better than mr. d," he let out a chuckle before taking a drag. luke closed his eyes as the smoke escaped his lips. he could taste your lipgloss. "maybe when you get your own place, i'll take some time off and visit you."

"i'm off to college soon," you said. "going to california. i got a scholarship."

"of course you did," he grinned. the weed didn't take effect yet. usually, when you smoked with luke, his brown eyes are hazed over by the effects, but while he was speaking, his eyes twinkled in pride. "didn't doubt it for a second."

"you'd leave camp and visit california for me?"

luke had a knowing smile on his face now, as if you were ridiculous for even asking that question. "'course. only problem would be that i'm broke as shit right now. being camp counselor doesn't really pay the big bucks, y'know."

you hummed. it was weird really, how camp was just a fraction of your life. your dad made sure that you could have a semi-normal life, or at least as normal as a half-blood's life could be, but not all demi-gods had the luxury, luke included. his dad made sure of it.

at first, luke despised you for it. why was it fair that you were your mom's favorite child while his dad barely cared enough to make sure he survived his failed quest? if aphrodite was his godly parent, he was sure that he wouldn't have this ugly scar on his face to remind him that he was nothing but a failure. she would stitch him up and make sure that he was okay.

this is not to say that luke liked any of the gods; he just preferred aphrodite above all of them. she gave you to the world, after all.

"what else is new?" he prodded, passing you the joint again after his third drag. "anything else exciting happen in your life since last summer?"

"nothing much," you coughed slightly. you didn't smoke unless you were at camp with luke. "just the usual senior year things, i guess. graduation, prom, you know."

"no, i don't know, actually," he laughed, "well, i know the idea of it. did you decorate your graduation cap? did your senior year live up to your expectations? did you have a date to prom?"

"yes, yes, and no." you pretended not to notice how luke's shoulders relaxed at your answer. "i did decorate my grad cap. my dad has it framed with my diploma. the design was my college's logo. i didn't have a date to prom because i didn't really like anyone at school. i would rather take a date i actually enjoyed the company of."

"that's fair," luke said. he took another hit from the joint. you watched the smoke evaporate into the air, the smell of weed surely sticking to your clothes. "tell me about your senior year."

"it was fun," you said, longing on your face. "it's weird to think that i'm kind of on my own now. after camp, i'll be shipped off across the country to take classes for some bullshit degree that i probably won't need because i won't make it long enough to see the workforce."

luke chuckled at that. it was morbid, sure, but he would be lying if he said that that reality wouldn't be a possibility. he didn't like to think about it much, the idea of you dying, but the life of a demi-god was unpredictable. he's surprised he even made it to eighteen.

you continued, "but i got to be a kid and i'm thankful for that. i just can't stop thinking about how this is my last summer here. i'm eighteen now. i've aged out."

"you can come back, you know," luke said. these summers with you were the only thing he looked forward to each year ever since you first arrived. "i'm still here."

"that's because if you step a toe out of this camp, they'll find you," you said, although you knew luke knew this already. he was powerful. he would attract monsters left and right and he'd be putting himself in jeopardy if he left. your suggestions for him to visit you were more wishful thinking than anything. in those moments, you let yourself pretend that you and luke were normal, that nobody would be trying to kill you if you tried to watch a movie at a theater or something.

"fair," he offered you the last hit, but you shook your head. you already felt your head spinning. "beth wants to go to college, too."

"does she?"

"yeah," he put out the joint on the wooden pier. neither of you spoke as the flame was extinguished with a sizzling sound. "told her to talk to you. you know more about it than i do."

"i'd love to talk to her. i think she'd do great in college."

"she would," he smiled, sadly. his eyebrows furrowed in thought. his mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was trying to find the right way to frame his words. you sat in silence patiently. he gulped, "i feel like everyone is moving on without me."

luke propped his elbows on his knees. he looked across the lake, watching the sunset turn into a pink horizon. he couldn't look at you while he spoke. "don't get me wrong, i'm so proud of you for leaving this place. and i'll be proud of annabeth when her time comes, but i think i just hate the fact that at the end of it all, i'll be alone. everyone in my life has a life outside of this, but i don't. this is it for me. i don't know what it is about this place, about this life, that keeps me stuck here, but i am."

you weren't stupid enough to correct him. you both knew the gods had a plan for luke. it was something bigger than the both of you, though neither of you truly knew what it was; but it was always this looming dark cloud above him, a second shoe waiting to drop. luke tried to ignore the feeling most days, but sometimes, he couldn't help but feel himself get pulled into the darkness; like in these moments, when reality hits him a little harder. you probably won't be back after this summer.

"well," you placed a hand over his own. he flipped his hand over to hold yours properly. he still wasn't looking at you. "let's just make the most out of this summer, yeah? think about everything else when we get there."

he squeezed your hand, "yeah."

ii. met me down at the training yard, cuts on his face cause he fought too hard.

"castellan."

luke winced, not because of the pain of the open cuts on his face, but because of the tone of your voice. that voice meant that he was in trouble.

he mustered up the courage to smile weakly at you, trying to ignore the droplets of blood that spilled from his open wound. "hey, angel."

"don't angel me," you hissed, marching to him. you grabbed his face gently, inspecting the damage. "what were you thinking?"

"i was thinking the kid was a bitch."

"castellan."

he cringed, "sorry."

"what happened?"

"i haven't been getting much sleep," luke whispered, "nightmares are back."

you sighed, picking up a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. the apollo kid who was tending to luke earlier was smart enough to leave the room when you walked in. you muttered half-hearted apologies as he hissed in pain. "i'm sorry to hear that, but that's not the answer i was looking for."

"he was just talking shit," luke said through gritted teeth. whatever the ares kid was saying must've been really bad because you could feel luke's anger rising again. you rubbed his back slowly until he calmed down. "don't wanna talk about it."

"okay," you resigned, finally wiping away the final remnants of blood off his face. you stared at him; even with an open lip, red bruises, and flecks of blood on his face, luke was still beautiful. he plopped his forehead against your stomach, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer.

this was common with luke. he acted all big and bad around all the other campers, but in your presence, he turned into this; always looking for comfort, always touching you somehow, like he was finally allowed to breathe. you cradled the back of his neck as he let out shallow breaths, leaving feather-light kisses on his crown when you thought he wouldn't notice them. he always felt them, but he never let you know that he did. he was afraid you'd stop doing it if you found out.

"how bad are they?"

"bad," he sighed, eyes closing. he tugged on you to bring you even closer, though you didn't know how that was possible at this point. "haven't slept in days."

"why didn't you come find me?"

"your sisters don't like it when i interrupt their beauty sleep."

"why didn't you tell me sooner? i could've stayed in the hermes cabin."

"it's gross in there," he laughed. "you deserve to sleep on your soft bed in a cabin that smells like fucking roses, not on my cardboard thin cot in a room that smells like sweaty socks."

you lifted his head up to look at you, "yeah, it's pretty bad in there."

luke snorted, finally letting you go, but a hand stayed connected to your hip. he played with the loose thread on the hem of your shirt. "i still won, by the way."

you cocked your head, "huh?"

"the fight," luke's cocky smirk was back on his face. "you should see the other kid. if i'd been well-rested, he wouldn't have been able to land a blow."

you smacked his shoulder, laughing as you fell onto the bed beside him, "shut up, castellan."

"there it is," he mumbled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. he was so close to you.

"what?"

"castellan," he mimicked your voice, but there was no mockery there. he said it like he treasured it, like he was trying to memorize the way you spoke. "you're not mad at me anymore."

it was hard to stay mad at luke. the longest you'd gotten mad at him was when he didn't choose you for his quest. he stood outside the aphrodite cabin the entire day before he was set to leave, begging for you to let him explain. you were too stubborn, too hard-headed, to listen to him. when you were sure that he was gone, you finally left the aphrodite cabin to find a letter from him tucked away under the welcome mat.

you kept the letter, but you never opened it. it wasn't until he returned from his quest, on the brink of death, that you opened it. you were sitting beside his bed, eyebags darker than ever that even your mother couldn't salvage you. your eyes were stained red from crying so much.

in his letter, he explained how he didn't want to put you in danger, how he would never forgive himself if something bad happened to you because of him. your insecurities just got the better of you. you always feared that people saw you as shallow, like you didn't actually have the skills to fend for yourself. many people had misconceptions about the aphrodite kids, but not luke. luke knew that you were incredible. you just didn't resort to violence as quickly as he did.

you felt stupid then, even now, you regret how you treated him before his quest. you hated yourself for how you acted. he never gave you a reason to doubt him, to not trust him; you should've known that he had his reasons. you hated yourself for even questioning him for a second.

luke pulled you into his chest, allowing you to cuddle into his neck. the beads of his camp necklace rested beside your temple. you reached over to play with them, letting the beads thump against his collarbone when you let go. you felt luke twirling strands of your hair around his finger, gently undoing the knots that formed at the ends of your hair because of his antics. you lay there in silence, just enjoying the presence of one another. you felt luke's breathing even out, a sign that he was drifting off.

luke's words from the pier bounced in your head then. did he think that you'd forget about him after you left camp? as if you'd forget about this, about him. a life without luke castellan became unimaginable when you met him when you were fifteen. there was no version of your life that didn't have luke in it.

it was foolish to think that way, you knew that. it was stupid to let someone have a hold on you like this, demi-god or not. even your friends from home warned you about being so attached to luke, though in the version of events you told them, the stakes were much lower. to them, he was just a boy you see at summer camp a few months out of the year; he was just another hometown boy that they urged you to forget when you moved away to college so you could live your life unrestricted.

but luke wasn't just that to you and you knew you weren't just that to him either. there was something between the two of you that was hard to explain, but didn't need an explanation at the same time. even your mom noticed it. she let you know once to tell luke to stop praying to her to give you a sign whenever he missed you.

"i can't keep making flowers bloom whenever he misses you," she wrote, "it wouldn't make much sense for flowers to bloom in the winter, my child, or for flowers to bloom every second of the day."

sometimes, though, on particularly hard days when you'd miss luke, your mom made exceptions. you'd find bunches of hibiscus growing within the cracks of the sidewalk of new york city on your way home from school.

you knew luke was thinking about you then. just the thought of it made your day better.

iii. i know he's in over his head, but i love that man, like nobody can. he moves mountains and pounds them to ground again.

luke didn't know what you'd say if you found out. well, he did know, but he deluded himself into thinking that you'd listen to his reasons, that you'd actually understand why he did what he had to do. maybe you'd even join him.

percy had left camp with annabeth and grover for his quest yesterday. the air at camp felt different since percy was revealed to be a forbidden child. luke, as much as he tried to keep his resentment for the gods at bay because percy was hard to dislike, the poor kid just wanted to save his mom, felt his blood boil when poseidon claimed percy.

he hated the gods, this wasn't new, but luke struggled to understand how he was supposed to feel. he saw so much of himself in percy. he thought of his mother; her hugs that he hadn't felt since he was nine, the taste of her burnt cookies that he hated at the time, but now he just wished he could taste the burnt crisps on his tongue one last time. he even missed her frantic mumbling in the middle of the night.

luke saw a version of himself in percy, the version that had a chance at happiness. luke hated it.

it was too late, anyway. the plan was already in motion. his allegiance to kronos was set. kronos visited him in his dreams often. luke stopped calling them nightmares because nightmares are only nightmares if they happen once in a while. what made them bad dreams was when they were compared to good ones. he didn't have those anymore.

luke hadn't slept much since he stole the bolt. it was easier to think about you, about the happy times, when he was awake. he smoked more now. it helped sometimes. he would pretend your lipgloss was still on the tip of the joint and that you were beside him on the pier, trying to get away from all the noise of camp.

as he walked toward the hermes cabin, smiling cordially at the younger campers who beamed at him, he saw the corner of a pink bag against his bed. his face dropped. luke stopped in his tracks, clutching the beads of his necklace.

you weren't facing the door. your back was turned while you folded the sheets on his bed. he saw you spray perfume on his blankets. he could almost smell the sweet fragrance from where he stood. it took all his might not to run to you and hold you in his arms. it's been months since he last saw you, since last summer. luke's hands fell to his sides before he twisted his body to turn the other way.

he went to the one place that gave him comfort. with his cargo pants rolled up to his knees, he watched the sun fade into the dark sky. there was no pretty sunset tonight. luke didn't think too much of omens, but he figured that was a bad sign. and when your soft footsteps thumped against the boards of the pier, he was certain that it was.

"you damn near running away from me when you saw me was not the reaction i was hoping for."

luke closed his eyes and took a deep breath. out of habit, he moved a bit to let you take your usual spot beside him. when he opened his eyes, he was met with the face he'd thought about for months. a kind smile adorned your lips. you looked different. your skin was a deeper shade, no doubt due to the california sun; your lips were pink and torn apart, like you'd been chewing on them; but your smile was the same.

"what are you doing here?"

"sorry i was late," you said, sheepishly. you played with the small braid in your hair, "i had to move out of my dorm so i had to take a later flight."

"i thought you weren't coming back," luke replied.

"heard there's a war coming," your voice sounded small. luke knew why. he'd listened to you talk about the dreams you had for yourself for hours over the past summers. the idea of an impending war meant that those dreams would take the backseat and you'd have to fight before any of them could come true. "is it true?"

"percy, a forbidden kid, poseidon's, is trying to make sure it doesn't happen."

"do you trust him?"

luke felt his heart crumble in his chest. how cruel is he to keep you in the dark like this? when the only thing you needed to feel okay was to hear that he trusted the kid meant to stop the war?

luke's voice was hoarse, "yeah, i do. beth does too."

"okay," you placed a hand on his thigh. luke stiffened at your touch. you pulled away, embarrassed. "sorry."

"don't apologize," he placed his hand next to yours. he could feel the warmth of your skin. "i've just been on edge."

"it's just me, luke."

he didn't know how to tell you that that's exactly why he was on edge. it was you. the girl he'd been in love with since he was fifteen. the girl he told everything to. the girl who knew him so well that if you were to touch him for longer than a second, you'd know everything.

this summer, for the first time since he met you, he was glad you didn't show up to camp. he knew that the minute you were in front of him, he'd tell you everything and there was a chance you'd want nothing to do with him after it. that was something luke couldn't handle. but now you're here, looking at him like this like his actions just hurt you.

"'m sorry, angel."

"you're acting different, luke."

"'m sorry."

"i don't need an apology," you said. "i want to know why."

luke rubbed his face with his hands, "i don't know, okay?"

"you're lying to me," you were frowning now. luke was angry. he wasn't angry at you, he was angry at the whole situation, but it didn't matter. he was taking it out on you.

"gods, angel, can you just-- not right now," he groaned. you got a good look at him. his eyes were tired, shoulders slumped like he'd been carrying a weight on his shoulders with no reprieve. "i don't really feel like talking."

"you don't have to be mean about it."

he didn't feel like himself anymore. he would never talk to you like this, but there was something in him that made him snap. luke scoffed, "i'm not being mean, you're just being so pushy right now."

you blinked, pulling your hand away from his. shivers ran down your spine, "luke, what the fuck?"

"what?" he stood up. you followed suit. under the moonlight, you saw how dull his brown eyes were. they no longer carried the same glow when he looked at you. luke's eyebrows were furrowed, eyes narrowed, "i just can't handle this right now, okay? can you just drop it?"

"i'm just trying to talk to you!" you raised your voice, disbelief on your features. you walked towards him. holding his face in your hands. he was crying. you wiped away his tears. "i just missed you, okay? i just wanna talk to you because i haven't gotten to in months and i'm miserable."

he let out a shaky breath, your touch grounding him. he felt himself coming back to him. he nuzzled his cheek in your palm, kissing the flesh there as he mumbled apologies into the night.

"i missed you so much," a sob escaped your lips. luke didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, continuing his train of apologies into your ear. you continued, "i-i thought that you'd be happy to see me because i've been counting down the days until i saw you again and i just thought that even though the world was falling apart, we'd be the same. it's always been us, you know?"

"i know."

"and then you avoid me and run away from me and i just needed to see you, luke. i needed to talk to you."

"i missed you, too," he confessed. "so much, you have no idea."

"you have a funny way of showing it," you joked through your tears.

luke laughed. it shocked him. it was like he had forgotten how to. he hiccuped, removing one hand from around you to rub the tears away from his eyes, "come on."

selfishly, he ignored the pit in his stomach. he allowed himself just one more day to have you like this. as he lay on his bed, he held you close to him. he was overwhelmed with how much you filled his senses; the smell of your perfume, the feeling of your lips ghosting on his chest as you told him nonsense stories from college, the sound of your quiet giggles when he made some stupid joke, the look on your face in the dark, staring at him.

an unfamiliar feeling took over his body, rest, he realized it was, a while into lying in the darkness with you.

"i love you, you know that, right?"

luke didn't trust his voice anymore. he pulled you closer, hoping that that was enough for now.

iv. think about those years as i whisper in your ear. i'm always going to be right here.

"i love you."

you turned your head at the sound of luke's voice. camp was in disarray. percy was badly hurt and annabeth was frantic, sobbing about how luke was behind it all. you ran away after hearing it.

you didn't want to believe it, but it was annabeth. she wouldn't say that about luke unless it was true. you knew it killed her just the same to accept it.

"what are you doing here, castellan?"

it felt like a dagger was plunged into luke's heart. he'd heard his name leave your lips in different ways over the years; jokingly, angrily, but never like this. disappointment.

"i couldn't leave without telling you," luke licked his lips, keeping his distance. he was pressing his shirt on the spot percy broke skin. he looked down at his feet, "couldn't leave without letting you know that i love you."

"why did you do it?"

"i don't know."

"okay," you walked towards him. "when did you get so comfortable with lying to me?"

"angel," he sounded broken. "please, don't do this."

"you were wrong, by the way," you said. "you're not stuck here anymore, but i don't think the place you'll end up in is any better than this."

luke was silent.

"go, luke," you whispered. "don't make it any worse than it already is."

he nodded. this was it. you watched as he disappeared into the dark.

you were too preoccupied with your thoughts to notice it then; your mind was plagued with worry, but in the gaps of the wooden pier, a single hibiscus flower bloomed under your feet.

#luke castellan #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #pjo tv show #pjo fanfic #pjo spoilers #pjo series #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfic #frances song fics #frances writes #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x y/n

649 notes · View notes

sunshine-and-moonshine · 10 months ago

Text

Lonely Nights

Requested: Yes [Are you willing to write toxic Ghost? Like after sex he just kinda leaves you to play on his xbox?]

Warnings: Lack of aftercare, inattentive partner

A/N: Gahhhhh, I was very hesitant about this one. I do think Simon can be very…..not great to partners, even ones he’s close with. Especially the ones he’s close with. I think he has a hard time registering his partner’s feelings and remembering the courtesies of aftercare. I think he’s more used to one night stands that he kicks out after he’s done with them, not people who put their whole hearts in his hands. You know? So he kinda just…..accidentally treats a partner like that because it’s what he knows.

Ghost has never been the most….in touch with his emotions and those of the people around him. Even yours, as close as you two might be. It’s just not something he really manages to do well. He tries, God knows he tries, but he just fails, time and time again. And you’re left to pick up the pieces of yourself that he broke off with every accidental pain he caused. And you know he doesn’t mean to, that he just doesn’t know how to do this, be in a normal relationship, a loving one, but you’re not sure how much more of this you can take.

This would be one of those times. You were hurting everywhere after he had been too rough with you, practically on the verge of tears when he finally rolled off of your sore body, snatching his pack of cigarettes and his old beaten up lighter from the nightstand before making his way out into the living room like he usually did. You were stunned, for lack of a better word. Shocked that he had actually left you like this. You knew he wasn’t the best at these things, but how could he not notice the state you were in? Your emotions? Your pain? How could-how could he just leave you like this? How could he be so oblivious to something so plain to see?

Your legs shake as you crawl out of Ghost’s bed, almost slipping and falling onto your ass in your attempts to get up, hobbling out to the living room with a thin blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You wanted to call out to your lover, beg him to come back to bed with you, but your throat felt like one big bruise and when you opened your mouth to speak, you could only wheeze.

And then you saw him, lounging half naked on the couch, cigarette in hand as he watched rugby on the tv. You knew he noticed you coming in, he always did. But just like all the other times, he didn’t even bother to acknowledge your existence, just taking a long drag from his fag before puffing the smoke out through his nose, looking all the part of a lazy dragon who’d just fattened himself up on some knight who died screaming in agony.

Whimpering, you stepped closer, silently begging for his attention and affection when you sat beside him on the couch, croaking quietly to him as you touched his arm. A twitch was all you received in response, having to manually wrap his arm around your shoulders for any kind of comfort. He didn’t pull away, but neither did he lean in, stroke you, pull you closer. He was dead weight around you, devoid of the affection you so desperately needed in this instant. With a whimper, deprived and needy, you lean in closer, nuzzling your head against his chest like a lonely kitten, trying to get even an ounce of his attention.

“Not now, Love.” Was all you got, Ghost’s cold hand sliding under your chin and lifting your head up and away from him. “Go back to bed if you’re feeling tired.”

Heartbroken, you try to protest but just end up coughing, hand clutching your pained throat to try and stifle the growing ache. That at least earned you a little rub on your back from Ghost but it ended all too soon for you, not even a word of protest from him as you stood and shuffled back to your shared room, his eyes laser focused on the tv the whole time, while yours kept hopefully glancing back at him, only to end up disappointed once more as the door shut behind you with no interruptions except for the tv turning up just a bit louder right before you started crying, curling up on the bed and seeking what little warmth remained under the covers, face buried in Simon’s pillow and hoping beyond hope that he’d come in and scoop you up into his arms, apologize for leaving you so hurt and sad, promise to never do it again.

But it never came. And you spent the whole night alone in that big bed until Ghost finally came back in, just the slightest bit tipsy as he crawled onto his side of the bed, giving you nothing more than the lightest kiss to your head before he was dozing off for the night.

And that. That was what broke you, your heart shattering in your chest and cracking the fragile dam that you’d built up against your tears. Through shaking shoulders and quiet sobs, you felt resolve sink into your bones.

You couldn’t take this anymore.

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader

642 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 7 months ago

Note

All I could picture was Brie having never smoked before meeting Stoner Darling. So you just get

Viewer: Wait you smoke!?

Brie: *High off his ass* I do now!

Plus Brie only ever getting stoned after he met up with Darling again, so it just becomes their thing. He gives them cum laced food, they give him weed.

Brie's probably tried it once or twice at parties, but never thought about it outside of those occasions. After accidentally serving someone a pizza topped with his "secret sauce" poor boy is in need of a little medicinal relaxation.

"So you're a virgin, huh-"

Brie chokes on his spit.

"M-me?!"

"First time smoking? Least with another person. You used that blunt I gave you the other night, didn’t you? Lucky for you, you're in the hands of a professional. If you green out at any point I got some milk in the fridge. Does better for you than water."

A blessing. What Brie had written the worst night of his life turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. Who could've guessed a wrong address would lead to him to doorstep of someone like you. He's never felt this was about a crush before and he hasn't even known you long- Brie almost couldn't belive the promise of bringing more free food was all it took for an invitation into your humble abode.

On today's menu was a basket of wings and fries coupled with some ranch to dip them in. You had already cleared three of small cups in between rolling a blunt for the two of you to share. At some point, you skipped the chicken entirely in favor of scrapping your fingers around the rim of the plastic. Brie's heart nearly stopped in his chest when you asked him to bring a full container of the stuff the next time he stopped by.

Doing that kind of work for his fans had always been a hassle, but he'd do anything to see you again.

Wipping your mouth with a napkin and taking a few swigs of the water bottle on the table, you seal the roll before offering it to Brie along with a lighter. His shorts shrunk a little watching your skilled tongue flow across the paper.

"You want the first hit?"

Brie's eyes remain glued to your lips. With all he's done by now an indirect kiss shouldn't mean that much to him... Still...

"Uh... I don't mind waiting. It's your weed afterall."

"Aren't you sweet. Suit yourself."

Easing back against the couch, you place the thinner of the blunt to your lips - lighting the end as you inhale. You take a few puffs before passing it off to him. Brie breathes deep as he holds it to his mouth, though there's a different type of high he's chasing as he closes his eyes.

Looks like his fans are in for another surprise stream soon as he gets home-

#Brie my oc #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere insert #yandere drabble #stoner reader #yandere

392 notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 4 months ago

Text

more incorrect quotes for the stillborn danyal au - dpxdc

---------

Student: so like,, *gesturing to Plasmius* is he like,,, your dad or...?? Phantom: he would be if he wasn't such a BITCH Plasmius: excuse me Phantom: YOU HEARD ME

----------

Under the Bleachers: Danny and Dash smoking in solidarity Dash: Danny: Dash: do you have notes from Lancer's class today Danny: since when do I ever have notes from Lancer's class Danny: I can ask Tucker but only if you have notes from Abernathy's class Dash: deal

-----------

Sam and Tucker: *making s'mores with Danny's lava hair* Danny, as Phantom: >:I Sam: you're just mad because you didn't think of it first Danny: yEAH

-----------

Danny, freshly ghosted: .... Danny: well. at least i dont need to waste money on lighters anymore

-----------

Tucker: with how long your hair gets we may just have to start calling you rapunzel Danny: don't you dare Sam: rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your lava hair Danny: NO

-----------

Danny's hair tie breaks in the middle of a fight Danny: fuck Skulker: language child Danny, pushing lava bangs out of his face: fuck you! just for this im turning your suit into molten slag Skulker: waitholdonwecantALK--

----------

Danny: you know, by your logic Maddie is equally as guilty for abandoning you as Jack. She also never visited you while you were in the hospital. Vlad, had put his infatuation with Maddie aside but still kinda had feelings for her: Vlad: you're right Danny, not used to an adult agreeing with him: I-- huh, I am? Vlad: yes. If Dr. Walker had cared about me -- even if only as a friend, she would have tried to remain in contact with me. But she didn't. She is also as equally guilty for the accident that took your life too since she also failed to properly check over the portal for flaws and any improper wiring. Danny: wait- wait, i mean-- Vlad: this means only one thing Danny, bewildered: ??? Vlad, extinguishing all lingering feelings: I have to kill her too (somehow) Danny: nO.

#danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc #dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #dpxdc au #dpxdc prompt #dpdc #stillborn? no still born au #stillborn danny #danyal al ghul au #danyal al ghul #flanderizing the vlad and danny dynamic just a little🕺 🕺 🕺 as a treat #parental vlad masters #my vlad masters could beat up your canon vlad masters #my vlad masters also wears a ribcage corset and is permanently cursed with BabyFaced 20 Year Oldness when he's plasmius #danny: hey so my foster mom also never talked to you when you were hospitalized tho | vlad: oh shit u right | danny: i am #vlad: she's also not blameless in your death either. | danny: uh oh | vlad (ultimately A Dad First): this means i have to kill her too #bc if phantom can be a permanent 14yo then plasmius is also a permanent college student and i think thats hilarious. he physically cannot #grow a goatee as plasmius. he can get all the facial hair he wants as vlad but not as a ghost. L to him. this only fuels his vendetta #SB Vlad: im gonna kill maddie | canon vlad: you WHAT #hc that maddie got her doctorate with her maiden name first and refuses to change it. jack and vlad both supported this decision in college #and still do. im taking Vlad's creepiness about maddie out back and shooting it in the kneecaps. boom gone now i can just make him Parental #vlad saw maddie try and shoot danny once and promptly did a 180 on his feelings.#vlad: ah well actually fuck you too now. you shot my kid | danny: NOT YOUR KID #i want everyone to know that i was listening to thunder bringer when i was making the vlad plasmius design and so that is now attributed to #him forever and ever. i curse him with the Zeus Boss Battle Theme Song

376 notes · View notes

0hcicero · 6 months ago

Text

So I just started reading A Court of Thorns and Roses (audiobook), and am I the only one who is wondering if the author did any research into poor subsistence living or the lives of peasants? Because wow, I know Feyre’s family used to be rich, but if that was 8 years ago and y’all are poor as dirt now, somehow in the intervening period you might have learned:

- trap lines in the winter are far superior to active hunting. It burns less calories, you can use it with fish and land animals, and it will save you from frostbite bc instead of sitting in a blind for hours, you can go to your lines at certain times and head home, or drive animals toward your lines.

- buying flower seeds - or any garden seeds - is a suckers game when you’re poor. You only really need to buy seeds once!! Once you harvest, you let stuff ‘go to seed’ and then you collect it and store it for the winter, often trading seeds with your neighbours.

- they let things actively RUN OUT before doing anything about it. That’s absolutely buckwild if you’ve ever been poor — when you’re poor, you know how to make a meal stretch, and you DO IT.

- there is hunting, but no gathering?? This family has not stored any veg for winter, but neither do they go gather mushrooms, rosehips, roots, tubers, nuts, or even fucking bark?? What happened to their cottage garden?? Was it just flowers?! Were they that rich that they don’t understand that a garden produces food? Did they close their eyes as they walked past all their peasant neighbours and their gardens? Bc that’s maybe the wildest thing I’ve seen from both a historical and a ‘grew up so close to dirt poor you couldn’t tell the difference’ perspective!

- She left a whole ass Giant wolf carcass when her family is starving. Nah nah nah no that is the universe smiling on you when you’re subsistence! You will make a travois or somehow find a way to tie that to you and drag it along - that’s double the food, and possibly more money, because you could live off the wolf (which I assume does not taste great) and sell off some of the deer (which is delicious).

- she didn’t at least do a basic clean of her kill out in the woods?! She did not tan the hides?! Y’all, you do not want to be cleaning any kill on the kitchen table. Why? Because cleaning involves removing the intestines and stomach. That means shit and piss and food digestion in different stages, and the gases produced. You do that *outside*, typically at least close to where you made your kill, because you don’t want to have to have any…spills, and because it makes things a bit lighter to carry. Butchering? For sure do it on a table, but cleaning is an outdoor chore. Also, tanning a hide is not just skinning a creature! It’s scraping all the membranes off it, stretching and drying it, and curing the skin - sometimes with smoke, but often with a pretty gross solution (often including brain oil, and historically, I believe urine and/or feces, and other things with the right chemical components). It’s not a simple or quick task!

- soups, pottages, stews, with dried lentils, beans, or peas would have been the staple meals (depending on the climate and environment, but it feels fairly British thus far). Just having roasted venison (def not the best way to eat venison just from taste alone) would likely be a very very rare occurrence, because, as noted earlier, they’re so poor they would need to make it stretch. You would cure it or dry it or turn it into sausage. You would use it sparingly within a meal, not to serve as the whole meal.

- the market. If you were poor, you would likely be a stranger to spices, but not to salt. Salt is deeply necessary to survive in that period, as it’s one of the only ways of safely processing and storing meat with any longevity. And? If you got the money that they did while being as poor and as starving as they were? The first thing you would do — even if you were the most stupid rich person before then — is stock up your stores of dry goods! Flour, salt, honey, dried beans/peas/lentils, vegetables that store - onions, squashes, potatoes, root vegetables like carrots. It’s straight up Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs here - you will not give a shit about a new cloak before you give a shit about saying your hunger. They are said to be ‘starving’. Sorting out your survival comes before sorting out your fashion.

Anyways, this has been me for channel 4, reporting on anachronisms and misrepresentations in fantasy fiction. More news at 10.

#which is not to say I’m not enjoying the book #though I am glad I got past the poor people stuff #because tell me you’ve never been a peasant without telling me you’ve never been a peasant #I thought a lot of this was common sense but then a lot of people don’t need sense this common I guess #but it’s a fun book so far #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

372 notes · View notes

evanpeterswhoresblog · 1 year ago

Text

A Different Kind of High

Tate Langdon x f!reader

warnings: use of marijuana, smut, p in v, unprotected, slight fingering, lose of virginity, slight innocence kink? lmk if there’s any others!!!

summary: you died a virgin, but that doesn’t mean you need to be one as a ghost…

word count: 1.9k

~~~

“I stole some weed from the newbies, you want some?” Tate asks as he hops up on what used to be your bed.

You’ve been dead for only a few months, living in the imfamous Murder House for a year prior. It was strange being dead, seeing people pass by on the street everyday knowing that’ll never be you again. You suppose this was what you deserved, after all you committed suicide. But never during your life did you think this was what being dead would be like. Trapped in a house with a dozen other ghosts for eternity.

Tate has been your friend since before you died, of course you didn’t know he was a ghost until you joined him on the other side. He’s charming, very down to Earth. You really don’t know much about him, even now. You’ve heard whispers about him being crazy, and you believe it. Sometimes through the night you hear his screams, his murderous laughter. It doesn’t bother you though. You’re already dead, what’s the worst he could do?

“I’ve never smoked before,” you reply.

He chuckles. “Are you serious?”

You turn red. “You saw my parents, they never let me do anything. When I used to go out they’d make me be back by nine. Even on weekends. I always figured they’d know so I didn’t bother.”

“At least tell me you’ve drank.” You shake your head, a small laugh escaping at the face Tate makes. “Have you done anything?”

“I kissed a boy when I was twelve,” you answer honestly.

“Was that your only kiss?”

“Yeah…” You mumble.

“Wow, I can’t believe you’re this innocent, I always thought girls with strict parents did the dirtiest things,” he replies. He grabs the baggie of weed out of his pocket and holds it up. “You’re going to try this, and you’re going to love it.”

You don’t object, and instead watch as Tate begins to role a joint. He does it effortlessly, he’s done it many times before. You know from previous conversations that he’s done drugs much stronger than weed, the main one being cocaine. You had asked him how it felt to do it, to be alive and on a drug so strong. He told you it felt like he needed to run a mile while he was high. He also made you promise to do it with him one day.

When he finishes rolling the joint he offers it to you. “You want the first hit?”

“Fuck it, yeah,” you say.

He gives you a smile that makes butterflies swirl in your stomach. Though the two of you are only friends, you can’t deny how attractive Tate is. Even though everythings only been platonic, sometimes with certain looks and phrases, he makes you feel some special type of way.

You take the joint inbetween your lips, your eyes locked on Tate. He grabs a lighter and lifts it to the other end of the joint.

“I’d usually say take a small hit, but usually it takes a little more to get us high so take as much as you think is necessary,” he explains before lighting the end.

You inhale deeply, the smoke it hot and you know if you were alive it would burn your lungs completely. Thankfully though, it only stings a little. After a few seconds Tate takes it from your lips and you exhale slowly, watching as he repeats your actions. You lean back against the pillows, you feel a little something.

“How long does it usually take to get high?” You ask.

“I dunno a few minutes I guess, why? Do you feel it?”

Your head feels light and the room looks brighter. “I think so, I feel… lighter.”

“Oh yeah, you’re high,” he replies with a laugh.

He lays beside you on the bed, both of you staring at the ceiling in silence. You hear him take a few more puffs of the joint, wondering how he does’t feel anything yet. Your whole body feels electrified, every muscle alive and thriving. You almost feel like how you did before you died, almost. It makes you smile.

“Why did I never try this before…” you mumble, a small laugh leaving your lips. “Fuck I feel good.”

“I know right, it’s pretty great.”

You turn your head and stare at him. “Can I tell you a secret?”

He meets your gaze. “Of course.”

You don’t know where the sudden burst of honesty comes from. Usually, you’re embarrassed to talk about anything you did or more specifically didn’t do in your life. However, as you stare into Tate’s dark eyes you feel the urge to tell him every little detail about you.

“I died a virgin,” you whisper. “Like I never even got fingered or anything.”

You stare at each other for another few seconds before you both burst out into laughter. You don’t know why it’s so funny, but it is. You feel amazing, like you’re on top of the world. But you also feel like every word that comes out of your mouth is hilarious.

“I shouldn’t have said that I’m sorry,” you say as the laughter dies down. “I’m so stupid.”

“Hey, you aren’t stupid. I know a few other ghosts died virgins, like the nurses,” he replies, that stupid smirk on his face.

“God don’t say that!” You exclaim. “At least they chose to die virgins, I tried to hard to be fucked before I died but every time I started to become interested in someone my stupid parents ruined it.”

Tate props his head up on his hand so he’s now looking down at you. “Well on the brightside your parents are gone now so you can fuck anyone you want.”

“Yeah but the options aren’t exactly ideal. There’s really only Travis, but he’d definitely not be the best option for a first time,” you laugh.

“I’m here too you know.”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“You know what I mean,” Tate answers, his voice quieter than before.

Your laughter stops at his words, and you meet his eyes once again. This time, you can sense something lingering behind his eyes, something you haven’t ever noticed before. You smile, trying to ease the tension that’s filled the room. He’s probably just messing with you. However, he doesn’t smile back at you, his expression stays the same.

You’re in disbelief. Is this real? Is your best friend really telling you he’d take your virginity? This can’t be real, you think. Maybe it’s just because of the weed, maybe it’s doing something to your head. You can’t deny the butterflies that form in your stomach at the thought of it though. Tate would be a good first. He’s experienced, but not with too many people. You find yourself suddenly imaging it, how it would feel, sharing that experience with someone you truly enjoy being around. It wouldn’t be so bad, you decide.

“All right,” You say. You kick your shoes off without breaking eye contact. “Is it going to hurt?”

He smirks and follows your actions. “It usually does the first time.”

You smile and start undoing the buttons on your jeans. You know if you hadn’t taken that puff of the joint you’d be selfconcious getting undressed in front of Tate. He watches you carefully as you remove your pants, your shirt, even your bra. It’s silent, but not an awkward silence, more of a comforting silence. You only look away from him as you slowly pull your panties off and throw them into the newly formed pile of your clothes.

It’s your turn to watch now. Your eyes trail up and down Tate’s body as he slowly undresses. He’s so beautiful, his body is perfect. You can’t stop yourself from reaching over and running your fingertips over the toned muscles of his abdomen. Your eyes meet once again and you almost shiver at how full his eyes have become with lust.

Quickly, he leans his head down and connects your lips to his. The kiss is slow at first, like you’re treading the water. But as you start to understand how it works, you move your lips against his, following his motions. The soft gentle kiss becomes full of passion. You twirl your fingers in his soft blond curls, loving the way his breathing gets heavier as you do so.

He moves on top of you, hit body fitting between your legs swiftly. Your body feels like it’s on fire, your skin feels like it needs to be touched. Tate rests one of his hands beside your head and the other begins to slide down your chest, your stomach, till it reaches the place it was searching for. You feel him smile into the kiss.

“So excited already…” he mumbles.

His fingers run between your folds, collecting the wetness that’s already begun to drip out of you. He circles them on your clit for a few minutes, making you moan from the new but amazing feeling. After that he slides his pointer finger down to your entrance.

“Is this okay?” He asks.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Thank you?” He chuckles. He begins to slowly push his finger inside you and you grab his free arm.

“Thank you for doing this,” you clarify.

“I like how innocent you are, but I can’t lie I’ve always dreamt of being the one to rip that innocence away,” he whispers.

Before you can reply he lowers his head to your neck and begins to leave sloppy kisses along your skin. You can’t believe this is really happening. Once his finger is fully inside you, he starts to thrust it in and out at a slow pace. You moan, your back arching off the matress. He continues this for a few minutes before adding a second, preparing you perfectly for what’s going to come next.

He kisses down your chest until he’s at your breasts. He sucks and licks your nipples, it feels amazing. You can’t take it any longer, you need him. You grab his chin and connect your lips. He kisses you harder than before, biting and sucking your tongue into his mouth. You love it. You can’t get enough of it.

“I’m ready Tate,” you say breathlessly as your lips part. “I want to do it.”

“All right.” He pulls his fingers out of you and you watch him position his hard dick on your entrance. He looks down at you, brushing a piece of hair away from your face. “If it hurts to bad just tell me and I’ll stop okay?”

You nod, and before you can say anything else he starts to move. It hurts, but not too bad. Tate kisses you as he does this, it makes the pain more bearable. You wrap one of your hands around his back, your nails slowly dragging across the skin of Tate’s back. He only kisses you harder. His thrusts are slow, but your thighs still clench around his hips.

After a few minutes he asks if he can go faster, you tell him yes. The pain slowly morphed into a small pleasure that you enjoy. You continue to claw at his back, even more as his pace inscreases. You’re out of breath, the only sounds in the room being your moans along with Tate’s heavy breathing. It’s pure bliss.

The end comes faster than you want, but you don’t mind. You love the way Tate whispers your name as he cums, and how strongly his dick pulses inside you. You hold him close after it’s over, his skin against yours makes you feel alive again.

“Was it okay?” he asks as he lays on you.

“It was perfect,” you answer.

And so it was.

2K notes · View notes

tsukimefuku · 6 months ago

Text

CHAPTER TWO: MISTAKE OF FACT ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni!

❀ mistake of fact.

the concept “mistake of fact” describes a situation in which someone acts unaware of circumstances that could turn their actions into criminal acts. this can affect the assessment of their intent or culpability, reducing their penalty or even excluding the criminal nature of said act.

wc: 7.2K | ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ summary.

classes, law Firm meetings, and a little grit about it all. after taking and not doing so well on your first criminal law class assessment test, you decide to get hammered at the campus party. you just didn’t expect to accidentally bump into the professor of said class there.

❀ tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. silly slow-burn rom-com between professor and college student (this is purely a work of fiction, okay guys?). smoking and drinking. corporate trauma. itafushi is also a slow-burn. higuruma hates doing cardio (mood). nanami needed a subplot and kusakabe had to be in it, the voices told me so. exams suck. campus parties are a special kind of hell. the return of the ugly red scarf.

❀ notes etc.

as i said previously, some characters will have their subplots, hope you enjoy reading them too (they all tie into the main plot). yes I’m working through some issues regarding the lawyering world while writing this fic, how did you notice?

also, some love for the betas: @redlikerozez and @dottedsilktie thank you two so much 💛

You had a habit, a very ugly one. Ironically, the habit you used to unwind was currently driving you insane as you tapped around your pockets, failing to find the lighter for the cigarette you held in your mouth for the past two minutes. You stroked your bangs back in annoyance and grunted, a strand of hair poking up like a spike.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered to yourself the moment the bells went off, letting you know it was time for yet another Criminal Law class. At least this time you managed to wake up somewhat early and were already by the building.

Good job, me.

“Oh, hey!” you heard the light-hearted voice chirp from a distance. Darting your eyes towards it, there came the fluffy ball of pink hair and upbeat mood frolicking in your direction.

“Hey, Itadori! Do you by any chance have a lighter?”

He shrugged, “no, I’m sorry.”

Of course he didn’t. As the best track field runner you had ever met, you wondered if Itadori even knew what a cigarette was.

“You should stop smoking,” a broodier voice said. You noticed the spiky black hair student who was also approaching.

“Ah, get off my case, Fushiguro,” you retorted, putting your cigarette away, “which class are you guys here for?”

“Criminal law! And you?” Itadori replied.

“Oh, me too. I didn’t see you guys in his class last week, though.”

“We saw you!” Yuuji answered, completely oblivious that this was definitely something which would render you uncomfortable. You blushed, and after a few seconds, Fushiguro elbowed him. “Ouch, why did you do that?”

Fushiguro sighed loudly at his friend’s cluelessness, and you sheepishly giggled.

“Yeah… I guess everybody saw me.”

The three of you were sharing an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Itadori spoke again.

“So… Why isn’t Kugisaki enrolled?”

You shrugged, “she wanted to have other classes during this year to fast track her internship opportunities, I guess. I kind of did the same thing.”

“Is that allowed?” Yuuji inquired.

“Yeah, it is, as long as you take some other 101 classes before doing it,” you answered, while you three began walking into the building.

“I did that too, I want to pursue an internship in the public defense office as soon as possible,” Megumi interjected.

“Oh, nice! Me too,” you answered him, “but I’d totally take a position in a private law firm if given the chance.”

Fushiguro made a face you couldn’t quite identify, and didn’t answer anything in return.

The conversation about an internship in criminal defense died down as the three of you entered the elevator together, and while you were walking towards the classroom, Yuuji and Megumi began bantering.

More specifically, Itadori seemed keen on making small-talk about amenities, meanwhile Fushiguro simply did not take the hint and was shooting down every conversation topic his friend tried to bring up. You felt for Yuuji, noticing he was clearly eager to engage Megumi in a conversation, but the guy wouldn’t budge. At that point, you entertained Itadori for the remainder of the quick walk down the corridor.

Perhaps, you thought to yourself, Megumi was the clueless one.

Entering the classroom, you saw Professor Higuruma already seated by his desk fidgeting around with his glasses. This time, there was no suit jacket in sight, and he wore a white buttoned up shirt with a black tie, all under a suit vest.

You weren’t too proud to realize that you noticed the way his vest hugged his torso just right.

To top it off, after he was finished fidgeting with his glasses, Higuruma opened the cuffs of his white shirt, rolled up the sleeves up to his elbows, and slightly loosened his tie with two fingers hooked around it.

The way his arm muscles popped while he was sliding his fingers side to side around the fabric of the tie had every thought in your head poofing away instantly, and you looked away before your staring became too obvious.

The other students were coming in quickly. You made your way towards three miraculously empty seats in the front and sat on one end, while the boys took their places right beside you.

Higuruma noticed you and nodded softly as you met his eyes. You weren’t sure if he’d remember your face, but given the circumstances, it’d probably be hard not to. You greeted him back, smiling, and gestured around your regular-not-pajamas blouse, to which he replied by discreetly gesturing down his clean, not-coffee stained white buttoned up shirt.

Cute.

This time you thought that maybe sitting in the front would keep you safe from the Professor’s experiments. You had already tested your luck sitting in the back and it surely backfired — no pun intended.

After the students were settled, Higuruma got himself up and walked towards the white board, writing self-defense on it. He then turned on his heels, shoved his hands in his pockets and asked, “can anybody tell me what self-defense is?”

From your row, only Megumi raised his hand, but Higuruma’s eyes landed on Yuuji.

“You. What’s your name?” the Professor inquired, pointing at Itadori.

You heard him gulping by your side at that very same moment.

“Itadori Yuuji.”

“Then, Itadori, tell me what you think self-defense is.”

“I mean… self-defense is protecting yourself from someone trying to hurt you.”

Higuruma nodded, “you’re on the right track, but that’s not the entire answer. There is still something missing. Criminal Law occupies itself with criminal activities, so why do we need to study acts taken under self-defense? What else can you tell me about self-defense?”

Yuuji didn’t come up with something else to say, so Higuruma lifted the whiteboard marker in front of him.

“Itadori, I’ll throw this at you now.”

You and Megumi were instantly shocked, and Itadori began stuttering.

“W-wha-”

Higuruma actually threw the marker towards Yuuji’s chest, but Yuuji quickly grabbed it, glancing incredulously at the Professor.

“Now, that wasn’t self-defense in the way that it interests Criminal Law,” Higuruma noted, resuming the class as if nothing had happened.

Truth was, you could try sitting in the back, in the front, or anywhere in between, but when it came to Higuruma Hiromi’s class, apparently, there was no safe place to hide.

“It wasn’t?!” Itadori exclaimed.

“No. Self-defense, you see, is used to exclude the illegal quality of an action that would otherwise be considered a crime, like assault and battery, for example.”

Higuruma stepped into Yuuji’s direction, and excused himself as he picked the marker back in his hand, leaving the three of you dumbfounded as to how he could nonchalantly do these absurd things and think it was just alright.

The professor began writing on the white board and the classroom was filled with scribbling and typing sounds.

“Self-defense is when someone uses force, against another person, to protect themselves from harm or imminent danger offered by this other person’s criminal actions. In that sense, you didn’t use force against me, you solely protected yourself, hence, that’s not actually self-defense as the concept that matters to us in this classroom.”

Well, the example was crystal clear, indeed. Once again, he illustrated what he wanted to say brilliantly.

But holy shit, did he really have to do those crazy things every damn time?

“Before we proceed, I have some leisure homework for you all. I’d like everybody to watch the first three episodes of this TV series for us to discuss during our next lecture the evolution from legitimate self-defense to extrapolating it and finally committing a crime.”

He wrote the name for the show on the white board.

A shy hand lifted on the other end of the class, and a girl with blue hair and crooked bangs spoke after Higuruma pointed at her.

“Professor, won’t you ask us to watch one of those old movies other teachers usually do in introductory classes?”

“Most definitely not,” he answered — not without scoffing first, “this is Criminal Law, here things are interesting. If you’d like to sleep, go to Professor Nanami’s class, Commercial Law I.”

A tiny chuckle echoed from the back.

“Someone gets it,” he concluded before proceeding with the lecture.

The class went on without a hiccup with Yuuji quickly forgetting the marker debacle a few minutes in. After Higuruma was finished talking about the day’s topic, though, he remembered everyone about next week's assessment test, receiving mumbled complaints in return.

“Yeah, I know. I hate these things too, but unfortunately we have orders from above. Be sure to study everything up until the end of the self-defense module,” Higuruma said as he sank into his desk’s chair and fished his phone out of his pocket, “I wish you all best of luck.”

As the class was done, everyone began leaving.

“So, where are you going now?” Yuuji asked as you were currently fumbling around in your bag looking for your lighter — perhaps it wasn’t in your pockets after all, right?

“I… if you two are tight on time just go without me, I’m looking for something in here and it might take some time,” you answered, thinking that some physics law might’ve been broken. Your bag seemed larger from the inside than from outside, and your lighter had surely disintegrated into thin air.

“It’s fine, we can wait,” Fushiguro answered.

Yuuji suddenly seemed to remember something and came at you sort of hyped, asking “will you be at the campus party by the end of next week?!”

“Sure, sure,” you answered absentmindedly, still fondling your things around and considering flipping it all on the ground.

“There will be a party next week on campus?” Higuruma asked with his eyes still glued to his phone’s screen.

Fushiguro elbowed Yuuji again, as it was kind of a secret from faculty members, just so none of them would butt in — there were the clueless ones, like Professor Gojo, for instance, that would always find their way into the free drinks and free food celebrations that were supposedly just for students.

“Y-Yes… it will be pretty late, though.”

Higuruma hummed, completely unfazed, “when I was a student here, we’d usually have those after 11PM to avoid faculty members, it’s a good idea. My suggestion is that you all just keep the noise down and use the space behind the brown brick building, there’s a blind spot there from the rest of the campus.”

Yuuji and Megumi shared a look before nodding hesitantly. Higuruma noticed they were both somewhat worried and sighed.

“Don’t worry, I’m not telling the other Professors, and you can all be completely sure I won’t be there.”

The bated breath the two students shared finally subsided.

“God fucking damnit where is this fucking lighter?” you mumbled to yourself.

That caught Higuruma’s attention, and he called your name.

Your hand stammered inside your bag and you looked at him.

“Do you need a lighter?” he asked you, lifting his eyes from his phone towards your direction.

You had the impression his eye bags were smaller that day.

“Yes, I lost mine.”

He reached into one of his pockets and pulled a small, yellow, disposable lighter, stretching his arm in your direction, “you can take this one, I have tons of these.”

You got up, threw your bag over your shoulder, and went to pick it up from his hands. As your fingers wrapped around the lighter, you accidentally locked eyes with him, now sure his eye bags were definitely smaller. Higuruma spared you a small smile and you immediately felt your cheeks warm as you took the tiny yellow lighter from his fingers and stepped back.

I’m pathetic.

“So, we’re good to go?” Fushiguro asked, looking at you.

“We’re good to go,” you answered him, then looking at Higuruma, “thank you, Professor.”

“It’s no trouble, Sanrio” he answered, redirecting his attention back to his phone, completely unaware he had just called you that out loud.

After a few seconds, realizing what he'd just done, Higuruma sheepishly lifted his eyes, seeing two confused boys and you looking away with your hand over your mouth, coughing softly. You bore the same weirdly twisted face you made days before, when he asked you to leave in the mock expulsion.

Truth was you wanted to laugh, equal parts amused and mortified.

“Sanrio? What?” Yuuji asked.

“My next class is Civil Law II! What about you, Fushiguro? We should go!” you blurted out, ignoring Yuuji’s question while stepping away, “bye, Professor. See you next class!”

“You three have a good day,” Higuruma muttered, sinking further into his chair as he looked away to conceal his own embarrassment.

The boys, still at a loss, followed you outside, also bidding Higuruma a good day.

***

This is hell. I’m a smoker and this is my personal, dantesque circle of hell for that sin.

With one leg launching in front of the other at a steady pace, Higuruma was jogging down the street while accompanied solely by the rhythmic thuds of his feet on the pavement. He had already put at least a mile behind him.

His blood felt like battery acid pumping through his veins, and lungs and muscles were burning with the strain of an exercise he was doing for the third time this week thanks to the encouragement of his best friend.

This time, however, there was no distraction from the discomfort while Higuruma dragged himself completely alone on this morning run. His usual jogging partner, Nanami, told him just ten minutes before the scheduled time that he would not be able to make it.

“Did something happen?” Higuruma asked on the phone, “It’s unlike you to cancel appointments with such short notice.”

Truthfully, Nanami was someone extremely considerate of other people’s time.

“Nothing too serious. I’ll have to be in a meeting with a Labor Law associate. It involves one of the companies we represent here at the firm,” he replied with an involuntary sigh. Nanami did not enjoy being taken by surprise like this.

“A meeting for one of those Union settlements?”

“Yes.”

“Yeesh, good luck with that. Don’t be too harsh on the workers, though.”

“I’ll just be there to oversee the meeting and report the outcome to our client, I have no say in the matter.”

“Really? Couldn’t the Labor Law associate do that, then?”

“It’s Kusakabe. He doesn’t do anything he’s not specifically paid to do.”

“Oh, right.”

Higuruma paused for a moment. He was already at their usual meeting point, all propped up and ready to go, but didn’t quite feel like subjecting himself to that torture alone.

“You should just do your run today, I’ll join you back after tomorrow,” Nanami told him, as if reading his mind.

“I don’t know. Having company makes this slightly more bearable.”

“Is that so?” Nanami barely concealed the hint of amusement in his voice.

“Tsk, shut up.” Higuruma retorted.

Nanami huffed, nearly a chuckle, and proceeded, “this routine seems to have affected you positively, you shouldn’t miss a day for such a pedestrian reason.”

It was true. As a consolation prize for this suffering, the Professor had managed to sleep better those past few days and his mood had improved too.

Prior to his breakdown, Higuruma had never given much thought about his overall health. After he came back to normal life — or as normal as it could be —, he tried to eat properly and exercise at the gym most days of the week.

“I guess,” Higuruma finally conceded, defeated, loathing cardio with every fiber of his being.

“Then, off you go.”

“Okay. I’ll run and suffer alone today after being ditched,” Higuruma stated, half in jest.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Hiromi,” Nanami remarked, “you can do it just fine.”

Just fine… I’m not sure if “fine” is the word I’d choose for this self-imposed torture.

Taking one of the final turns, Higuruma passed by a storefront. On it, there was a big illustration of Hello Kitty that covered most of the space. He hadn’t noticed that store before, but seeing the cartoonish cat with its pink bow brought an amused smile to his face as he remembered the student that, for some random reason, decided to attend his class using a kitty’s pajamas — you.

That moment got him to reminisce on the occasions that he, himself, was also too tired or too out of it to properly change before going to class, leading to some similar debacles during his undergrad years.

Ever since that day, the Professor had nicknamed you Sanrio in his head, a silly inside joke with himself.

As he reached the end of the usual route, Higuruma paused and hunched over, inhaling deeply through his mouth, oxygen failing to properly enter his cells — or at least it felt like it.

I wonder if I can take a taxi to go back home...

Involuntarily hearing Nanami’s voice in his head chastising him for wanting to take the easy shortcut, Higuruma grunted and took a deep breath before jogging his way back.

***

Nanami churned on his coffee’s last sip as if that alone would be enough to realign his chakras and soothe his growing headache.

It wasn’t.

Nanami rarely saw himself pulled into other people’s work, but he detested each and every time it happened. As someone that usually planned his day thoroughly, with every minute properly accounted for, these types of unforeseen events would, most times, end up causing a domino effect over everything he had arranged in his schedule.

This time, however, he wasn’t sure if his distaste for the situation stemmed solely from the fact that his agenda got fondled around.

Something else about it was bothering him, even if he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

The contrast on the meeting table was clear — on the company’s side, he sat with Kusakabe, at least three mid-level associates, two juniors and one random intern. Behind them, the firm’s logo hung high on the wall, casting its brushed steel sheen over the expensive mahogany table.

On the other side, though, sat an Union representative with one single lawyer beside him. Since the firm had rescheduled this meeting on short notice four times, demanding it took place in one of their offices — which was everything but close to where the union-office was located —, the Union only had enough money to pay for the expenses of sending the minimum amount of people required to legally sign a settlement.

Nanami slowly realized, as the negotiations went on, what was bothering him so much.

This wasn’t a negotiation meeting.

It was a power play consisting of intimidation techniques. Clearly an attempt at wearing the Union down and pushing them into accepting any settlement to end the strike as soon as possible.

It all said we can take you on — if you don’t accept our offer and take this to Court, we have the money, the people and the ways to win this fight.

“These are our terms, as we had already discussed, printed and ready for you to sign,” Kusakabe remarked, as he pushed a pile of papers towards the two.

The Union representative seemed ready to crumble under a put-upon expression, his black hair parted in the middle and thick framed glasses not doing nearly enough to conceal it. He knew exactly what was going on, how this had happened, and also that this strike couldn’t go on for much longer without causing serious issues in the lives of all the workers.

The company was successful in their attempt of making it look like they tried to settle the dispute, and it had been long enough that people would start falling like dominos in the firing list.

The blond woman beside him seemed ready to toss her attorney’s license in the nearest dumpster and go do something else with her life.

The Union representative took the pen in his hand and sighed.

“Are you positive you want to do this, Ijichi?” the lawyer asked, looking at him with a tinge of concern in between her brows.

“We don’t have another choice, Nitta,” he replied, signing those papers away so quickly it felt like his hands were about to get burned in the fiery pits of hell.

She exhaled sharply while leaning back on her chair.

“I’m glad we got to settle this amicably. We expect you all back on the grounds by Monday,” Kusakabe concluded as he pulled the pile of papers back to him and lifted himself up on the chair.

Everyone got up, but when Kusakabe extended his hand towards Nitta, she and Ijichi just turned around, stepping towards the exit.

Nanami’s slight discomfort had grown into an actual stone weighing in his gut, and he didn’t quite think about what he ended up doing next.

He walked behind Nitta and Ijichi, and called them by their names — something that surprised them both, given they didn’t expect him and most of the people inside that meeting room to be paying any attention at all.

“So, you did listen to that meeting and weren't there just to add numbers?” Nitta asked begrudgingly.

“I did,” Nanami answered.

“What do you want?” Ijichi inquired, itching to get himself out of that building as quickly as possible. He felt dirty, to say the least, and needed a minimum of three full baths to feel like himself again.

“To give you both my business card.”

Both of them looked incredulous.

“I don’t mean any harm nor am I trying to get something out of a terrible situation. I just... That was...”

He really didn’t think this through.

“What I mean to say is that if there is anything you both need, this is my contact info.”

Nanami pulled the slim piece of cardstock and offered it. Ijichi and Nitta shared a hesitant look right before she took it from his hands. With a bow, both of them left, still feeling a little dumbfounded.

“Are you trying to get yourself in trouble? You’ve made it to Partner in the firm, leave it alone,” a slightly muffled voice echoed behind Nanami. It was Kusakabe, who had just shoved a lollipop in his mouth and had his hands inside his pockets.

“That didn’t bother you at all?” Nanami inquired, gesturing towards the now emptying meeting room.

“I’m not paid to get bothered. I come, I do my job, and I go home.”

“Still,” Nanami remarked, “it was...”

“I know,” Kusakabe answered him. He took a few moments before sighing, leaning himself against a wall, and repeated in a lower tone, “I know.”

For the briefest moment, Kusakabe’s expression resembled a slight grimace.

“You don’t seem completely unbothered, even if you’re not getting paid to care,” Nanami stated.

Kusakabe looked at Nanami and said nothing as they made their way back into their respective offices.

***

Higuruma also had a bad habit.

Due to his terrible memory regarding people’s names, he gave everyone a nickname in his mind. Beyond calling you Sanrio, his nicknames for the pink haired fluffy guy and the brooding dude always by his side were, respectively, Clueless and Porcupine.

At that moment, he watched as Sanrio, Clueless and Porcupine sat beside one another while taking their first assessment test for the Criminal Law class.

You were so laser focused on the test, eyes darting from one end to the other of the paper frantically, hand periodically brushing your bangs back in desperation, that he feared you might actually end up accidentally activating a laser beam and burning the thing. Clueless was… well, clueless. He looked like someone who had never been properly alphabetized in his entire life. And finally, Porcupine didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, calmly reading and selecting each answer with the ease and certainty of someone that knew what he was doing.

He was sort of amused to realize Sanrio’s bangs had a small lock of hair poking out.

Higuruma glanced his eyes over the class, and made the sad realization he’d have dozens upon dozens of tests to grade and submit to the Dean the following morning.

What a nightmare, I’ll be here forever grading these after hours.

He had completely forgotten, earlier that day, that he’d have to deal with assessment test shenanigans. The information popped back into his mind five minutes before he arrived at the Uni, and Higuruma got a little desperate, remembering he needed to pick up the pile of tests inside the brown brick building’s print center before darting his way to class.

At least, he was more accustomed to running by then.

After parking near the building, Higuruma ran against the clock, and made it by the skin of his teeth. The Professor was completely relieved, failing to realize that his memory had fucked him over more than once that day.

You, on the other hand, weren’t fending off much better.

What do I do, there is more than one answer to this, it fucking depends, goddammit, you cursed inside your mind while answering most of the questions in that assessment test.

I need a cigarette.

You were particularly bad at taking multiple choice tests, especially in subjective areas — which was definitely the case for Criminal Law.

You had this little curse of wanting to select two different answers in nearly every question and always choosing the wrong one.

At least I can drink this failure away at the party today.

“Ten more minutes!” Higuruma’s voice echoed through the classroom, and you must’ve looked particularly more hectic than before, because you felt his eyes on you, and when looking up, noticed he seemed a little concerned.

Very charmingly concerned in that disheveled suit and slightly messy hair.

Ah, shut up, brain.

After the ten minutes flew by, a cacophony of pens being put down or clicked around could be heard. People got up, and one by one, the students put their tests over Higuruma’s desk. He dangled over his chair lazily, bidding his students a good morning with a mumble.

You were the last one left, and stared at your test like it was a nuke falling right into your future criminal defense attorney career. Sad wasn’t the best word for it — you felt disheartened.

Sighing defeatedly, you lifted yourself from your chair like your clothing was made of lead and walked towards Higuruma’s desk, handing him the paper. His eyes lifted towards you while he took the test from your hands.

“What did you think of the test?” Higuruma inquired, organizing all the papers into a neat pile.

You huffed.

“Sanrio is worried about this test,” you replied, smiling while poking a little fun at him.

His eyes widened a little, and for a second, Higuruma looked embarrassed.

“About that, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” he began.

“Oh! It’s...”

Completely okay. Kinda sweet. Something I might’ve actually liked.

“Fine. I didn’t mind. It’s not always, but sometimes I nickname people in my head too.”

He offered you a discreet awkward nod, “okay, then.”

Noticing you might’ve made him unnecessarily uncomfortable, you decided to lighten up the air.

“So... No random experiment for torturing your minions today? I mean, the students.”

Higuruma chuckled softly.

“Ah, no. I figured this test was enough torture for one day,” he answered, spirited, “I’m not that ruthless.”

Remembering the Yuuji marker debacle, you thought about something for a moment before you resumed speaking.

“You know,” you began, “perhaps you should ask for students to volunteer before doing your… things.”

“I used to, actually,” he promptly answered.

“You did?” your voice sounded surprised.

Higuruma nodded, “Yes, but students rarely volunteered.”

That sounded a little off.

“Quick question, Professor. Did this scarcity of volunteers happen before or after the first volunteer demonstration?” you inquired.

“After. Why do you ask?” He asked while putting the tests into his briefcase.

Oh my God, he’s so clueless.

“No reason. Just curious.”

***

“Hey, people! I brought us beers!” Yuuji exclaimed, light spirited, as he walked towards you, Megumi, Nobara and Maki all seated on the grass behind the brick building. He quickly descended to sit beside the group.

“You are the best, but I’m not mixing today,” you thanked, greeting him with a cup full of pure vodka, “this should do the trick for tonight. Also, it’s pretty fucking cold for beer.”

“Is that why you’re wearing that thing?” Nobara inquired while pointing at your ugly red scarf around your neck.

“Get off my case, Nobara,” you retorted, gulping on your drink with some unidentifiable desperation.

“Shit, was the test that bad?” Maki asked you as she took a single can from Yuuji’s arms, while mindlessly pulling Nobara closer and kissing her head.

“It was weird, I was so confused, it felt like every question had at least two answers,” you complained, stretching your body over the grass.

“You probably did fine, you tend to be overly dramatic about these things,” Nobara stated while pulling another can from Yuuji, smacking on his shoulder with a fist. He whined in complaint, and she chuckled like a tiny ginger demon.

“I agree with Kugisaki, you’re smart!” Yuuji chirped in, while scrambling his way to sit beside Megumi, “I had no idea what I was doing. If you thought about at least two answers to each question, you’re already better than me.”

This poor, poor kid, you thought.

“There’s more to exams than just being smart, you need to know how to do them, and I do not, unfortunately…” you answered, a tinge of disappointment to your expression.

“This is solely an assessment test, anyway. It doesn’t compute in our final grades, there is no need to be so upset about it,” Megumi interjected, shushing himself when you glared at him.

He was terrible at comforting people.

“So, Fushiguro, I didn’t quite know what you’d like to drink, so I brought three types of beer,” Itadori mumbled, extending three different cans of beer towards Megumi like a raven with trinket offerings for his favorite human.

Not exactly smooth, but definitely cute.

Nobara and Maki shared a look, both of them with cheeky smiles on their faces. You covered your mouth to conceal your own smile — you were far from being as saucy as the power couple by your side — and waited with a bated breath for Megumi to pick up on the hint from Yuuji.

It was about time, considering it had been months of Yuuji trying to make a move.

“No, thank you, I won’t drink today,” Fushiguro cluelessly replied, and Itadori visibly deflated from that.

“T-then… I can grab a soda for you, or…” Itadori clumsily interjected, while scratching the back of his neck.

“There’s no need, I will go-”

Perhaps it was the vodka, the dreadful day or how much Megumi had just cock-blocked your shipping dreams, but you blurted out your next few words.

“For fucks sake, Fushiguro, if you don’t take a beer can from Itadori right now, I will body slam you into oblivion.”

“… We’re on the ground. How would that even-”

“Bitch, don’t test me.”

Fushiguro was somewhat taken aback by your interjection, but hesitantly extended his hand and picked one of the three beers Itadori had selected for him, prying it open with a wheezing click. Megumi looked at you, then the beer can, then at Itadori, suspiciously taking a tiny sip.

“It is… good,” he muttered, as a smile slowly returned to Yuuji’s Kirby persona.

“Now, thank him,” you complemented, pointing at Yuuji, “he did find three types of beer in this God-forsaken campus party only for you, after all. I’d never have bothered to do so, and I bet Maki and Nobara feel the same.”

The power couple raised their drinks in agreement towards you, and Fushiguro sighed.

“Thank you, Itadori.”

Yuuji happily nodded, “you’re welcome! Do you want something to eat? I could-”

“Baby steps, buddy… baby steps,” you interrupted, putting your hand over Yuuji’s shoulder. He nodded sheepishly while Megumi was at a loss.

“O-okay,” Itadori acquiesced.

Suddenly, you all heard a voice calling Megumi’s name from a distance, sounding like some kind of haunting, and began looking around as he buried his face in his hands.

“Who is that?” you asked.

“Megumi! Where’s the food!?” the voice inquired in a light hearted tone. In the distance, you saw a fluffy, white ball of hair approaching under sunglasses. At night.

Megumi groaned from the depths of his soul.

“Argh, for fucks sake,” he complained, well aware as to who was coming.

Trying to dodge the faculty members didn’t do much to keep his adoptive father away, apparently.

Not so far from there, Higuruma sat in a poorly lit office grading the tests the entire class had taken that morning. After finishing grading yours — and you didn’t do very well, just as you had anticipated — he muttered to himself, out loud, “what happened there, Sanrio?”

The Professor failed to notice he did remember your name perfectly, even if he kept calling you Sanrio.

“Will you sleep in here today?” a familiar voice scowled from the door, and Higuruma turned his face to meet the dusty blonde head of hair peeping through.

“I’ll just finish grading these and then I’ll go home, Kento,” Higuruma answered with a tired smile on his face.

“And couldn’t you have done that from home?” his friend asked, looking at the menacing pile of paper over the man’s desk, “or maybe tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, I’d never get to it if I had left it for later. I’m already here, might as well just ditch this Pavlovian nightmare as soon as possible,” the other stated, flailing a test on his hand before proceeding, “what are these even meant to assess? Someone’s capabilities of answering formulaic questions like trained dogs? Ugh.”

Higuruma was ranting.

Nanami huffed a slightly amused chuckle, but underneath it, he seemed a little beaten down.

“Is everything okay, Kento?” Higuruma asked, interrupting his ranting when noticing his deflated friend.

“I’m… fine.”

Nanami had forgotten for a second that Higuruma, underneath all his antics, was a very perceptive person.

“Are you sure?” Higuruma insisted, “you don’t look so well.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just thinking about work, that’s all.”

And that he was. That meeting had stuck with him for those past few days.

“Oh, how was the meeting with the Union?”

Nanami’s breath got caught for a second before he mustered up something to answer.

“It wasn’t what I expected it to be. I might be switching things up soon,” Nanami said with some understated grave finality.

“Truly?” Higuruma sounded surprised.

“Yes. Perhaps exploring new fronts beyond Corporate Law.”

“Well, then, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help apart from practicing law.”

Higuruma’s voice cracked softly right at the end of his sentence. Nanami didn’t fail to notice it, and kept silent as his friend seemed to mull over bitter memories.

“Hiromi,” Nanami began.

“I can’t, I… can’t.”

Higuruma had visibly tensed up, his fists unconsciously clenching as his forearms laid flat on the desk.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Nanami concluded, careful not to dig too deep on the matter.

Both of them shared an uncomfortable silence before Higuruma hesitantly steered his gaze to meet Nanami’s. Unsure, Higuruma gave his friend a tiny nod, and moved his attention back to the task in front of him.

Understanding that the talk about it was over, at least for now, Nanami asked, “I’m leaving, do you want me to help you carry those to your car?”

“Oh, there’s no need. I parked far, behind the…”

Oh, shit.

“Nanami, what day is it today?”

***

“I’m not drunk,” you mumbled, while filling your third cup of vodka.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Nobara said, giving you a light push to your shoulder, having you nearly tip over. Meanwhile, Megumi, Yuuji and Maki were entertained with Yuuji trying to score Gojo’s open mouth with peanuts like it was a basketball hoop.

Megumi was the least entertained of the trio.

“Knock it off!” you complained, slapping her hand away.

You fished your pack of cigarettes from your pocket, and she instantly grunted.

“Those things stink and itch my nose, go smoke them somewhere else.”

It was your time to grunt.

“Ugh, fine. Then I’ll find a new best friend that’ll let me smoke — hell, one that might even smoke with me!” you replied, getting ready to leave.

“Make good choices!” she poked at you, and you playfully brushed her off.

“I won’t!”

You walked away — not before hearing Yuuji and Gojo cheering right after Yuuji managed to score ten peanuts in a row — and gave your cup of vodka another sip, having the burning tingle dripping down your throat, warming you up against the cold wind.

After about two minutes or so of walking, sure your smoke wouldn’t blow on anyone’s faces, you put a cigarette into your mouth and pulled the lighter Professor Higuruma had given you, trying to light the cig up.

However, the wind wouldn’t let you, no matter how much you tried to tent your hand around it.

God, why? you thought to yourself, fidgeting with your bangs in annoyance.

While darting your eyes around, looking for any sort of shelter from the wind, you found a beat up, dark navy-blue car that surely had seen better days parked just behind the brick building. In your drunken haze, you figured that squatting between both would be the best idea.

Stumbling your way towards the gap, you quickly went down on the ground in a crouched position, holding your cup in one hand and the lighter on the other, cig strongly held in between your lips.

Flick, flick, flick.

Nothing.

God fucking damnit.

“Hey!” a male voice exclaimed from behind you, scaring the shit out of your soul.

Your body moved on instinct. You instantly jumped up, startled and screaming, and tossed the entire vodka contents from the cup towards whoever had nearly given you a heart attack.

Higuruma stood there, completely stunned and incredulous, as the beverage hit his shirt, vest, tie, face and coat.

“… I didn’t mean to scare you,” he offered, taking his glasses off to shake the liquid from them before putting them back, “but why?”

For a split second, he was just glad this wasn’t coffee or wine, the staining demons of liquids. It could’ve been worse.

Oh my God. I can’t believe I assaulted this man with my drink again. This has to be a prank.

This time, already impaired from two full glasses of vodka in your system, and increasingly nervous at that situation, you couldn’t hold it in.

You began cackling, directly to his face, as his expression became profoundly confused. He lifted an eyebrow, not knowing if he should feel scared, amused or offended.

"I-I just… Just laugh in i-inappropriate… moments- I’m sorry!" you tried explaining, in between laughs and huffs, drying a tear that bubbled up at the edge of your eye with the tip of your fingers.

You both stood there for a few seconds until your laughter died down, and he was then sure you definitely had a few screws loose.

It amused him.

“Here, let me use this to dry your shirt," you told Higuruma, approaching him with your red scarf, pressing it against his chest. He put his free hand over it and haphazardly rubbed it over the damp patches of his clothes alongside you.

This up close, he couldn’t help but notice once again that tiny hair lock which swirled away from your bangs.

Realizing he was staring at your hair, Higuruma diverted his eyes elsewhere, having them landing over the ugly red scarf.

"Ah, that hideous thing."

Shit, I said that out loud, he thought to himself, facepalming internally.

To that, you looked at him, wide eyed, and laughed wholeheartedly, having Higuruma blushing embarrassment at his own incapacity to control his words.

"It is hideous, isn't it?" you noted, surprising him.

For the second time in that interaction, he was nothing short of perplexed. The Professor was more than accustomed to having people get deeply offended at his talking mishaps from time to time.

"I thought you might be laughing because what I said was terribly inappropriate," Higuruma admitted, somewhat relieved.

"Oh, no. It was funny. I also laugh at funny things," you jested with a mindless smile pulling on your cheeks.

It was his time to chuckle, and you didn’t fail to notice, even in your tipsy fog, how a tiny crease would form on the edges of his hangdog eyes when he was laughing. And how his voice reverberated. And how his disheveled hair framed around his face beautifully, highlighting his beautiful hooked nose. And-

Shit. I have the hots for the Professor.

"... Is there still anything on my face?"

That snapped you out of it, but not entirely.

"Uh? Why?"

"Because you're staring at it."

Yeah. That checks out.

“I just… never mind,” you told him while blushing discreetly, scrambling around to give him some space. It was only then that Higuruma noticed he had his hand resting over yours for a while after you stopped trying to pat him dry with the ugliest scarf known to mankind.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “why were you slouching by my car?”

“I was trying to light a cigarette,” you replied, pointing at the cig on the ground after the debacle, “the wind is pretty unforgiving today.”

“I see. I’m sorry about the fallen soldier,” he stated.

“No worries, I’ve got more,” you replied, pulling your pack from your pocket, “do you want one?”

I shouldn’t, smoking is bad, I’m doing cardio three times a we-

“Yes.”

You pulled two cigarettes from the pack, put them both in your mouth, cupped your hand around the cigs to light them up, and it actually worked.

Well, that’s convenient.

You inhaled the smoke for a second, feeling it waving into your mouth. It immediately soothed your crave.

Taking one of them in between two fingers, you extended your hand towards Higuruma, who grabbed the smoke.

“Thanks,” he offered in a calm tone.

“No worries, it’s the least I could do after assaulting you with vodka,” you shrugged with some embarrassment.

“It’s oka… pure vodka?”

“Yes.”

That’s… a lot.

He was a little taken aback, but decided not to ask anything.

“Well, at least it won’t leave a stain, unlike coffee,” Higuruma remarked.

“Yeah, it won’t,” you replied while mindlessly giggling.

Higuruma finally bowed his head towards you and you retributed the gesture, bidding him goodbye before leaving on your way to your dorm room.

Once you were gone, he went inside his car, cracking the window open. As he was finally alone pulling the cigarette towards his lips, Higuruma noticed something around the edge of the cig. A soft pinkish-red ring that went all around it.

Is this… her lipstick?

It was.

Against his better judgment, Higuruma blushed softly, instantly shaking his head to weave off the heat that had pooled around in his cheeks before flipping the engine on.

Get a hold of yourself.

He did, however, hold the cig in his mouth, smudging the faint lipstick tint it had on his lips until the smoke was all spent up.

Tag list:

@arusearu @yammy-yammy-yama @markleeisdabestdrug @redlikerozez @delirious-donna

@alwaysfreakingout @murderofravens @senseifupa @higurumapet @cindyneko-strider

@ohhheymessa @bigbaddulce @actuallysaiyan @s-witch-bitch @pseudowho

@soft--cherry @bsaeshell @quinnyundertow @traffi

225 notes · View notes